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Date: Tue, 22 Jun 2004 18:04:09 -0400
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW:  ENT - Saddle Sore - (1/1) - T/Tu - PG-13, Het
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Title :      Saddle Sore
Author:      Sue
E-Mail:      susieqla@yahoo.com
Website:     None.
Series:      ENTERPRISE
Pairing:     T/Tu
Category:    Romance/Het.
Rating:      PG-13
Summary:     A riding lesson of a different kind.



Saddle Sore



"Why did you squeeze my thigh?"

Dreamily, Trip, clad only in blue Skivvies, and lying in
her bed, responded, "When did I do that?" He hadn't
bothered to glance back at T'Pol while she sat upon his
muscular calves. He was learning to recognize that
telling tone of mystification her voice took on when she
was unable to work something out for herself, needing his
input for clarification.

"During the last movie night."

Even though it had only been a few days ago, he
couldn't quite remember what they'd seen. But, it had
definitely been a first; she'd never sat with him
before without his having to ask and being turned
down. "What'd we see?"

"'Seabiscuit.'"

Expelling a drafty-sounding breath, Trip acknowledged,
"Oh...yeah...that's right...'Seabiscuit.'" He got his
cheek more comfy, lying upon his hands as it was,
burrowing it further into his right hand. He rocked
slightly from side to side to spur his masseuse on so
she'd continue with the massage that was like balm. "Great
picture, wasn't it?. A righteous animal, some racehorse,
huh? Back in those terrible days of The Great Depression,
folks pinned their hopes on that horse like he was some
kind of metaphor for their survival. Seabee truly captured
imaginations, the long shot that snagged America's heart.
A true champ in horseflesh." Sighing wistfully, Trip
romanticized, "Horsies have a unique nobility all their
own...ya can't help but love 'em."

T'Pol's tone took on an even more telling timbre. "Does
this include the one you were forced to barter your
harmonica for?" The awkward moments atop the mount she had
had no option but to endure were still fresh in memory.
With both hands, she dug with renewed determination, along
with some latent irritation, perhaps, into the sore, tight
muscles of Trip's upper thighs.

He stifled a yelp he couldn't completely silence, and
complained. "Easy, there. It's hard enough walkin' as it
is without you addin' more pain to the misery I already
got."

"I'm sorry," T'Pol countered calmly, "it wasn't my intention
to injure you further, Commander." Sounding a tad thoughtful,
she said, "It would seem having more familiarity with riding
your noble animals would be logical if a future circumstance
calls for such expertise."

"Hey, I didn't do all that bad, considerin' I've never had
a real lesson," Trip objected, trying hard not to wince when
T'Pol took another jab at his throbbing muscles. "Least I
didn't fall off." He raised his head to lob a glare at her.
"Didn't hear you complain, till now, that is."

"I'm not complaining," T'Pol said with a tart ring to the
words.

"Sounds like it to me," Trip baited, but doing so gently,
loving it when her delicious looking mouth all but
quivered. He was the bone of playful contention, always
ready, willing and able to see how far he could get her
to flirt with her emotions. There was no conjecture over
whether she had them or not. Aside from his already
knowing she possessed them, the next step was nuturing
her in a warm climate of camaraderie so she would feel
more comfortable exercising them once and a while.

"What accounts for your physical discomfort whereas I, who
have never ridden one of your imagination-capturing beasts,
am not experiencing what you are?" She had tried not
sounding haughty, but it was an inherent quality.

Trip wasn't taking her sudden outpouring of superiority
lying down. Counting his timing off to the second, he
bumped his legs up, startling T'Pol into upset. Nimbly, he
flipped himself onto his back. She landed squarely in his
crotch, his agile legs bent to prevent escape. But her
precarious position lasted moments.

His spirited chuckling filling the air, Trip, with his
legs adding impetus she never saw coming, gave T'Pol a
jump-starting sort of nudge to tilt her with hands first
against his chest. "If you've never ridden a maverick
before, darlin', here's your chance..."

He waited, not daring to breathe, for her response. If she
gave any of his vulnerable areas so openly exposed a swift
kick, he'd tell her he deserved it, and have a perfect
excuse to kiss and make up. Kissing the sultry first officer
was an idea whose time had come.

...One fantasy at a time, Tucker, you dog...he cautioned.

"A maverick?" she questioned with the perpetually endearing
lift of her eyebrow, her face scant inches from the chief
engineer's.

"Another word for a real young animal, usually refers to
a horse though, that gets separated from the herd; has to
fend for itself, makes a true fighter out of it. The
animal Wears nobody's brand, roamin' the range free,
untamed..."

"Or, an indivdual who refuses to abide by the dictates of, or
resists adherence to a group...a dissenter," she dutifully
rounded out for Trip's singular benefit. She would have been
remiss, lying to herself, if she denied that being so close
to his mouth was tantalizing.

"I won't throw ya, if that's what you're thinkin'." Unable
to stop himself, Trip brought his hand up to her cheek and
his fingers roamed its warm softness. The effect she had
on him smoldered in his eyes. In time, his fingers found
their way to an earlobe and brushed them over it as if it
were a showpiece worth some fantastic sum.

If she had once had any doubt, she had it no longer; her
ears held their own special fascination for him. "That
wasn't what I was thinking, Commander," T'Pol attested, and
it was as though a force quite apart from her rigid control
inched her mouth closer to his.

"You're thinkin' what I'm thinkin', then," he whispered
against her plump lower lip, hearing how ragged his
heartbeat was. When his lips constrained her lower lip, he
felt tremors, and knew his wasn't the only body trembling.
"Am I right?"

T'Pol nodded against his mouth that was already devouring hers
hungrily.

Commander Trip Tucker, III may not have known how to ride a
horse well, but T'Pol would be his staunchest supporter if
the subject of his knowing how to 'bridle' her mouth was ever
broached. She'd never known the like of such expertise, and
allowing herself to be led right along came naturally.

Any soreness Trip had felt was long forgotten; T'Pol was
better than any greasy, sticky salve on any market, anywhere.

"T'Pol?"

Her head rested on his chest. "Hmmmm?" Her eyes remained
closed.

"As strange as things are gettin' here in the Expanse, if we
ever have to share a horse again, would you ride with me?"

Not giving in to over-analysis for a change, T'Pol inquired,
"What was the term you used to encourage the animal to go?"

In a flash, Trip answered, "Giddy-up."

"That is my answer."

Bussing the crown of her silky head, Trip voiced the command a
second time, and his chuckles, along with his light humming
then, gradually lulled T'Pol to sleep.

Lazily, just before drifting off, he envisioned himself atop
the majestic Seabiscuit galloping to victory. The uproarious
throngs jammed into the stands threatened to never stop
cheering.


End...




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