The BLTS Archive - Fear
by Ana Morada

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It's not fear.

Fear is seeing you dangling inches away from the jaws of
incomprehensible danger for the hundredth time. Fear is
hearing you moan in your sleep as I lie awake beside you,
counting the number of times your lips clench. Fear is
knowing deep down that one day you're going to stop visiting
my quarters every night because you've decided that the
relationship has officially gone too far. That's fear.
Watching you confront the Vulcan Ambassador about keeping
your position on Enterprise is //not// fear. It's worry,
and I'm sick of it.

I remember our first time. You were irritated with me
because I'd been distracting Commander Tucker from his
duties or from you. Either way, I used it to my advantage.
They say back home that Vulcans don't have any emotions, but
frankly, that's bullshit. You were jealous and I knew it. I
also knew the second that you touched me for our first
neuro-pressure session that I wanted a lot more than a
Vulcan back massage, and as you later discovered, I always
get what I want. One second your hands were on my shoulders,
and then the next you were startled by my swift fingers sliding
through your hair. I know the rules, so I kissed you before
you could say no. I kissed you so quickly and so suddenly
that you inhaled, and I got my tongue into your mouth before
you could pull away.

//Do you think your actions are appropriate, Corporal?//

You were breathless, but just as composed as you were on the
bridge. Tough to crack. . . but not impossible.

//I didn't mean to offend you, Sub-commander.//

I gave you an innocent pout that couldn't possibly have been
convincing, and your eyebrow rose high in a display of
Vulcan agitation.

//Offense is an emotion that I don't experience.//

Oh, really?

//Then in that case. . .//

I caught hold of your hands and pulled you towards my mouth,
crushing your lips into a hot kiss that burned brazenly. You
could have ordered me to stop. You could have told me to get
the hell out of your quarters. You could have done a lot of
things. . . but you kissed me back, and you signed away your
chance to escape. You were mine from that point forward, but
more importantly, I was yours. Somewhere between the breathy
gasps of orgasm and the satisfied safety of your casual
breathing later that evening, I couldn't help feeling more
than attraction for you, more than a 'fuck me once then fuck
the hell off' sensation. I wanted you in a way that I had
never wanted anybody else before. I wanted you to want me,
so the next evening when you came knocking on my door in the
middle of the night shift, of course I let you in. Of course
I let you wake me up and wind me up, over and over again. I
wanted you in a way I had never wanted anybody else before.
. .

So when I see you standing there on the bridge, legs parted
in an aggressive stance reserved normally for combat, I
worry that you're about to get yourself suspended from duty.
I worry that Soval will take you back to Vulcan and bury you
in the orange desert where you came from, somewhere far away
where sifting sands will cover every sign of you. I worry
that tonight, instead of coming to my quarters like you have
for the past month, you'll lock yourself away and forget me
entirely. I couldn't bear that, T'Pol. I couldn't bear
knowing that you sit alone in your quarters while I sit
alone in mine, unable to touch you, or hold you, or comfort
you. I want you, T'pol. I want you in a way I have never
wanted anybody before. . .

I want you to love me, and I guess that's what really
frightens me.

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The End