Chapter 2

Episode 2: Homeward Bound

Porthos bounded ahead in excitement, as he always did when they came anywhere near the galley. Chef had always a small chunk of cheese at hand and the excitable beagle had learned that trick quite quickly.

"Hello Chef," the ship's commanding officer called into the galley.

"I'm with you in a minute, Captain," the rotund man replied and disappeared back into his kitchen. When he came back out, he was carrying two cups of what looked like tea and a small chunk of cheese. With a jump the little beagle nabbed the snack mid-air as Chef chucked it to him.

"Here, some real tea, not the rubbish from the dispenser," Chef said with a disdainful look at the matter-resequencer.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Jon asked as the portly man sat down across the table in the deserted mess hall.

"Captain, I'm hearing everyday what the crew talks about. Many are tired and the morale is not the best."

"That bad?" the captain asked, but the furrowed brows of Chef made that a rhetoric question. Even Porthos seemed to sense that something was amiss and Jon could see that his trusty companion had abandoned any attempts to beg for more cheese and was lying down next to his feet.

"What did you expect?" the other man replied gruffly. "We've been out here for over two years now. And then there's the problem of crew composition. We have a three-to-one male-to-female ratio. A lot of people are left out, while at least most of the commissioned officers know what's happening in C47. It will soon blow up in our face."

"We should make a bee-line for home, shouldn't we?" Jon asked rhetorically.

"Even if we found another planet full of nymphos, it wouldn't help anymore," Chef explained. "These people are going to celebrate the second Christmas without their families. I can't believe Starfleet hasn't thought about that. Travis and I have served on Boomer ships before joining this crew. Has it never occurred to anyone to ask us what the effects of long-time space travel are?"

"Obviously not," Jon admitted. This was not the place to debate the wisdom of Starfleet Command though, especially not with a civilian contractor.

"I've heard two people from astro-navigation talk to each other," the galley master continued. "One of them said we could be back home in five weeks if we hot-foot it through Vulcan space. It could be the only way to prevent a mutiny."

"I'll talk to Forest," Jon promised, emptying his tea with a far-away look.

The usual C47 crowd was assembled around the big table in the mess hall, enjoying their meals. Well, as much as one could actually enjoy it. As they were all officers, they all knew the distinct taste of food that was saturated with preservatives to make it last years. Many survival trainings in Greenland, Alaska, the Sahara and the Australian outback had imprinted that particular taste in their brains.

If Chef had to start dipping into the stash of field-rations and make something of it by sheer witchcraft, the provisions must be severely depleted. The crew would take that sort of feeding for only so long, because for all of Chef's ingenuity, it took some seriously bad food to make T'Pol furrow a brow in distaste.

Trip was about to voice his grievance with today's menu in no uncertain terms when a klaxon signaled an impending ship-wide announcement.

Trip saw T'Pol wince slightly, when her sensitive hearing was assaulted by the rapturous celebrations around them. It looked like the majority of the crew had been waiting a long time for such an announcement – especially the non-coms.

"Right," he said and stood up to go with his meal only half finished. Not that he had much motivation to finish it anyway.

He was already several steps away, when he heard Malcolm's worried question.

"Something wrong, Trip?"

He turned back to his friends and shook his head.

"Nothing's wrong. Just goin' back to Engineering. I wanna make sure the engine's in peak condition until we're back. There's no way I'm gonna bring the ship home lookin' like I haven't taken good care of it."

He heard their chuckles as he continued his way to the used dishes conveyor belt and several "typical Trip" remarks as well.

Enterprise's chief engineer sat in his office, tiredly rubbing his face with the palms of his hands. It had been three days of double shifts since Jon's announcement, and his to-do list was still growing. It was ridiculous how many things needed to be adjusted and repaired.

Although the engine was running steadily at warp four point five, just correcting a small variance in the intermix ratio had reduced dilithium depletion by six percent, and that was a parameter he really wanted to keep down. He wasn't overly keen on being on a leash and pimped to some old bat again who had seen more reconstructive repairs than a rickety old cargo barge.

In his attempt to bring the engines back in better shape than they shipped out, he had even taken a rain check on last night's orgy in C47, much to the displeasure of Anna and Rostov, who were convinced that his absence was to blame for the fact that T'Pol had been missing, too. Well, at least the gender ratio had been intact then.

Today however his shift would end before midnight, as one did not say no to T'Pol's request for minor repairs in her quarters. It had become their 'code' for T'Pol's wish for a private meeting that usually resulted in very intimate favors being exchanged. A shower was definitely on top of his to-do list right now.

"There's something more between them, don't you think?" Malcolm said, holding Hoshi in his arms.

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Hoshi asked back, looking up in his face. "When was the last time she's let you do her?"

"It's been a while," he admitted and gently brushed over her exposed breasts. "He's definitely become her favorite partner, although except for last night she's still coming to our evenings."

He heard her giggle slightly. "I don't think Trip would have any energy left if sating her needs was left to him alone."

"I just don't understand. A Vulcan and varying partners isn't something that really squares up for me. I've always thought they're fiercely possessive."

Hoshi wiggled herself free and sat up facing him. "That's because you don't read body language well. When she does it with any of the other guys or with me, she does it for the sake of being sated. When she's doing it with Trip, it's much more intense. You can really see it when she gives him a blowjob. Her hands are all over him. She doesn't do that when going down on me or blowing any of the guys other than Trip."

"A Vulcan and casual sex, I would have laughed my head off about the very idea two years ago," Malcolm snorted with amusement, shaking his head.

"Two years ago I would have laughed more than one body part off about you having sex with me, let alone having an open relationship," the young and very naked coms officer teased him.

"As I would have done," he replied with an amused half-smile, pushing his partner back onto the bed.

Without further ado he took one of her nipples in his mouth and started the more entertaining part of their evening.

"Well hi there, my Lady," he quipped after T'Pol had let him in. This address, a verbal souvenir of the visit to Maateria, had become a bit of an inside joke between them, making it clear what sort of activity the evening would end with. "I take it your environmental controls don't really need adjusting?"

"They do, and I would prefer if you made the necessary adjustments immediately."

"What's wrong with them?" he asked, looking at her with inquiringly furrowed eyebrows. His mouth fell open when she let her silken robe glide off her shoulders to reveal that she was stark naked underneath it.

"I need you to adjust it to higher temperatures than twenty-one degrees, preferably twenty-six. You do not wish me to freeze, do you?"

He let out a wolf-whistle in appreciation and started to release the electronically sealed locking clamps on her environmental control panel. The modification was minor and it wouldn't take more than a few minutes before he could concentrate on enjoying the Vulcan's gorgeous body.

"To what do I owe this glorious view?" he asked, looking back at her. T'Pol sat on her bunk in a lotus position, which with her being naked did not exactly present a very modest picture.

"Although I am fairly convinced that the prospect of engaging in sexual relations later tonight would be enough incentive for you to interrupt your obsession with improving the engine's condition, I found it logical to increase the allure. You are not the only member of this crew, who derives a great deal of contentment from looking at an unclothed well-sculptured body."

Trip chuckled and picking up the not quite so subtle hint, he interrupted his work to divest himself of his clothing. He held out his arms as he presented his naked front for her approval. He could see her appreciatively raised eye-brow and went back to the job at hand after locking the door.

Once he had finished his work, he modified the temperature control to the requested twenty-six degrees and walked over to her bunk, sitting down vis-à-vis in the same lotus position.

He knew that the discussion would be tabled for a moment as, like everything in the Vulcan's life, the order of events was well defined and deviation from this usual order was undesirable. This meant she was going to administer a blowjob, which would be followed by a discussion of whatever she wished to discuss and culminate in offering her rear-end for intimate perusal.

Except, of course that today would see a deviation as T'Pol did normally not undress until the final act.

He had barely finished the thought when he felt her soft lips around his semi-hard organ already. He leaned back, resting on his elbows to enjoy T'Pol's exquisite technique. It was amazing how refined her technique was, considering she hadn't even known of the concept until several weeks ago. But then, it certainly wasn't for lack of practice.

She seemed to have developed quite a liking for administering the 'welcome blowjob' to every male arrival at C47 evenings, well, every male except Malcolm. The Bit wouldn't dare touching any girl (or man for that matter) without having presented himself to Hoshi for an oral exam first, but everyone else made a beeline for the ship's science officer, even standing in line if necessary.

And that was usually not the end of it. Not one of the eight or nine evenings she had attended had gone by without her taking a few more loads down her throat. He started to wonder if human semen had a particularly pleasant taste for a Vulcan. Considering the utterly bland taste of her Vulcan food, her taste buds definitely seemed to function on completely different chemical principles than his.

His thoughts were drowned out with the familiar buzz of an approaching orgasm and he soon spilled into her throat.

Once he had come down from the momentary bliss, he saw her wash his payload down with a glass of wine, looking at him with a satisfied eyebrow lift.

"Why didn't you join the others yesterday? I've heard the other guys were rather disappointed." He asked her teasingly.

"Since you did not join, I did not think it was worth attending. Lieutenant Reed's performance has been fairly disappointing lately and I would not derive the desired satiety by spending the evening as a convenient sperm receptacle only."

He nearly ejected his wine through the nose about her blunt appraisal.

"Maybe if you would finally let us know why you refuse to do what most people associate first with the word sex. Not that I don't love your gorgeous tight rear end," he assured her with a grin. "But what's the point in joining a swingers group when half the partners aren't what you need?"

"Do I have your word that none of this will be disclosed to anyone, not even the other members of our group?"

"Sure," he promised with a nod. It wasn't hard to see that something weighed on her and somehow he had the feeling it had to do with that guy she was once promised to. "Does it have to do with that called-off betrothal from our first few months out?"

"Indeed it does," she confirmed. Her normally impeccably unreadable face was replaced by a mien of mild frustration. "The parents of Koss have informed my mother and me a long time ago that they do no longer consider me an acceptable mate to their son. However the necessary petition for annulment has not been filed with the authorities. Theoretically Koss can still attempt to claim me as his mate, even though that would force his parents to disown him."