Vulcan for Valentine

By Elessar

Rating: R

Genres: fluff humour


This story has been read by 472 people.
This story has been read 642 times.

By John O.

Rating: R – some language/sexuality
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Star Trek characters/names/fans’ souls/etc. I call shenanigans.
Genre: Pure fluff, humor--bordering on farce.

A/N: Just a quick Valentine’s Day fic that I just had to do, and it’s on short notice with only minor beta’ing so be gentle ;). Takes place in Season 2, (Not a part of my “Vulcan For…” series -- the name just happened to fit ;. It’s a standalone.} Oh and shoutouts to all my TnT-writer peeps 8).


The Enterprise had been smooth-sailing for a few solid weeks with little of interest crossing its celestial path. Just when Hoshi thought she was going to nod off, a tone broke the silence of the Bridge’s gamma shift and she straightened herself to investigate. A ship appeared on the medium-range sensors, dropping out of warp. She wheeled around to face the tactical station.

“Ensign Lynch, tactical status.” The young man was already tapping several keys and commands.

“No weapons active on the incoming ship. Should I polarize hull plating?” Hoshi chewed her lip nervously. Raising hull plating automatically triggered a heightened tactical alert, and a criminally thunderous klaxon that was sure to wake the Captain in a quite unceremonious manner. She decided to pursue diplomacy first and shook her head.

She signaled the universal translator to transmit a universal greeting and declaration of friendly intentions. There was no response. She held the earpiece, anxiously listening for a long minute and a half.

“The ship is within weapon’s range ma’am,” the young officer reminded her. Still nothing.

“Polarize hull plating. Call the Captain,” she finally decided.


“Yes, yes, so glad this tiny misunderstanding could be… repaired,” the man smiled congenially through a handlebar mustache and unkempt beard. T’Pol kept a generous distance as the man continued strolling down the corridor beside the Captain.

“As am I. I apologize if my communications officer gave you a scare by arming our weapons, however it is standard procedure,” he furrowed his brows more seriously as they stopped near the sickbay doors.

“Of course, of course!” the man gesticulated wildly. “You must understand, it is not always safe to go around greeting those you encounter in the random, deeps of space,” he smiled congenially, nodding rapidly as if to agree with himself. His eyes got big and his wooly brows flared like a beast’s above his wildly blaring eyes. “Perhaps, however, we may still conduct trade!” He slapped the Captain on the back.

“Of course,” Archer forced a smile as he ushered the man towards sickbay. “As soon as Dr. Phlox checks you out.” The man stopped suddenly and stroked his beard with a bright smile.

“Phlox, you say? That is an odd name.”

“Yes, our doctor is not human. He is a Denobulan,” the man’s eyes flared briefly but his smile never faltered.

“Denobulans… Ah yes, yes, very pleasant folk, but they don’t trade much, I’m sorry to say,” he said with an exaggerated frown. He continued two generous steps before stopping and jutting a finger in the air, “Oh yes I have just remembered, I must return to my ship to collect an assortment of products your crew may find… intriguing!” he cried out with excitement. Before Archer could protest, the man was stomping back down the corridor at a jaunt, already just a step from the airlock. T’Pol’s nose crinkled in horror as he passed while she attempted to clandestinely keep as much distance from him as possible. The Captain turned and gave her a confused frown.

“Strange fellow,” he muttered as he moved to return to the bridge.


“What did he say his name was again?”

“Fenton Abelard Tennyson,” T’Pol recalled aloud.

“Huh… strange name,” Archer mused as they continued to the bridge.


2 Days Later

Archer sat on the bridge during the beta shift, curiously eying the crewman who littered the various stations about the bridge. There it is again, he thought.

Travis at the helm smiled at Hoshi, Hoshi smiled at Tucker at the engineering console, Tucker smiled back at Hoshi and then T’Pol glared at Tucker. Sigh. There they go again, he thought in desperation as Tucker and T’Pol rose from their respective stations without a word and disappeared into the lift.

Then he noticed Hoshi was pouting until she received another suggestive smile from Crewman Johnson, to whom she responded with batted lashes and a generous smile as well. Archer was perplexed, it was as if he was the only one not involved yet somehow the only one aware of this convoluted soap opera of gestures and body language circulating around the bridge like a damned wild fire. But what could he do? There weren’t any actions to punish, he thought. Until he suddenly recalled what he had seen from Tucker and T’Pol over these past few weeks. Then again, he wasn’t sure where the lines could be drawn for those two considering T’Pol wasn’t Starfleet. Wait a second, he thought. Am I considering that Trip and T’Pol are sexually involved?

He needed some air. “Lieutenant, you have the bridge,” Archer called over his shoulder to an anonymous young man who nodded the affirmative. He calmly entered the lift, closely followed by Hoshi with a PADD in her hand. He turned to press B-Deck when he was surprised to find the Comm officer had followed. She smiled affectionately and gripped the PADD to her chest.

“Something for Phlox,” she muttered nervously and he nodded graciously. As the lift doors closed the Ensign held her eyes with the Captain’s a few moments longer as he turned to stare ubiquitously at anything but her. He turned slowly to find the young Asian woman was still looking at him determinedly. He frowned in discomfort under her stare.

“Yes, Hoshi?” A moment later she punched the halt button the lift and dropped the PADD to the ground, throwing herself into Archer’s chest and pinning him against the wall while her hands crept up his uniform and around his jaw.

“Hoshi! What are you doing?!” To make her point more convincingly she deferred to her specialty – communication. The kind that doesn’t use words, anyway. She pinned his mouth to hers powerfully and utilized every complex conjugation she could manage while continuing to grind her lower half into the Captain’s. He knew it was the wrong thing to do, and somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered what the hell was going on; but he had picked the best linguist in the world to serve aboard the Enterprise and her oral talents didn’t end with translations. Just when he thought her pelvis would wear a hole in the front of his uniform she jutted a leg up beside him until her knee pressed against the wall of the lift and Jonathan grabbed ahold of her thigh. She pulled back and watched the dazed and confused Captain try to collect his thoughts.

A few seconds of lucidity began to clear up his clouded mind as he shook his head. “No, we can’t do this, it’s against protocol Hoshi,” he panted, out of breath. She cocked her head to one side and reached back to release her hair pin. The dark mass of raven hair went flowing down her shoulders. She watched his flaring eyes carefully with a coy smile on her face.

“That’s not what you said in Brazil… you remember Jon, before I left Starfleet?” she whispered into his ear as she sprang closer, kissing his neck and earlobe. “You remember all those nights we spent together, hm?” she asked in a sultry whisper as she pressed her hand into his chest and drove it downwards until she took a handful of “Jon”.

“There’s nobody that knows more about you than I do,” she spoke softly into his ear. He turned just enough to watch her defiantly stretch her out her tongue and taste the rough skin of his neck once again. And then it was all over for Jonathan Archer’s professional detachment.


A few decks away, Trip Tucker and T’Pol strode briskly from one corridor to the next. T’Pol moved with determination and a singular purpose, while Trip was more easily distracted by the odd conglomerations of crewmen littering the halls in various places. Every few sections they would pass a pair of crewmen or officers making out, but before Trip could stop to protest, the Vulcan jerked him by the hand to continue.

As they moved past one of the labs, suddenly the door whooshed open just as Tucker passed. From within the lab a melded pair of bodies flew across the hallway in one solid motion and impacted hard on the bulkhead. Trip winced as he watched, but apparently the two wrapped in a passionate embrace didn’t notice save for a loud groan collectively emitted as the two just kept on. A trio of scientists poked their heads from out of the lab doors to find their colleagues, a man and a woman, planted against the bulkhead in a fiery embrace. A maelstrom of lips and groping hands was all that was visible in the mass of bodies that, under normal conditions, was a pair of very introverted crewmen that worked in the astrosciences department. They were in T’Pol’s chain of command but Tucker knew she wasn’t in any mood to exercise professional authority.

“John, Christine! What the hell is going on here?” The two peeled themselves apart and straightened their respective glasses while trying to stand at attention to Tucker’s barked command. The tall, beautiful young woman of very petite build had long blonde hair now dangling in a ruffled mess down to her belly. The young blonde man’s crooked glasses did little to hide the bead of blood as it emanated from a tiny “love scratch” decorating one side of his face. Both were barely still in uniform; the female’s tunic was torn off leaving her in just a Starfleet under-tank and the male in a matching undershirt.

“This is a starship, not a singles’ club, now get –” but before Tucker could finish berating the sweaty, heaving lovers on the finer points of officer etiquette – a powerful arm jerked him by the shoulder. As he spun around to find T’Pol the perpetrator, he was about to complain when she grabbed him violently and kissed him roughly in front of the four scientists, biting his lip lightly in the process. He yelped at first but when she wrapped her fingers around the nape of his neck he merely groaned with pleasure and lifted her against the bulkhead.

Specialists Riley, Mitchell and Kent still peered out in shock from the edges of the lab doors. The three shared a befuddled look of shock before nodding to one another and flying out the door of the lab to find their own female crewmen. It was obvious to the intelligent men that something was seriously affecting the hormones of everyone on the ship and they weren’t about to be left out. As the two disappeared down the corridor and Commander Tucker and Subcommander T’Pol finally composed themselves and continued their journey to some unknown destination, the male and female scientists remained standing in the hall.

They glanced at one another for a moment in relief. A smile broke out across John’s face as he leapt into Christine who tore at his remaining clothing and tumbled with him back into the lab.


The door couldn’t possibly open fast enough. The panels whined and groaned as Tucker pushed it along harder, making room for he and T’Pol to spill into the dark room as a conjoined mass of kissing and sucking flesh.

She reached around his uniform, wasting no time to relieve him of it. He stood there in front of her in nothing but jet blue Starfleet skivvies. She stepped back from him and reduced her own uniform to a dark pile of cloth around her ankles before stepping out of it. Trip had always wondered if she went commando under those skinsuits, and he was all the happier to know she didn’t.

He approached her in the near-darkness, lit only by the pale light of the plasma lamp against the far wall of the Subcommander’s quarters. Her eyes burned with need as they met his face, wide and anxious to remove his briefs. He put his hands around her shoulders and traced the length of her golden copper skin. Down her arms and to her taut belly, he stuck his fingers into the lining of her undergarment. He dropped to one knee, reverently wrapping one hand around her to rest against her firm buttocks and steady himself as he moved forward. His mouth came to rest against her fiery skin, sending bolts of electricity through her body as her head leant back in ecstasy. His lips opened and took a mouthful of flesh just above her thigh into his mouth, playfully sucking the tender flesh between his lips. He moved from one end of her trunk to the other, taking loving bites and kisses out of the Vulcan’s powerful muscular frame. The panties matched her chestnut brown eyes, and its material was something he had never felt before – smooth like satin but thick like nylon. He kissed the bone of her hip where the waistband held itself, and quickly pulled the dark panties down to her knees. He faced the beautiful swollen bud of her sexuality and moved both hands to cup her buttocks and bring her closer. She allowed her legs to widen, his face brushing the softness of her thighs and sending shivers up and down her body as the bristling stubble tickled her most sensitive area.

When her scalding hot core was only an inch from his hungry lips, she reached down and drove her fingers through his hair over and over again. She caressed his kneeling face as he looked up into her clouded brown eyes. He blew a gentle, warm draft across her womanhood that rocked her hips and threatened to topple her to the floor. As she steadied herself from the onslaught, he drove his tongue and lips into her, and she cried out in release.


The Next Day

“Who?” Phlox inquired with confusion. Archer took two steps and frowned in frustration.

“Fenton Abelard Tennyson,” Archer repeated exhaustively, nearly out of breath.

“No, he didn’t report for a medical examination three days ago, who was he?”

Archer sighed and rubbed the circles around his eyes. “He was a trader we ran into. He said he wanted to offer us fair trade, and I sent him here... several times,” Archer recalled in irritation. “… To get a medical workup, and make sure he wasn’t carrying any contaminants.”

“Ah – ha, I see,” Phlox replied slowly. He squinted in an uncharacteristic frown.

“Fenton Abelard…” his eyes grew large and full of concern. “Oh my,” he muttered quietly. “Of course, of course! The virus!”

”What, what, what are you talking about?” Archer stammered as beads of sweat trickled down his forehead and burning his eyes. Phlox was already on the other side of sickbay checking medical records.

“Phlox! What virus?”

”While I was participating in a medical exchange program on Deneb IV, there was an outbreak of a strange virus that effected only hormone production in Humans. We finally traced the introduction of the virus back to trade ship commanded by a man called Abelard Fenton Mudd.”

“What? That sonofabitch put a virus on my ship?” Phlox immediately noticed Archer was sweating profusely, his eyes were dilated and his respiration appeared to be quite rapid.

“Captain you don’t look so well,” Phlox chided in concern as he guided Jonathan to a biobed for him to sit.

“I’m fine,” he reassured Phlox while patting the kind Denobulan on the shoulder. “I’m just a little,” he groaned in pain as he lay back on the bed, wincing as every bone and sinew ached.

“Just a little too old for this much, uh… work,” he groaned. Phlox nodded knowingly and returned to a console.

“As I suspected,” he accused gently. “What?” Archer asked between furrowed brows.

“I believe this ‘trader’ you encountered passed off a sort of aphrodisiac onto the ship, most likely through one of his products. Is he still aboard?”

“No, he’s long gone. He left two days ago, probably long gone,” he moved to sit up and groaned in pain, collapsing back onto the biobed. Phlox chuckled at the Captain’s apparent anguish as he approached his side.

“You’re supposed to heal me, Doc, not laugh at your patients,” he complained.

“Oh, I was only thinking how this little bout of sexual exertion just might get the crew into better shape. In fact, I’m sure Lieutenant Reed’s staff could stand a little more of this virus for ‘enhanced combat stamina’,” Phlox chuckled. The Captain winced as Phlox applied cut and bruise ointment to several parts of his body.

“Trust me,” Archer groaned beneath the doctor’s hands. “I think Malcolm’s getting enough training. I haven’t seen him on the bridge in two days,” he groaned. Both men laughed while the Captain’s were intermittently interrupted with yelps of pain.

“Lieutenant Kelly and Crewmen Katie, Persian, Kent and Boush were all in earlier today for similar injuries. Ensign Fili left only a few moments ago. They too were treated for exhaustion, severe bruises, contusions, cuts and scrapes,” the doctor trailed off as he dropped a tool into a tray and retrieved another. He went to the Captain’s side and took a blood sample.

“What was that for?”

“I’m just confirming that you are effected by the same virus everyone else on the ship is,” he replied calmly. “Can this thing get out of hand?” Archer sprang up and winced in pain.

“Calm yourself, Captain, please relax,” he calmly asked as he pressed the Captain down to the bed again by the shoulders.

“I assure you, the crew is not in any immediate danger,” he mused quietly as a smile threatened to break his face in two. “As I said, I have seen this virus before and it is quite benign in nature. Its effects are temporary. They will only last a couple of days after introduction into the body before the Human immune system begins to naturally break it down. In fact if this was introduced three days ago, the effects should be wearing off… however, the crew may continue to retain any… non-physical consequences of the virus’s effects.”

Phlox returned to a console across sickbay and deposited the Captain’s blood, tapped several commands and returned to his side while it computed the results.

“The trader, do you know what he sold to the crew?” Archer shook his head as he tried to recall small talk he made with the Chef’s attendant at breakfast that morning. The young man was saying something about some candy he was able to procure from the trader for his girlfriend for Valentine’s Day.

“Valentines candy, maybe.”

“That would be a logical delivery system, for a virological aphrodisiac,” Phlox grunted in discontent.

“So this virus is the reason everyone has been acting so…”

“Aroused?” Phlox added. Jon nodded with a groan as Phlox chuckled.


“How?” Archer asked curiously. He was immediately sorry.

“It attaches itself to the cellular membrane and interferes with normal hormone production. The typical affect in humans is a… hyperactive increase in sexual awareness,” he replied with a splitting grin.

Archer straightened himself on the biobed and blinked up at the ceiling. “Just human, it doesn’t effect you?”

“No, I’m afraid Denobulan physiology is incompatible with the virus.”

”And Vulcan?” Archer asked ominously.

“Ah…” Phlox replied simply as he inferred from the question Archer’s real question of interest.

“I have never before seen its effects on a Vulcan, however, the human and Vulcan adrenal glands are largely similar. I would expect… similar effects,” he replied simply. Archer groaned aloud as he rubbed his eyes. The paperwork, oh lord, the paperwork.



I really liked the friendship and warmth between the crew members. But why is everybody so afraid of T'Pol? ;) Great line, seeing T'Pol not as Vulcan, but simply as T'Pol.

You need to be logged in to the forum to leave a review!