Sleep was a relative term. Actually, he had not been asleep, but neither had he been awake. There was no analogy for what had been his existence until now.
Henoch opened his eyes and took a deep breath of air. It had the taint of machines about it, but it was air nonetheless and filled his lungs to sweet, glorious capacity. And the colors! By the Gods, he had forgotten the incredible nuances of shade and hue! For a dizzying moment they swirled about him. And sound, light, warmth!
He rose up on his elbows and gazed down at his hands, his powerful mind reeling with all the new-old sensations. They were large, strong hands with long slender fingers -- and so very sensitive to touch. He knew this without actually touching. The most sensual of the senses, it was touch which he had missed most in his nothing existence. The mind could be deprived of many things and still survive, but not to touch, to be touched ...
A voice caught his attention, then a new flash of color. He looked up to see a female approaching his bed. Delight such as he had not known in untold millennium rushed through him. She was beautiful! Fair skin, golden hair, and eyes the color of a clear Makanium crystal. Compassion and concern shone in those eyes and gave her expression a vulnerability he recognized. His host knew her. Henoch's eyes swept over her, analyzing the knowledge imparted from Spock during the transference in less time than it took to blink an eye. Both eyebrows raised slightly, an ingrained response in this body.
The female came closer.
"Hello ... " he smiled, allowing the delight he felt to tinge his voice and be shown on this face so unaccustomed to such expression. The female looked startled a moment, then blushed as a tentative smile pulled at her lips. Ah, how amusing these creatures were going to be!
* * *
"Now ... this formula will reduce the heart action and the bodily functions to normal. While the bodies are occupied, you will administer one injection of ten cc's each hour."
Christine watched Henoch as he worked, trying to put to rest the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. After all, both the Captain and Spock trusted these beings, if not Leonard. But then McCoy had a more suspicious nature. As did she. "I understand."
"This one you will code mark for ... Thalassa."
Henoch slapped the hypo into her hand and Christine dutifully marked it.
"And this one, you will code mark ... for me." He handed her the next hypo.
"Yes, sir," she answered crisply, ignoring the numerous expressions flitting across Henoch/Spock's features. That, too, was disquieting.
Henoch fitted the last vial of formula into the hypospray chamber and secured it tightly before handing it to her. "This one you will administer to Captain Kirk while Sargon is in his body." He handed the instrument to her and Christine studied it briefly, comparing it to the one she still held in her other hand. Puzzled, she looked up. "This hypo does not contain the same formula."
"No, that is correct. But since I will arrange for you* to administer each injection, then no one else will notice."
Christine frowned slightly in confusion, her eyes searching his face.
"Without the same formula, Captain Kirk will die." Her uneasiness was turning into full-blown alarm as she stated the obvious.
Henoch gave her a curious look, tilted his head and reached up to touch his fingertips to her forehead before she could move or protest further.
Immediately, Christine couldn't think coherently. Her mind became a whirling mass of confusion as thoughts and words fragmented and tangled, became disjointed. She struggled against it, but couldn't pull all the fragments together and her confusion intensified.
Henoch rifled through Christine's mind as easily as another being might rifle through a stack of cards, pulling out any information that might be useful while at the same time rearranging her thoughts to coincide with his own wishes. As he did so, he studied her face. Yes, quite lovely. Perhaps he would enjoy her company for a time. It had been so long ...
When he was done, he took his hand away and prompted her to insure she would comply. "What were you saying?"
Her eyes didn't want to focus. Christine opened her mouth to speak, but at first nothing came out. "I ... I ... I was ... I wanted to say something," she stammered, then blinked, her brows furrowing. "I've forgotten what it was," she finished uncertainly.
"Yes. Well, you were about to say that you watched me prepare the formula and fill each of the hypos."
Suddenly, it all seemed so clear to her. "Yes ... that was it. I will inform Doctor McCoy that each hypo is properly filled for each patient."
Henoch smiled his approval. He needed a dupe, someone to assist him in carrying out the plan he had been formulating over the past hour. She would do nicely. "Very good. You see, Sargon would not permit me to keep this body," he continued, confident now in his ownership of this human woman. "It is therefor necessary for you to kill your captain so that Sargon will die with him."
Christine heard the words, felt a spark of ... something. She looked up into Henoch/Spock's dark eyes as he continued to watch her, an inane expression of innocence on his face. She started to speak, but again no words would form in her mouth. It was as if she was swathed in a thick batting of cotton, held outside her body. There was deep concern but she didn't know why. When Henoch moved closer to her there was a brief spark of panic from somewhere within, but it was whisked away in the next heartbeat and she felt herself submitting to his closeness, almost eager to have him near.
Watching her face closely, Henoch reached out and grasped her chin, pulling her unresisting face to his. Her lips were cool, her mouth deliciously soft and pliant, yielding readily beneath his. He explored further with his tongue as he raised his left hand to fondle her breast, something he had wanted to do since he first set eyes on her in Sickbay. What a fool this Spock was! She tasted like salted nectar ... sweet, but with an edge. His mind again touched hers, willing her to respond. She made a soft sound in her throat and pressed her body against him. He reveled in the sensation ... the touch! A half a million years was much too long to have been so deprived.
Thalassa, of course, would eventually be at his side. They were of one race, one being. It was inevitable. But there was no harm in satisfying his desire with this one in the mean time. It would be so easy, and he found her coolness in contrast to this warmer body excited him, as did the soft and ample curves of her body where she pressed close to him now. Yes, it had been so long. So very, very long ...
After a few moments Henoch broke the kiss and stepped several paces back. The female's startling blue eyes stared at him, vacant and unseeing. He sighed. There was no time now, but later, in more private surroundings, he would allow her mind free reign so he could enjoy her more fully. But first, he must make sure his plan was put into action.
"Go now and inform Doctor McCoy. You will administer the first round of injections to Thalassa and Sargon, then meet me in Spock's quarters when you are done to administer my injection. Do you understand?"
Christine nodded. "Yes, I understand." Her words were sluggish, her voice flat.
Henoch shifted his hold in her mind and suddenly she looked at him, puzzled for an instant as he allowed most of her mind to take control again. "Sir?" she questioned.
"You may leave now, nurse. Our work is finished for the time being." Henoch made the new voice even, pleasant, his expression neutral.
Christine continued to stare at him a moment longer then shook her head slightly to rid it of a nagging feeling of disorientation. What was wrong with her? "Oh. Uh ... yes, sir." She picked up the tray with the hypos and headed for the exit of the lab, still wondering over her lapse of concentration.
Henoch watched her leave, appreciative of the way she moved as she walked away from him, then glanced around the lab and smiled to himself in satisfaction. Within the next three days it would be done. He would have to make a show of working on the android bodies, of course, but there would still be time to pursue other interests. And he had many other interests.
Fortunately, his host knew this ship and crew extremely well. A superior mind, really, if still somewhat primitive. But the Vulcan philosophies he ascribed to ... pathetic! Weakening his race, denying them the glory of conquest and all its consequent advantages. Vulcan could have easily ruled this entire sector of space, but their pacifistic view of life all but stripped them of their promising heritage. Although much weaker in many regards, at least Humans had the courage to reach past their limitations. Vulcan's limitations were of its own making and it filled him with disgust. Perhaps later he would endeavor to reeducate his adoptive race: Much later. Now, he had to secure his place in this body and this time.
With a confident stride, Henoch headed for Spock's quarters.
* * *
In Sickbay, the sphere that held Spock's consciousness flickered more restively than the other two as he attempted to communicate with Sargon and Thalassa. He had to warn them! To warn Jim! But he didn't have the necessary power.
During the transference with Henoch, Spock had become instantly aware of the malevolence of the being he had willingly given access to his body and the immense power Henoch possessed. He had fought to stop the transference, jerking with the effort, but it was too late. Once the transference was initiated, Henoch made it impossible to abort, swatting aside Spock's puny efforts as one swatted at a pesky insect. Even those of Henoch's own kind did not suspect. Henoch had hidden it from Sargon well. But now that malevolence had been loosed on the ship ... on the crew! Only Spock knew the truth ... that after such a long time in an existence of sensory deprivation, Henoch was now totally and irrevocably insane ... and in Spock's present circumstances, he was helpless to stop him.
* * *
Henoch took the hypo from Christine's hand and set it down on Spock's desk. "Thank you, Nurse..." He titled his head slightly and smiled, "Chapel, isn't it?"
Christine nodded, once again taken aback by the disconcerting image of Spock smiling at her. Only it wasn't Spock, of course. The essence that was Spock was within a sphere in Sickbay. This was Henoch, she reminded herself. "Yes, Christine Chapel," she informed him quietly.
Henoch's smile broadened. "Ah, yes ... Christine," he repeated thoughtfully. "Such a lovely name for such a lovely woman." He reached up and traced one long finger down the side of her cheek. "Yes, very lovely. Beautiful eyes..."
Christine flushed hot then cold as a shiver raced down her spine. She knew her face was coloring and she shifted uncomfortably, pulling back from his touch. "If we're finished here, I need to return to my duties in Sickbay." But her gaze refused to leave Henoch's. For some reason, she couldn't seem to look away... And that nagging feeling persisted: As if she was forgetting something -- something critically important. The dim lighting and the smell of the alien incense Spock favored filled the cabin and added to her unease. The entire atmosphere was too ... seductive.
Henoch turned to face her more fully. "You need not return to Sickbay just yet." As he spoke he moved closer and was suddenly sliding his hands up her arms to lightly grasp her shoulders. Christine felt her heart accelerate and swallowed reflexively against the uneasiness starting to form a tightness in her throat. "In fact, as I have specifically requested your assistance, I think it entirely possible you will not be missed for some time," Henoch continued. "Not until the next injections are due, which is approximately fifty-three minutes from now." He started to pull her toward him. "I believe we could get to know each other much better in that time. Would that please you, Christine?"
Christine balked, pulling back. Henoch let go of her and quietly laughed out loud. He could have easily held her, but this game was much more entertaining.
"I ... I have other duties to attend to," Christine stammered, taking a step back from this man she knew, yet didn't know. A thrill of fear ran through her as she continued to stare into the normally humorless eyes, now dancing with some dark inner amusement.
An expression of mock sadness crossed Henoch's features. "You wound me, Fair Lady. I had hoped we could become ... friends."
The timbre of his voice had dropped to a deep, silky baritone she had never heard issue from Spock, yet it was Spock's voice and she couldn't help responding to it on some deeper level. She reminded herself again, forcefully, that this was Henoch.
"It has been a very long time since I have enjoyed the company of a beautiful woman," Henoch continued in that same voice. "I find your physical appearance quite pleasing to the eye. Do you not find my appearance attractive as well?"
Christine swallowed again and took a quick breath. "Mister Spock is my superior officer, Henoch. We are colleagues, nothing more."
"But you would like it to be more, wouldn't you?" Henoch observed with a familiar rise of one eyebrow. "As would he. Your Mister Spock has quite the passion for you, Christine. Did you know that?"
Henoch moved closer still. He was only a few inches from her now, but something in his voice -- in his eyes -- kept her from pulling away again. She felt trapped by that obsidian gaze. "No, you're mistaken. Spock is a Vulcan. He would never--"
Henoch's deep chuckle interrupted her. "Oh yes ... he would. If he could shed his cultural skin for even one night he would have you in his bed. But, alas, he is too restrained by the influence of his socialized repression to even attempt such a seduction."
Henoch paused to let his gaze roam over her face then drop to rake over her neck, shoulders, and breasts before returning it to her eyes again. "Yet he thinks of it," he continued, his voice falling to an even lower register, a near whispering rumble. "He thinks of it often here in the quiet of his quarters, late at night. He wonders what it would be like to possess your body, to feel the cool silk of your flesh encasing his and know the sounds of your passion as your mind is wrapped within his own. For all their pretense at civilization and striving for logic above all else, Vulcans are still a very passionate race, Christine. And Spock ... well, he is unique, is he not? There's that Human element to deal with."
Christine could only stare at him, unable to respond as the heat his words generated in her, both in embarrassment for Spock and her own discomfort at hearing such intimacies, caused her cheeks to flush. //Lies!// She thought angrily. //All lies!// What game was Henoch playing? "I ... I don't believe you."
Henoch shrugged. "It matters little to me what you believe. I speak only the truth. When Spock and I 'passed' in the transference, I knew his mind as well as my own. I tell you only what I felt from him."
Henoch paused and shifted closer. "And you, my dear Christine, you would like to know his hot touch upon your skin, the warmth of his breath across your lips..." One hand suddenly darted out, capturing hers. Before she could react, he pressed it to his groin where the beginnings of an erection stirred beneath the fabric of his uniform. "You would like to know this within you."
The smile left Henoch's face, his dark gaze growing more intense as he forced her hand to move up and down the length of him. She felt him pulse and grow harder with the movement. "To know this heat filling you, claiming you as his..."
Stunned into immobility at first, Chapel gasped and snatched her hand away. She felt hot, her pulse racing as she struggled to breathe. Outrage and fear fought for dominance within her, but there was also shame. A part of her was aroused by Henoch, or rather who he represented. It was sick -- twisted -- and added a feeling of self-revulsion to the chaos of her already roiling emotions.
"I was assigned to give you your injection. I have done that," she said tightly. "Now, I really must leave." She made an attempt to push past him for the door.
With lightning speed Henoch grabbed her arm and jerked her hard against him, his arms coming up around her and trapping her in a steel embrace. His eyes no longer showed amusement but a smoldering ferocity that caused her breath to still in her lungs and her mouth to go dry.
"I asked you if you found me attractive," he demanded. "But no matter, because I am pleased with this body. It has superior strength and a suppleness of form I find most intriguing. I wish to test its abilities. To do so, I require you assistance, if not your cooperation. Although I can arrange for that as well."
Christine held herself rigid, a knot of panic rising up to push against her diaphragm and form acid in her throat. She felt the evidence of Henoch's arousal pressing into her lower belly. "Please..." she whispered. "Let me go."
A cruel smile twisted his lips. "I don't want to." He rearranged his hold to bring one hand to her forehead while still keeping her imprisoned against him. "You see, I intend to give you your secret desire, my sweet Christine. You will know the fire that burns within this body," he promised ominously. "As I will know the cool release that awaits me in yours."
With that, Henoch pressed his fingertips more firmly to her forehead. Her mind recoiled against a powerful encroaching darkness, pulling her into oblivion.
* * *
When Christine came to her senses she was lying naked on Spock's bed. For a moment she was disoriented, then memory hit and she jerked in a cold panic. //Henoch! Dear God ... //
Immediately Christine attempted to roll to her side, but a strong hand pushed her roughly back down onto her back and held her there. Her terrified gaze stared up into Henoch's dark eyes. He was hovering over her balanced on one arm, naked as she was. Some macabre instinct made her glance down and she saw him poised between her thighs, his engorged member inches from penetrating her. Her eyes riveted back to his. A feral smile pulled at his lips. "Dear God..." she breathed out loud this time.
"There is no God, Christine. Haven't you guessed that by now?" His smile faded and he tilted his head to one side, regarding her quizzically as he rose one eyebrow. It was a gesture so reminiscent of Spock that, for a brief instant, she almost forgot and something stirred inside her. "I am the closest being you will ever know to a god. You can believe me on this."
Christine closed her eyes against the nightmare and took a deep breath.
"Do not attempt to scream," he warned quietly, anticipating. "Or I will punish you. I much prefer to hear your cries of passion rather than pain." He pressed his hips closer until the head of his erection nudged the threshold of her sex. "Perhaps I will hear both, as pleasure can be so near pain at times. Don't you agree?"
Christine squeezed her eyes shut tighter and made a small, whimpering sound in her throat. She didn't remember how she had gotten there, in that position, but she knew she was about to be raped ... by Spock! No, not Spock! Henoch! Using Spock's body to satisfy his own lust for the physical sensations he had been so long denied. Another pulse, deep. Aroused. //My God, I'm becoming aroused!// she thought in stunned disbelief. Rape? How could it be rape if deep down she wanted him? This couldn't be happening! But the heat of his body felt good baring down on her, and this made it all the more heinous. It was wrong! All wrong! "Please ... " she managed to breathe. But even as the word left her lips, she knew it was hopeless.
"Please? But of course, my dear. I always endeavor to please." Henoch's smile faded. "Look at me!" he commanded.
Helplessly, Christine complied.
Henoch pulled back slightly and reached down to touch her, his fingers manipulating her obscenely, his gaze never leaving hers. She was dry and his rough treatment pulled at her painfully. He forced a finger inside her and frowned slightly as she winced and tried to flinch away from him.
"But you are not pleased, are you, Christine? Not yet. I see I must be more ... attentive," he remarked sarcastically. Henoch pulled further back, pushed her thighs wider apart and suddenly lowered his head between them.
Christine gasped in shocked surprise as his hot mouth bore down on her. She dug her heels into the bed and tried to shove away from him and buck him off at the same time. Henoch laid one strong arm across her belly and held her down fast. She opened her mouth to scream, momentarily too panicked to care what punishment Henoch might inflict, more terrified by her own weakness. All she could manage was a pathetic squeal as some force suddenly cut her off. She beat her fists ineffectually against his arms, grazing his head as she continued to buck her hips, twisting against his obscene invasion. But his tongue bore down on her relentlessly, flicking across her soft inner flesh over and over again. And in spite of her fear and self-revulsion, Christine felt herself beginning to respond and moaned low in her throat. Henoch sensed it as well and she felt his hot breath fan across her sensitized flesh as he lifted his mouth from her, laughing.
"There is no need to struggle so valiantly against your desires, Christine." He pulled away from her and sat up, resting his weight back against his heels where he knelt between her thighs. He regarded her curiously a moment. "But perhaps different tactics are called for. Something to take the guilt away. Ah, yes. Of course," he mused aloud.
Abruptly Henoch's expression changed and the lines of his face settled into a hard mask, devoid of any sentiment. All except his eyes, which glittered with a calculated predatory light. "Pain, Christine," he whispered.
Suddenly, Christine was engulfed in a searing hot agony so intense she couldn't even cry out. It centered over her gut and radiated outward along every neuro pathway in her body. Henoch inched further away from her as she began to writhe upon the bed, mentally reeling under the impact, held on the verge of consciousness by Henoch's will alone. After an eternity of this torture, she finally curled into a fetal ball and huddled in on herself in a vain attempt to somehow escape the pain.
Henoch watched as Christine twisted and turned on the bed before him. The sight was immensely arousing. He had forgotten how amusing inflicting pain could be. He continued to watch her for several more moments, stroking himself in growing excitement. Ah, yes, pleasure and pain, such a delightful combination! He wet his lips, tasting her on him, and decided he wanted more.
Henoch released Christine from her agony and stared at her as she lay panting and breathless before him, slowly uncurling her body just enough to struggle for a deep breath. He gave her a moment to regain herself, then leaned forward and pushed her again onto her back. He grabbed her hips in his large hands, dragging her towards him then shoved her knees farther apart and looked down at her spread before him. A light sheen of perspiration dusted her creamy flesh and glistened dark rose between the juncture of her thighs. A primal rush of excitement raced through this body and his malevolent gaze came up and held hers.
Christine was openly crying now. She stared at him, her terror reflected in the depth of her eyes, then she closed them again as she bit down on her bottom lip. Henoch could feel her giving herself over to the inevitable, to him and her own particular demons. He felt it in her mind, knew the shame and anguish she was experiencing but also her arousal and it gave him another jolt of sexual thrill. But something else stirred, too, something that did not normally trouble him: A twinge of conscience, a pinprick of guilt. His gaze swept over her body again.
Such beauty in the curves and angles of her form. Full, rounded breasts, a lengthy and graceful torso and flat, smooth stomach. And her legs ... shapely and slender, long as the rest of her. He imagined the feel of those legs wrapped around the small of his back as she held his hips tightly in the throes of passion. Spock was indeed a fool to have passed up the opportunity to possess such an attractive and passionate female. The Vulcan didn't deserve her. But that was irrelevant now as Henoch never intended to release this body back to its rightful owner. He was committed. If he was forced to exchange with Spock again, the Vulcan would know everything ... his plans, the fatal formula being administered to Sargon, what he had done and was about to do to Christine. No, the Vulcan must never escape the sphere. Henoch returned his thoughts to the woman lying before him.
"Look at me," he commanded. Christine slowly opened her eyes to meet his gaze. Tears ran down from their corners and trickled into her hair. He reached out and gently stroked the side of one temple then the other, oddly tender now as he smoothed away her tears. "This doesn't have to be unpleasant for you, Christine. You see, I understand. With this body and with my mind I can give you such pleasures, as you have never dreamed possible. You deserve this. You have loved him for so long."
Christine didn't answer, only continued to stare up at him, her eyes large and a darker blue than before, mirroring the anguish within her soul.
Henoch returned her gaze pensively. His intention had been to take this woman roughly, satisfy himself quickly and be done with her ... at least for a time. But as he looked into her eyes, something shifted inside him he could not explain and he bent over her, kissing her trembling lips very carefully. Suddenly, he no longer wished to inflict pain on this creature, yet he was still very aroused by her. Had been from the moment he had awakened after the transference and saw her approach his bed. A residual from his host?
He had not lied to her. Spock had desired this woman almost from the first moment he had set eyes on her. Only he had denied that desire, had beaten it down inside himself and walled it off behind a shield of Vulcan control so impenetrable he no longer recognized it for the elemental need that it was. Spock had seen it as a weakness of his Human half, unaware it was not his Humanity that craved her with such forbidden tenacity, but the passionate blood of his Vulcan ancestors that strained hot against his veins late at night in that twilight time between sleeping and waking. It was then that the images came, when his conscious mind relinquished some of its control. Images of erotic passion so foreign to his everyday persona that Spock seldom even remembered them. When he did, he banished them to some far reaches of his mind never to be thought of again. Not consciously.
And this woman ... Christine. She instinctively knew even if her mind refused to acknowledge it. It drew her to him irresistibly and held her captive to him to the exclusion of all other males. They had made a pact between them, an unknowing and unspoken promise neither of them understood or was even aware of. Rather romantic, he mused sardonically, something the Vulcan would no doubt deny. But denial could not alter what was.
With a sigh, Henoch moved his lips to briefly kiss the tip of Christine's nose, then each eyelid as they fluttered shut. He tasted the salt of her tears, felt her tremble beneath him, and his own arousal soared higher as the sweet smell of her drifted up to him. Enough! Time was slipping by. He would take what he wanted and in so doing would give her what she so desperately needed in return. It was of little consequence to him, really, yet it pleased him in some macabre way.
Henoch moved to whisper next to her ear. "Desire, Christine. Lust! Such as you have never known before ... for me ... Henoch!"
Instantly, new fires burned low and deep in Christine's belly and she cried out as they spread quickly, engulfing her in their flames. It was as if her body suddenly belonged only to him: longed for the taste, the feel, and the scent of him. A deep and desperate ache trembled the length of her and she felt the tender flesh between her thighs pulse and swell, growing wet in anticipation. She fought against it, tried to reign in the heat suffusing her body. But it was too much. It consumed her wholly.
With an animalistic growl, she grabbed Henoch and pulled him down onto her, her body arching up into his. Henoch started to laugh, but was cut off abruptly by her mouth crushing over his as she tangled her fingers into the hair at the back of his head and forced his mouth to hers. Her tongue immediately pushed between his lips, darting inside his mouth to taste him hungrily. As she did she rocked her hips frantically from side to side, wedging him between the valley of her long legs and reached down between them. Her hand quickly found his straining erection and wrapped around it. She tugged on him urgently, guiding him to the opening of her sex, desperate now to have him inside her.
At her cool touch Henoch gasped, breaking the kiss, and threw his head back in an ecstatic growl of sensual sensation. He thrust his pelvis forward and met no resistance. She was wet now. Wet and cool and impossibly snug, sheathing him in her silken pressure as he quickly buried himself stopping only when he could go no further and their pubic bones pressed tightly together. Overcome, he paused, drowning in her delicious tightness, reeling from the white hot pulses of pleasure searing his nerve endings with every beat of his heart and momentarily scattering conscious thought like ashes in the wind. Then she made a sound, primitive and plaintive, undulating her hips against him. He looked down at her, saw her eyes shining impossibly bright as they stared intently into his own.
"Love me," she whispered breathlessly, yet there were new tears leaking from the corners of her eyes and she suddenly squeezed them shut and shuddered. "Please..."
"Yes," Henoch hissed. He leaned over her, his mouth muffling her strident cries as he gripped her shoulders and began to thrust in earnest, falling into an instinctual cadence this body knew without thought.
With each hitch of his hips Henoch drove relentlessly into her: Faster. Harder. He had forgotten. How could he have forgotten? Cool, silk, pressure. Oh, the pressure! Building, building. Her lips. The sweet, tangy softness of her mouth, so eager now under his. Firm full breasts pressed beneath his chest, her hands running down his back, fingers gripping the tight bunching muscles of his buttocks, his thighs. Nails piercing his skin. Such a cool touch to leave such fire in its wake! Blind now. His eyes were open but he did not see. Release. Must ... have ... release!
Christine struggled to breathe, struggled to think, struggled to beat down the bitch in heat that had taken possession of her body even as she bucked beneath him, thrusting upward to meet him with every stroke. Too much, too much. Can't hold it back, can't deny. Want him so badly. //Oh God, forgive me!// So bad that she gave her body, her soul to this devil with utter abandon. Not Spock. Henoch! But the exquisite friction, the heat ... filling her, stretching her, driving her. Harder and harder. Faster and faster. //OhGodohGodohGod!// Now! Please, let it be now!
Their cries mingled in the quiet room in a discordant chorus. Henoch slammed into her once, twice, then on the third stroke his face twisted in a grimace of passion and he froze, burying himself as deeply inside her as he could push. A loud and long groan slipped from his lips as he tensed deep within her, over and over again, his semen bathing her in liquid fire even as her muscles clenched hard then rippled in spasms along the length of him. The groan finished at last in a deep, moaning sigh, then moments later he went limp on top her.
Beneath him Christine lay incoherent in the aftermath of an incredible orgasm such as she had never experienced before and struggled to catch her breath under Henoch's suffocating weight. He was deceptively heavy, yet she reveled in the feel of his body on her. Reveled in it and was simultaneously repulsed by it. At that moment, her mind was her own again as Henoch lay sprawled over her in total self absorption. And it hit her. The impact of what she had just done twisted in her gut as if someone had suddenly shoved a knife into her and an agonizing pain seized her heart. //Oh, Spock! Please, forgive me. Forgive me!//
* * *
Spock stared at the deck of the bridge, unable to meet the eyes of the woman who stood a few yards away, innocent now in her ignorance. With the help of Sargon, Spock had seen to that. She would not remember. But he would. Harbored deep in the safety of her consciousness, Spock knew all that had happened to her, every horrifying and sadistic detail of the last three days.
Had it happened only once then perhaps Christine could have dealt with it. But Henoch had not been satisfied with only once. He had debased her repeatedly, especially after he had perfected the original metabolic formula and the time between injections had been significantly increased. The acts Henoch had committed against her -- the acts he had forced her to perform upon him -- were emblazoned upon Spock's mind as surely as if he had lived them himself. Thankfully, Henoch had taken great care to hide the physical evidence upon her body. But her mind ...
Spock shifted uncomfortably.
Sargon had offered to ease these memories from Spock as well, but Spock had rejected it, his Vulcan sensibilities refusing to accept that offer, seeing it as a weakness, a cheat against the disciplines of logic. And there was some masochistic part of him that needed to hold on to those memories, needed to bear the truth for her and assuage his own guilty part in what had happened. She had given so much for so long, the depth of that giving he was only now aware of. No, she would not remember. Not if it were within his power to prevent it.
Spock at last looked up and glanced at her briefly, assuring himself of this. Christine was smiling, caught in the euphoria of the moment, watching as Kirk and Mulhall still stood awkwardly together, unsure what to do next.
"Mmmm ... It was beautiful," she sighed wistfully, then her gaze shifted and caught his.
Spock knew the euphoria would wear off. After all, it was not real but only an illusion. He could never repay her for his life, but he could and did give a little of himself in the time he was held within her consciousness. He again shifted and resumed staring at the deck, for the first time unsure of his own motives. There was still a ... resonance between them, a tenuous mental link, but if left unattended it would fade given time and some small part of him already mourned its passing.
Kirk cleared his throat and he and Mulhall stepped further apart. "I think it's time we got back to our stations. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"
At the tone of Kirk's voice Spock looked up, surprised. He had seldom seen Kirk so reticent in the presence of a woman, almost embarrassed, and suddenly he wondered if Sargon and Thalassa had shared more than that final kiss before leaving to confront oblivion.
Mulhall nodded, her cheeks slightly flushed. "Of course, Captain. If you'll excuse me, sir."
Kirk nodded and Mulhall moved toward the turbolift. This broke the tableau they all had been held in and McCoy sighed. He moved toward Christine and touched her arm. "Come on, Chris. Let's get back to Sickbay. I think we've all had enough excitement over the past few days to last a lifetime. Time to get back to some semblance of a normal routine."
Spock saw Christine blink a few times, as if coming out of a dream. She frowned slightly and shot him a confused look, then turned her attention to McCoy. "Of course, Doctor."
Spock watched as she followed Mulhall and McCoy into the lift. Once inside Christine turned to face him and their gazes met and held. This time, Spock did not look away, holding her eyes with his own until the doors hissed shut.