Legal Disclaimer: I own nothing but the original characters. Paramount owns Star Trek. Copyright 2000 by DebbieB.  Rated NC17.


The Walls Have Eyes



Christine Chapel stepped onto the transporter platform with considerable assistance from an adorable waiter named Gregg. Chapel inhaled the scent of his cologne and giggled. He was really cute. No points on those ears, but hey... Once the waiter moved along, she rummaged in her purse for her communicator. After three abortive attempts, she finally managed to open it. "Enterprise, one to beam up."

Just before she dematerialized, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror over the bar and giggled again. She'd tucked a row of flowers into the elaborate weave of her golden hair. I look like Maria von Trapp, she thought to herself. Yeah, Maria von Trapp in three-inch heels and pseudo-Vulcan makeup. The hills are alive with the sound of music.. .ahh-ah-ah-ahhhh..., a terrible voice sang in the foggy recesses of her intoxicated mind. Chapel shook her head firmly, then regretted it as the room began to sway around her.

The crowded smoke-filled bar dissolved into the Enterprise transporter room. For an instant Chapel felt an odd pressure around her waist, like someone was holding her. She even thought she sensed a presence directly behind her. She looked, but of course there was no one there. She took a careful step in her three-inch heels and nearly tumbled to the deck. The entire room spun cockeyed and then righted itself again. She sucked in a deep breath and took a mincing step toward the edge of the platform. For some reason, the floor looked awfully far away.

"Are you experiencing difficulty, Nurse?" a familiar voice intoned. Chapel focused on the source and a stifled another giggle. It was Spock! Gee, she'd timed it just right. You're too drunk to time anything, a little voice nagged from somewhere in her head. Oh, go back to your singing, she told the little voice and smiled broadly in the direction of Mr. Spock.

The smile vanished when she tried to step off the platform. Damn, the ground was even further away than before. "Umm," Chapel took another look at the floor and went for it. Somehow she managed to make it without falling flat on her ass. She sauntered over to the transporter console with an uninhibited stride that did her slinky red party dress justice. "Not taking leave, Mister Spock?" she queried as she leaned against the console. Suddenly it was very important to lean against something.

"Not at this time," Spock responded, faint disapproval in his expression as he surveyed her appearance.

Chapel leaned forward over the console, a sensuous smile on her elaborately painted lips. "You really should relax more, Mister Spock. I can see the tension in your shoulders. All work and no play--"

"You are intoxicated," Spock announced in a tone calculated to end the discussion. His eyes traveled back to the console, his faint frown intensifying as he studied the controls.

"Something wrong?" Chapel questioned as she inched around the side of the console, wobbling on her spiked heels.

"The transporter pattern," Spock murmured almost to himself. "There must be a sensor echo..." He looked up at her, his dark eyes intent. "How do you feel, Nurse?"

"Great," she slurred, closing the distance between them. "But I know what would make me feel better."

Spock caught her by the arm to keep her from toppling to the floor, and Chapel leaned against him, her pale skin and red gown contrasting with the science blue of his tunic. Chapel met his gaze, her nose just inches from his, fully appreciating the acceleration of his heart as it beat beneath her splayed fingertips. "You have incredible eyes," she breathed.

"Nurse Chapel," Spock put a respectable gap between them, minimizing contact while still supporting her. "You should be in bed."

"Precisely," she agreed with a wicked grin. "Wanna keep me company?" Now, Chris, you know that wasn't nice, the little voice in her head scolded. Mr. Spock doesn't like that sort of talk. Chapel told the little voice to cool it and winked suggestively in Spock's direction.

Spock's lips clamped into a thin, condemning line. He was radiating disapproval. Chapel wondered idly how one went about getting a Vulcan drunk. After a few Arcturian fizzes even Spock might even consider—

"Mister Spock?"

"Damn," Chapel said. Just when she was making an impression.

Chief Kyle stood just inside the transporter room, staring at the unlikely pair.

"Nurse Chapel is..." Spock removed Chapel's wandering hand with more force than was strictly necessary. "Unwell. Please escort her to her cabin."

Chapel, teetering on her heels, had enough presence of mind to note the slight emerald flush suffusing Spock's face. His expression was cast in granite, but she smiled as she remembered the rapid drumbeat of his heart. "Not so immune after all?" she queried, sotto voce.

The only response in Spock was a stiffening of his posture. Chapel knew he'd heard.

The Vulcan watched as Kyle assisted the inebriated nurse toward the corridor. His scientific mind could not help but ponder the gravity-defying aspects of her gown. His dark eyes followed Chapel's swaying hips, his fingers twitching reflexively as he recalled the feel of that silky fabric riding over Chapel's skin. The transporter room door swished open, the couple stepped into the corridor, and it closed. Spock returned his attention to the console just as the door slid open again. He looked up, but no one entered. Chapel's laughter filtered through the doorway as the doors closed for a second time and Spock shook his head. He would never understand human females.

* * *


Chapel rolled over in bed, kicking. Something was tickling her leg. She'd been dreaming about a ship, a sailing vessel tossed on a storm-plagued sea. The scene faded into a small cramped ship's cabin with paneled walls and a port hole. Through it she could see the inky waves writhing, demons against the grey night.

She sat up in bed, pulling the covers around her like a cloak. `There are worse things than drowning at sea,' she murmured to herself as the ship lurched again. Watching the seconds dragging into hours, Chapel huddled against the wooden frame of her bed, praying for morning to come quickly.

She didn't hear the door open, didn't see the ship's mate slide into her cabin. The tall, blond youth was almost in her bed by the time she was aware of him.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice shrill, more from fear of drowning than from fear for her virtue. Despite his uninvited status, a small part of her was relieved for the company.

The young mate smiled shyly at her. "Just thought ye might be frighted of the storm, Miss." He reached out to touch her cheek, and Chapel shivered. He was only a boy, really. She ought to be ashamed of herself.

"I'm not...not frightened," she whispered. The mate had been eyeing her on the deck, but Chapel had never dreamed he'd be so bold as to enter her cabin uninvited.

"No'm." His hand cupped her jaw tenuously as he pulled her to him. "Not you."

Chapel gasped as his chafed hands pulled at the sheets, pulling the thin nightgown over her head and easing her onto her back. She watched in a trance as he removed his loose shirt and trousers, his muscular arms and chest rippling with each movement.

Without preamble he was on her, his calloused hands compelling her legs apart, his lips and tongue exploring her face and neck like uncharted territory.

"Oh, god," she cried as his cock forced its way between her legs. The shock of entry loosed a moan from deep within her, and she wrapped her long legs around his hips to beckon him deeper. "Oh, god, yes!"

The boy thrust into her recklessly, as if afraid of being discovered in a passenger's cabin. He was obviously young, obviously inexperienced. He rested his full weight on top of her, not realizing how heavy he was.

With each stroke, the mate became heavier. Chapel tried to push him onto his back, but he wouldn't budge. By the time a high-pitched cry of orgasm ripped from her throat, the mate seemed mountainous. She was certain she was going to suffocate when he erupted in orgasm, sending a torrent of warm liquid deep inside of her. She pushed at him, trying to get him off of her...

...and woke in her own bed, smothered by the weight on top of her. Still half-asleep, the nurse panicked, pushing frantically until she fell into a heap on the side of her bed.

"What the..." Chapel shook her head and looked around, seeing nothing but her tidy, empty cabin. She calmed her breathing to marathon speed, and pulled herself up to sit on the side of the bed. "Nightmare," she laughed nervously. "That's the last time I let Uhura talk me into an Arcturian bar for shore leave. Jeez, I must've had enough troffe to stone a Klingon." She rubbed her head and lay back onto the rumpled bed.

Something tickled her cheek, and she rubbed it automatically, looking behind her. Nothing. "I am never drinking again as long as I live," she vowed. She was just about to drift back off to sleep when a hand slipped under her hips and pinched her soundly. "Hey," she yelped, jumping out of the bed and throwing the covers frantically to the side. A masculine laugh sent her backwards against the cabin wall.

"Ghosts. I'm seeing ghosts." She labored to slow her breathing as the voice laughed again, louder and stronger this time. It had an uncomfortably familiar ring to it; if only Chapel could place the voice.

Don't be frightened, Christine darlin', the "ghost" chuckled.

"Oh, no." Chapel blinked her eyes hard, trying desperately to wake herself from this nightmare. "It can't be..."

A pair of hands appeared in front of her, followed by the arms, shoulders, face and unclothed body of...

"Harcourt Fenton Mudd, at your service, Madam."

* * *


"What the hell are you doing in my cabin?" Christine Chapel sat on the edge of the bed and tugged her hastily retrieved robe tightly around her naked body, anger and embarrassment mingling together with the leftover troffe buzz to form a hard knot in the pit of her stomach. "How did you get on board the Enterprise?"

Mudd paused in the act of buttoning the cuffs of his jacket to shake his head. "Now, is that the tone of a gracious hostess, Christine? Where are your manners?"

She held her breath and counted to ten before speaking again. Each syllable carried the force of a Klingon disrupter. "What are you doing in my cabin?"

"I come seeking your assistance, Fair Lady." He kneeled before her, taking one long hand in his and smacking his lips against it before she snapped it away. "What? Such coldness? After all we've been to each other?"

"What do you mean, `after all we've been to each other?'"

"Oh now, you're just being coy." He grinned roguishly. "As if our long-standing friendship was not enough..."

"You mean, as if your conning me into sampling a love potion that gave me a three-day hangover wasn't enough," she corrected.

"Now you act as if nothing even happened." He nodded knowingly at her discarded dress which lay at the foot of the rumpled bed.

Chapel stood on wobbly legs, feeling even in bare feet as if she were back in the spike heels. "What are you talking about?" she whispered, the blood draining from her face. Mudd wagged his eyebrows, and she sat weakly back on the bed. "Oh, god," she moaned.

"That's exactly what you said earlier when we--"

"Get out of my cabin, you son-of-a--"

Chapel sprang for the door, only to be pulled back onto the bed by Mudd, who placed one meaty hand over her mouth. "Remember, anything you say now might threaten our fledgling relationship." He yelped as Chapel bit his hand, then slid out of his grasp.

"I'm calling Security." She neatly skirted Mudd's attempt at grabbing her and stumbled to the wall communicator.

Mudd held up is hand frantically. "Wait." In spite of herself, Chapel halted. Encouraged by her momentary hesitation, he bounded to her side, putting a hand on either shoulder. "Now, don't do that, darling," his voice was soft and coaxing. "Think of the strain it'll put on our romantic--"

"Get your filthy hands off of me," she demanded, jabbing him in the gut as he tried to keep her from activating the wall communicator.

"All right, tell them. Be my guest. But how are you going to explain how I got here?"

That stopped her. She turned slowly to face him, the heat burning a hole in her cheeks. "How did you get here?"

Mudd leaned back, folding his arms across his chest, a smug grin widening his face. "Now there's the Christine Chapel I know and love."

Chapel heaved an exasperated sigh and forced her voice into the most professional tone possible under the circumstances. "Would you kindly tell me how you got aboard the Enterprise, Mr. Mudd, and then remove yourself from my cabin?"

"Actually, that's the Christine Chapel I know and love," he muttered under his breath. "Very well, if you insist. I don't usually reveal my business plans to just anybody," he said conspiratorially. "But, considering all we've been to each other in the last few hours--"

"My patience is wearing very thin here, Harry."

"I'll make an exception in your case." Mudd tapped her cheek affectionately, then turned away with a dramatic sweep of his arm, pacing the tiny cabin. "Since the dawn of time, Man has searched for but two things ... love and power. How many lives have been lost, I ask you, in the name of these two elusive treasures? Did Menelaus sail the Mediterranean for money? For fame? No, my dear Christine, he sailed that stormy sea but for two reasons ... love and power."

"Spare me the histrionics and get to the point, please." Chapel folded her arms and leaned against the wall.

"Ah ... yes, of course. I regret to say that you did not invite me into your cabin last night, Christine darling," he admitted sadly. "However, when I saw you and the charming Lieutenant Uhura in that quaint Arcturian pub, I knew that you would never let a friend languish on a backwater space station merely because of his ... current financial...uh, embarrassment."

"You're broke."

"I am in the process of marketing a discovery which will make me the most beloved and respected..."

"And richest..."

"Businessman in the entire Federation. And under the circumstances, I knew you wouldn't mind if I ... uh, tagged along."

"You don't just `tag along' onto a starship, Harry. How did you get on board?"

"Ah, yes, how indeed. A very interesting question, my dear. Delightfully apropos. For you see," Mudd spun around once, magically producing a small vial from his jacket. "I have stumbled upon a potion which makes its user..." He paused for the effect, then said in a hushed, dramatic voice, "invisible."

Chapel looked at him for a long moment. "That's it. I'm calling Security."

"It's true, I tell you," Mudd insisted. "This potion really works. Just think of it. The scientific advancements the Federation could make with a working invisibility potion -- the opportunity to study primitive cultures without fear of breaking the Prime Directive, for instance. Think of the military advances we could gain with a fleet of invisible starships. Think of the glory; think of the power..."

"Think of the money Harry Mudd could make by owning the patent," Chapel finished for him. "And there just happens to be a patent office on Cygnus, where we're headed."

"Well, a man deserves a little compensation for his contribution to society, don't you think?"

Chapel pressed her hand against her forehead and steadied herself. "All right, let's try another approach here. Point one, you entered my cabin without permission -- breaking and entering. Point two, you..." She paused, not wanting to even think about what he had done while she was semi-conscious. "Point two, attacking a Starfleet officer. Point three, transporting potentially dangerous substances without a permit, with intent to sell." She glared at Mudd, who was writhing uncomfortably. "You've worked up quite a list for yourself, Harry."

"But it works, I tell you. Surely a scientific discovery of this magnitude is worth one or two minor infractions--in the grand scheme of things, that is."

"What kind of chump do you think I am? An invisibility formula? Right. Now either you get out of here, or I'll have the red shirts on you so fast your mustache will straighten."

"My love potion worked," he murmured casually.

Chapel's spine stiffened in reference to the love crystals. That was hitting below the belt, even for Harry Mudd. She'd made a complete ass of herself that time and did not intend to repeat the experience. "Questionable aphrodisiacs and invisibility potions are not the same thing."

"True, the love crystals left a bit to be desired," Mudd laughed at his own pun, but stopped at the nurse's sober expression. "But I assure you, this product has no such messy after-effects. With it, I was able to enter your cabin, unnoticed by even you."

"Last night, a herd of African elephants could have come into my room without my noticing. That doesn't mean you were invisible."

"Christine, I beamed aboard with you. And nobody saw me, not even your precious Mr. Spock." Mudd's eyes twinkled as he twisted his moustache around one finger. "Now you aren't going to convince me that he was intoxicated, too!"

"Very funny. You just beamed up with me, like any other day?" Chapel could hear the sharpness in her tone rising as her headache took a turn for the worse.

"Just like any other day. It's a simple matter, really. Just step into the field, snuggle up close--"

"Do you have a clue how dangerous that is?" Chapel interrupted, suddenly recalling the presence she'd sensed in the transporter room.

"It's perfectly safe," Mudd argued. "Aren't we living proof?"

"You're lying, Harry." Chapel said. "I don't know how you got here, but I can tell you where you're going. To the brig."

"Oh, I suppose you could turn me in," he sighed loudly. "Then, of course, our friend Mr. Spock would have to interrogate me. Being the cooperative soul that I am, I would be forced to tell him ... everything." He twirled his moustache with a salacious gleam in his eyes. "Incidentally, I never realized how...athletic you are, Nurse Chapel."

The nurse blanched, remembering her shameful behavior in the transporter room. The last person she wanted to see right now was Spock. "This is blackmail," she said coldly.

"I prefer to call it `doing my civic duty.' I'm sure our Vulcan friend would be interested -- for scientific purposes only, of course -- in the effects of troffe on the human sex drive, in the endurance level of the average human female, and, of course, in that adorable little squeaking sound you make when you..."

"All right, all right." Chapel glared at him, beaten. "You win. Just tell me what you want."

"For now, dear lady, only your silence and hospitality." He executed a low bow. "And, once the Enterprise pulls into orbit around Cygnus, your help in beaming down safely. That's all." He smiled, placing the vial in her hand. "And to prove that Harcourt Fenton Mudd is not a uncivilized house guest, I offer you this small token of my gratitude."

"No, thank you. You may blackmail me into keeping my mouth shut, but I want nothing to do with your voodoo potions."

"Christine, how do you think I got in your cabin? You saw me materialize; how do you explain that?"

Chapel shivered. She had seen him appear out of nowhere, which was of course impossible. Then again, with Harry Mudd, the impossible was common place. "I don't believe you," she assured him. "But I will keep this as evidence for when I finally figure out a way to get even with you for this."

"Ah, such vindictiveness. You should smile more often; it adds such life to your face and makes you look years younger." He produced another vial from his jacket. "The antidote. Without it, the effects last about three hours. Remember, darlin', it does make you a little giddy." He winked broadly. "Don't operate any heavy machinery while you're invisible. Now, I'm going to do a bit of sightseeing. Captain Kirk never did let me get the feel of this exquisite ship. Always in the brig, out the brig."

Unable to argue with him, Chapel simply watched in stunned silence as Mudd retrieved a handful of vials from his pocket, chose one and returned the others. He broke open the seal, pouring the sweet-smelling oil onto his hands. As he slowly vanished before her eyes, Mudd added with a quick gesture toward the rumpled bed, "Oh, yes. Nothing happened." Then the door to her cabin opened, and she was alone.

* * *


Christine Chapel sat for a long time on her unmade bed, staring at the vial in her hand. She replayed the events of the previous evening in her mind, trying to figure out just exactly when she had gone insane. She vaguely remembered spending the better part of the night giggling with Uhura over Arcturian fizzes and bawdy stories. She wasn't sure how many fizzes she'd had. It was all just a lovely, hazy, troffe-laced blur. Her behavior in the transporter room wasn't as mercifully hazy. She distinctly recalled being way too familiar with a certain Vulcan first officer ... and blue flowers?

A quick glance towards the pile of clothes at the foot of her bed made her groan. Scattered among the mound of red silk, black hose and underwear were six tacky blue artificial flowers -- souvenirs of shore leave. There was enough troffe in half a dozen Arcturian fizzes to stun a rhinoceros for a week.

No. Even drunk out of her mind, Chapel was certain she'd still have better taste than Harry Mudd. Despite his admission to the contrary, she still didn't trust the man alone in her cabin. Even drunk...

Of course. That was it. That had to be it. Every instinct, every lesson she'd ever learned assured her that she was experiencing ethanol-induced hallucinations. That was the only way to explain what she'd seen.

For she had seen Mudd appear, then disappear right before her eyes. He'd been there ... but she couldn't see him. She shuddered at the thought of Harry Mudd following her back from the starbase, watching her undress... She quickly shook the image from her mind; it was too repulsive.

The weight of the vial in her hands brought her back to the possibility of a working invisibility potion. It was absurd, of course; but then, so were the love crystals. Despite her own humiliating part of that affair, Chapel had to admit they had worked. Spock had risked his life for her. The kiss he'd given her down on the planet's surface had been anything but indifferent. He'd held her motionless for several endless moments, his firm, muscular body pressed against her, his strong hands...

"Arcturian fizzes," she reminded herself. "You will never drink another troffe fizz again as long as you live, Christine Chapel." She closed her fist around the vial firmly. The smart thing to do was bring this voodoo concoction down to the lab for analysis. That's exactly what she had to do...

"Right. And just where are you going to say you got this? How are you going to explain it?" She could lie, of course; but Chapel knew she could never fake her way through that one. The lab was definitely out.

The vial sparkled in her hand. "Come on, Chris. You're a smart woman. A grownup." She sighed loudly for her lost self-respect as curiosity took over and she broke the seal.

* * *


She was never quite certain how much time passed between the moment she opened the vial and the moment she opened her eyes. As far as Chapel knew, it could as easily have been ten years as ten seconds.

The honey-sweet amber liquid had simply touched her hand, and a wave of vertigo hit. Good thing you were sitting down, Chapel managed to think. It was her first coherent thought since...

What the hell... She clenched her eyes tightly and rested her head in her hands. Christine Chapel, of all the stupid... She opened her eyes, finally able to concentrate on the floor and bed below her. She'd opened the vial; of that much she was certain. Then...

Chapel paused, trying to straighten out her jumbled thoughts. It was slowly dawning on her that something was wrong. Something was absolutely wrong here; if only she could put her finger on it.'re harboring a known criminal in your cabin, you can't see your hands or legs, Harry Mudd may or may not have spent the night with you, you're experiencing intense vertigo, you're...

Her mind finally caught up with itself. Chapel blinked her eyes fiercely and looked down again at her legs. When all she saw was the bedspread, she jumped a full half-meter. "DAMN!" Her heart pounding madly, she tried to steady herself, covering her eyes with both hands. The fact that she couldn't see her hands either only made things worse. "Damn, damn, damn, damn..."

She stumbled to the mirror, completely disoriented. Afraid to open her eyes, she finally forced herself to look into the glass. Her stomach churned when she looked ... and no one looked back! "Oh, god! I'm invisible," she moaned. "I could get fired for this!"

"OK," she said, staggering back to the bed. "Calm down. So you've taken a really bad drug," she told herself in a parody of nurses' professionalism. "It's made you believe you're invisible. That's fine. Check the pulse." With a shaking hand, she felt for the pulse in her throat. "Fast, but that's to be expected." She struggled to slow her breath. "You have to get help. Sickbay. Yeah, Sickbay." She began to giggle, then shook her head. "Stop that. Go to Sickbay. McCoy will help you."

She paused for a second. "Oh, man," she moaned to herself. "How am I going to explain this to people?" She breathed deeply. "Just go to Sickbay. Just keep your fool mouth shut, and maybe no one will notice that you've gone completely insane."

Taking her own advice, she stood up shakily and headed for the door. As she glanced back into the mirror, another thought occurred to her. What if she really was invisible? The sight of her fuzzy pink robe floating, sans body, in the mirror was enough to convince her. If she was invisible, it would definitely not do to have a robe walking the halls of the ship without a body.

If, on the other hand, she wasn't invisible, merely insane, then walking the ship's corridors naked would be no worse than anything else she might do under the circumstances. Chapel slipped the robe to the floor and headed for the door again. It was more difficult than she'd expected. Without a body for reference, her depth perception was shot to hell. She winced as she walked into the wall, then tried again, exiting into the corridor outside her cabin.

A couple of ensigns, just back from shore leave, passed her in the hall. Gazing deeply into each other's eyes with the intensity of love-starved teenagers, they completely ignored the strung-out nurse.

Don't mind me, she thought. I just think I'm invisible. I'll be all right. She watched as the couple strolled off, oblivious to anything but each other. I'm going to Sickbay. Dr. McCoy's going to make me better.

With nothing but the thought of finding McCoy to guide her, Chapel wandered in a daze toward the nearest turbolift. She didn't see Yeoman Cynthia Chamberlain until she was almost on top of her. Chapel pulled away quickly, then stared as the well-built young woman sauntered by without even acknowledging her.

Same to you, Bitch, Chapel thought as she fought to maintain her balance. She followed the statuesque redhead to the turbolift, wondering when Chamberlain was going to recognize the fact that Head Nurse Christine Chapel was parading the corridors in her birthday suit. As Chamberlain entered the lift, the nurse followed, puzzled. Sure, the captain's yeoman was a snob, but not even she could share a turbolift with a nude, grown woman on the verge of hysterical collapse and not notice.

The yeoman leaned against the wall and said in a soft voice, "Captain's quarters." Chapel lifted her head in shock as the girl began singing to herself. Chapel learned a little known bit of Enterprise trivia as Yeoman Chamberlain burst into a lively, though completely tuneless, rendition of "You Light Up My Life." The girl could not sing her way out of a paper bag.

A thought was slowly developing in the nurse's muddled mind. There was no way in Hell or Romulus that Cynthia Chamberlain would ever sing in her presence. I'm invisible. The realization came as a mixture of complete surprise and, yes, even amusement. Chapel waved her hand cautiously in front of Chamberlain's face. Nothing, not even a blink. I'm fucking invisible!

Chapel had to choke back the urge to laugh as the yeoman, oblivious to her presence, leaned over to adjust her low-cut uniform, giving her cleavage the best view possible.

Chamberlain straightened just as the lift opened, clutched the report tightly against her bosom, and swayed towards the captain's quarters. Chapel slipped out of the lift on a whim, just before the doors closed, and followed the young woman. This is incredible, she thought to herself, carefully remembering not to talk out loud. They can't see me.

Captain Kirk answered the summons on the second call. Still off-duty, the handsome young captain was dressed in a thick brown robe. He gave Chamberlain a "little-boy-with-his-hands-in-the-cookie-jar" grin as she presented the clipboard to him.

"I hope I'm not ... interrupting, sir," she said smoothly, her vermilion lips twitching upwards in a shadow of a smile.

Kirk's lips mirrored hers. "Of course not, Yeoman. I'm just relaxing ... with a good book."

Yeah, and I'm Surak's love child, Chapel thought, leaning against the wall next to the cabin door. The big question here is, will they or won't they?

"I have the figures for the quarterly budget report, Miss Chamberlain. If you'll wait one moment, I'll get them for you. Please come in," he added, motioning for her to enter.

They will! Chapel, unable to resist, followed the yeoman in. I knew it! She has `romance du jour' written all over her fake little body.

Chapel forgot the couple momentarily as she surveyed her surroundings. She'd never been in the captain's quarters before, and frankly, this was a little disappointing. The neat, almost spartan cabin was tastefully decorated with a few personal belongings. The bed was rumpled, an old-fashioned bound novel book lay spread-eagled next to the pillow. There was a half-full glass of wine on the nightstand. Hardly the pleasure dome at Xanadu she'd expected.

The nurse was snooping at the far end of the cabin when the pneumatic swish of the cabin door made her whirl. Her jaw dropped as the door closed behind Yeoman Chamberlain, successfully trapping Chapel in Kirk's quarters. Uh-oh.

Chapel eyed the captain carefully, half expecting him to turn on her, to tell her the jig is up, to force her to pay for her intrusion in the only way a naked woman could with the infamous Tomcat Kirk.

The captain walked back to his bed, plopped down on top of the covers and took a shallow sip of his drink before retrieving his book.

Chapel stared disbelievingly at the man. Not that she'd particularly wanted to defend her honor, mind you. But, James T. Kirk, studmeister of the galaxy, spending his shore leave reading, alone, in his cabin! Captain, I'm crushed.

It was several moments before the full implication of her situation hit Chapel. As Kirk continued to read, she realized that there was no way she could leave the cabin without attracting his attention. She turned toward the door, then back to the captain. Kirk stirred suddenly, and Chapel's eyes snapped to him. When he only took another sip of his drink, she slumped dejectedly against the desk.

It's not fair, she grumbled inwardly. How many people get to cruise the ship with their own personal cloaking device? And here I am, stuck in this boring cabin with this boring man who's reading some stupid boring book instead of getting laid like everybody else in their right minds! She glared at Kirk. Do something, will you?

As if he had heard her thoughts, Jim Kirk stretched back lazily on the bed, yawning.

That's not exactly what I had in mind, she added, moving to his side. What's so exciting about that book, anyway, that it's got the infamous Tomcat Kirk wasting a Saturday night in his cabin? She leaned over to read the title -- Hot Lead. Sounds thrilling, she thought blandly, starting to read over his shoulders.

...she looked like money -- from her red Halston pumps to her pouting, Christian Dior lips. Dakota took another drag of his Winston and crushed it into the dirty pavement below his boot.

"I think Cagney said something about ... an arrangement," she said, her Ivy League purr echoing in the narrow alley.

"Cagney says a lot of things," he said coolly. "That's why they're dragging the river for him."

The blonde shifted nervously. "I need your help..."

Chapel stared at the page, then at the captain. I can't believe you read this crap. Leaning back against the headboard, she continued to read over his shoulder.

...didn't take this kind of shit from a broad. "Cash or no dice."

Her voice was low and sexy -- Marlena Dietrich, only with better legs. "Perhaps we could come to a compromise." The blonde twisted her long, manicured fingers in the lapels of Dakota's suede jacket. He didn't need a college degree to know that the compromise she wanted didn't involve Missouri.

"What do you suggest?" Dakota had been on the receiving end of enough propositions to have an idea or two, but even he was surprised when the blonde sank to her knees on the pavement before him and undid his tight jeans. She pulled out his ten inch rod, which was already hard as...

Chapel nearly fell onto the bed. It's a fuck story! She held her breath, trying not to laugh. By the time she could control herself enough to return to the story, Kirk had already turned the page.

...pushed her tight little body against the alley wall. She was begging him now, her moans coming in hard gasps as he worked his cock into her ass. "Oh, yeah. Fuck me, Cowboy."

Dakota worked her hard. It was like breaking a wild filly to the bit. His balls slapped against her skin, which gleamed white against the blood red silk skirt he'd hastily pushed up around her waist. The tight sheathe of her ass was like a vise, trapping his blood-gorged cock, urging him on. The blonde cried out as he increased his thrusts, harder, meaner. She clawed the moldy brick wall until her nails broke.

A movement from Kirk shifted Chapel's attention away from the book. To her shock, she saw the captain remove an enormous erection from his robe and begin slowly stroking it as he continued to read. Her mouth went dry as she stared at his hand, moving casually up and down the thick shaft, pulling at the silky flesh with gentle dexterity.

This isn't happening, she assured herself. You are not standing in your captain's cabin, invisible and naked, watching him ... oh, dear. Already her nipples were hardening. This is not good. Chapel had never felt the attraction to Kirk which seemed a requisite for female crew members; but as he continued to masturbate, she felt her own hands wondering down the length of her torso. She'd completely forgotten her own nudity, a fact which now returning full force into her conscious mind.

The pornography forgotten, Chapel remained glued to the sight of Kirk's fist, bobbing up and down, unsuspecting, before her eyes. Her long fingers probed the soft curls between her legs, easily finding her moist opening. She rubbed softly first, matching her strokes to Kirk's, not wanting to rush the orgasm which was approaching too quickly. As the captain quickened his pace, she followed suit, dipping two fingers rhythmically in and out, trying desperately to control her breathing. She was just on the edge of climax, just a few seconds more when...

The cabin door buzzed.

Chapel and Kirk jumped simultaneously, both unsuccessfully trying to cover the evidence of their activities. Kirk stumbled out of the bed, narrowly missing the invisible nurse, who leaned flat against the wall, holding her breath. Kirk stashed the book under the pillow. "Come," he said.

Chapel winced. Rather an unfortunate word choice, wouldn't you say, Captain?

Doctor Leonard McCoy strolled in, his face flushed with the glow of excessive ... shore leave. "Ya left Gringo's too early, Jim. The party was just beginning when you bailed out."

The captain smiled tightly. "Too many kids, Bones." He yawned. "I'm getting a little too old for the nightclub scene."

Chapel's eyes traveled down the front of Kirk's robe, wondering if and when the intoxicated McCoy would figure out what he'd walked in on. For the first time, she was grateful for the ridiculous situation Harry Mudd had thrown her into -- at least if she looked as uncomfortable as Kirk did, no one could notice.

McCoy scowled, shaking his head. "Now you don't mean to tell me that the great Jim Kirk is losing his tail-feathers, do you? Think of all those young lovelies you've disappointed."

"Maybe I just wanted a day off from being a dashing romantic hero," Kirk said, his smile tight.

Come 'on, Captain. That-a-boy. Give 'em your best shot!

"So what are you doin' on your day off?" McCoy stuffed his hands in the pockets of his off-duty trousers, looking a little too comfortable as he started to sit down.

"Well, I was just about to take a shower when you barged in." Kirk pulled on his best "annoyed-but-too-polite-to-show-it" grin and pointed towards the door. "Out, Bones."

The doctor scowled as he turned on his heels. "You're getting old, Jim. Used to be you could keep up with kids half your age and leave them sitting in the dust. Now all you ever want to do is stay in your cabin and read."

Chapel stifled a giggle as she followed McCoy out. Yeah, but look at what he's reading! Part of her desperately wanted to stay in and watch Kirk finish his ... book, but the practical side of her knew this was probably her last chance to make a clean getaway. She looked wistfully at Kirk as the doors slid closed behind her. Enjoy the book, Captain.

* * *


Chapel trailed McCoy lackadaisically towards Sickbay. Under the combined influences of the Arcturian fizzes and Mudd's invisibility potion, she was experiencing one of the oddest highs she'd ever had. The incident in Kirk's cabin had made her uncomfortably aware of her heightened senses -- she looked around the familiar corridors with new interest. The colored doors and walls, which she'd considered a bit tacky to begin with, now shimmered with vibrancy. Every movement caught her eye, every sound made her turn and almost stumble as she struggled to maintain a safe distance from McCoy. She could smell the Kentucky bourbon on him as plainly as if he were holding a bottle under her nose.

From her standpoint in the back, Chapel was beginning to develop a totally new appreciation of Doctor Leonard McCoy. Maybe it was the invisibility potion; maybe it was the six Arcturian fizzes she'd never quite gotten out of her system. But from this vantage point it became quite apparent to the nurse that Dr. McCoy had a very attractive tush.

Chapel stifled a giggle at the thought as she ducked into the turbo after McCoy. It was definitely the Arcturian fizzes. Leonard McCoy was a dear man -- but staring at his rear? She swallowed down another giggle. It's like lusting after your uncle.

"Officers' quarters," McCoy drawled as the turbo paused for his command.

At his order, a flicker of panic sparked in Chapel's stomach. They were supposed to be going to Sickbay. As the lift began its steady ascent, though, the nurse relaxed. After all, this might be better. You'll go there, get him at the right moment, and confess your sins in the privacy of his cabin rather than in front of half a dozen people you're going to have to face every day. Let's see...`Dr. McCoy, I have the funniest thing to tell you...' No, that's no good. How 'bout, `Ya know, Leonard, life is really crazy sometimes...' Chapel leaned quietly against the wall of the turbo. Yeah, right. You show up in his cabin naked and invisible and try to use interaction skills on the man. Smooth, Chris. Once you peel him off the ceiling, he's gonna be really receptive to your humor.

The turbo door slid open, and Chapel followed McCoy out into the hall. She had never realized how chilly the damn ship was. Then again, she'd rarely been out of her cabin in this condition. The nurse hugged herself as she slid past the sensors, just brushing against McCoy as she entered his cabin.

The doctor stiffened. Chapel could almost swear she saw the hair on his neck stand straight on end. "Who's there?" he asked quickly, darting his hazy blue eyes around the room. Chapel held her breath until he nodded his head suspiciously and relaxed. "Last time I go to some stupid college bar..." he muttered to himself as he began pulling off his shirt. "Cheap liquor and smart women. What kinda shore leave is that?"

Chapel felt a tug of horror in her gut as McCoy began undressing. She knew she'd have to talk quickly before he got either too sleepy or too grumpy or too naked to be of use to her, but her voice was like a giant glob of peanut butter stuck in her throat. As the black undershirt followed his civilian dress shirt, the nurse felt her throat constricting even more. Brother-figure or no, McCoy was definitely an attractive man, and those damn Arcturian fizzes were wreaking havoc with her hormones. Leonard, before you go any further... Doctor, I have something to... Stop taking off your clothes for gods' sake and... Just as he began unfastening the catch of his trousers, a summons from Communications saved the day.

"Incoming communications from the Versailles, Doctor," the night shift communications officer chirped, absolutely too chipper and too sober for his own damn good, in Chapel's opinion.

McCoy smiled gregariously and flopped down onto the bunk. "Why, that's right nice of you to send it on up, son. Relay that message onto my screen."

"It's on a secure channel, sir. I'll need your identity code."

Chapel rolled her eyes. Officious little bastard, she thought to herself. You know it's McCoy, I know it's McCoy, just pipe the damn thing in. I'm getting cold.

McCoy scrunched up his face momentarily. "My identity code, my identity..." His face wrinkled up in a cross between inebriated amusement and chagrin. "Why, son, I don't rightly know my identity code. Would it be in the officers' manual? I can look it up if you--"

The twirp at communications obviously thought better of his nitpicking and said, "That's okay, Doctor. I'll just pipe it on through." Chapel made a mental note to take extra long on the man's next routine physical, and to make sure that the instruments were extra cold.

A feminine face flickered onto McCoy's comm screen, and Chapel groaned inwardly. Tonia Barrow. The nurse folded her arms across her chest and leaned against the dresser. Chapel made it her business to stay out of McCoy's personal business, and she would never presume to tell him who to date. But on the Moh's Scale of Hussies, Tonia Barrow was just short of diamond level.

"Tonia!" McCoy, on the other hand, obviously thought otherwise. A huge grin widened his face, and his eyes took on an even brighter sparkle. "Why didn't you tell me you were in town?"

Barrow returned his grin. "We just established orbit, Leonard. Quick layover for supplies before we ship out for the Gamma Epsilon system." A look of flirtatious disappointment flickered across her features. "Not enough time for a proper shore leave, I'm afraid, Poopsie."

Poopsie?? Chapel caught the edge of the dresser for support. I think I'm going to be ill.

"Well, that's a real shame, darlin'," McCoy said slowly. "It's been too long." He leaned casually against the pillows on one elbow. "I'd think a second officer would be able to finagle an hour or two...that is, if she wanted it bad enough."

"Sorry, Leonard. It took all the finagling I had to get this hook-up." Barrow's expression took on a cat-like air. "But I intend to make it worth your while."

McCoy's eyes crinkled in amusement. "And just what did you have in mind, my dear?"

Chapel stifled a yawn. Would you two just get on with it already?

The transmission's picture zoomed outward to allow a full view of her body. The second officer of the Versailles was clad only in a skimpy black lace teddy, fishnet stockings and five-inch stiletto heels. She leaned forward onto one hand, revealing an expanse of ample cleavage to McCoy's eyes. "What did you think I had in mind, Killer?" she cooed.

The nurse's eyes rolled backwards in her head. The woman was one big, giant, walking cliche. McCoy would never fall for such an unimaginative, tacky display of...

The drool was just forming on the corner of McCoy's lips as he nodded, bug-eyed, to Barrow. His voice was a full half-octave higher and his drawl even more pronounced as he choked out, "Tonia, darling, are you sure ... I mean, is this channel safe?"

Barrow grinned seductively. "Now, we can't really be sure of that, can we?"

"But...but, what if someone--"

"That's what makes it all the more thrilling, Leonard." She eased down on the other hand as the view widened. Barrow had gone down on all fours on her bunk, her body flexing like a Siamese cat during a particularly good stretch. "And you are definitely a thrilling man, Leonard McCoy," she purred, her lips puckering together into a full red pout. "I want to do so many things to you ... nasty things," she added in a secretively seductive tone.

Chapel leaned onto one elbow on the dresser, her face in her hand. Yup, Tonia Barrow was definitely a diamond on the Hussy scale. The nurse watched in amazement as McCoy ate it up, loosening his trousers with one hand as his eyes greedily drank in Barrow's every move. As the scantily clad woman continued her steamy monologue, McCoy's hand drifted to his stiff cock, gripping and stroking the long shaft.

"Oooh, I want to fuck you, baby," Barrow continued to croon into the screen. "I wanna fuck you long and hard."

Now, that was an original line, Chapel thought uncharitably in the direction of Barrow.

"You're so big and hard," Barrow sighed, her contrived speech punctuated by girlish squeaks and moans. "I want you so bad."

That's it. I'm getting bored, now. Chapel waited more or less patiently as McCoy's rhythmic pumping grew faster and harder. Yeah, yeah, yeah. Oooh, baby, oh, baby, fuck me hard, fuck me long. Just get on with it.

Barrow's eyes were glistening as she leaned forward onto her elbows, the black spaghetti strap of her teddy falling over her shoulders. Her moans grew longer and louder as she watched McCoy speed towards climax. "Oh, yes! Oh, yes, Daddy, come on home!" she cried out in rapture as McCoy's pelvis began convulsing. The doctor groaned with pleasure as the orgasm racked his body. Barrow moaned and screamed from across the channel, an orgasm -- authentic or artificial, Chapel couldn't tell -- sending her body into violent spasms.

As the excitement died down, Barrow rose back onto her elbows, her face flush with exertion. "Oh, baby, you were so good. Baby?" Her eyes narrowed into dark slits. "Leonard?" But McCoy was sound asleep, snoring loudly on the bunk. Barrow shook her head, then sighed. "Good talking to you, dear. Sleep well." And she ended the transmission.

Chapel stared at the blank screen for a moment, then down at the unconscious doctor. Well, thanks a whole hell of a lot, Tonia. The nurse leaned over McCoy's shoulder, tapping lightly. "Doctor?" she whispered. McCoy groaned and rolled over onto his side. Chapel tried harder, giving his shoulder a little shake with her hand. "Doctor McCoy?"

McCoy grabbed the hand, still sleeping, and cuddled it to his chest, almost throwing Chapel off-balance in the process. He mumbled something about `sweet baby' and chocolate sauce and went back to his snoring.

Chapel sighed, carefully extricating her hand from his grip. "Oh, great," she muttered quietly. "Now what the hell am I supposed to do?" Even under the influence of troffe and invisibility potion, the nurse in her knew that McCoy would be out for hours, and would be in no condition when he woke up to deal with an invisible head nurse. A small smile touched Chapel's lips as she pulled the covers over McCoy. "Guess I'm going to have to brave Sickbay," she murmured, planting an impulsive peck on his forehead.

As she headed for the door, a thought occurred to Chapel. She spun on her heels, turning to the synthesizer on the far wall. Quickly punching in her security code, she made an order. Two detox tablets appeared on the little stand before her, and she scooped them up to place on the bedside next to the sleeping doctor. McCoy was going to have one hell of a hangover the next morning. Something told Chapel she was going to have trouble enough dealing with her own to deal with his.

* * *


The doors of McCoy's cabin slid open before her. Chapel looked cautiously out into the hall to make sure the coast was clear. Although the immediate hallway was clear, a small group of ensigns were loitering around the turbolift. Well, that option is out. Better think of another way to Sickbay, Chris. Following her nose, she walked down the hall until a familiar laugh caught her attention.

Arex! Chapel followed the laugh until it was just behind a closed door. Misjudging, she stepped too close. The sensors registered her body readings and opened it for her. Oops. From the sound in the gym, however, Chapel needn't have worried. Arex and Patterson were a bit preoccupied.

"POINT!" The ball whizzed against the back wall, stopping harmlessly in the null grav field. Lucy Patterson bent over at the waist, her hands hanging lifelessly by her ankles as she struggled to catch her breath. "My game."

"Best two out of three," Arex panted, hefting a second ball into the air before pounding it with a grunt towards the far wall.

"When are you going to face the fact that I've got you outmatched?" The ball whizzed past the diminutive woman, who spun around just in time to slam it back. "Even with three arms and three legs, you can't beat me!"

"For that, you will suffer...umph," Arex hurled himself past Patterson in a last ditch effort. The ball just barely caught the reversed gravity field of his wrist band and spun wildly out of control, hitting Chapel square in the shoulder.

Ow, ow, ow, ow. Chapel bit her lip to avoid yelping aloud as Arex and Patterson stared blankly at the ball.

"Did you see that?" Patterson blinked hard as she leaned over to pick up the ball, only narrowly missing Chapel, who spun out of reach at the last moment. "It just stopped mid-air." She turned to Arex. "That ball was nowhere near the null-grav field."

"Must have been a gravitational flux or something," Arex paused for a moment as he caught his breath. "My point."

"What?" Patterson waved her arm wildly, coming so close to the nurse that she had to spin out of her path. "That ball was out of bounds by ten parsecs."

"It was in."

"Not fair. It hit some freak gravity flux and dropped like a potato. Re-serve."

"The play stands."

Uh, could you two models of sportsmanship please hold it down? I'm trying to maintain consciousness here.

Patterson was chin to chin with Arex now, the ball gripped tightly in her fist. Granted, Arex would never make a professional basketball player; but even so, the top of Patterson's head only reached nose level. "Listen, buddy. I don't care if you cheat at golf. I can look the other way when you overstep at ching'sai." The ball dropped with a thud at her side as the corners of her lips curved upwards. She twisted her fingers in the front of Arex's exercise tunic to pull him down to her. "But when you make a rotten call at z-ball, that's when I get mean, mister."

Arex smiled with mock offense. "I do not cheat at golf."

Chapel's eyes bugged out as Patterson ran her fingers along the front of Arex's tunic, opening the hidden seam as she did.

"Yes, you do cheat. I've seen you nudge the ball half a dozen times." She had worked his tunic open now and was pulling it out of his trousers. "Just because I only have two legs doesn't mean I'm stupid."

Arex looked nervously to the door as the young woman wriggled closer against him. "Lucy, do you really think..."

Oh, my goodness gracious. Chapel forgot her throbbing shoulder as Patterson opened Arex's trousers and reached in like a kid going for the ginger snaps. Chapel had heard about shipboard romances between species, had even had her share of fantasies concerning a certain non-human science officer, but this was...different. Her eyes widened even more as Patterson pulled out Arex's meaty cock. Not that long, but... Then again, there's a lot to be said for cultural diversity. Arex's manhood was heavy and at least two inches thick. Ooh, not bad at all. Chapel felt a tingling between her legs at the thought. A rather imaginative section of her foggy mind was coming up with all sorts of creative ways to utilize a lover with three hands.

Arex, however, was not as comfortable with the situation. "Lucy, what if someone comes?"

The tiny woman smiled as she dropped to her knees. "Somebody will come. Make no mistakes about that." As she slowly began to suck his crimson cock, Arex closed his bulbous eyes. Maybe it was the different facial expressions of his people, but Chapel really couldn't tell if Arex wanted to laugh or to cry.

With a choking squeak made almost indistinguishable by his thick accent, Arex said, "Computer, lock the door."

Patterson let loose her prize long enough to shake her head. "Coward. Unlock," she commanded the computer, daring Arex to belay her order.

The navigator pulled her to her feet by her elbows, all hesitation vanishing at her insult. "I am no coward," he murmured, pulling her into a hard, punishing kiss. His third hand tugged at her uniform while the first two held her firmly in place.

Chapel, who'd been watching this with a mixture of amusement and fascination, felt her knees wobble at the sight. She'd never really gotten to know Arex that well. While she was sure he was a nice enough fellow, he'd always struck her as sort of low key -- somewhat shy. Right, she thought as he pulled Patterson out of her form-fitting exercise jumper and drew her against him. We may have to revise our opinion of Mr. Arex. Once again, he claimed Patterson's mouth with his, silencing her giggles as he pushed her toward the wall.

As the couple entered the null-grav field lining two sides of the gymnasium, their movements slowed to half-speed. Chapel gaped as Arex guided Patterson, lifting her easily until she was floating hip level. She reached up for the handgrips on the wall as he positioned himself behind her, holding her thighs as he aimed his hard cock against her dark-haired vulva.

It seemed an eternity as he slid weightlessly into her and began a slow motion drive in and out of her. Chapel felt her own hand slithering down her belly again. First one, then two fingers curled their way into the long valley of her opening. She manipulated her clit slowly, dumbfounded as she stared at the floating couple. The sight of their writhing bodies, combined with the chemicals in her system, were too much for the nurse. She mirrored Patterson as the first orgasm hit her body, clouding her vision. Slumping against the door for support, she forgot that her body weight would open it...

* * *


Shit! Instead of weak-kneed with orgasm, Chapel found herself sitting on the corridor floor outside of the gymnasium. She looked quickly around to see if anyone had noticed. When her perusal turned up no onlookers, she breathed heavily. Arex and Patterson had probably not even noticed. The nurse sighed to herself, Who'd have thunk it? This ship is a regular Peyton Place of torrid romance and intrigue.

Stumbling to her feet, she stretched, her shoulders and back stiff from the fall and from frustration. All right, Nurse. To Sickbay with you, she ordered silently. Chapel headed for the nearest turbolift and was about to risk entering it when M'Ress and Uhura turned a corner, headed for the same lift. Damn, so close!

The felinoid assistant communications officer paused when she neared Chapel.

"Is something wrong, M'Ress?" Uhura asked.

M'Ress wrinkled her nose, her ears twitching. The fur on her delicate face was practically standing on end. "I don't know. Therrre's something strrrange herrre..."

Chapel held her breath. Of all the people she didn't need to see, M'Ress with her cat-senses was just about at the top of the list. The invisible nurse kept absolutely still and prayed the lieutenant would just go away already.

Fortunately for Chapel, Uhura was still on leave, emotionally if not technically. "Come on, M'Ress," she laughed. "Quit stalling. You're just trying to avoid the inevitable. To the rec room. I hear a T'inga board calling your name. It's saying `M'Ress, you're going to lose.'"

M'Ress laughed her own purring laugh. "Perrrhaps," she said, stepping into the lift with one last look over her shoulders. "Perrrhaps not."

Chapel almost sighed as the lift doors closed behind them. Those pointed Caitian ears could be her downfall if Chapel wasn't careful.

A random synapse fired in Chapel's brain as she tried to figure out how to get to Sickbay without being noticed. The synapse grew into an unconscious thought, then into a fully conscious one--pointed Caitian ears, pointed ears, pointed Vulcan ears...

No! Absolutely not. I forbid you to even think about it.

* * *


Chapel stepped out of the deserted turbolift in front of Spock's cabin, carefully checking the hallway for bystanders. When she determined the coast was clear, she headed for the door.

She paused momentarily before entering. Granted, she'd never walk in on Spock while he was in his cabin. Okay, maybe if he hadn't been eating, and she thought he might like some plomeek soup. Okay, then again, maybe if she had very important news to tell him. But aside from those two exceptions, Christine Chapel would never dream of entering the first officer's cabin without an express invitation.

Unless, of course, he wasn't there. It wasn't Chapel's fault she had memorized his work schedule. It's important to know things like that. She checked the hallways once more, then without further hesitation, stepped into the unlocked cabin.

The flame pot was flickering in the reddish glow of Spock's cabin. Chapel walked to it, placing her hand as close as she dared given her limited depth perception. The cabin was empty, of course. Mr. Spock might have beautiful eyes, a superior mind, and a damn fine ass, but he was predictable as hell. "Alpha shift duty, then fifty-five minutes conditioning exercises in the gym, three minute shower, then twenty-five minutes for dinner, two hours socializing with Kirk and McCoy, then off to his cabin," Chapel listed aloud in the privacy of the abandoned quarters. "Mr. Spock, you really should add a bit of variety to your schedule."

She wandered the quarters, exploring. The warmth of the cabin gave her a cozy feeling of security. "And that flame pot," Chapel continued her running monologue. "Is a fire hazard. You're putting the entire ship at risk. Just for that, you're going to have to fuck the head nurse until she screams like a Banshee. Sorry, buddy, them's the breaks."

Chapel giggled, picking up a black data pad from off the shelf. "Hmm, what have we here? Am I in your little black book, darling?" She pushed a single button and groaned in disappointment. "Fuel consumption reports? Oh, Spock, how could you?"

Chapel yawned, plopping down in a chair. "Mr. Spock, we're going to have to talk about this madcap existence of yours. I think it's time you settle down, stop all of this gadding about, give up the bachelor life for something..." She smiled, stretching into the cushions, then hugging herself sleepily. "More substantial."

When Chapel awoke she was not alone in the cabin. It took a minute for it to register, but the sleeping Vulcan had definitely not been there when she dozed off. Still invisible, she reassured herself, uncurling with a feline stretch. She'd been dreaming again, this time about Spock. It was even better than the `cabin-boy-in-the-storm' dream. Spock had discovered her in his cabin, his alien anger turning to lust at the sight of her, a frenzied need for the woman he could never deny. Yeah, right, frenzied need. In your dreams, Lovergirl.

Chapel blinked and stared at Spock. He was asleep, his breathing slow and measured. The light blanket covered only his lower torso and above it he was delightfully, deliciously naked. Chapel had seen Spock naked before in Sickbay. But this was different. Her eyes roamed to the foot of his bunk, noting the robe draped over the corner. Catching her breath, she calculated the odds on whether or not he was completely naked. The wave of vertigo that hit her had nothing to do with Mudd's invisibility potion. Her eyes raked over him hungrily. His hair was still damp and tousled from his shower.

The little voice in the back of her head started reprimanding her ferociously. Christine Chapel, this is an invasion of privacy. You have no business in this man's cabin. Now, you get out this very minute and go to Sickbay like we agreed on. I mean it... The little voice gulped as Spock stretched, the movement shifting his blanket to reveal his nude upper torso in all of its Florentine glory. The little voice dropped a full octave.

Chapel stood, drawn toward him magnetically. This was too good an opportunity to miss. As she sank to her knees beside his bunk, he rolled from his back to one side, facing her. She could see his eyelids quivering, his usually expressionless face revealing the unguarded emotions of REM sleep. His movement shifted the blanket again, revealing the curve of his left hip. Chapel's fingers twitched to flick it back just a trifle more, to satisfy her curiosity. After a moment she did just that, an audible gasp escaping as the satin fabric slid back to reveal not just total nudity, but a firm erection. Ohhhh, dear...

Spock moaned in his sleep, naked yearning visible on his face as his right fist clenched around the edge of his pillow. Chapel leaned down, a smile curving her lips. What could you be dreaming about, Mr. Spock, that has you so nervous? she wondered.

Spock stood stiffly at the transporter console, his stoic expression a bald-face lie when compared to what was going on in his groin. I am Vulcan, sexual urges must be controlled. I am a Vulcan, sexual urges must be controlled, Spock reminded himself. Christine Chapel was pressed against him, her firm breasts straining against the confining material of her gown. Spock frowned his disapproval even as his fingers slipped appreciatively against the fabric. It was torture to push away from the temptation she offered, but the transporter room was not the place for such...I am Vulcan, sexual urges must be controlled. He repeated the mantra until Chapel's image dissolved like early morning San Francisco mist beneath Sol's golden rays.

With a sigh of relief, Spock turned to leave the transporter room and found himself in his cabin. Christine Chapel stood before him, her longs legs displayed to visual perfection by the frivolous high heeled shoes she wore. Spock allowed his gaze to travel up to the hem of the tight-fitting party dress, telling himself that it was really no more revealing than her uniform, but that was simply not true. She smiled at him, the sparkle in her blue eyes an invitation.

"You said I should be in bed, Mister Spock," she teased, laughter bubbling in her sultry tone. "Your bed is as good as mine."

"Sexual urges must be..." he intoned as she closed the distance between them. They were standing nose to nose, just as they had been in the transporter room. A small voice told Spock that this was a dream. But it was certainly a vivid dream. The scent of her perfume tickled his nostrils. Her hair, tumbling like spun gold from the top of her head cried out to be touched. She'd entwined it with blue flowers which reminded him of the mizorah, a desert plant from his home planet which bloomed only at night. He remembered the cool silk of her gown beneath his fingertips... "I am Vulcan, sexual urges must be controlled."

"Not in a dream," Chapel argued as his breathing became more labored, his cock twitched responsively as he fought to control. The mantra surged louder in his mind. "You can take me here because it isn't real," she argued with inescapable logic. She leaned against him, pressing against his bare chest, her laughter as warm as her flesh was cool. "See, you're naked now. Weren't you in your uniform just a moment ago?"

"Yes," he agreed as he pressed his erection against the cool fabric of her gown. She was right. There was no logical reason to resist. This was a dream, a chimera. This was not the real Christine Chapel, but a dream image. He remembered going back to his cabin after his watch, taking a shower, a long shower, to purge her from his thoughts.

"But you couldn't," she murmured as she slipped to her knees before him. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her smile eager. "Because you did want her. That's why your mind provided me." Her brightly painted lips closed over his cock and Spock shuddered, his hips thrusting mindlessly forward. She was right, he rationalized as he tangled his fingers in her hair to pull her closer. This was a dream. Harmless.

Chapel stared, mouth agape as Spock moaned again, his expression indicative of either profound pain or pleasure. She was guessing it was pleasure. She slipped a finger between her legs, not surprised to find herself slick and ready. She was still invisible, she reasoned, never taking her eyes from the first officer's raging hard-on. With any luck, he wouldn't even wake up.

The little voice which had been guiding her all through the night was now suspiciously mute. If she did have a conscience, it was keeping mum about this whole `Spock-naked-and-writhing-about-on-the-bed' thing. Chapel smiled. There was no question of what she was going to do. She'd been too close to satisfaction too many times in the past few hours to consider walking away at this point. Without any real thought about the trouble she could be inviting, Chapel leaned forward, her lips parted eagerly. She ran the tip of her tongue lightly along the swollen head of Spock's erection.

Spock shuddered. He was close, so close. But he didn't want it to end, not yet. Grasping her by the shoulders he pulled her up to kiss her, savoring his own taste and scent on her lips. Her clothing was gone, he realized as his hands roved restlessly over her. He was lying down now, on his bunk, magically transported by the dream. With a soft growl of anticipation he rolled to put her beneath him. "Christine."

Chapel caught her breath when she heard Spock whisper her name. For a moment she froze. Her heart was hammering in response to a mixture of shock and arousal as she lay, pinned to the bunk beneath his weight. Was he dreaming about her? Or had he roused from sleep and somehow recognized... She gazed frantically down at her body ... still invisible, she assured herself. Besides, he's asleep. He's got to be asleep.

His hand found hers and guided it to his swollen cock, his mouth still pressing kisses against the hollow of her neck. She stroked the length, spreading her legs and guiding it between her thighs.

"Yes!" she whispered in spite of herself as he sank into her. She was slick, clasping tightly around the welcome invasion. For a single instant she didn't think about being caught. The only thing in the universe that mattered was Spock inside her. His heat filled her, his slow hard thrusts rubbed her clitoris with each protracted stroke. Chapel gripped his shoulders and wrapped her long legs around him, arching to augment the force of his already powerful pumping. He leaned into her, burying his head in her shoulder as he increased the rhythm, his breath puffing warm against her neck. He sank deeper into her with each thrust now, filling her so completely that she could feel the head of his cock slamming into her cervix. Chapel's hands moved to squeeze his buttocks, her fingers digging into his flesh as she urged him to go faster.

He went faster, lost the rhythm, found it again as his movements became more shallow and frantic. With a final hitch and moan, he was there. The incredible pulse of his semen in her pushed her over with him. Chapel stopped breathing, straining as he ground his pelvis against hers. His climax faded and still he pressed against her, not pulling out, still pumping rhythmically into her.

"Again," he murmured so low she doubted the evidence of her own hearing. His mouth fastened over her right nipple, his teeth scraping lightly over the sensitive knot. When he spoke again she felt the vibrations of his lips on her breast. "Now."

His calm order was punctuated by a hard twisting thrust, and Chapel came again, arching up against the hard heat of him, her pulse throbbing through her entire body. Abruptly it was over, and he leaned heavily against her, his mouth moving lightly along the rounded curve of her ear. He quivered inside her, tiny after-shocks which tortured her sensitized clit. When he tried to draw away, she clamped her legs around him, not much resistance considering his strength, but enough to deter his withdrawal. Spock's breathing became regular again, his heartbeat slowed to normal. And as he slipped deeper into sleep, Chapel slept also.

At some point, his weight became uncomfortable, enough to rouse Chapel from her satiated doze. She tried to ease him to one side, but he was heavy and she had no leverage. Wriggling experimentally to see if she could slip from beneath him had an instantaneous effect. His cock twitched attentively.

Calm yourself, Mister Spock, she willed silently. You've had enough for one night. She braced herself gently against his shoulder and pushed, managing only to twist her own torso to the right. Now his head was pillowed on her breast, his breath fanning warm against her invisible flesh. With a little more effort, she freed her right thigh and Spock rolled slightly to her left. She was perspiring heavily now, and her skin, slick with sweat, facilitated matters. Overly confident, she pushed gently against his hip and stretched.

The sleeping Vulcan smiled, shifting his weight back over her as his lips parted to tease her taut nipple. She could feel his cock swelling against her thigh. Damn it, Spock, this is hardly the time to develop a libido, she thought frantically. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate, but his hands were moving over her body, outlining the curve of her hip, and sliding beneath her to cup and squeeze her buttocks.

"No," she breathed almost inaudibly as he rubbed his nearly erect cock between her thighs.

A low purring rumble stirred in Spock's chest, his expression of undisguised pleasure serving as a more potent aphrodisiac than the shaft which stiffened between them. Chapel's traitorous hips were already moving, arching rhythmically against him. For a moment she forgot her precarious situation. Spock wanted her. The knowledge pumped her full of a heady euphoria.

He raised himself over her, his mouth seeking hers. Chapel lost the will to resist. His tongue slipped into the warm recesses of her mouth, coaxing her to respond. With a soft moan she did just that, her tongue dancing playfully with his. Shifting his hips, Spock positioned himself between the slick folds of her labia and pushed just past the tender portal. He swallowed her gasp of pleasure, anticipating her upward thrust and compensating for it. The thick mushroom head rubbed lightly against her swollen clit but did not penetrate further. His tongue thrust into her mouth, a teasing rhythm he would deny her below. Chapel writhed beneath him, clasping his buttocks in a vain attempt to draw him into her. He was fucking her clit with shallow, feathery strokes, his biceps bulging as he braced himself over her. Chapel's head whipped back and forth, her breathing ragged as she teetered close to the edge of a climax.

She wanted all of him, but he would not give her the rough penetration she wanted. Her fingernails bit into his shoulders. "Spock!" The cry was torn from her, born of frustration.

The Vulcan froze for an instant, then raised his head, eyes open, his expression one of stunned horror.

Shit, oh shit, oh shit! Chapel's breath stalled in her lungs. The long dormant little voice of her conscience came back full force to berate her. Had to come to his cabin, didn't you? Had to get into bed with him, didn't you? Chapel squashed the little voice mentally, doing a quick damage-control inventory. He was still groggy; he would be confused. And, thank gods, she was still... She stared in mortification at Spock's shoulders. She could see her hands! They were faint, nearly insubstantial in the dim light, but definitely there. The invisibility potion was wearing off! Told you so, the little voice added smugly.

Spock's expression had turned to granite. Chapel knew by the way he was looking down that the rest of her was just as visible.

"I can explain..." she began, her voice a shrill whisper.

"This is a violation," Spock enunciated slowly, each syllable falling like ice cubes between them. He started to move off of her, but she clung to him.

"No, wait..." she gasped. "Please!"

He didn't move, his gaze cold as he stared down at her. "Explain."

Chapel tried to think of a suitable explanation, but nothing came to mind. Her conscience sat smugly in the back of her mind, refusing to help. You got us into this, Brainchild; you get us out. Chapel gulped, trying to access her dignity, but when she opened her mouth to speak her words tumbled from her lips like a doomed barrel rider over Niagara Falls. "I took an invisibility potion. Harry Mudd gave it to me. I was drunk; my judgment was poor. I never would have done it if I'd been sober, Spock. You've got to believe that." Very cool, Christine.

Spock eyes narrowed and he studied her face, raising one hand to touch her cheek. "You feel solid ... substantial, yet I can see the pillow through you. Fascinating."

"It was an experiment," she added quickly, hoping to appeal to his scientific curiosity. "But the side-effect was more intoxication. I wasn't thinking clearly."


Chapel relaxed just slightly. He was still angry, but pleading drunken insanity seemed to have helped.

"And what prompted you to enter my cabin?" he demanded in a dangerously soft tone, his commanding demeanor curiously at odds with the intimate situation. He shifted just slightly, and his cock nudged against her moist hole.

Chapel's hips rose reflexively, and she flushed in humiliation. "Because..." Her voice trailed off as he pressed himself a fraction of a inch into her. For a brief, hysterical moment she considered telling him that at the time it had seemed the logical thing to do. Fortunately, her little voice stopped her in time to prevent that mistake from happening. There was no question what was going to happen here. He was a Vulcan male, a fully aroused Vulcan male. Pissing him off at this juncture was probably not such a wise move.

"I'm awaiting your answer," he prompted in a near growl.

"I wish I had one," she quipped lightly, striving for a bit of much needed levity in a situation that had the potential for turning very nasty. For a moment, the Vulcan's mask wavered, and she caught a glimmer of bemusement in his dark eyes. She smiled encouragingly, but the Vulcan's expression turned disapproving again.

"Nurse Chapel, give me one reason why I should not call security and have you taken to the brig." He was trembling, his body hot, his eyes over-bright with barely suppressed passion. Chapel had to admire him. Only Spock could muster this much dignity, naked and horny. "Well?"

A million possibilities tumbled through her thoughts, none she would consider vocalizing. It occurred to her that Spock was talking entirely too much. There would, regrettably, be time for that later. In a sudden burst of inspiration, Chapel reached up and drew his head down to hers, her lips parted invitingly. Not an overly innovative solution, considering the situation, but it proved sufficient.

This was nothing like the first time. There was no caressing, no lazy exploration of her body. Spock's mouth closed over hers, demanding, drawing the air from her lungs. He shoved her legs up, tilting her pelvis for maximum penetration and hilted himself into her. The suddenness of it stunned her, but she had been ready, more than ready, and it took only a few hard strokes to bring her to the brink. Spock's expression was unguarded again, his features drawn tight with passion. Chapel caught her breath, climaxing suddenly. Her muscles clenched around him, but he didn't pause in his thrusting. The next strokes tingled like electric charges and she felt him swelling, gathering for his own release and she was drawn along as if caught in a powerful undertow. Hard and deep, faster and faster. Then the familiar sensation of free fall, the moment when the rest of the universe faded until all that existed was this joining.

He rolled off her a moment later, rising to his feet in one fluid motion. Chapel had barely caught her breath before he was clad in his robe and across the room, pacing slowly.

She sat up slowly, her muscles protesting the work-out she'd given them. She was almost completely visible now, and for some reason she felt more naked this way. Flushing, she pulled a blanket around her and stood up.

"What are you going to do?" she asked in a small voice, remembering his threat to call security.

Spock turned, looking at her as if he'd forgotten her presence.

"Your behavior was--"

"Inexcusable," she interrupted, not wanting to hear the censure in his voice. "Agreed. But what--"

"Please allow me to finish," Spock admonished. "Your behavior, as inexcusable as it might have been, in no way justified my response."

"It wasn't your fault," Chapel assured. "I took advantage. I knew that once I got you worked up..." She let her sentence trail off, uncertain of how wise it would be to reveal how much she knew about Vulcan biology. "The worst thing is that I can't even say I'm sorry it happened." Her voice dropped to a low whisper. "You were wonderful, Mister Spock. Just like I always knew you would be."

Spock had stopped pacing, but now he seemed intent on the screen which separated the sleeping area from the rest of his cabin. Clearing his throat, he nodded toward the synthesizer. "I do not recommend returning to your cabin attired in a blanket."

Chapel's eyes widened and she pulled the blanket more securely around her. "You're not going to report me?"

"It would prove awkward ... for us both." The Vulcan said quietly and he finally met her gaze. "Consider the matter forgotten."

It was more an order than an assurance, Chapel thought as Spock walked into the bathroom. When the door slid shut behind him, she released a heavy sigh. No court-marshal. No career in ragged shreds. No public humiliation. She moved to the synthesizer and programmed a uniform. While she waited for it to fabricate, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror. Completely visible, naked and hung-over, she thought, grinning like an idiot. But real satiated.

* * *


Chapel dragged herself back into her cabin. It had not been the most normal night of her life, she admitted. The nurse felt a cozy wave of satisfaction as she thought of Spock. Not normal, but not bad, either, she told the little voice in her head. If I'd have listened to you, I would have spent the entire night in Sickbay having tests done, instead of having Spock fuck me like a mad dog in heat.

That thought garnered no response from her conscience. Chapel smiled to herself. "Probably just sulking because I'm right," she chirped to the empty cabin. "God, I'm going to sleep like a rock," she muttered, kicking her party dress into a pile beside her bed as she fell, fully dressed, onto the rumpled covers. Something scratched the back of her head. She turned to see a small package and a note on her pillow. Curious, she unfolded the note, palming the package without opening it.

My darling Christine,

Please forgive my unseemly lack of manners. While I appreciate your generous offer of hospitality, I have secured...other arrangements for the duration of the journey. Still, I give these trinkets as an expression of my esteem.


Harcourt Fenton Mudd

Chapel inhaled deeply, opening the box with caution. Her eyes widened as she saw three vials of invisibility potion resting on the soft cotton lining. A tiny slip of paper was folded over the vials. It read,

P.S. Next time, don't forget the time limit!

The End