C. Chapel BSN

@nursecchapel

Head Nurse Christine Chapel of the U.S.S. Enterprise, reporting for duty ((Unfortunately I cannot be on very often, but I usually check my threads every night, EST time))

1,361 posts

Windmills of Your Mind

The bond opened and in came a sequence of images and directions that would have made any red blooded human turn the shade of the engineering uniforms.

The way Christine looked through his eyes: sensuous, bold, caring, human, reserved, capable, intelligent, desirable—never an alternative, he wished she didn’t have to be the alternative when he proposed that sexual encounter to both of their advantage—

The directions: to lie back and tilt her head to the left, now the right; scientists with touch telepathy that can deftly play complicated stringed instruments are truly the holy trifecta of fingering.

Christine let herself do what she was most afraid of--she let herself flow with the current of their bond. She could still feel her body, was aware, but on another level she was awash in his memories, and her own; feeling them as real on her skin as his fingers and lips.

She obeyed, for the most part, doing what he said, feeling the effects. He knew just what to do by instinct, reading both her body and mind. She had experience herself, but this was another level. When and when she felt was whole bodied, shivers beginning with her skin and sliding up into her thoughts. Warmth spreading over her cheeks and chest and setting her heart a flame.

She feared she would wear out just starting--and had not appreciated his internal chuckle. But she did begin to understand what he had meant. As they coupled, she felt every pleasure that washed over him lap at her. And she was sure it was the same. But Spock felt everything so acutely, like a human sensation magnified by years of flame and passion.

It was all she could do, at first, to dig her nails into his shoulders and hold on to him, tossed by waves of pleasure. Finally she pushed him back, wanting him to instruct her. And while modesty might have held him for a moment, she was able to see them; flashes of his private thoughts and wants. It was more than enough.

Windmills of Your Mind

The landscape of his mind shifted a bit when she apologized and it became (another) goal in the evening to show her that no amount of human emotion would scare him off, because deep down and as much as he’d hate to admit it, he and every other Vulcan outside of Gol had emotional depths so intense it drove the race to suppress them—which meant that while he’d never pass up an opportunity to flex his Vulcan superiority over humans, he’d also never trulybe able to claim he was completely without feeling.

Spock placed a hand on each side of her head and gently brushed at her meld points, indicating that he wished to open the bond, but not yet join minds. Touch telepathy added a component to a Vulcan sexual relationship while a bond was open and active—the ability to detect and respond to one another’s desires though physical contact.

It took a few moments of relaxation a flicker of an image, her remembering all the techniques she had been trying to meditate and gain better control- but she opened her end of the bond, like a steady currents in an untouched plasma ball, waiting and inviting.

Ready for instruction, she thought, her lips grinning against his. Humor skipped across the planes of both hearts, like a stone on a lake.

Windmills of Your Mind

Spock didn’t smile by stretching his lips into a grin. Instead, he conveyed amusement and positive emotions (which he had still yet to recognize as happiness) by more subtle movements. The certain way he’d raise an eyebrow, the tension around his eyes giving way to a warm look—all of these things he did as she held her hands to his meld points.

“Not yet, ashayam, I wouldn’t want you to lose your energy so early into the demonstration.” He put forth the images and feelings of the time they were together on Vulcan and melded for the first time, and how that after/during sex was effectively a guaranteed 8 hours of solid sleep.

But he did still take her to the bed with every intention of recreating that night and then some more.

Christine smiled, hearing the endearment form his lips and his ind. She felt an emotion, gold and warm spread through her. And her conscious seemed to calm.

This is how it should be. The thought ran through her, even as her mouth kissed his again, her fingers sliding to the top clasp of his tunic. I’m sorry. This was hwo it shoudl be. Contentment. A humming note between them, harmony in minds, not melted into one, but a frequency along the same wave.

Windmills of Your Mind

In general, Spock tried to keep his emotional responses controlled. On the rare occasions that he did feel sadness, joy, anger, it was because he allowed himself a moment of reprieve from his control. The unexpected flutter in his side over Christine’s reaction to the gift was unscheduled, but not averse to have it happen again.

“Affirmative.” He could still be pedantic, elect to take calculated steps and movements, but Spock’s demonstration was to be far from cold or unfeeling. The way Vulcans had sex was varied and diverse as the population, but the one thing that stood out in every successful partnership was the frequency and intensity of ‘hands on’ contact. The partner’s entire body was a sexual organ when your primary erogenous zone was your hands, fingers, and fingertips. Every contour and plane was given attention during foreplay followed by a specific focus on the erogenous zones of the partner.

For human/Vulcan couples, this meant Spock was spending quite a bit of time caressing Christine while kissing her the human way.

Christine held his face, kissing him also in the human way. She wondered if it was the bond, higher Vulcan body heat, or perhaps her own attraction that made the movement of his hands feel like sparks on her skin, or like passing through an ion field.

Concerned on a certain task was Spock. Christine was feeling the full side effects of his acute attention. She found it thrilling how concentrated he was on cataloging every plane of her. And suddenly she did not feel very self conscious, for once. instead she found herself wanting to know his thoughts. AS he stood, walking her back towards the bed, her fingers brushed over the meld points on his face.

Gently, a little clumsily, she searched him, past his barriers, trying to find more warm and perhaps carnal thoughts in his mind as pertained to her.

Windmills of Your Mind

“You made this yourself,” it was a statement born of awe and a little bit of overwhelming gratitude that she’d go to such lengths to make a delicate dessert that lasts only a few bites (thus further cementing its status as a delicacy on Vulcan).

He proceeded to serve the traditional dinner—light meal of carbohydrates and steamed vegetables, a candle in between them, soft music, their hands resting in the middle of the table, and the gift presented to her neatly wrapped in a rectangular box with a length/width ratio of 3:1.

“I apologize if there is something out of place. In my research on the holiday, I came across a multitude of celebrations but this presentation seemed to be most common denominator. I was unable to procure a moonlit evening, but the light adjustment should suffice.”

“I don’t need a moon lit evening. Just an evening with you,” she said gently lifting the lid off the box. Inside lay a flower with translucent petals. In the shade the flower’s delicate petals were blue and purple, but as she lifted it to the light them transformed into red and orange. She grinned, turning it this way and that as the colors danced across the sheer organic palette. “Oh Spock...this is amazing. Look at it, chameleon qualities, changed merely by light exposure. Look as the color, and the petal’s barely there...”

She cupped it in her hand, grinning. She looked up. “Cookies seem a poor present now,” she laughed, inhaling the flowers scent. Gingerly she replaced it in the box. “I love it.”

She placed the box on the table, still a little awed by the gift. Sulu was a miracle worker. She looked up then smiling, still. “Well now you’ve won me over. I believe you were talking about a demonstration before?”

Windmills of Your Mind

Clothed in one of his Vulcan capes, Spock looked like he was gliding around the room all the way to the door to greet her. The hallway of the Enterprise, though it was at an hour where very few crew members were present, was still too public a place to show affection while still on the clock as a commander.

“Good evening, Christine. I am pleased to have my first experience with Valentine’s Day with you, albeit if it is not truly the appropriate time and hour on Earth.” He ushered her inside with nothing more than a polite hand to the small of her back and only after the doors closed, did he reach for her free hand and kiss it, in a gesture of human and Vulcan affection.

She placed down the bottle of wine to give him her hand. He was trying, and suddenly her heart was very glad. And very touched. She let him feel that over the bond. “I brought you something good,” she said, lifting the plastic off of the Vulcan dessert. “For after our lesson of course.

“I love this song,” she said, placing the plate down as well, before sitting at his table. He hands smoothed down her skirt. She did not kow why, but she was a little nervous. They had slept together before, but in a moment of distress, not...acute awareness.

Windmills of Your Mind

He kept her waiting, waiting until the temperature was recorded and she reached for the thermometer. His answer culminated in one obscene (to nobody but maybe the most ascetic of Vulcans) parting of his lips as she removed the device. That, and a resounding ‘yes’ sent over the bond were hopefully sufficient responses.

Christine wet her own lips, but before she could speak MaCoy appeared. “Planing on taking anyone else?”

“Would you like to do this Leonard, or would you like to continue to drink your morning coffee,” She asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“Just…hurry up,” he said giving her a mirror of her patronizing smile. But there was something almost loving about the exchange. Even if it was over Spock’s bare chest.

“Up and out commander. You’re done.” She logged in his charts and handed him a small data disk for his own files, along with a plastic wrapped pumpkin shaped cookie for up coming harvest/Halloween season.

With a metaphorical fond slap on the backside, he was sent out and on his way, Christine calling “Next!”

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Spock returned to complete the remainder of his shift. Back on the bridge, he was exactly the same as he was before the physical and his reply to the captain’s intentional double inquiry “All better, Spock?” was a brief nod of the head. All was as it should be, Spock didn’t spend the day walking around with hearts in his eyes or slipping up in his duties because his mind was preoccupied with what to plan for the evening.

It was so strange to have an active, healthy bond that part of him considered making an inquiry into Vulcan records regarding the subject: ‘I am bonded to someone other than my childhood match but my judgment isn’t clouded nor do I feel shame. Is this normal?’

After his shift concluded and Spock was free to return to his quarters, he set about researching all that he could on how Terran born humans celebrated Valentine’s day. Traditionally, chocolate was consumed (alarming quantities!), along with displays of affection and gifts. A trip to Sulu in the arboretum resulted in procuring a flower that wouldn’t try to bite her hand off and now for the hard part, which holorecord to select? They had made a tradition of selecting old Terran music for one another but over the years, the majority of vinyls had degraded to unplayable quality and one was left with holo reproductions. They weren’t horrible, but Spock was a man of precision and for as much as he admired technology, 99.99999% still wasn’t 100%.

In the end, he selected what he deemed to be the most romantic record in his collection (although it had more than its fair share of pops and scratches and hisses, resulting in a hauntingly warped but sweet sound) and had a small meal prepared but this was all secondary to what he really wanted to give her.

Christine herself, was at least a little affected. She resorted to giving stock answers as her mind wandered again and again to their awkward, ending in heated, conversation. She finally sent the last officer off with a smile and ended her shoft, heading back to her rooms for a much needed shower.

She did not need prepping for her gift. She had agonized over a specific Vulcan delicacy that was like a cookie but paper thin. It had to be cooked just right was was meant to melt on the tongue after the initial crunchy bite, she had left her first seven tries in terms received room for any daring soul.

Herself, of course was a different story. She didn't seem to like anything she did with her hair and finally gave up, pinning it up and letting the curls fall down her neck.

Giving up on her own closet she asked Uhura for an outfit and endured her questions. Yes she had gone to Vulcan, yes with Spock, yes to meet his parents again, yes to sign some documents together, no they weren't married, yes he was properly divorced, no I won't tell you if he is the same as a human in every regard; I Was A Vulcan Love Slave is a load of bunk.

Finally she left with an iridescent sea green gown that shone blue in the light, making her eyes appear to switch back between slightly bluer and slightly green. Gathering up the covered plate and bottle of wine she took a deep breath.

Spock wanted to try his hand at seduction? Have at it.

#I LOVE THAT SONG B ITS M ONE OF MY FAVORITES #WoYM

Windmills of Your Mind

He kept her waiting, waiting until the temperature was recorded and she reached for the thermometer. His answer culminated in one obscene (to nobody but maybe the most ascetic of Vulcans) parting of his lips as she removed the device. That, and a resounding ‘yes’ sent over the bond were hopefully sufficient responses.

Christine wet her own lips, but before she could speak MaCoy appeared. “Planing on taking anyone else?”

“Would you like to do this Leonard, or would you like to continue to drink your morning coffee,” She asked, putting her hands on her hips.

“Just...hurry up,” he said giving her a mirror of her patronizing smile. But there was something almost loving about the exchange. Even if it was over Spock’s bare chest.

“Up and out commander. You’re done.” She logged in his charts and handed him a small data disk for his own files, along with a plastic wrapped pumpkin shaped cookie for up coming harvest/Halloween season.

With a metaphorical fond slap on the backside, he was sent out and on his way, Christine calling “Next!”

Windmills of Your Mind

Spock watched her snap to attention and silently admired the way she could do her job while having a heartfelt conversation she’d been trying to avoid. But he was a Vulcan, and could (and made sure she knew it) play the game just as well as she.

He spoke quietly, partly for their privacy’s sake and partly because this was not to be mentioned in public (on Vulcan). One eyebrow raised in a very matter of fact manner, this was his species’ reputation on the line.

“Christine, while it is true that Vulcan has forsaken its volatile emotional ways of the past, some things cannot be suppressed entirely. To claim that humans experience stronger sexual drives than a species of touch telepaths is absurd, though it is a common misconception. Do you require a demonstration?”

Her hand faltered with her padd pen, almost dropping it. Maybe the bond was still open, and that’s why she felt the sudden rush of weightlessness. Or maybe it was because he was looking at her so plainly, and she no longer had to be demure and platonic.

“I...think I do,” she found herself saying with a sudden boldness that was alien to her. “I think I need you to teach me a great deal about how to be a Vulcan’s mate. Sir.”

Back to the machinery. He was almost done with his exam. “I don’t suppose you’d have time for instruction tonight? I could meet you in your quarters.” But before she could answer she stuck a thermometer between his teeth. It was not filed with mercury, but MaCoy preffered the touch thermometers for exams.

But she had opened the bond, and waited for his answer.

Windmills of Your Mind

It wasn’t a glimpse inside his mind (no way, not while he was half naked in a room in sickbay), but it was his best effort of communicating soothing thoughts, that the shame was on the other side, and please would you refrain from attempting to remove a memory so cherished.

He took the hand on his forehead and spoke gently, if a little bluntly to her. “This is not for your use. And I should not think that you would try to remove yourself from my memory.”

“I..don’t want to forget. But, it’s difficult. In a human relationship that would be my memory, but now it’s ours. Really ours. It’s a little difficult.” She tilted her head. “I would never want to forget--”

“CHRISTINE.”

The nurse jumped and slid from the bed. She snatched up her pad and placed a hand on his forehead, forcing him supine again s she noted the reading on the screen above.. “Besides...human sexual drives are much higher than Vulcan. don’t want you to feel pressured into something you might find...tedious.”

Windmills of Your Mind

“I was—I must confess, the thought occurred to me that you had begun to doubt or regret the relationship.” The contact has the peculiar effect of drawing honesty from him, and he is compelled to return the gesture.

“Although, I do not think it possible that you would go so far as to wait until a battle to the death to release yourself from the bond.”

“Yeah, I’ve never been one of those girls that found men fighting attractive. I think your’e safe. At least for now.” She pulled back, hand on his face. Her fingers brushed his meld points--

Sorrow, self hatred, relief, happiness in the contact, hating herself for never getting it right. Night after night, meditating-didn’t help. Reading and concentrating--didn’t help. She was going to kill Spock with her stupid human brain. Afraid of him seeing: see how odd, peculiar, pathetic she was. Hiding away, too invasive! No she didn’t want him to see, see how much she thought about him, how much she wanted him. Was she was obsessed? She was not obsessed, she was Couldn’t decide.

Spock--the though coming with an overwhelming warmth, of affection. Worried about him, wondering where he was. Miscellaneous thoughts about Mom, brother, sister, home, family, work, day dreams--

Spock lifting her on the control panel in the science department, telling the doors to lock, his hand under her skirt, mouth hot on hers, pushing away her own hands. Spock in the hotel, pining her wrists to the bed, not letting her up, growling in Vulcan in her ear--

“Sorry,” she said snatching her hand back. “Sorry, you weren’t supposed to--let’s...just forget that okay?” She tapped his forehead. “Uh...forget.”

Windmills of Your Mind

“Perhaps a scheduled time where you can familiarize yourself with the bond in my presence would be fortuitous. You might find a number of techniques Vulcan children were taught to be useful in shielding your thoughts, and might provide relief for you that I am able to silence it during moments of intense concentration or where my undivided attention is necessary, such as an away mission.” He backpedaled a bit as it became apparent he was quickly approaching the lengths that she could go with respect to displays of affection over the bond—was this how it felt to be her during the early stages of their courtship?

“Of course, it is not imperative to do so. Merely an option.”

She listened to him with undivided attention, nodding as he spoke. “Okay,” she agreed. She slid her hand in his. Then suddenly :I didn’t...hurt you did I? Did you think I was...”

Then she realized it.

“Oh my God, you thought I was doing what T’Pring did, didn’t you? Oh Spock.” She put down her padd, and suddenly she was hugging him. “I’m sorry.”

Windmills of Your Mind

He sat up completely, to where she’d have to look him in the eye or at least the blunt line of his bangs.

“It is pleasing to know that the origin of your reluctance to utilize the bond is not physical in nature, but surely Dr. M’Benga has mentioned to you the importance of its use in Vulcan partnerships.”

“Furthermore, I must have made my intentions unclear. In choosing you as my bondmate, I very much wish to know your thoughts, should you want to share them.”

Now she sounded ore like a teenager than ever. “When...I can...When I control it more, it’ll be better I swear. I just...it’s hard. I don’t know if I’m inundating you or not, and I can’t stand to think that I might distract you on a mission.

“And I don’t want you to think I think about you all the time--because when I feel you logically I think about you, but feeling you constantly--and I’m not used to it. Physical affection is ore natural but then everyone will say oh there goes Christine she finally caught him in a trap, and if I have to see Sulu smug smile one more time I’ll-

“I...sorry.” She realized she was rambling, and hugged the padd to her chest.

Windmills of Your Mind

This was the time he could sit himself up on his elbows to get closer to her and just hope that maybe, he had gotten through to her. And maybe that his plan to inquire after her feelings could be aborted, maybe if he could just sneak a little bit of feeling into this interaction she could see what he was trying to say without really communicating at all.

But that was cheating, and cheating was never fortuitous to a relationship.

“I merely wished to see if the bond was working. I haven’t—noticed it being used much.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine,” she said, leaning against the examination table. “Doctor M’Benga examined me, said everything was back to normal. And Neither of us have been in trouble so...” He looked at her padd. “And we haven’t....since Vulcan so. Besides you don’t want to be bored with my thoughts.” She tried to pass it off with a laugh, looking at the screen above his head.

But she was blushing

Windmills of Your Mind

Christine felt it, and her first instinct was to respond, and open the flood gates. But she couldn’t. She had to learn to control her mind. He could not be inundated with the throes of human emotions in his day to day life. Especially not one as dangerous as his. Besides that...she wasn’t ready to let him break down all her secrets, especially home much she thought about him. Thought about him privately. She didn’t want him thinking all the crew member’s whispers were right.

When he reached out, Christine looked up, a little surprised at his test. “Something wrong,” she said. Her voice was an octave lower. Softer. She was talking to Spock now, not her commander.

Windmills of Your Mind

“Hello commander,” he said watching the numbers. “...You’re a little underweight. Alright lie down please.”

She came over and smiled at him as she felt along his side. “How is this scar? You said on Friday that it was acting up?” He bent and peered at his skin. The tangible taste of cream in her mouth, that’s how the bond felt to her. And a tingle over her fingers. The buzz of his mind against hers.

Windmills of Your Mind

“As ever Mr. Spock you are logical and efficient,” Jim said raising his cup. “Though once you return to marital bliss your chess game will become hard to beat once more.”

–

When Spock entered Sick Bay there was already a few crew members waiting thwir turn in the queue. He saw Christine pop out for a second reading off a name and taking him into the next room. Of course his rank put him a head of the lone but not by much.

“There you are, Mr. Spock. Today is a day for miracles.” The doctor came around his desk and Atwood arms folded. He had not exactly warmed to the idea of Spock and Christine. But after the Vulcan’t effort to make a ‘honest woman’ out of her, he seemed less hostile than before. He looked around and lowered his voice so only Vulcan ears could catch his words. “Has marital bliss warmed you to the idea of nessisary medical exams?”

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Never one to pass up undermining the doctor, Spock returned with an even tone, “Perhaps to their purpose, but not to their administration.”

“If Nurse Chapel is not otherwise engaged (suddenly, he had to find a hundred new synonyms for that word) attending to another patient, I should like for her to conduct my exam, or at the very least sign my clearance.”

McCoy pursed his lips. "This is a place of medicine, Spock not a soda bar. You want a date carve out time." But he of course had not said no. With a bit more huffing a puffing he let Spock go.

Chekhov smiled at the commander, tucking a wrapped pastry into his pocket as he passed, his exam ed finished. Apperently that's what had brought on the spur of early attendees. Christine had made something and placed them in a basket individually wrapped. "Commander," she called. "You're up."

She disappeared into the exam room, flicking switches on the machinery that changed it from human readings to Vulcan. "Both shirts off and boots, sir. Stand on the scale first." She waited, paddin in arm, kind if professional smile in place.

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