GHOST IN THE SHELL
by Angelina Vansen (angelina@gunmetaldark.com)

RATING: NC-17
CODES: J/7
SUMMARY: "Who are you? Who slips inside my robot body and whispers to my ghost?" Apologies to Masamune Shirow, from whom I keep stealing titles.


She cannot make her understand. There is something else. As they both get ready one morning, she tries to explain to her Captain. But Janeway, dressed only in her Starfleet briefs and bra and late for her shift, doesn't understand.

"It's just an orgasm, Seven," she laughs, her voice still throaty from their passion. "It's different for everybody."

"No," Seven insists, her cleft chin jutting out defiantly. "It is not just an orgasm. Perhaps I am only fully aware of it when I am having an orgasm, but it IS happening."

But Kathryn doesn't have time. She is dismissive. "Look. If you're THAT worried, go to the Doctor, I'm sure he'll reassure you. But do me a favour. Tell him you were masturbating, huh?"

This is a whole other issue. Kathryn and Seven's secret romance. A whole other way to make Seven annoyed. Possibly to distract her. But Seven is a single-minded individual. "I am surprised you are not more concerned, Kathryn," she says, her tone clipped. "After all, it could be perceived as a threat to your beloved ship."

Now she has her Captain's full attention. "I'm sure they're simply earth-shattering," says Kathryn coldly. "But I very much doubt, Seven, that your orgasms are a threat to this ship."

"Maybe not. But the possibility that the production of endorphins has somehow activated some dormant Borg systems nonetheless exists. As Captain, it would be prudent for you to investigate this."

"As Captain, I think I've spent more than enough time investigating your orgasms, Seven." So she is trying to make light of it. But Seven won't budge, so she tries the maternal approach, taking the drone by the shoulders and talking to her intimately. "Listen to me. I know a lot of things are new to you. And sex, particularly orgasm, can be an overwhelming event. During climax, it's not unusual for us to experience things that are quite extraordinary. I mean, sometimes, personally ... it can be so intense for me that I'm convinced I'm going to die. That's why sometimes I scream or cry out. I know, as a rational human being, that no one has ever died from an orgasm, but at that moment, it absolutely feels that way to me."

"That is a commonplace occurrence, Kathryn. Mine is not. Tell me, have YOU ever felt as though someone else was in your head, watching you?"

The tight-lipped look is back on Kathryn's face again. Clearly, she doesn't think she has time for this. "Like I said, Seven. It's different for everybody."

This time, Seven lets it drop.

But later, when they have returned to the Captain's quarters after the shift ends, she wants to discuss it again. Kathryn does not. She's had a hard day, wants Seven to pleasure her. She wants to pleasure Seven. She puts a hand over the drone's mouth and her mouth on her nipple, right through the dermoplastic suit. She sucks, making the front wet.

Seven moans, her hand in the Captain's hair. Slowly, Kathryn's fingers slide between Seven's legs, rubbing her, making her wet. Seven bites her lip and swears loudly.

She slides her hands beneath the fabric of Kathryn's undershirt, pulling her back up from her breast. The garment is off in one fluid motion, onto the floor. "Fuck me," the Captain growls. Seven understands. Kathryn would like it wild tonight. Strong and passionate.

The Captain's arms wind about Seven's neck, her hand, the little fingers, dipping into the white-blonde pleat. So Kathryn wants to be in charge. She holds Seven's head into the kiss, right at the angle she wants.

Seven breaks away; the Captain is annoyed. But it can't be helped; someone has to take off Seven's own suit. Underneath, as ever, she is naked, her nipples bright and rosy. Kathryn fingers one. But Seven is nothing if not selfless. She comes straight back to her partner, her hands now on Kathryn's hips, on her bottom, stroking her even as she feels for the fastening on her pants. She yanks it loose, and lets them fall to the floor.

The Captain is grinning now; she gets this almost maniacal look when she's about to have sex. She's conquered all, you see. With Janeway, it's always all about the power. She kicks off her boots and the rest of her trousers. Obviously she doesn't care about anything but getting her head between Seven's legs for a while.

Her tongue slips into Kathryn's mouth, and she swallows one of the Captain's groans with a shiver. She likes the taste of Kathryn's voice. It's rich like coffee, guttural like chocolate, warm like bread. It's everything Seven isn't. The Captain wraps herself around her, and Seven supports her weight with her Borg strength in her white arms.

She takes her to the bed and they get down to it. Seven feels intense. She grasps some of Kathryn's skin, pinching a little, in the line across her collarbone where the freckles run. The Captain is equally frantic, unhooking the white bra so the drone can move straight from her wet mouth to nuzzle at her breast, sucking her vivid peach nipples one at a time. Now Seven can't think of metaphors. Kathryn tastes like human, salt and skin and sweat. Womanhood is the word that springs to mind. That and Kathryn's voice, grunting "Fuck me" from the pillow.

She is pulled, suddenly, her face to Kathryn's face, the Captain's tongue hard against hers and two of her fingers pushed inside Seven, making her gasp a little. They crook, finding something, something that Seven is a little sceptical of, something that Kathryn calls her G-Spot. The sensation is one that makes Seven feel like she has to pass urine, but so strongly that she comes from it. It is curious.

"No," she says, trying to twist away from Kathryn's impaling hand. "I don't want to come," she says.

But the Captain holds her hard. "Don't be ridiculous," she says.

"You don't understand," wails the drone, feeling the orgasm approach, contracting in her lower back.

"It's nothing to be frightened of, baby," soothes the Captain. "It's the most natural thing in the world."

"No!" she screams, already fearing she has passed the point of no return. "He'll take me!"

A moment of clarity. Seven grasps the Captain's hair with her human hand, pulls it back, exposing the long white throat. Kathryn looks frightened; this is not Seven's style of sex-play at all.

Her mouth opens, Seven sees her tongue inside, pink and glistening. She is making a sound. A horrible sound, anguish and terror and horror. Her throat is grey, spreading. Grey veins. Up her face. One of Seven's hands, her human one, holds tight the Captain's forehead. The other is a fist, beside her neck, two tubules coming out like nasty silver pike. Into Kathryn. A star erupts from Kathryn's face, and Seven sinks backwards, into her orgasm.

- - - - - -

She wakes, the snowscape. Kathryn lies beside her, thrashing, screaming. Partly from the horror of assimilation, but the Captain also doesn't like the snow. She never told Seven why exactly, but her father died when it was snowing somewhere, so she gathers. Kathryn's terrified. Both of them are naked, but neither of them are cold. This is false.

"Be quiet," she orders Kathryn.

Kathryn is quiet.

"You see?" Seven says in wonder, her ice eyes taking in the ice landscape.

Kathryn doesn't get it. "How did we get here?" she says. "Where are we?"

"This is my orgasm," says Seven simply. "I assimilated you. Now our thoughts are one, and this is my orgasm."

"Oh," says Kathryn. Seven wonders how much of the Captain is present in this link. She had expected more resistance, more questions. "Now what?" she asks.

"Now we wait for him," Seven states. "I've slowed down our perception of time, so that we have a chance to investigate properly."

"You can do that?" asks Janeway numbly.

"The nanoprobes can," she says, and looks out at the vista.

She can see it already, really. It is already there. She wonders if the Captain is aware of it yet, whether she is even capable, with her human brain only half connected to the net. She smiles at the thought of Kathryn's human body at the moment. It is writhing helplessly with a prolonged orgasm, flushed and spasming. Kathryn is sexy when she comes.

She allows herself to focus on the white sky, a certain point, and sees that it is really black. A pattern, a network of interlinking lack of light, superimposed upon her dreamscape. It is in here, but it isn't hers.

"Can you see him?" she asks the Captain.

"He's over there," says Kathryn softly.

"He is not a part of me," says Seven. "Although he's like me."

"Is he ... Borg?" asked the Captain. So even here, she is concerned about her ship.

"No," says Seven. "I think he is a program. An echo someone left inside me once. Perhaps I have been hacked."

"I didn't realise that was possible," says Janeway.

Seven only shrugs.

"Can we ... speak to him?" So the Captain wants to make First Contact. This would have to be a first: communication through orgasmic response. Janeway's Log on this would make interesting reading.

Seven stares intently. "No," she says at last. "He is dead."

"Dead?" says the Captain. She hadn't even thought he might have been alive.

"Yes," says Seven. "But some of his broadcast channels have been left on. This is why I perceived a sensation of being watched. They are sending signals, but just idiot binary. It is nothing to be concerned about."

"Good," says Janeway. Doubtless the questions will come later, when she is reunited with her physical self.

"We should disengage ourselves from this environment," says Seven, becoming more businesslike.

Janeway looks around her, her hair whipped by a wind that should really be icy. "So," she says. "This is where you come ... to come?"

"I am sorry it's a snowscape," replies Seven.

"Not at all," says Kathryn. "I can see why it's appropriate. The white light, the stark beauty. It's very raw and primal, just like orgasm."

"I am pleased you can appreciate it," smiles the drone.

Somehow, she takes hold of Kathryn's hand, and when the two of them come back to their bodies, they are still clasping them together. Kathryn is groaning, her body must be agony between the intensity of the orgasm and the draining, dying nanoprobes in her neck. The star-shaped implant will have to be removed surgically. Excuses will have to be thought of, but Seven doesn't mind. She is happy to be near Kathryn, happy to have shared herself.

She helps Kathryn to the bathroom to vomit, a common reaction to assimilation. She holds her sweaty, shaking skin. Kathryn is drained. They bath together, Seven holding Kathryn tightly in her arms as she sponges across the aching, taut muscles. She thinks a little of the thing that died inside her brain. Inside her thoughts. Doubtless insidious, but watching her with its dead, unblinking eye forever.

THE END


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