I don't own these characters, I don't own the Star Trek's universe: I only own my sick fantasies...for now. Not beta-ed, and I apologize in advance for any mistake you will find, since English is not my first language.

If you have any complaints about this story, go to Flavialikestodraw and MizJoely: it's because of them that I'm writing this story, and I can't stop to thank them for that.

I don't want you to change
Anything you do

I don't want you to be
Someone else for me

Stay as you are
The Darkest Star

The darkest star - Depeche Mode

"I know you are not John Harrison".

Her words stilled his movement; his lips closed, resting upon the soft and bruised skin just below her left ear. He always devoted an adequate time of their foreplay to mark her, to show the others that she was taken, not at someone else's disposal. In one word: his. He remembered one time, when he had covered her body with love bites, and in return, she had branded the skin of his back with the scrapes inflicted by her short nails. The light pain had only enhanced the sweet agony of being inside her, engulfed in her tight warmth, waiting for her to reach her orgasm, before letting go and fill her; but it was a sacrifice he had made gladly, because his reward was witnessing the moment in which she finally lost control over her body, over her mind, and welcomed the chaos.

He chased away the memory, and lifted his face, and a drop of sweat dropped from his eyebrows: his gaze followed with envy his path, from the valley just upon her breast, slowly marching down, towards her flat belly, finally reaching her navel. He trembled from the effort of restraining himself from replaying the same trail, and decided to observe the now silent woman trapped under his arms. She was shivering, but not because she was cold. It was because of the lust, obviously, and...for the first time he saw something different in her chestnut, deep eyes. Oh, what a fool had he been - he could now feel the raw passion, bubbling underneath the surface of a prim-looking girl; the fury, barely restrained, ready to explode. He could understand her anger: after all, he had lied to her, about a lot of things, for months. Since the first time he had seen her, outside the Starfleet hospital, and he had decided that he wanted her. A flicker of defiance appeared in her eyes; unfortunately, it was time for him to take action.

His left hand closed against her neck with the speed of a snake assaulting its prey, but he didn't tightened his grip on her. His voice deepened, and a part of him exulted at the spontaneous moan that escaped from her sinful lips.

"And. Who. Are. You, Molly Hooper?"

Six months before

The first time she saw him, it was late April and it was raining. Molly was used to London's spring: the city was often bathed in warm, glorious sunshine, but there were still days when the weather was unpredictable, and a sunny morning could change into a windy and rainy afternoon. Obviously, it was always during days like those that she forgot her little yellow umbrella at her flat, and now, at the end of her shift, she had no umbrella, the rain was pouring down, and the gentle breeze that had caressed her skin pleasantly only eight hours before, was now a high wind, menacing to mess her hairstyle even more than a long, exhausting day of work. The pathologist raised the collar of her trench-coat, in the vain hope to protect herself at least from the cold air, and tried a few steps out from the projecting roof, pondering if it were manageable for her flat shoes to help her running in the rain towards the nearest Tube station.

Unexpectedly, not one raindrop fell upon her head: she found herself suddenly next to a tall stranger, who was holding his large black umbrella upon their heads. She took just a few seconds to recover from the surprise, and in the meantime she observed her kind saviour: she had not seen him before, and she was sure she would have recalled meeting a man like him before. He was tall, and his body was slim but fit: she could see his biceps bulging under the fabric of his grey coat. His face was strangely handsome: there was something curiously attractive in the way the high cheekbones, the straight and long nose and the cupid-bow lips complemented each other. But what literally mesmerized her were his eyes: they were like opals, changing their colour depending on the light...and his gaze was so intense, full of mystery...

A cough from the stranger roused Molly from her daydreaming: he was probably waiting for her to say something. "Do you think you can manage to avoid drooling upon him for one second and thank him?" her conscience suggested, and she promptly complied.

"I- I should have said it sooner, I suppose, but...well, thank you!" she stammered, cursing internally her shyness.

The stranger simply smirked. "Don't worry...it's my pleasure. Left or right?"

"Excuse me, what?" was the young woman's confused reply.

"Well, my late mother would scold me if I left a beautiful woman here under the rain, without at least offering to see you home or wherever you need to go...".

Molly debated with herself if accepting the man's offer: she didn't know him, and usually she didn't act so reckless. She looked at him, and his eyes fixed her: it was like they were challenging her to do something rash.

"I just need to reach the next Tube station, so...I think we should go to the left, Mr...?" she inquired, and his voice went deeper when he introduced himself.

"John Harrison".

She took the hand he had offered, and shook it firmly. "I'm Molly. Molly Hooper. Nice to meet you, Mr. Harrison".

Thanks for reading...and be kind, let me know what you think!