Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!prodigy.com!atl-c02.usenetserver.com!news.usenetserver.com!feed5.newsreader.com!newsreader.com!border2.nntp.dca.giganews.com!border1.nntp.dca.giganews.com!nntp.giganews.com!newsread.com!newsstand.newsread.com!POSTED.monger.newsread.com!not-for-mail Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Sender: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: From: "Nick" MIME-Version: 1.0 Mailing-List: list ASCEML@yahoogroups.com; contact ASCEML-owner@yahoogroups.com Subject: NEW TNG: "Separate But Equal" 2/2 (P/Q, challenge) [NC-17] Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 399 Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 16:55:07 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218 X-Complaints-To: Abuse Role , We Care X-Trace: monger.newsread.com 1098982507 209.198.142.218 (Thu, 28 Oct 2004 12:55:07 EDT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 12:55:07 EDT Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:85195 X-Received-Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 09:55:17 PDT (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) Warnings, etc in part 1/2. "No?" Q said breathlessly, hurrying his hands inside Picard's uniform to grip his bare upper arms as he stared into the man's intent hazel eyes. Jean-Luc watched as the entity's brow twitched and his sensual lips pursed and pouted, saw the way he hesitated, but wanted, oh, needed to believe. Picard shook his head again, knowing it to be an inadequate reply and unsure whether Q would accept it. Letting himself believe that he was prepared for any possible response, the man maneuvered himself to be squarely shocked by the superhuman violence with which Q wrenched his uniform shirt away from his shoulders and down his arms until it was entirely off and bunched awkwardly at the small of his back. He gasped, his eyes widening as his body responded to Q's pure display of force and the accompanying expression on the entity's wild, flushed face. A hot drop of precum left the tip of his cock to melt into his tight Starfleet briefs. Jean-Luc's arms stung where the material of his shirt had rasped across them, and that sting warmed his entire body. "That's not enough," Q panted, thrusting himself against the man and brushing his palms over the sweaty, tufted chest that heaved and trembled for him. "Say it. Tell me what you want." Picard swallowed, knowing what he wanted to say, what Q wanted him to say, and finding it the most difficult aspect of his submission so far. He had never said it to anyone, but he was going to say it now, because it was true and because Q wanted it. When he opened his mouth to speak he interrupted himself with a distracted, rumbling moan as he realized that the most exciting thing he could think of at that moment was anything Q wanted. "I want you to fuck me," he husked when he had regained control of his vocal cords, and he might have said more except that there was suddenly a tongue in his mouth. The kiss was searing, and it sucked at his reason, but it was over almost before he considered it to have begun. Without allowing Jean-Luc time to gather himself, or to reconsider his admission, Q flipped him onto his stomach with an ease that the man was dimly aware ought to be humiliating. He was an adult, sturdily built and strong, and Q had tossed him like a crepe. It should have shamed him, made want to scramble away and call for an end to this game, if that's what it was, but instead Picard moaned and tried to thrust himself into the pillows that propped him up. The arrangement Q had managed to pitch him into, in one fluid and seemingly effortless movement, was one that, if Jean-Luc shied away from concentrating on the omnipotence of his lover, could only be described as "convenient". Cushions bunched under his middle, raising his ass and sloping sharply so that his head was substantially lower than his hips. He floundered with the awkwardness of it, not quite liking how helpless he felt, and flailed his arms back to try and drag himself into a position that would allow him to do something other than lie there while Q had his way. Chuckling darkly, the entity caught his clumsy wrists and clamped them easily behind his back. The fact that Q could hold them both in a single all-powerful hand did not surprise Picard, but it did excite him. Either of those agile hands could snap a star system out of existence, and the realization that one of them was tugging his Starfleet uniform pants down his hips without bothering to unfasten them made Jean-Luc's eyes roll back into his head, made his lips part to allow the passage of a guttural groan. "You do, don't you?" Q's voice from over his shoulder trembled slightly, and it shocked the man into sudden contemplation of the reality of the situation. He was on his stomach, propped against fake pillows -- pillows Q had made specifically for him -- with his uniform in tatters around his ankles, and he had every reason to believe that the entity was, even now, preparing to fuck him in the ass. It was not a dream Q behind him, flawless in his lack of consideration; it was the real Q, his Q, wanting Jean-Luc as much as Jean-Luc wanted him. When Picard moaned, it was shaded with a hint of the alarm he felt at realizing what was about to happen to him, and the fact that he would be responsible for all complications that arose as a result. He had asked Q to fuck him; he had wanted Q to fuck him, and God, he still did. He wanted it so desperately that his thudding mechanical heart seized with a sudden sharp terror. What if this were the trick? What if Q's game were to get him like this, naked and hard, needing it, on the very precipice of pleading for it, and then to back away and leave him there, with mocking thanks for the opportunity to observe this particular aspect of human sexuality? Groaning his dread and anguish through clenched teeth, Jean-Luc shivered and tried to part his legs further as a warm hand clenched his thigh with tender possession. The remains of his pants resisted him, but so much did he want to entice Q in the only way his lust-addled brain could conceive that it was only another heartbeat before he had wrenched his legs free. Now he could spread himself, make as perfect an offering as his old, awkward human body was capable of making, and his chest heaved with relief when he heard Q's breath catch behind him. "Yes... God, Q... please... I don't care if the entire Continuum is watching and taking notes... I don't care if this is being broadcast over subspace to every Starfleet Command terminal... just please... please fuck me..." Picard knew that he was babbling, grunting into the pillow against his cheek and arching his back in an effort to raise his hips to a level that might be more to the entity's liking, but he was so far from caring that he couldn't even remember why he was supposed to care. All he could remember was being empty, hurting with the way the emptiness ate at his insides, and knowing exactly what had to happen to fill his emptiness, to relieve his pain. Q made a noise that might have been meant as a snarl but which came out sounding distinctly like a moan of longing. "I'll bet you say that to all the boys," he choked, and Jean-Luc was on the verge of protesting wordlessly, on the basis that anything other than the entity's cock inside him was utterly unacceptable. The man's frustration died as swiftly as it had been born, though, when Q parted him smoothly and, without preparation or ceremony, began to force himself inside. Picard cried out, inhaling pillow and snorting it out again in a mist of spittle. It hurt. It felt like Q was exploding him from the inside, burning a slick hole through him where none had been before. But he had known it would feel that way; on some level he had wanted it to, had craved the undeniable suffering and giddy accomplishment of being strong enough to be owned by Q. "Don't... stop..." he hissed, his whole body straining as he gnashed his teeth in defiance of the pain. Jean-Luc's artificial heart thumped and seized at the thought that Q might falter when he realized how difficult his entry was, but the entity pressed forward without mercy until his hips rested snugly against the man's ass. A shudder of relief swished Picard's body against the pillows beneath him and the pain ebbed with the knowledge that he could hurt and strain without risking an end to this delicious, urgent act that now seemed nothing short of necessary. "You're like a wild stallion," Q grunted as he began to thrust, his fingertips digging hard into the flesh and muscle of the man's hips. "A wild... stallion that's never been ridden. Well, I'm riding you now, Jean-Luc." The alternating elation and devastation of being full, empty, full, empty as Q fucked him made Picard swoon, and he was entirely unaware of the graceless, trembling arch of his body or the way his chin burned itself with friction against the purple cushion beneath it. "I have..." he whimpered dreamily, his eyes beginning to glaze over as his attention turned inward. "You... have what?" Q pulled at Jean-Luc's wrists, keeping the man's body bowed and achieving a precarious balance against the brutal pounding of his hips. Letting go of any remaining desire to control his own body, Picard hung that way, feeling as though he were suspended, flying. He wasn't any stallion; he was Pegasus. "Been ridden." "There's nothing in your Starfleet file about that!" It was only when Q's surprise seemed to make him forget himself, to force his cock harder and deeper than he had before, that Jean-Luc realized the entity had been holding back. Of course he would have to hold back, of course. He was Q, he was a Q, he was all-powerful. Picard was utterly certain at that moment that if Q lost control he would kill him. He would fuck the man full of too much heat, boil his blood, split him open and explode him like a star. "It isn't... oh... oh, God... isn't... the sort of thing... one puts in... an official report..." Jean-Luc sobbed as his shoulders shook. He hardly remembered what they were talking about, hardly remembered anything that wasn't vicious, perfect friction, but he would go on speaking anyway, for as long as he could. Q would see that even now he was himself, that he was strong and worthy. That Q wasn't reading his mind no longer touched him, though it surely would when the thing was all over. That he had been too cowardly to put his liaison with Jack Crusher into his personal logs did not sting him, though it had in the past and undoubtedly would again. All that mattered then was Q. "Who was it, Johnny? Hmm? Did an acne scarred older boy at the Academy smash your face into his pillow and tell you to keep quiet while he reamed you blind?" The entity's voice was rough but steady, and the power of his control splashed over Picard like hot water, cleansing and startling and just cool enough not to scald. Jean-Luc groaned, unashamed of his desperation. "Jack..." Making love with Jack had been fun, passionate, and challenging, but nothing like Q bending him over a pile of pillows, his uniform in shreds around the boots he still wore, and taking him, nothing like Q's cock sawing at his insides and stabbing roughly at the spongy nub that was suddenly more important than his brain. "Bev's husband? Filthy! Were you trying to lay the entire Crusher family? You know, Wesley's of age these days... and... he always did need a firm hand..." Q's labors were beginning to affect him and the realization made Picard's balls constrict with sudden violence. He was going to get to feel Q come, feel the evidence of it, and, if he was lucky, hear the entity cry out as the pleasure Jean-Luc's body gave him overwhelmed his need to save face. "That's... disgusting... Q," the man growled through clenched teeth, shaking all over but determined to be Jean-Luc Picard until the end. Jean-Luc Picard, not some bowing, scraping bottom, was what Q wanted, and it was what he was going to get, if the man had to give himself a heart attack with the effort it took to force blood out of his straining, desperate cock and into his brain. "It is, isn't it? Besides," Q panted, his perfect rhythm faltering almost imperceptibly, "when I'm through you won't be able to get it... *up* for anyone else." "I haven't in years..." Sobbing with the relief of finally being able to say it out loud, Picard was briefly and dimly aware of moisture that could have been tears, saliva, sweat, or some combination of all three slick across the side of his face that pressed into the pillow. "It's good that you know where you belong," came the low growl from behind him as Q reached around to hug his waist, pulling him back hard. The entity's long, deep strokes gave way to quick, hard thrusts that set fire to his ass. "On the end of your cock..." Jean-Luc moaned, his eyes rolling back into his head as the fire spread with nimble licks up his spine, swirled and expanded through his stomach and into his chest, and threatened to consume him at any moment. His shoulders ached, his upper arms were screaming as they fought against Q's hold and tried to settle themselves into a more natural position, and his thighs trembled so violently that they shook the entity behind him, but he didn't notice any of it. His entire consciousness was contained, at that moment, between his hips -- deep, where Q plunged into him, and at the base of his cock, waiting to rush out and free itself with joy. "No... that's your place... Where you belong is with me... Come with me, Jean-Luc..." It wasn't until Picard received the command that he realized that he had been waiting for it, that he couldn't have come without it. When it came, so did he, harder than he could ever remember coming, so hard that he couldn't remember anything at all. Spasms clenched at him, shook him, and Jean-Luc cried out and choked on his own pleasure when Q gave a shockingly tender moan and came inside him. Q's cock seemed to grow as his muscles contracted around it, and the entity's semen, or whatever the seed of a god might be, filled every remaining millimeter. As much as he might have wanted to experience more, to feel everything this moment had to offer, if he had been sensible enough to want anything, it was all too much. The strain on his body and mind had been too extreme and had lasted too long, and Picard was blacking out almost before the last spurts between his own belly and the pillows beneath it had subsided. -- Q laid as still as he could atop the unconscious man, expecting the violent trembling in his own human body to wear off with the passing of his orgasm. It didn't, and he worried, and the worrying made him tremble harder. What had just happened? He hadn't intended to take the man that way. He had planned the scene so thoroughly; he had chosen the lighting, the color combinations, his own costume and even the measurements of the room to manipulate the man's senses and make it easier for him to allow himself to be made love to. The man was supposed to be afraid at first, but unable to control his responses to Q's painstakingly researched sensual technique. Some use that had turned out to be! He hadn't even gotten a chance to hold the man's quivering cock in his hand and prove that he really had his long human fingers wrapped around the man's very will. "See how weak you are, Mon Capitaine," Q was supposed to say. "I'm not even using my powers and you'd sell me your grandmother if only I'd let you come. Wouldn't you?" "Yes," the man would whimper shamelessly, writhing, begging with his lean, compactly muscled human body. Q had intended to draw his fingertips teasingly along the underside of the man's cock while he tore holes in pillows and curled his awkward little toes. "The Continuum is watching, Picard, and they're wondering how your species can ever be trusted with anything if one of its finest examples can be reduced to this state so easily. But you don't care, do you?" The man was supposed to make inarticulate noises of longing and flop around, looking silly and pathetic while he thrust himself aimlessly toward Q's hand. But things hadn't gone according to plan. No, once again Q had overreacted and made a fool of himself in front of the man. After that he had expected the man to go on laughing at him (Q certainly would have, had the situations been reversed), or to look at him with sappy human eyes full of pity and "understanding" and ask if he wanted to talk about it. Instead, to Q's infinite and complete astonishment, the man had seen his weakness and accepted it without disparagement, offering himself up freely. Upon reflection, Q thought it was probably that astonishment which had divorced him from his wits for long enough to find himself behind the man and poised to enter him. By then it had been too late to think anything through. If the man was going to be so confident and smug about it, grinning and fighting him like that, Q was damn well going to show him the folly of his attitude. If the man thought he could take what Q had to give, the entity was damn well going to show him exactly what that meant. And so he had been rough, knowing it would hurt, expecting the man to scream and beg him to stop, or try to scramble away and cover himself. But the man had taken him, and even has his shoulders quaked with the pain of it he had asked for more. How could the man embrace such weakness? How could he lie there, bent over with Q's cock shoved up his ass, and not hate himself? How could he let Q see him like that, vulnerable and needing, without wanting to toss himself into a black hole? But, more importantly, how could he have plunged so boldly into something that terrified Q? It was inconceivable that the man, extraordinary though he might be, could possibly be capable of something Q himself could not do. The man was a man and Q was a Q. That was that. Except that it wasn't. When the Continuum had sent Q to plop the man and his crew into some sort of Q-sized rat maze, he had thought it ridiculous and barbaric on the part of his own people. He had found the man intriguing and surprisingly capable, for a human, and so he hadn't begrudged him a bit of help. The deck had been unfairly stacked against the man anyway, and Q had no qualms about sticking it to a few particularly snotty Q who were cheering for the destruction of Humanity. The man had made a good showing, and Q had laughed on his behalf at the slack jawed wonder on the Q-faces of those who had engineered the test. So he had gone on helping him, little by little, despite the Continuum's attempts to prevent his interference, and he had thumbed his Q-nose at all of them because their demands were unfair and because so many of them were long overdue for a nose thumbing anyway. But it was not at all the same when the man thumbed his nose at Q, on his own behalf. Q had been his advocate, his mentor, his benevolent god-who-walks-among-men. Insisting on some preposterous charade of equality between them was no way to repay Q for all that he'd given him over the years. And yet the inescapable fact remained that when Q had fucked the man, forced himself inside and ridden him almost to the limits of human physical safety, the impairment had been all Q's. Q had shown his strength and the man had taken it. Q had shown his spite, his insecurity, his need to dominate, and the man had refrained from using any of them to subjugate him. Q felt simultaneously safe and bitterly afraid. That the man had reacted that way was more than it had ever occurred to Q to hope for, but he couldn't possibly give it up now that he had experienced it. Q wanted this remarkable human to be his defiantly submissive lover forever, or at least for a couple of hundred years. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted when he wanted it, but he was not self-absorbed enough to think that he had the man yet. In fact, the more he thought about it, the more it seemed unlikely that the man would allow himself to continue this way. How disgustingly ironic it was to think that he could accept himself while he wallowed in his need, but that he would shrink from his reflection when he realized that he couldn't possibly consort with an omnipotent entity without it affecting his beloved starship and her crew. Q trembled harder, the physiology of his human body wholly unfit for his colossal Q nervousness. Even without having to run time forward, Q could see clearly in his mind's eye the way the man would claw at his face in anguish when he awoke to find himself aching, torn open and covered in his own semen. Q could hear him moan, "What have I done? What have I done?" No, that wouldn't do. That wouldn't do at all. --- Jean-Luc sat up in bed with a start. It was dark, and he kicked the covers off of himself clumsily as his feet shot over the side and down onto the floor. His floor. The floor of his quarters. He was alone, in his quarters. Rubbing hastily at his eyes, he looked around again to make sure. Stars sparkled at him from across the room, and the Enterprise's engines hummed calmly from every direction. It couldn't possibly have been a dream, he was sure, and yet here he was, in his bed. Picard was nearly tempted to think that Q had simply deposited him there after he'd passed out -- he must have passed out, although he didn't remember having been sleepy -- but there was something missing from that scenario. When he reached up distractedly to run a hand over his scalp, he realized what it was. Pain. He felt no pain in the muscles of his arms or his back, but more importantly he felt no pain where there should have been agony. There was no trace of Q's having been inside him. Grimacing with the force of that thought, Jean-Luc felt torn in two by simultaneous feelings of devastation and relief. The private Jean- Luc wanted desperately for his encounter with Q to have been real, knew that in some way it was real whether it had really happened or not because his reactions had been real and not surreal or dreamlike, but Captain Picard found the idea intolerable. He, at least, was profoundly relieved to think that there would in fact be no cost for what would have been an unforgivable lapse in responsibility had it actually taken place. With an awkward mixture of calm and sadness, the man collapsed back onto his bed and stared dazedly at the ceiling. He wondered what he would do the next time he saw Q. He knew there would be a next time; there always was. [End] ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML. NewMessage: