Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!atl-c03.usenetserver.com!news.usenetserver.com!wns13feed!worldnet.att.net!216.196.98.144!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" 1/2 (P/Q, challenge) [NC-17] Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Lines: 453 Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 16:55:04 GMT NNTP-Posting-Host: 209.198.142.218 X-Complaints-To: Abuse Role , We Care X-Trace: monger.newsread.com 1098982504 209.198.142.218 (Thu, 28 Oct 2004 12:55:04 EDT) NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 12:55:04 EDT Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:85193 X-Received-Date: Thu, 28 Oct 2004 09:55:07 PDT (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) Title: Separate But Equal Author: Nick Series: TNG Codes: P/Q, challenge Rating: NC-17 Part: 1/2 Summary: A seemingly impossible mission succeeds fantastically, and Warnings: BDSM, a couple of gross references to teenage boys (one of them being Wesley) getting it on. Don't worry, nobody's happy about them. Archive: Anywhere, as long as my name stays attached. Also at my website -- http://www.geocities.com/pompadour_slim/pq.html Notes: This was originally intended to be a short and sweet PWP for the "It's quiet... too quiet" challenge, but it got somewhat out of hand. I think it's become a case of honoring the letter of the challenge and not so much the spirit. Ah, well. Prepare for the return of menacing, insecure, self-absorbed, impatient Q. I missed him and I know you did, too. When the order had come through from Starfleet Command that the Enterprise should rendezvous with a freighter caravan carrying medical supplies and escort the vessels to a Federation outpost at the edge of Dominion space, the crew had leapt onto its toes and stayed there. The firepower and maneuverability of the Federation flagship had a tendency to engender a false sense of security, particularly given the vast and oft-proved capability of its command staff, but being responsible for a set of poorly armed, sluggish sitting ducks on a trek through disputed territory was not Jean-Luc Picard's idea of a good time. He had no doubt that the Enterprise would be a match for even the most suicidal Jem'Hadar strike force, but protecting four freighters which might as well have been unarmed and free-floating was another issue altogether. Surely there was no possibility of making it through any sort of battle without losing at least one of them. His request for backup had been denied on the basis that the medical supplies were urgently needed and there were no other capable ships in the vicinity. The implied acceptance of the probability of losing one or more of the freighters -- and its crew -- disgusted him, but his hands were tied. If the outpost's situation was that desperate, he would simply have to do his best. Incredibly, though, the mission had been an uneventful success. The fact that they had managed to escort the vessels to the outpost and then to Deep Space 9 without the slightest molestation seemed bizarre and made him feel strangely ashamed when the comparatively ecstatic congratulations had come through from his superiors. He didn't feel in the least responsible for the magnitude of the success but he had modestly accepted the praise for want of any alternative explanation. Shortly after their dock at DS9, the majority of the crew had disembarked for station leave, full of unspent nervous energy and eager to celebrate their good fortune. Picard himself had been invited for an evening at Quark's, and he had every intention of replicating something airy and urbane to wear and joining his command staff once he'd finished the last of his reports. If nothing else, Will would require supervision at the gambling tables, and Jean-Luc grinned inwardly at the thought of watching Data's face light up as he tried to assimilate the wide variety of cultures and etiquettes aboard the space station. The outing promised to entertain and endear, and so he had forced himself to fill out the reports in his ready room instead of at the desk in his quarters. His reputation for restraint was partially deserved, he supposed, but was due in no small part to the fact that he knew himself well enough to identify potential sources of temptation and avoid them. Going directly to his quarters would have presented him with the unbearable temptation to simply put the reports off until later and head directly for the replicator, and he would not now have the luxury of looking forward to a night of leisure with no work hanging over his head. As Picard made his way down the corridor from the turbolift, he couldn't escape acute awareness of how empty the ship seemed without lieutenants trudging past and jamming up at junctions as they headed dutifully to and fro. Of course there would be a few engineers in the bowels of the ship assisting DS9 technicians with minor repairs, but the captain felt for all the universe as though he were the only person left on the Enterprise. It brought back memories of being the only crewmember on the ship during the baryon sweep, but instead of assaulting him with an unsettling sense of deja vu, as he might have expected, the most shining significance of the memory at that moment was that it made him consider the civilian outfit he had worn at the time and whether it might not be appropriate to his current mood. Stepping into his quarters, Picard chuckled a bit to himself as he tried to decide whether he was up for having a tight pants sort of evening. He was just on the verge of liking the idea when an image of having his backside fondled publicly by a drunk and jolly Beverly Crusher rose to pop it like an old fashioned balloon. Momentarily relinquishing his indecisive frown at the replicator, Jean-Luc glanced absently over his shoulder and was struck by the stillness of the room. The ship's engines hummed no more softly than usual, and he had certainly spent a great deal of time alone in his quarters, but there was something strange about the way the air hung. Uneasiness itched at the back of his mind, kept him thinking of the improbability of their mission succeeding so blindingly and of the way the ship now seemed somehow emptier than it should. With dry irony he shook his head and murmured to himself, "It's quiet... too quiet." Suddenly there was a dazzling flash of white and the Enterprise was gone. The hum was gone, the bulkheads were gone, the sterile, clean smell of the recycled air was gone. It took several seconds for Picard's brain to begin to register what had replaced them, and in the meantime he blinked rapidly and tried to make sense out of the brightly colored, soft-edged shapes around him. Purple, blue, round, elongated. Pillows. He was surrounded by pillows. They were everywhere, lain atop each other and cradling the center of the low-ceilinged chamber, where he stood. The warm, neutral walls faded to the edge of his consciousness and he felt as though he were standing on a column of pillows in the middle of empty space. Something rustled behind him, and the sound snapped him out of dumb wonder. Everything clicked in his mind -- the success of their mission, the stillness of his quarters, and the fact that he was somehow no longer on the Enterprise -- and there was already a name on his lips as he turned around. "Q, what the hell is this?" "You recognize my work. Mon Capitaine, I'm flattered." The dark-haired entity reclined unselfconsciously along a length of pillows, cradling his chin in one hand as mischievous eyes glittered up at Picard. Jean-Luc's stomach flipped and tightened at the expression, and at the exotic clothing his not-quite-friend had chosen to compliment the setting. Q looked positively erotic as he sprawled, his lower body sheathed in a pair of tight, soft-looking dark pants that left few gaps for Picard's perfectly capable imagination to fill in, and there was something disturbingly authoritative about his high black boots. Pale nipples peeked coyly out from the skewed and elaborately decorated purple vest that covered little of Q's torso, and the man had to exert more effort than he would have preferred to force his attention away from contemplation of the body he had so long desired. Affecting thoughtfulness, Q pursed his full lips and frowned. "Though, really, Jean-Luc, not nearly as flattered as I ought to be. You should flatter me more; just look what I do for you." "You did *not* do this for me, Q." Picard bristled, as much to distract himself from his increasingly inappropriate thoughts of what he and Q might do on the ocean of pillows as because he felt genuinely affronted. The entity snorted. "Of course I did. Squishy human bodies and ridiculous costumes aren't exactly my idea of time well spent." "I'm beginning to think they are, for all the time you spend in them," the man said dryly, the familiarity of their usual conversational dynamic helping him to regain some of his composure. It occurred to Jean-Luc to wonder why Q would want him to think he was doing him some sort of favor, but when the entity narrowed his dark eyes the captain's blood boiled and froze simultaneously and the thought dissipated in a puff of vapor. "Well, well. Aren't we the audacious little mortal, trying to stand nose to nose with God," Q purred, and the menace in that silky voice crawled up Picard's spine on itchy, cold fingertips. It had been years since the man had felt genuinely afraid of Q, but he hovered disconcertingly close to feeling that way now. Jean-Luc had long suspected that the set of ethics within which the entity operated, however bizarre it might be by his own standards, offered him some sort of guarantee that Q would not frivolously torture or dismember him. At the moment, though, as he forced himself to meet the dark gaze full of devious promise, he was finding it an abstract and impotent assurance. "Come, Icarus. I have a confession to make." Picard blinked, unaware that when his eyes opened again they would be gazing up at Q from inside a head that was suddenly tucked back into a plush, purple pillow that was exactly as soft as it had appeared from across the small room. He started and instinctively tried to rise up onto his elbows, unsettled to find himself unexpectedly horizontal. The entity's weight, though, draped as it was across the entire length of him, held his body in place. "There is *one* human body I'd like to spend some time in." "You... can't be serious," Picard choked automatically. He couldn't deny the hot rush that erupted in his stomach at the sensation of all that tight warmth pressing down on him, but it seemed ridiculous to think the feeling might be mutual. His eyes widened, but no matter how wide they became, Q's wolfish face filled them completely. "Oh, but I am. Are you going to pretend you don't want me? Because that would be so tedious." Shifting above him, Q parted Jean- Luc's thighs easily with one of his own and leaned forward. The man tensed, overwhelmed by the bizarre intimacy of the position and fighting to maintain control over himself. There was no excuse for the way his hips wanted to press upward, the way his head wanted to fall back and wallow in the luxurious softness of the pillows Q had apparently conjured just for him. Q... what did he want? "Q..." Squirming, Picard tried to wrench an arm out from between them but the entity caught it at the wrist and pinned it above his head. Q tutted disapprovingly and swooped down to flick his tongue across the curve of the man's ear. Incensed, though toward what end he was entirely unsure, Jean-Luc growled low in his throat and surged up mindlessly, hissing through clenched teeth when his budding erection brushed against his assailant's hip. "What have we here?" the entity murmured, his warm breath filling Picard's ear and lighting sparks over the length of the man's supine body like maddeningly erotic signal flares. Still, the patronizing singsong of Q's tone made Jean-Luc want to commit some unparticular act of violence. He knew he ought to fight harder against whatever it was that the entity had planned, as it could not possibly be what it appeared to be, but his cock had other ideas. Despite all rationality, Jean-Luc's cock wanted Q to stop talking and make good on the lascivious promises implied in those dark eyes and in that silky, ominous voice. "You know, Jean-Luc," Q went on, brushing his full lips across the tender flesh of the man's throat and pressing his thigh forward meaningfully, "I wouldn't have to be omniscient to feel *that*." Desperately, Picard heaved his body up, jarring Q but not dislodging him. The entity was stronger than he seemed, Jean-Luc thought, and the idea made him fall back into the pillows snickering in breathless defeat. Of course Q was stronger than he was; Q was in all ways more than him. Jean-Luc was only a man, and what was Q? A god-thing, an immortal who could be as strong as he liked in any form. How ridiculous it was to fight him! If Q wanted to rape him, Picard would have to lie there and take it. If Q wanted to seduce him, half of the work was done already; Jean-Luc wanted him and had wanted him for years. "What are you laughing at?" Q snapped, all eroticism gone from his expression as he scowled down at the man pinned beneath him. Without knowing exactly why, Picard found himself laughing harder at that, forcing the entity to alter the distribution of his weight to keep the man still as his body shook with mirth. "You don't know?" Jean-Luc breathed when he could manage it. Q's scowl deepened and for a moment the man braced himself to be struck. Instead, Q shifted slightly so that he was looming higher over Picard's face, blocking out the flickering light of exotic wall braziers. "I could if I wanted to, but I'd rather you told me." Jean-Luc's laughter had dissipated reluctantly, but his flushed face still twisted into an ironic smile. "I'm laughing because I kept telling myself that I had to resist whatever it was you were trying to do to me, and then I realized how absurd that was. If you want to rape me there isn't very much I can do about it, is there? Do you want to rape me, Q?" "Of course not!" Looking disgusted, Q recoiled until he was kneeling between Jean-Luc's spread legs and glaring silently at him. Finally able to raise himself onto his elbows, Picard studied the entity with puzzlement. He seemed genuinely sickened and perhaps even insulted. In fact, the more the man recovered from the heady arousal Q's closeness had forced upon him the less he believed Q capable of rape. Was it Q he hadn't trusted, or was it his own body? "Then... what? Is this... God, Q, is this your version of making a pass?" For Q's sake, Jean-Luc gulped down his laughter, but he couldn't keep the twinkle from his eyes and it made the entity glower more deeply. For the first time since he had arrived in Q's apparently hand-crafted love nest, the man allowed himself to take in the more appealing aspects of the chamber. Incense, the scent of which pleased him so that it could only have been chosen with him in mind, burned smokelessly from an unseen nook. The light was muted without inhibiting his vision and Picard found that, now that he had opened himself up to the contemplation of them, the color combinations invigorated and inspired him. Had Q made all of this to please him? To entice him? Was it possible? "Don't be ridiculous, Picard. I'm a Q. Q don't 'make passes' at humans." Q rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest with a dismissive huff that was not entirely convincing. Crinkling his dark brows, Jean-Luc sat up, careful not to close his knees around the petulant entity who knelt between them. Q stayed rigidly in place, his intense eyes following every movement, and the man had the distinct impression that he was poised to flee. It was strange to think of Q as being vulnerable, but Picard's instinctive need to find common ground between himself and even the most alien being made it almost possible. Q must be vulnerable to something, sometimes, and as hard as it was to believe that he might be the cause of that vulnerability now, the alternative -- that Q was utterly invulnerable to everything all the time -- was inconceivable. "Well," he said softly, with a faint smile that hinted at an affection he did not fully understand. "That's all the more reason not to expect flying colors from the first attempt." "Yes, laugh!" Q snarled, pointing an angry finger at Jean-Luc and waggling it well within what the man considered to be his personal space. "But know this, Picard: however hard you laugh, the Continuum has you outdone exponentially!" Frowning first with surprise and then concern at Q's outburst, Picard impulsively settled a gentle hand on the entity's thigh. Q flinched, and hot confusion flashed in those dark eyes. Touched in a vague, indefinable way by the fact that the entity was obviously refraining from reading his mind, Jean- Luc found himself gripped by tenderness, the frank expression of which did not seem likely to be received well. He settled for sincerity instead. "I'm not laughing anymore, Q." "No, you're much too *evolved* for that, aren't you? I suppose your dismally limited attention is too taken up with pity to leave room for any further amusement." Q's nostrils flared and he wrenched his leg out from under the man's hand, sending a ripple through the pillows beneath them as he slumped back into a sitting position. "Why should I pity you? I don't even know what's going on here." Shifting his jaw uncertainly, Jean-Luc brought one knee up to his chest. Superficially, he did it to ease a sudden ache in the muscles of his hip, but his true motivation had more to do with putting up some kind of barrier against the raw and tangled emotion that flashed intermittently across Q's face. "Don't you, Jean-Luc?" The entity smiled mirthlessly. "I thought you would. I may be pathetic, but I'm not pathetic enough to misjudge a being as simple as you are." Picard had not intentionally lied to spare Q's feelings, but he couldn't escape the admission, at least to himself, that he had a very good idea of what was going on. The possibility that the entire situation might have sprung from a misguided -- though flattering, and even touching -- desire on Q's part to seduce him had at first seemed too outrageous to contemplate seriously, but finding reasons to dismiss it was becoming increasingly difficult. "Q, you didn't have to overwhelm me. If you wanted me you might have tried asking." "This isn't about me wanting you! This is about you wanting me!" Q scowled and surged forward, closing nearly all of the distance between them. His hot breath tickled the fine down across Jean-Luc's face and reacquainted the man with his forgotten erection. "Don't try to deny it." "All right," Picard breathed, smiling through the seizure of his chest muscles at what he was about to say. "I won't. I want you, Q." It felt good to finally admit it, out loud, to someone other than himself. Surely Q had known; the man couldn't imagine him taking such a risk otherwise. To confirm it, though, was both terrifying and liberating, and he took distinct pleasure in the way Q's dark gaze blackened in response. Beyond all theoretical plausibility, and if Jean-Luc's senses were to be believed, the entity was as aroused as he was. Q licked his full, sensual lips and stared intently, leaning forward and taking Picard with him until they were horizontal again. "Say that again," he murmured thickly, a warm hand trailing up the inside of the man's thigh. "I want you." It was easy to say it now, and even easier to spread his legs and accept Q's hard thigh between them, against his increasingly needy cock. Locking one elbow and arching over him, the entity drew a teasing fingertip down the middle of Jean-Luc's uniform shirt. Q obviously wanted to be in control, needed it, and Picard was all too happy to oblige him. Somehow the fact that he could endure the vulnerability of this position when Q could not made the man feel strong and safe. The entity's power was vast but not infinite; it was plain that he lacked the security to submit, that he was relying on Jean-Luc to possess that inner strength so that this coupling, this thing they had both desired for so long, could finally take place. The thought suffused Picard with an inappropriate smugness that forced the corners of his mouth upward, making Q's eyes narrow and his nostrils flare. There was a hand at his throat suddenly, possessive and rough without interrupting his flow of oxygen, and he gritted his teeth against the urge to panic. Q had never hurt him, would never hurt him, he told himself. The entity had contributed to his being in a number of ridiculously tight situations over the years, sometimes indirectly, sometimes under orders from the Continuum, but he had always, in his own way, stayed around to make sure things turned out all right. It hadn't always been comfortable, and it hadn't always made sense, but overall his association with Q had been positive. He had learned so much about himself that he might never have understood otherwise, and in recent years he had come very close to regarding Q as a friend. Seeming satisfied with the sobering of his expression, Q descended, kissing him hard and forcing his lips apart with a warm, agile tongue. Picard grunted, the strange new sensation of being owned rolling like a wave up from his toes and sending his eyes back into his head as it reached them. This was what terrified Q? A tongue filling his mouth, plunging inside and fighting fiercely when, in a moment of defiance, it was nearly repelled? Teeth grazing his lips and then, when he had grown too confident, pinching and pulling at them with unpitying near-abandon? But Jean-Luc wasn't afraid. He struggled so that Q would pin him harder, speared the entity's tongue so that Q would fill his mouth again. How many times had the pathologically gentle Jean-Luc Picard wanted to claw open his own chest to assuage the grief of having accidentally hurt a lover? How many times had he restrained himself so tightly as to come away from an otherwise pleasant encounter feeling inexplicably frustrated and annoyed? Feeling freer than he could ever remember feeling, Picard fought his lover in earnest, knowing that however hard he might resist, he would never have success to fear. His effort was rewarded by the clench of a long-fingered hand around his bicep and the sound of rent cloth as his uniform was split roughly down the center. When this was over he would be bruised and exhausted, he knew, and utterly satisfied. The man hardly had time to register the cool rush of air across his flushed chest before Q had clamped his fingers tightly over one nipple, that torturous hand moving with him as he arched and growled low in his throat. The searing burn of painfully excited nerves migrated instantly to his balls, already tight and aching, and to the very pit of his stomach, where a tender emptiness he couldn't name had begun to chew at him. "How do you want me, Johnny?" Q purred, discreetly slipping his other thigh between Picard's legs and pressing their groins together. The entity was hard and hot, and Jean-Luc groaned when he realized that he could feel every contour of Q's cock inside his tight pants. "I suppose a tough space captain like you wants to throw me over one of these pillows and stick his cock in my ass. Is that what you want, Mon Capitaine? Do you think I'm going to let you fuck me?" Picard groaned again, his hips thrusting upward without his authorization, overcome by the thought of what it would feel like to be inside Q. The heat and constriction around his cock were so vivid in his imagination that he was sure the fantasy must have been supplemented by something outside himself. It was an excruciatingly effective continuation of the tease in Q's voice, and he was powerless to stop himself bucking into it, willing it to be real. Smoky brown eyes hovering over him, goring him with the intensity of the lust and challenge that blazed there, brought Jean- Luc back to reality. Q's question hadn't been rhetorical, and he was clearly expecting an affirmative answer. Once again reveling in his capacity to endure and even to want something the entity did not fully understand, Picard shook his head. "No." The man's voice was rough with arousal, but it did not quiver from the declaration. One of Q's mobile brows shot up and then dove downward, quickly chased by the other, which knitted with it and stayed there. [Continued in Part 2/2] ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ ASCEM messages are copied to a mailing list. Most recent messages can be found at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/ASCEML. NewMessage: 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: