========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: At the Center of Things -- Chap 1, 1/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:33:47 GMT

From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: At the Center of Things -- Chap 1, 1/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


Title:  At the Center of Things
Author: Ruth Gifford (ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com)
Series: TNG 
Content Codes:  P/Q, bdsm  
Rating: N-17 for graphic m/m sex and bdsm
Summary: The sequel to "His Beloved Pet" finds Jean-Luc 
Picard and Q trying to work out the parameters of their  
complex relationship. 

I'm reposting the first four chapters of this and then (over 
the next few days) they will be followed by three brand new 
chapters.  For the sake of brevity in all this posting, this 
story will be referred to as ACT in the headers of 
subsequent postings. 

This is a sequel to "His Beloved Pet," which was 
written by Ruth Gifford and atara stein.  If you 
haven't read that yet, stop, do not pass Go, well . . . 
you know the drill. HBP is available at GiffStein 
Productions <http://www.cyberg8t.com/ereshkgl/> You 
*can* try to read this without reading that one first, 
but, I don't try very hard to explain what has gone 
before.   Chapters 1-4 can also be found at GiffStein
and soon Chapters 5-7 will be archived there as well.

On to the thanks and other blather you've come to 
expect from me.  There are several people I couldn't 
have written this without.   Above all others is, of 
course, my very own one true love, atara.  As always 
there is a very sincere dedication, but beyond that I 
have to thank her for her beta-reading, encouragement, 
and the thankless task of proofreading.  

My beta reader for the first chapters, Jeanita Danzik, 
and my beta reader for the later chapters, Varoneeka, 
both deserve my thanks for keeping me on my toes.  I 
should also thank all  the people who wrote to me and asked 
about when I was going to write more.  I was blocked 
for a while, but your encouragement meant a lot to me.

Random thanks:  To the bands, musicians, and writers of 
lyrics who gave me just the right words for each 
chapter header, and the inspiration and motivation to 
keep writing.  To the Okudas, and everyone else 
connected with the Star Trek Omnipedia, which lives in 
my CD-ROM drive on a permanent basis. As always, to 
Patrick Stewart, and John deLancie for pushing the 
envelope as hard as they could.

Technical notes.  ***///*** indicates a dream or 
flashback.  // indicates the written word.  The section 
breaks in each chapter occur for technical versus 
artistic reasons. 

Star Trek is the property of Paramount.  This version 
of it is the property of me.  johnny is the property of Q (ooops,
I'm getting ahead of myself there).  I give my permission to 
archive this in the official newsgroup archives (both 
ascem and afq), and in R'rain's Star Trek Slash 
Archive.

And so, on with the show.  The first scene takes place 
several hours after the end (discounting the epilogue 
of course) of His Beloved Pet.

Thanks 
Ruth Gifford
ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com







At the Center of Things
by Ruth Gifford
(c) 1997

For atara, who has taught me that submission requires 
strength and deserves respect.  She is at the center of 
my life, and I love her more than mere words can ever 
convey.

Chapter One
Off to a Rough Start


"You could hold me
Maybe you could show me
How to trust
Cause you see 
I have been hurt before 
Though I don't want to be hurt no more
This feeling inside of me
Is strong in me
Is strong in me
Could I tell you who I am
And would you really want to know
What it's been for me
Just to trust and to believe

I'd like to get next to you
Whenever you wanted to
I'd like to get next to you
Whenever you wanted to"

"Next to You"
Toni Childs



Jean-Luc Picard murmured in his sleep as he shifted to 
find a new position.  His lover watched as the captain 
rolled from his side onto his stomach and settled back 
into deeper sleep.  The move had shoved the covers down 
around Picard's waist and Q shook his head at the sight 
of Picard's back.  *I'm *vicious*,* the omnipotent 
entity thought.  He was somewhat amazed at the feelings 
that washed over him now.  Tenderness--that made sense; 
his lover's back was criss-crossed with welts and 
bruises, and Q had every reason to know that Picard's 
rear looked even worse.  Even Q's feeling of pride made 
sense.  After all, Picard had asked (begged actually) 
for the beating; surrendering to Q was a way for the 
fiercely independent Human to prove his love.  *And, of 
course, he *is* a masochist,* Q thought wryly.  *He 
likes the pain.*  But Q also felt awe; he was amazed 
that Picard could take as much as he had, amazed that 
after all the emotional pain--over two years of  it--
Picard could still let down his barriers enough to 
trust Q.  *Oh Johnny, I just hope I'm worthy of your 
trust.*  From anyone else that thought might have been 
a little over-the-top, the kind of things lovers tend 
to think, particularly at the beginning of a 
relationship.   For Q, however, it was a genuine worry.  
He had no experience with love; in fact, it had taken 
him a truly absurd length of time to realize that what 
he felt toward Picard *was* love.  Only the sight of 
Picard dying from injuries sustained in an explosion 
had finally made Q realize how important this fragile 
Human was to him.  

Now Q was struck by a truly terrible thought.  *He got 
hurt in the line of duty; he would have died if I 
hadn't saved him.  He *will* die someday; given his 
line of work, it's amazing that he's lasted as long as 
he has.*  Extremely troubled by this, Q reached out and 
put his hand lightly on Picard's shoulder.  *What's 
wrong with me?  I feel like . . . what do I feel like?*  
He had been spending a lot of time in his Human form 
lately, but he had never had the physical feeling that 
he felt now.  His chest felt like there was a heavy 
weight on it, and his throat seemed to have closed 
around a lump the size of a fist.  It was only when the 
first tear worked its way out of his eye that he 
realized what was happening.  *I'm crying?  That's 
ridiculous!*  He hadn't even cried when he was stuck in 
this form without his powers, condemned to mortality by 
his own race.  Of course, if he wanted to, he could 
stop the tears that kept welling up, could choke down 
the sob that was rising in his throat . . .  In spite 
of himself, his hand tightened on Picard's shoulder.

"Tell me."  The baritone voice that spoke was gentle, 
and hardly sounded like someone who had been fast 
asleep seconds ago.  Picard rolled over and looked up 
at Q, and the sight of the genuine concern on his face 
was too much.  Burying his face in his hands, Q sobbed.

Picard sat up carefully, trying to ignore the twinges 
of pain that occurred every time he shifted his weight.  
Wondering if Q would allow it, he reached out and tried 
to pull the sobbing entity into his arms.  To his 
surprise, his lover offered no resistance, and Picard 
held him close, trying to figure out what was wrong.  
*This is not something I *ever* expected to have 
happen,* he thought.  He gently stroked Q's back and 
waited to see if Q would say anything.  "Tell me," he 
said again when Q just continued to cry.

"You're . . . *mortal*," Q said.  "Jean-Luc . . . 
you're . . . going . . . to . . . die."  He was 
beginning to sound more than a little hysterical and 
Picard sighed.

*If I were to fall in love with a mayfly,* the captain 
thought, *maybe I'd understand.  But I need to make 
*him* understand me, or this will never work.*  When he 
spoke aloud, his voice was as gentle as he could make 
it.  "Yes I will.  Maybe even today."

"No!"

"Yes.  I'm *Human*, Q, and we die."  A thought occurred 
to him.  "*You* were the one who reminded me of the 
importance of living in the 'now.'  You were right."  
He brushed his lips across Q's hair.  "You're always 
right, remember?"  He allowed himself to sound somewhat 
patronizing, hoping that anger would help Q think a 
little more clearly.  

"Oh . . . of course," Q said, his voice miserable with 
self-loathing.  "It was . . . so *right* . . . of me to 
. . . take Q's dare . . . to hurt you . . . the way I . 
. . I did."  Picard sighed; Q seemed determined to 
wallow in self-pity.  While Picard could certainly 
understand the impulse, he was more than a little 
surprised to see Q acting like this.  The problem was 
that he had no idea of how to deal with Q in this 
state.  It was all very well to talk about living in 
the now, but he doubted that the word "now" meant the 
same thing to Q as it did to him.  There was also the 
fact that he was having some difficulty feeling sorry 
for Q.  While Picard had decided to take the emotional 
risk of letting Q back into his life, the pain he had 
lived with during the last two years could not be 
ignored.  In a way, and Picard couldn't help but feel a 
little guilty about this, it was rather gratifying to 
see Q show a little vulnerability.  He suddenly had an 
insight into his own emotional state as Q continued to 
huddle in his arms.  He had only let Q come back once 
he had realized that he had some semblance of emotional 
control over the omnipotent entity.  Only once Jean-Luc 
had known that his rejection of Q had actually hurt Q, 
could he accept Q back into his life.

*Oh God, I'm petty,* Picard thought shaking his head.  
*I love him.  Why can't that be enough?*  His own words 
of a week ago came back to him; "sometimes, Q, love 
isn't enough."  Because he had to say *something*, he 
sighed.  "Q, this is pointless.  You knew when you . . 
. you knew this afternoon that I was mortal.  Hell, you 
knew it when you saved my life."  He pulled back 
slightly to try to meet his lover's eyes.  "You have a 
choice; you can spend all our time together mourning my 
mortality, or you can do what I do."

"Which is?" Q asked.  Picard saw the faint beginnings 
of a frown furrow Q's brow.

"Ignore it."

"Oh *that's* productive," Q said sarcastically.

"Well," Picard snapped, feeling his patience unravel.  
"*I* didn't waste two years of our time!"  *There, that 
ought to do it,* he thought.  It did *something*, but 
not at all what Jean-Luc had expected.  Q's face 
crumpled up and he started crying again.  *Oh merde!  
This is hopeless!  Why didn't I keep my damned mouth 
shut?*

"I . . . know . . ." Q sobbed.  "Oh . . . Jean-Luc . . 
.  I'm so . . . sorry . . ."

Picard decided to say nothing.  He pulled Q close again 
and just held him, rocking back and forth slightly. 
After several long  moments, Jean-Luc tried again. 
"Shhh . . ." he murmured.  "I didn't mean to hurt you, 
Q . . ."  Q's sobs were dying down.  "Hush, mon amour . 
. ."  Picard whispered into Q's dark hair.  "I'm here, 
love . . . right here with you . . . it's all right 
love . . ."

Q felt the ache slowly leave his chest as Picard's 
voice rolled over him.  He had wanted this, he suddenly 
realized.  He had wanted to be here in Jean-Luc's arms, 
listening to his lover reassure him.  Part of him was 
shocked; how could he *need* anyone, let alone a mere 
mortal, this much?  But hearing Picard call him "love" 
brought back that feeling of having come home.  When he 
spoke, the words that came out surprised him.  "Please 
. . . Jean-Luc . . . don't . . . don't send me away.  
Please . . ."

"Send you . . . Q, it would . . . I . . . couldn't 
possibly . . ."  To Q's surprise, Picard's voice 
trailed off raggedly.  He pulled back to see Picard 
staring at him.  "I *love* you," Jean-Luc said, and Q 
clung to the words.  Then Picard did something that 
shocked Q even more.  Grabbing his lover's hand, Picard 
held it against his own cheek.  "Go ahead," he 
whispered roughly, and Q could tell that he was 
terrified, but determined.  "See for yourself."  Picard 
let his own hand fall to his side, and closed his eyes.  
There was no way that Q could pretend that he didn't 
know what Picard wanted, and once more his awe of Jean-
Luc's trust welled up.  Picard had always hated the 
fact that Q was able to read his mind.  For him to 
offer the chance at a moment like this meant the world 
to Q.  Cupping Picard's cheek, he took a deep breath.

"Thank you," he whispered.  Then he went in, slowly, 
carefully, looking only for the feelings that centered 
around himself.  There was still some distrust and 
anger, but not as much as he would have expected.  He 
read the thoughts of a moment ago; how like Jean-Luc to 
feel guilty about having the ability to hurt his lover.  
Q couldn't help the smile that crossed his lips.  
*You're a better man than I, Johnny,* he thought 
privately.  In the midst of all these peripheral 
thoughts however, were need and love blazing like a 
beacon across the landscape of Picard's mind.  Those 
feelings had been walled off and denied for a time, but 
they had never really gone away.  If Picard was no 
longer quite so blindly trusting, and no longer had the 
almost religious awe of Q that he had once had, well, 
in Q's opinion that was all for the better.  What was 
important was that to himself, Jean-Luc felt complete, 
more *himself* than he had ever felt.  He was taking 
the risk he had taken because he literally felt that he 
could not live without Q.  Picard also *had* to 
surrender, because, as Q had realized dimly earlier, it 
was the only way that he could covey the depth of his 
love for Q.  It was also something that was just a part 
of Jean-Luc (and Q didn't bother to delve any deeper to 
figure out why), this need to submit, but only to 
someone who was worthy of that submission.  The 
contradiction, that this man who needed so much to 
command also needed to serve, delighted Q, who loved 
contradictions.  To find himself at the center of this 
burning hunger to *belong*, to be owned, made Q aware 
of his own contradictory needs.  

And so, tears sliding down his cheeks, Q did something 
he had *never* done, even with the few lovers he'd had 
among his own race.  Carefully, gently (lest he injure 
Picard with an onslaught of information no Human could 
grasp), he let down the iron inner barriers maintained 
against all for millennia.  It took time, and more than 
once Q froze, fighting his culturally ingrained fear of 
vulnerability, but Picard remained still and patient, 
sensing that what was happening was of vital 
importance.

It began slowly, like a dim light in the distance, but 
then the feelings came in faster, and Jean-Luc felt his 
mind working as it stretched to understand someone 
else's feelings and emotions.  There was fear, a fear 
that only now made sense, as he realized just how much 
he *could* hurt Q, and how awful Picard's mortality 
seemed to his omnipotent lover.  He understood, even if 
only a little, what Q's life had been like, an 
existence that seemed unbelievably bleak and dull when 
looked back on through the hindsight of Q's new-found 
feelings.  And those feelings--Jean-Luc had never been 
loved liked this, had never been *needed* this much, he 
was certain of it.  It washed over him, almost drowning 
him with its intensity.  There was an almost greedy 
quality to Q's feelings; he *did* need to conquer, he 
*needed* Picard's submission as a reassurance that 
Jean-Luc loved him.  Picard realized that his very 
willingness to belong to Q, made things both easier and 
more difficult for a being who had never had to work 
for anything as he had worked (and would continue to 
have to work) to deserve Picard's submission.  This 
was, in fact, another fear of Q's, that he couldn't 
change enough, that he would only end up hurting the 
man he loved.  He was terrified that someday, Picard 
would say "Stop!" and really mean it.  But there was 
confidence, and determination as well, to not only be 
worthy, but to see that *Jean-Luc* was worthy of the 
love of a Q.  

For the first time during this timeless exploration of 
one another's feelings, Q spoke, if only 
telepathically.  *If *I* have to prove myself worthy, 
so Jean-Luc, do *you*.*

*Test me,* Picard sent back instantly, knowing that Q 
could read the sincerity behind the thought.  *That was 
the first thing I ever asked of you* (and Q had a flash 
of Picard standing in the courtroom nine years ago 
saying "Then test us, Your Honor."), *and now I mean it 
even more than I did then.  Hurt me . . .  push my 
limits . . . train me . . . force me to respect you . . 
. and if you can, then . . . you have me . . . all of 
me . . .*

*Ah, but Johnny, you know that the more I do that, the 
more *I* will respect and need *you*.*

Amusement radiated out of Jean-Luc.  *Ah ha!  It's the 
old question in all that . . . literature of mine.  Who 
controls? . . . who calls the shots? . . . the Master . 
. .* and for the first time there was hesitation, while 
Picard fought briefly with himself, * . . . or the 
slave.*  

*Maybe we both do . . . and yet, maybe neither of us 
does.  I have a feeling it's going to be . . . 
interesting trying to figure it out.*

*I doubt we ever will,* Picard replied, and Q was 
amused to hear his trademark dry delivery 
telepathically.

"I doubt we ever will, *Sir*," Q said aloud.  Even 
though he knew that it was safe, even though he knew 
that this connection had been utterly necessary at this 
point, Q still had to back off now.  He felt too 
exposed and raw, and the lessons of his upbringing told 
him that exposure of this kind was a dangerous thing.  
Hoping Picard would understand (and relived that as he 
gently closed their link, a flash of understanding 
*did* cross Jean-Luc's mind), Q moved back to the 
physical world.

To his surprise, Picard did not immediately repeat the 
words.  Instead, the captain snorted slightly and 
crossed his arms across his chest.  Q grinned, a wicked 
grin.  Jean-Luc had never really fought him, although 
just this afternoon, he had deliberately set himself up 
to be knocked down.  But *this* was pure 
insubordination, and Q knew that Picard wanted him to 
react in the expected manner.  *But I don't like doing 
the expected, Johnny,* Q thought to himself, *and I'm 
not going to let you manipulate me like that.*  He 
shrugged and stretched back out on the bed.

End 1/5
-- 
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Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 1, 2/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:34:03 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: ACT Chap 1, 2/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)	


At the Center of Things
Chapter One
2/5
disclaimers in 1/1


Picard shook his head.  *Oh,* he thought, amused, *now 
I'm supposed to beg.*  Unknowingly mirroring Q's 
thoughts, he smiled inwardly.  *I'm *not* going to do 
what I'm supposed to do.*  Moving suddenly and swiftly, 
he had Q pinned to the bed before the startled entity 
could react.  "Are you going to fight fair?" he asked, 
not even breathing hard.

"Moi?"  Q didn't struggle, but suddenly Picard felt 
fingertips teasing the insides of his thighs.  Doing 
his best to ignore the situation, he began to wrestle 
Q's arms above his head.  Q, in turn, ignored what 
Jean-Luc was doing, figuring that his Human form was 
undoubtedly strong enough to break Picard's hold 
whenever he wanted to.  He continued telekinetically 
teasing his lover, adding the sensation of a new set of 
fingertips moving lazily across Picard's ass.  Even 
omnipotent beings can't remember everything however, 
and Q had forgotten a rather important recent creation 
of his.  Picard moved again, straddling Q's chest as he 
reached for . . .

"What the fuck?!"  The words weren't even all the way 
out of Q's mouth when he felt the heavy leather close 
around his wrist.  He twisted, but discovered that 
physical strength needed leverage and that, having 
depended on physical strength all his life, Picard had 
the advantage.  The was a *snick* as the lock closed on 
the wrist cuff and Q had to decide what to do.  Should 
he let Jean-Luc get away with it or should he use his 
powers to get out?  Then again, if he got Picard worked 
up enough, maybe Picard would voluntarily let him out.  
So he fought back with mortal strength only, while at 
the same time continuing his tease.  

Picard gritted his teeth as the fingers that had been 
roaming his thighs moved inward and upward to slide 
lightly along his cock.  He did his best to ignore the 
maddeningly delicate touch as he wrestled Q's other 
wrist into the second cuff.  Deciding to fight fire 
with fire, he suddenly bent his head and began running 
his tongue over one of Q's nipples, letting his fingers 
toy with the other one.  His actions were rewarded with 
a sharp gasp from his lover, and, encouraged, he 
brought his teeth into play, as his fingers pinched the 
other nipple harder.  

They remained at this balance of power for a short 
time, but Jean-Luc began to realize that if he didn't 
act fast, those fingers were going to drive him crazy.  
Abandoning Q's chest, he maneuvered himself further 
down, ending up half-kneeling between Q's legs.  
Reaching out, he slid a firm hand along Q's cock, 
deciding that delicacy was out of the question for now.  
Q had apparently decided the opposite; the invisible 
fingertips kept their touch light.  Of course that 
wasn't all he did, one of the fingers that had been 
tracing its delicate way around Picard's ass suddenly 
began teasing his anus.  Jean-Luc allowed a moan to 
escape, and then fought back the only way he could.  
*Like riding a bicycle,* he thought with a smile as he 
bent his head.  Once more disdaining a teasing 
approach, he slid his mouth down over Q's cock, sucking 
hard.

"Ohhh . . ." Q moaned.  He had forgotten how much he 
liked the feel of Jean-Luc's mouth around him.  And 
now, damn him, Picard had brought his tongue into play 
as well.  *Why did I encourage him to get so good at 
this?*  Q clung to his pride however, refusing to use 
his powers to dampen his growing arousal.  Instead he 
suddenly stepped up his telekinetic stimulation.

Picard moaned around Q's cock as a warm oily hand began 
sliding up and down his cock in just the right rhythm.  
At the same time, two fingers moved easily into his 
ass.  He responded by shifting his position.  Instead 
of fighting the invisible hands, he accommodated them, 
moving into the familiar position of knees and elbows, 
while not stopping the attention he was paying to Q's 
erection.  As he felt himself getting closer to an 
orgasm, he oh-so-gently scraped his teeth along the 
underside of Q's cock, while at the same time cupping 
one hand firmly around Q's balls.

Completely taken by surprise, Q let go; he really 
*couldn't* help it.  Jerking his wrists against the 
cuffs, he uttered a long groan of ecstasy as he 
abandoned himself to the orgasm that washed over him.  
When it was over, Jean-Luc sat up.  Smiling 
triumphantly as he caught his breath, the captain said, 
"a little distracted . . . were we?"  Q realized that 
he had stopped his telekinetic tease.  Q pride was one 
thing, but enough was enough, opening the locks took no 
time at all.  

Sitting up, the entity spoke as he rubbed his wrists.  
"Down!"  He snapped his fingers and then pointed to the 
floor.  Picard didn't hesitate or fight this time.  
Having made his point, he was now quite willing to 
surrender.  He moved quickly, sliding off the bed to 
land on his knees on the floor.  Clasping his hands 
behind his back, he spread his knees and waited.  To 
his surprise, Q just looked at him for a moment.  Jean-
Luc gulped slightly; what was Q thinking of doing?  
Then his lover shook his head, and reached down to grab 
his arm.  "Get up here, Johnny.  You won . . . this 
time." 

"Yes Sir," was the demure reply.  Q chuckled as his 
lover climbed back into bed.  Jean-Luc smiled at him, a 
wicked little smile that made Q catch his breath.

"What *is* it about you?" the entity asked, pulling 
Picard close.

Picard laughed softly.  "My high pain threshold, 
maybe?"

"Show me," Q ordered.  "Roll over and show me your 
ass."

Picard caught his breath as he obeyed.  God, he'd 
forgotten how hard this was, half kneeling like this 
while Q inspected his welts and bruises.  He moaned as 
Q's fingers found and pinched at a rather large bruise.  
Those fingers were through, finding and teasing each 
mark and welt, and Picard got even more aroused.  He 
shifted slightly, arching his back, and sliding his 
knees apart.  "Slut," Q said mockingly.  Picard moaned 
in humiliation, but he didn't alter his position.  
"Greedy boy, you want it, don't you?"

"Yes Master," Picard replied.  And oh, he did want it, 
even though he'd been well-fucked a few hours ago.  
"Please?"

"Please what, boy?"  Q shivered at the sight of Jean-
Luc on his knees and elbows, begging for it.  It was 
such a heady feeling, watching his lover surrender to 
this overwhelming need, and knowing that he, Q, was the 
catalyst for that surrender.  No one had ever *needed* 
Q like this and the entity felt a strong wave of love 
roll over him.  Jean-Luc's next words, while not 
unexpected, or even very original, just added to the 
scene.

"Please fuck me, Master."

Remembering Picard's love of the ritual aspects of  
their scenes, and deciding that they were both ready 
for the next step, Q kept his voice cool as he replied.  
"Try it again, pet.  Does the phrase 'formal voice 
training' mean anything to you?"

Formal voice training . . . Picard tried to remember 
what that meant.  He was already calling Q Master, but 
there was more he would have to do.  "Please Master, 
please fuck your boy."  He was pleased that his voice 
didn't shake; it was harder than he'd expected.  He 
knew that he wasn't supposed to refer to himself as 
"I", but he wasn't entirely sure what else was 
required.

"Hmmm . . ." Q murmured.  "Not bad for a beginner, 
johnny.  However, you have some studying to do."

"Yes Master," Picard replied.  "Please Master, may your 
slave make a request?"

"I'll listen, boy."

"Please Master."  Picard was beginning to find the 
cadence required.  "Would you consent to  training your 
slave?"

"What kind of training?" Q asked.  "Voice training?"

"No Master," Picard replied, meaning every word 
although he knew he was getting in deep  here.  
"Please, Sir, train your . . . boy to serve you, to be 
the slave that his Master wants him to be."

*Such a gift,* Q thought.  *And such a responsibility.  
If I train him to be a slave, I have to learn how to be 
a master.  Oh, clever Johnny, very clever.  I'll do it 
of course, but then, I'll do anything.*  It was a hard 
thing to admit, even privately, just how far he would 
go for Jean-Luc.  It was, in a way, even harder to 
admit that this was something he wanted, and yes 
*needed* as much as Jean-Luc wanted and needed it.  But 
he couldn't help it, the thought of working Jean-Luc 
over, of going through the whole traditional series of 
lessons, of perfecting his close to perfect lover, was 
unbelievably exciting.  *I'll have to find some time 
and place to show him in public when the time comes.*  
He smiled at the thought, and moved off the bed, 
conjuring up dark leather pants, a black silk shirt and 
a pair of heavy leather boots.  "The proper position 
for a request is deep obeisance."  Picard moved off the 
bed quickly, folding himself into the required pose, 
forehead inches away from Q's boots.  *Oh Johnny, don't 
let me mess this up again; I *need* you too much.*

"Please Master, will you train your slave?"  Although 
he knew the answer would be yes, Picard still trembled 
slightly as he waited.  What if Q had only done this 
before because it was a way to keep Picard off balance?  
What if Q didn't really want this or even him?  *Don't 
be an idiot, Jean-Luc, you *know* he wants you; he 
showed you that much.  He even needs to see  me like 
this.*  Still Q didn't answer and Jean-Luc bit his lips 
and tried not to clench his fists.  He reached inside 
himself for that patience he was known for, accepting 
that it was Q's . . . his Master's decision, and that 
his own wants, needs and desires had nothing to do with 
it. *He's my Master, and it's for him to decide.*  He 
relaxed a little then, and waited.

Q saw the barely perceptible shift of Picard's posture, 
as Jean-Luc accepted his position.  "Good boy," he said 
softly.  "Kneel up, and look at me."  Jean-Luc obeyed, 
placing his hands behind his back and spreading his 
knees.  "This is *real*," Q continued.  "It's not a 
game to me and I won't let it be one to you, 
understand?"

"Yes Master."

"You *really* will be my slave, do you understand?"

"Yes Master."

"Do you want it?"

 "More than anything Master."  Picard's eyes locked 
with Q's as he tried to convey his sincerity.  "Please 
Master, please accept my service."

"Your first Rule will be that the word stop means stop, 
no questions asked."

"Yes Master.  Thank you Master."

"Repeat it."

Yes Master."  As Picard spoke, his voice was clear and 
steady.  "The word stop means stop, no questions 
asked."

Q held his hands in front of Picard, and materialized a 
simple plain black leather collar.  It had a silver 
loop closure, and Picard stared at it in fascination.  
*This could be a mistake," he thought, * but I suppose 
it's a little too late to think that.*  He looked up at 
Q, but could no longer meet his Master's eyes. 

"Chin up, johnny."

"Yes Master."  Picard held still as Q placed the collar 
around his neck.  The entity materialized a silver 
lock, and snapped it shut through the loop.  There was 
a solid sounding snick, and Picard sighed.  This was 
everything he'd ever wanted, to find an owner, someone 
who would, who *could* master him completely and force 
him to be his very best.  That his thought was 
unbelievably arrogant for a man who'd just had a collar 
locked around his throat didn't occur to him at all.  
"Thank you Master."  Remembering something he'd done 
two years ago, Jean-Luc leaned down and kissed the toes 
of Q's boots, leaving his head down when he'd finished.

*He's *so* good; all I have to do is smooth out the 
rough edges.  How could I have refused this before; why 
did I run away when he did this?*  "Now," Q said aloud.  
"I believe you were asking to be fucked."

***

//And oh was I fucked,// Jean-Luc wrote in his journal 
the next morning as he sat in his ready room.  He moved 
slightly in his chair, glad that Q was once more 
shielding his thoughts Troi. That she knew that Q was 
back in his life had been obvious from the discreet 
message requesting a meeting she'd left on his terminal 
this morning.  He looked again at the gorgeous brown 
leather bound book that she had given him a few weeks 
ago.  Her point had been that any number of people, 
most of whom out-ranked Picard, could get into his 
personal logs, and that he might want something that 
was his alone.  At some point this morning, he'd 
mentioned it to Q as they drowsed and talked.  Q had 
been amused, but had also promised without being asked 
not to read it.  And so this morning after the staff 
meeting, Picard had carefully started writing in the 
book.  //I'm with Q again,// the first sentence read.  
//I'm probably out of my mind, but I can't live the way 
I was living.  If he hurts me again, I may well lose my 
mind, but I *have* to do this.  And, as amazing as it 
seems, so does he.//  He'd rambled on about the 
evening, and tried to describe the feeling of touching 
Q's mind.  He didn't think that he did the experience 
justice, but he tried.  It was odd trying to find words 
to describe both his feelings and the things that had 
occurred last night.  //I can't believe that I spent as 
much time crying as I did.  And it felt so good to lay 
there in his arms this morning after he hurt me and let 
it all out.  It really is everything I'd ever hoped 
for, and *he* is everything I ever wanted.  But . . .//  
He'd paused after writing that "but."  //there's an 
awful lot we haven't talked about.  He can't be *here* 
all the time.  He has to understand that; I need to 
explain so that it doesn't hurt him.  I have to keep 
johnny and Captain Picard separate, or I can't command.  
It's that simple.//  His door chime rang and he sighed, 
shutting the book.  "Come."  The door slid open, 
revealing Troi.  He held the book up and she smiled.

"Does it help?"

"I don't know yet, but I think it might.  It's odd, 
I've never been one to keep a journal.  Even my 
personal logs usually aren't very personal."  He put 
the book aside.  "So, we need to talk?"

"So it would seem," she said dryly.  His mouth quirked 
in a smile at her imitation of one of his favorite 
phrases.  *He looks so *good*!* she thought.  *I swear 
last night took five years off him.*  He was relaxed, 
his smile looked normal, not forced, and the warmth 
that had been all but gone in the last two years was 
back in his hazel eyes.  She hated to nag him, but 
there were things that simply *had* to be said.  "I 
can't get anything from you.   If couldn't see you, I 
wouldn't know that you were on this ship."

"And you don't like that," he answered calmly.

"No, I don't."

Picard sighed.  "Deanna, other captains have counselors 
who can't read their emotions.  They manage."

"*Other* captains aren't involved with Q."

"But other captains *are* involved.  They have their 
personal lives and their officers don't know the 
details of what goes on off-shift."  He paused, but put 
a hand up to stop her from speaking.  After a moment, 
he rose from his desk and paced to the window.  Looking 
out at the stars, he tried to explain.  "I won't have a 
lot of time with Q but the time I do have with him has 
to be private."  He turned and looked her straight in 
the eye.  "It's the way it was before, Deanna.  I 
submit to him, he hurts me and I like it.  I really 
don't want to have you looking over my shoulder while 
that's happening.  Frankly, it's none of your business 
unless it interferes with my ability to command.  Does 
my being a submissive masochist interfere with that 
ability?"

*Red alert and fire *all* weapons,* Troi thought.  He'd 
decided on a full frontal attack, and she was glad to 
see that he was determined to win this one.  He would 
too, because he was right.  His sexual proclivities 
alone were not enough to interfere with his command and 
she saw no sign that there would be any danger that the 
games he and Q played would stray out of the bedroom.  
In fact, that might come to be a problem between the 
two lovers, but it wasn't now, and she didn't want to 
anticipate.  "No Captain, it doesn't.  I would like you 
to consider letting me . . . allowing me the access 
I've always had in the areas that concern the ship's 
business.  It has been part of our working 
relationship.  I don't need to know what you do with Q; 
to tell the truth, I don't think I *want* to know," and 
she softened her words with a smile.  "But being able 
to judge your overall mood has helped me advise you in 
the past."

"I'll discuss it with Q.  I'm sure we can work out a 
compromise.  He has promised not to read my mind unless 
there's some overwhelming reason to; I'm sure he'll 
agree to this too."  

He did seem sure, she noticed; he casually assumed that 
his omnipotent lover would do as requested.  *Who's on 
top?* she thought.  "Captain," she asked aloud.  "Can 
you tell Q that I would very much appreciate a word 
with him?  Given everything that has happened between 
the two of you, I have some questions for him."

Picard rolled his eyes as he walked back to his desk.  
"Isn't it a little early for pre-marital counseling?" 
Troi laughed, and he grinned back at her, finding it 
impossible to be angry at anyone this morning.  "Q?  
Counselor Troi would like a word with you."  The ready 
room suddenly resembled a Victorian office.  Picard was 
still behind the desk, but Troi was in a comfortable 
chair and Q was lying on a sofa.  "Q," Picard said, his 
voice a warning.  Q laughed, snapped his fingers and 
the ready room looked normal.  Picard shook his head.  
"*I* have work to do," he said.  

Troi smiled at him and turned to Q.  "My office 
perhaps?  Unless of course you want to look in on 
Jeanne with me?"  Q made a face and gestured toward the 
door.  Troi rose and Q followed her, but not before 
leaning over Picard's desk and kissing Jean-Luc lightly 
on the lips.  Picard shook his head as they vanished 
before the door had a chance to open.

"Computer? Location of Counselor Troi?"

"In her office; where else would she be?  Get to work 
Johnny."  It was Q's voice and Picard shook his head.  
Life would never be dull again, he thought turning back 
to the mission report.


End 2/5

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 1, 3/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:34:22 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: ACT Chap 1, 3/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter One
3/5
disclaimers in 1/5



***

"Well?" Q asked flippantly.  He lounged at ease in 
Troi's office, pretending that there was nothing odd 
about floating a few meters above the sofa.  

Troi gave up on acting like this was any other 
conference.  "I can make this very difficult for you Q, 
and you can’t do anything to stop me."  He  glared down 
at her, but she set her face stubbornly, and he 
suddenly laughed.  He vanished in  flash to reappear 
sitting on the sofa.

"You won't because that would involve making *his* life 
difficult, but I'll give you an A for effort.  So what 
do you want to talk to me about?"

She sighed.  "I want you to think about this.  Really 
think about it, Q.  It's not going to be . . ."

"Oh for heaven's sake, Deanna!  Do I look like a child?  
I have a clue . . ."

"No," she interrupted.  "You don't have a clue.  You 
told me yourself that you don't know anything about 
being in love.  I just want . . . I just want you to 
*think* about this."

"I have thought about it."  Q looked serious and Deanna 
tried to listen objectively.   "But I  . . . you want 
me to say it don't you?  I *need* him."

"I could care less whether you say that to *me* or not.  
Have you told *him* that?  The captain doesn't like 
being vulnerable, but it will be a lot easier for him 
if you let him know that you're vulnerable too.  I know 
this is all "psycho-babble" but you're dealing with a 
Human, Q.  You're trying to bridge an unbelievable gap 
in species, age, maturity, and experience.  You're 
facing a relationship with someone who (to be quite 
blunt) doesn't have a very good track record as far as 
relationships go.  Captain Picard is stubborn, selfish, 
and very used to having his own way.  He is willing to 
compromise at the negotiating table, but not in his 
personal relationships.  He's demanding, and has a hard 
time letting anyone get close.  It won't be easy and 
the "games" that the two of you play are going to make 
it harder."

"He told you about that?"

"Circumspectly, but it didn't surprise me.  I'm not 
going to bore you with all the reasons why, and it's 
really none of your business.  My point was that both 
of you are going to have to work *very* hard to make 
this work.  During all of this, I want *my* position to 
be clear.  If I see that any of this interferes with 
his ability to command, it is my duty to both this ship 
and to *him* to talk to him about it."

A silence fell after this blunt statement.  Q sighed.  
"I just want to be with him.  There's so little time . 
. ."

"And when will you be here?  All the time?  What will 
your role be in his life when you're here?  I doubt 
very much that you'll fit into the social structure of 
the ship the way a more normal partner would.  Most of 
us bore you, and quite frankly, most of us don’t like 
you.  So what will you do?"

"I don't know.  And don't think that I haven't thought 
about it.  I just *know* that he's going to ask me to 
not be here when he's on a mission that requires any 
kind of concentration on his part.  I'll say yes, of 
course.  Do you have any idea what this is like for me?  
How many years does he have?"  Q gloomily answered his 
own question.  "60, maybe 70 years, if he's careful.  
To you that's a long time, but to me it the blink of an 
eye. I'm going to have to promise not to meddle any 
more with his health, and undoubtedly he'll tell me 
that if he dies . . . that if he dies, he doesn’t want 
me to bring him back.  So here I am.  A Q, used to 
having whatever I want, suddenly discovering that the 
only thing I really want has a mind of his own."

"This might work," Troi said softly.  Q looked up at 
her; she was watching him with a slight smile on her 
face.  "You *have* been thinking."  He made an 
impatient face and she laughed.  "I know, it's 
unbelievably arrogant of me to presume to counsel an 
omnipotent immortal entity.  But Q . . . ever since the 
captain almost died at R'thel, I've had you fixed in my 
mind as being anywhere from the age of 13 to about 20.  
Not very flattering, but there it is."

"You're too kind.  What did Jean-Luc think of that 
assessment?'

"I don't know, I didn't share it with him.  I'm a 
professional Q; I don't go telling him what you said, 
and I won't tell you what he said to me.  I'm the 
Neutral Zone on this ship."

"25," Q said a moment later, breaking the silence that 
had fallen.  He was struggling with the fact that he 
found himself *liking* her.  Absurd of course, she 
didn't have clue as to what she was talking about, and 
yet . . . she knew Jean-Luc in ways that he, Q, didn't.  
And she knew how mortal relationships worked.  And so, 
he would be honest (or at least somewhat honest) with 
her.  "I'm an adult, but a young one."

"That may be harder than a lot of the rest of it.  He 
has a whole life of experiences that you don’t share."

"But I do share them.  Deanna, after the second time I 
appeared on this ship, I went back and researched Jean-
Luc *very* thoroughly.  I know what his whole life has 
been like, from the first step he took, to the first 
woman he had sex with, to what he had for breakfast 
just before I appeared on the bridge in my 16th century 
captain's clothing near Farpoint.  It's not like 
watching a holodrama either, I know what he thought at 
the time, and I can tell how various things in his life 
shaped him."

"Does he know about this?"

"A little."

"Be careful about how you tell him.  He'll feel . . ."

"Like I've violated his privacy.  I know.  But what can 
I do?  At the time I just thought I was doing my job . 
. . although Q said . . ."

"Q?"

"We don't have individual names you know.  The Q I'm 
talking about, my . . . sibling, if you will, said that 
I should have known how important Johnny . . . sorry, 
Jean-Luc, was to me, by the way I researched him so 
thoroughly.  I'm not known for my dedication to doing 
things the right way."

"Well, one quick tip; don’t call him Johnny in front of 
any of us.  If for some unknown reason, you're talking 
to anyone but me about him, try to avoid the nickname."  
She smiled.  "He may be your lover, but he's our 
captain.  That's two steps above God."  She shook her 
head.  "As for the fact that you know far more about 
his life than he knows about yours . . . you could tell 
him about your life.  He's got to be dying of 
curiosity, you know."

"I can't possibly explain what it's like to be a Q," Q 
said dismissively.

"Then what are you doing committing bestiality?"  Q 
stared at her, and Deanna shrugged.  "Well?  If you 
don't think he's capable of understanding your life 
story, then how can there be any connection between you 
other than sex?  Have you tried to let him into your 
mind?"

"Yes . . . it was one of the hardest things I've ever 
done."  She looked at him curiously.  "It's . . . we 
don't . . . can't show that much of ourselves . . . 
it's . . . dangerous . . ."

"Then go slowly.  You don't have to tell him everything 
at once, you know.  I'm just trying to help, and as you 
so politely haven't said, I may be way off base.  Just 
tell yourself that what you have is important to you 
and that you're willing to work hard to keep it."  She 
shrugged.  "I tell that to myself all the time.  It's 
not easy  being a Betazoid woman married to a Klingon 
man."  She smiled at the face he made.  "He doesn't 
like *you* either.  Anyway, I'll make you an offer.  
Any time you need to talk about this, let me know.  
I'll do my best to help you."  

"For his sake."

"Mostly.  What did you expect?"

"That you'd hide it better.  There is one thing about 
someone who grew up in a telepathic society, you can be 
refreshingly blunt."  Q stood.  "I won't always be this 
nice, you know, but . . . thank you."  Before she could 
reply, he snapped his fingers and was gone.  Troi shook 
her head.  

"Why me?" she muttered, looking at her schedule .

***

When Picard walked through his door to his quarters, he 
knew instantly that Q wasn't there.  Before he had much 
time to think about it, a voice spoke out of nowhere.  
"May I join you?"

"Of course," Picard replied, amused by Q's 
uncharacteristic politeness.  As soon as the words were 
out of his mouth, Q appeared.  Picard caught his breath 
at the sight of his lover.  He suddenly hoped that he 
always felt this way about Q, and looking at him, he 
was sure he would.  Q was smiling and Picard felt his 
knees get weak at the smile.  Unsure of himself, Jean-
Luc held out his hands in an inviting gesture.  Q 
gripped them, pulled Picard into an close embrace, and 
kissed him.  Picard relaxed into Q's arms, and let his 
mouth open under the pressure of Q's lips.  Q teased 
him, nibbling Jean-Luc's lips lightly for a time, 
before truly kissing him. 

Q could feel it happening; Jean-Luc was melting against 
him.  It was one of the things Q remembered about him; 
there was a point at which Jean-Luc would give himself 
over to the experience at hand.  Q knew that it was 
something Picard rarely permitted to happen, and so it 
meant even more when it happened as fast as it did now.  
Q took advantage of his height, forcing Jean-Luc to 
lean his head further back as the kiss intensified.  
Jean-Luc was moaning into Q's mouth now, and Q could 
feel Jean-Luc's erection nudging against his own.  He 
wanted him, right *now*, he realized.  He didn't want 
to talk, or think or anything.  He just wanted to lose 
himself in Jean-Luc.  He pulled back and looked at his 
lover.  

At first Jean-Luc didn't know what to make of the look 
on Q's face.  Then it struck him; his omnipotent lover 
was staring at him hungrily, need written clearly 
across his features.  They needed to talk, Picard knew, 
needed to discuss the parameters of this strange new 
relationship of theirs.  But . . . all Jean-Luc wanted 
to do was give Q what he so obviously needed.  *The 
hell with it,* he thought.  *We can talk later.*  "How 
do you want me?" he asked aloud.  He quickly added, 
"Sir?"

Q had been expecting some kind of resistance; he had 
been sure that Jean-Luc would insist that they sit and 
talk.  To realize that Picard didn't care about what 
they *should* be doing thrilled him.  He snapped his 
fingers and Jean-Luc was naked.  "You're unbelievable, 
Jean-Luc.  I swear you're the most gorgeous Human I've 
ever seen.  Put your hands behind your back."  Picard 
did so.  "johnny, I want you to acknowledge my orders 
to you."

"Yes, Master.  I will Master."   Picard didn't think it 
would be a good idea to disagree with Q, but he was 
embarrassed at being called gorgeous.  In an odd way, 
though, it was rather encouraging.  After all, if Q was 
in love with him to the point of being able to refer to 
him as gorgeous, well, it was somewhat reassuring.  He 
drew a breath in sharply; Q had grabbed his upper arm.  
Without saying anything, the entity dragged him over to 
his desk and pushed him down over it.   A slap to the 
insides of his thighs made him spread his legs, and his 
heart began to pound as Q slid a well-lubricated finger 
inside him.  In very short order, the finger was 
replaced with Q's cock.  There was no teasing, and very 
little preparation, Q simply moved into him hard.  
"Ohhh . . ." Picard moaned, trying to ride with the 
pain.   *This hurts . . . but it's what *he* wants from 
me . . . he must know that it hurts like this . . . 
I've got to learn to accept whatever he wants . . .*  
The thought was terribly arousing, and in spite of the 
pain, Jean-Luc began to move with Q.

"Hold still!  This is for me."  Q emphasized his order 
by grabbing Picard's hips and holding him firm against 
the desk. 

"Yes . . . Master," Jean-Luc managed to gasp out.  The 
concept, that Q was simply using him, made Picard's 
head spin.  It was almost overwhelming, to be wanted 
this much, and it more than made up for the pain.  
Particularly now that the pain was melting into 
sensation.  He began moaning as Q continued to move in 
and out of him.  "Oh . . . Dieu . . . yess . . ."

"You like this," Q said, mockingly.

Picard felt terribly ashamed.  He *did* like this, 
liked being bent over his *own* desk while Q used him.  
The shame only made him more aroused.  "Oui . . . it's 
so . . . bon . . .ahh."

*He really is lapsing into French.  How flattering.*  
But Q didn't really want to think about Picard's choice 
of language.  He wanted to think about the feeling of 
being inside Jean-Luc, and his own surprising need to 
do this.  He didn't hold back, and as his own orgasm 
approached, he noticed that Jean-Luc was clinging to 
the desk with white-knuckled strength.  "You don't  . . 
." Q managed to gasp out.  " . . .have permission . . . 
to come . . ."  Picard groaned in frustration, and 
slammed his fist against the top of the desk.  Knowing 
that he was firmly in control, Q gave in to his own 
need to come, groaning loudly as he went over the edge.  
He slumped against Picard and the desk for a moment, 
before slowly moving off his lover.  Having not been 
given permission to move, Jean-Luc remained over the 
desk and Q smiled.  *Train him?* the entity thought, *I 
think he'll end up training me.*  "Turn around, 
johnny," he said aloud.

"Yes Master."  Picard turned around and Q had to smile.  

*My, that's lovely,* he thought.  "You're going to turn 
me into a size queen, boy," he said aloud and laughed 
gently as Picard looked confused.  "It's an old 
expression," Q explained, "and it refers to a man who 
likes men with big dicks."  Picard blushed, looking 
totally embarrassed.  Q grinned at him and flopped onto 
the sofa.  "Go ahead and work it for me johnny.  Nice 
and slow, boy . . ."  He snapped his fingers and 
laughed as Jean-Luc jumped slightly.  "Lesson time, 
Jean-Luc.  I want you to think about who I am and 
realize that you have to get used to things appearing 
out of thin air and the locale changing abruptly.  I'll 
give you a grace period, but don't jump when I provide 
you with something as trifling as lubrication."

"Yes Master.  Your boy will try, Master."

"Now," Q snapped, his voice hard.  "I gave you an 
order.  Do it!"  Jean-Luc was clearly embarrassed to be 
leaning against his desk stroking his own cock.  But he 
did his best, and Q watched as the energy fields that 
made up his lover's aura shifted.  There was that coil 
formation that appeared whenever a Human neared orgasm 
and Q could feel energy coming off Jean-Luc in waves.  
It was surprisingly strong in Picard and that was one 
of the reasons sex with him was so much more satisfying 
than it had been with any of the other Humans with whom 
Q had indulged himself.  After all, power was power, 
and  Jean-Luc was one of the most powerful Humans Q had 
ever encountered.  He vaguely wondered what would be 
the result to Jean-Luc of prolonged contact with a Q.  
Mostly, however he was caught up in watching Jean-Luc, 
who had tilted his head back and was gasping as he 
moved closer and closer to a climax.  Suddenly he 
stopped moving his hand, although it was obvious that 
he was on the edge of release.

"Please . . . Master . . ." he gasped.  "Do I . . . can 
. . . I . . .?"

Q looked at him for a long moment, enjoying the sight 
of Picard's chest heaving with the strain of holding 
back.  "Go ahead, boy.  Come for your Master."  Jean-
Luc's hand returned to his cock and with a few strokes 
more, he came, crying out as he did.  Q basked in the 
energy overflow and then snapped his fingers, leaving 
Picard clean and dry.

"Thank you, Master."

"You'll find that I'm a fastidious sort," Q said 
lightly.  "Come here," he added, crooking his fingers.  
Jean-Luc came over and knelt before him.  "Relax, Jean-
Luc.  It's been a long few days."  And surprisingly, 
Picard did just that, leaning his head against Q's knee 
and sighing happily.  Q rested a hand lightly on 
Picard's shoulder and they sat that way for a time.  

End 3/5



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***************************************************

"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 1, 4/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:34:50 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: ACT Chap 1, 4/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)	


At the Center of Things 
Chapter One
4/5
disclaimers in 1/5


"Master?" Picard finally said, his voice a little 
hesitant.  "I . . . your boy . . . would like to know 
how . . ."  His voice trailed off and he shook his 
head.  

"You're only on formal voice when I tell you that you 
are.  Although if you're not sure, it's better to be 
safe than sorry.  Also, if you're unsure, ask for 
permission to speak."

"Yes Master.  Thank you Master.  May I speak Sir?"

"Yes."

"How do we make the transition, Sir? Away from this . . 
.?"

Q sighed.  "You had to ask."  

At the tone in Q's voice, Picard felt terrible for 
having brought it up.  He'd disappointed his Master.  
Surprisingly, he felt his throat close up as if he were 
on the verge of tears.  It was terrifying that Q had 
this much effect on him and that his emotions were so 
close to the surface.  He gulped.

"Jean-Luc?"  When Picard looked up at him, Q was 
shocked.  Jean-Luc looked mortified and frightened.  
"What's wrong?"

"I don't . . . know . . . Sir," Picard replied, his 
voice trembling.  "I feel . . . on the edge . . ."  As 
his voice trailed off, Q tugged gently on his arm and 
got him to move up onto the sofa.  "I'm sorry . . . 
Sir," Picard added and then started crying.

*What is this all about?* Q wondered to himself.  He 
automatically started to read Jean-Luc's mind and then 
pulled back.  *I promised not to do that.*  But the 
peek he'd gotten had given him some insight.  "Sorry 
for what?" he asked gently.

"That I've . . . disappointed you . . . Master."  
Picard hesitated.  "That . . . that I'm crying, Sir."

"No johnny, don't apologize for crying.  Listen to me; 
you are *never* to apologize for *feeling* anything.  
Do you hear me?"  Picard nodded.  "Now," Q continued, 
"you're feeling vulnerable aren't you?"

"It's like my emotions are . . ." Picard let his voice 
trail off.

"Out of control?" Q asked.  Picard nodded again, 
brushing tears away from his eyes in an almost 
childlike way that Q found unbelievably endearing.  "Of 
course they are, Jean-Luc.  You're trying very hard to 
relinquish all control to me, and you're doing very 
well.  But, you should know that it's not going to be 
easy for you.  Your reading on the subject might have 
mentioned it."

Picard laughed slightly.  "I usually paid more 
attention to the parts about getting flogged.  But 
you're right, Sir.  I feel like I let you down, 
bringing up something when it wasn't appropriate."

"Oh, I don’t know.  Jean-Luc . . . you have a more 
developed sense of duty than I do.  And it was a good 
question.  One I don't really know the answer to."  He 
paused.  "Right now, we should have that talk we've 
been avoiding."  He suddenly smiled.  "I should have 
put the collar on you . . .  How's this?  When we're 
ready to embark on a scene," he paused as Picard moved 
slightly.  Q raised his eyebrows in question, and Jean-
Luc moved off the sofa to kneel at Q's feet.  "Good 
boy.  As I was saying . . . From now on, I'm going to 
leave the collar here in your quarters.  Find a good 
place for it and when you do, tell me where you're 
keeping it.  When I'm ready for you, I'll tell you to 
go and get it.  You'll bring it to me, kneel before me, 
and ask me to put it on you."  

"Yes Master."

"And then when we're done I'll take it off you.  If you 
really feel that it's time to end the scene, you can 
ask me to stop.  Otherwise I'll take your collar off 
when *I* decide that we're done."

"Yes Master.  May I respectfully make a suggestion 
Master?"

"johnny, I'm beginning to think that Starfleet has 
already done half of my training for me.  Go ahead, 
make your suggestion."

"Yes Master.  Perhaps at first we might set a . . . 
well a time limit on our scenes, Sir."

"Not a bad idea.  You realize that I'll never let you 
anywhere near a clock?"

"Of course not, Master."  Picard smiled up at Q a 
slightly knowing look in his hazel eyes, and Q drew in 
a shaky breath.  On one level it amused and (truth be 
told) rather frightened him that he responded in such a 
Human fashion, but on another level, the sight of Jean-
Luc's smile melted his heart.  He reached out and 
traced a finger across the quirked line of Jean-Luc's 
lips and got a kiss for his trouble.  "What happens at 
the beginning of a scene, johnny?"

"You tell me to get my collar.  I bring it and kneel 
before you and respectfully ask that you put it on me."

"Good boy.  Now, I don't want you putting on your own 
collar or cuffs. I want to make that a rule."  He 
smiled down at Picard.  "Rule Number Two, in fact."

Picard went down into a low obeisance.  "Please Master, 
may your slave speak?"

"Go ahead."

"I was thinking today Master.  I would like to write my 
Rules in my journal, Sir.  If it pleases you. Master."

"I like that johnny. And boy," Q paused until Picard 
looked up.  "I want you to think of things like that; 
it's important that you be a part of your own training.  
I'm pleased with you."  Jean-Luc realized that he was 
still on the edge, emotion-wise.  He was once again 
close to tears, but this time they were tears of pride.  
He had pleased his Master, and right now he wouldn't 
trade that for anything in the galaxy.  Q snapped his 
fingers and was suddenly holding the journal and a pen.  
Jean-Luc knelt up and took the book as Q handed it 
down.  "Rule Number One:  The words 'stop' means stop, 
no questions asked."

"The word 'stop' means stop, no questions asked," 
Picard said as he wrote the words into the back of his 
journal.

"I think I'll throw in a different rule for Number 
Two," Q said.  Picard looked up expectantly.  "When 
johnny is in role, he is only allowed to refer to Q as 
'Master' or 'Sir.'"

"When johnny is in role, he is only allowed to refer to 
Q as 'Master' or 'Sir.'"  Picard suddenly smiled, a 
swift smile that flitted across his face and then 
vanished.

"What is it, boy?"

"Oh . . . Master.  I thought it was odd that in order 
to repeat that rule, I had to break it."  He shrugged 
lightly, and Q laughed.

"Rule Number Three:  johnny is not allowed to put on 
his collar or cuffs.  It is his Master's place to do 
so."

"Rule Number Three:  johnny is not allowed to put on 
his collar or cuffs.  It is his Master's place to do 
so," Jean-Luc dutifully repeated as he wrote the words.  
*I really am a slave,* he suddenly thought.  *I have 
these rules and he can do what he wants with me.  How 
did I get so lucky?*  He realized that he was 
responding physically to the thought of being owned.  
He normally would be capable of being aroused again 
this soon after an orgasm, but normal didn't seem to 
apply around Q.  *It's just one of the advantages of 
having an omnipotent lover that I'm *not* going to 
complain about.*

"One more Rule for now and then that will be an end to 
it.  I expect you to memorize these and be able to 
repeat them when asked."

"Yes Master," Picard replied.  Yes, his cock was 
definitely twitching.  

"Rule Number Four: Unless told otherwise, johnny cannot 
come without permission and he must tell his Master if 
he’s close."

"Rule Number Four: Unless told otherwise, johnny cannot 
come without permission and he must tell his Master if 
he’s close."  Picard drew a deep breath as he finished 
writing out the last rule.  This was so unbelievable 
and he needed it so much.  He wondered for a moment 
about that.  Outside this relationship, he still lived 
in a structured world and he still had to take orders 
from above.  *No this is different.  This is separate 
from that.*  He was still unsatisfied with that answer 
but resolved to think about it later.  He closed the 
book, and put it aside, knowing that Q would see his 
erection.  *Somehow I don't think that we'll be getting 
to any serious discussions about our relationship any 
time soon.  Troi would be so disappointed,* he thought 
with no real regret.

"Well, well, well," Q drawled.  "What have we here?  
johnny my boy, you are always surprising me.  I think I 
like it.  On your back!"

"Yes Master."  Picard complied quickly.  Q leaned back 
on the sofa and gestured lightly with one hand.  Jean-
Luc felt his hands pulled up and restrained above his 
head, while at the same time his legs were shoved 
widely open and likewise restrained.  Something, icy 
and hot at the same time, coiled around his erect cock.  
It felt oddly like a tentacle, but he liked it.  It 
teased him, a teasing that was joined by a pair of 
tongues, also icy/hot, toying with his nipples.  Q 
leaned forward to watch his reactions, and Jean-Luc 
struggled to keep his eyes open.  He hadn't been told 
*not* to meet his Master's eyes, and so he stared into 
the dark brown depths, not minding that his body was 
thrashing against the restraints in a vain attempt to 
get more attention.  He felt it then, Q was opening up 
and letting him in just a little, showing him how much 
the entity enjoyed Picard's helpless and passionate 
surrender to his Master's power.  Q *wanted* to see him 
like this, and Jean-Luc wanted to be seen like this.  
"All . . . for . . . you . . .Master . . ." he gasped 
out.  The tentacle (or whatever it was) had been joined 
by several more like it and Jean-Luc was writhing on 
the floor in response the incredible pressure and the 
heat and the cold and  . . . "Master . . . I'm . . . 
close . . ."  Everything stopped, and Picard groaned, a 
groan that he stopped immediately, when Q moved off the 
couch and sat down in between Jean-Luc's spread legs.  
When his hand first slid along the length of Jean-Luc's 
cock, it was hot and icy like the tentacles had been.  
"Ohh . . . yesss . . ."

"Go ahead johnny," Q murmured, still letting his 
feelings spill over to Jean-Luc.  "Give it to me."  And 
Jean-Luc did, only this time he felt a little of what Q 
felt, an amazing rush of pure energy that spiraled out 
of him.  When it was over and he was calm, he found 
that he was no longer restrained.  Q smiled down at him 
and snapped his fingers.  They were suddenly in 
Picard's bed and Q reached out and took Jean-Luc in his 
arms.  "I think I'd be taking your collar off if you 
had it on, Jean-Luc."  He smiled at Jean-Luc's raised 
eyebrow.  "End of scene."    Picard nodded, but didn't 
say anything, merely leaning against his lover for a 
long time.

"What was that . . . that energy I felt, when you were 
sharing your feelings with me?" Jean-Luc finally asked.

"That was you, Jean-Luc.  It's also my way of showing 
you that I'm not just having sex with you because *you* 
like it or even just because my corporeal form likes 
it.  That energy comes from you.  It builds up as you 
get worked up and the longer I keep you from coming, 
the stronger it is.  Let me tell you right now that 
it's a good thing that you get off on being teased, 
because the results are . . . rather intense."

"Do we, Humans I mean, pick up on that at all?  Is that 
why we feel so drained after sex?  I know that sex 
takes up . . . what I think of as 'normal' energy, but 
is this just part of that?"

"Tantric sex," Q replied.  "Some of your mystics got it 
right.  Not everyone can feel it but, as you said, 
everyone notices the loss of energy.  You're hungry 
aren't you?"

"And tired.  Then again, I have been rather . . . 
active," and he grinned at Q, "lately."

"Think of me as a better than average replicator.  What 
do you feel like eating?"

"So," Picard said through a mouthful of sandwich, a few 
moments later.  "You really do get *something* out of 
this?  Beyond the physical, I mean."

"Oh yes.  I guess the closest analogy would be to 
compare it to an adrenaline or endorphin rush.  It's 
really strong in you."  Q chuckled.  "Just one more 
thing that makes you spectacular."

"Oh . . . well . . ."

"I swear, Jean-Luc, you are so damn modest.  Can I say 
anything nice about you that you won't hedge on?  A 
couple of years ago you told me you were vain."

Picard sighed.  Two years ago . . .  "I don't look as 
good as I looked two years ago," he said very gently, 
hoping that Q would not hear any accusation in his 
voice.

"That's true," Q replied in a level tone.  "You're in 
better physical condition, for one."  

"All that working out in the last few months."  After 
being magically restored to perfect health by Q, Picard 
had spent a lot of time in the Enterprise's gym and on 
the holodeck trying to sublimate his reawakened desire 
for Q with hard physical exercise.  "But I've always 
been vain about my figure."  He paused.  "And . . . my 
voice."

"You should be.  I really think that this Human notion 
of self-deprecation goes too far."

"You would," Picard remarked dryly.  "But aside from 
that . . . I just don't see that there's all that much 
about me that's . . . spectacular."

"Well, for heaven's sake, Jean-Luc, *I* see it.  And 
mine is the only opinion that counts."  Q was relieved 
when Picard began to laugh.  

"Oh, of course, Sir," Jean-Luc replied sarcastically.  
He ate a few more bites of his sandwich, and then spoke 
into the nervous silence that had descended.  "You know 
that we need to talk."

"I know.  So talk, Captain.  It's only fair, I suppose, 
I gave you rules to follow earlier, now it's your 
turn."  Q sighed and leaned back against a pile of 
pillows that hadn't been there a moment ago.  "You 
don't want me around when you're on a mission that 
involves any concentration on your part.  If there's 
any threat to the Enterprise, I'm not to try to save 
you or the ship.  I'm not to interfere with your health 
again, even if it means that I have to stand there and 
watch you die."  His expression and his tone of voice 
were bitter and Picard tried not to rise to the bait.  
He didn't want to quarrel with Q this early, although 
he knew that quarrels were inevitable.  

"Not quite that drastic," he said after a suitable 
pause.  "If we're in way over our heads, and have no 
hope of saving our lives; if we face something that you 
know we can't handle . . . then . . . yes, I'd like 
your help."  It was surprising how hard it was to say 
that, and he waited for Q to make some sort of 
sarcastic comment.  Instead, his lover sighed.

"Under those guidelines I wouldn't have been able to 
interfere when you were captured by the Borg."

"That's right."

"I don't know if I can do it Jean-Luc.  For one thing, 
you have this habit of solving the most impossible 
situations and puzzles.  And . . . I don't know if I 
can go through that.  I can't watch you suffer like 
that."

"Then you might as well put that collar on me right now 
and leave it there."  Picard's voice was steady as he 
replied.  "I'll resign my commission and just be your 
lover.  How soon will you tire of me?"

"Dammit Jean-Luc!"  Q flashed off the bed and appeared 
across the room pacing.

"No!" Picard snapped.  "Listen to me!  Last time was 
different, and it wasn't right and it can't be like 
that again.  If you want me to be your willing lover, 
you *have* to give me room, and let me do my job."  He 
tried to play a wild card.  "If I can't do my job, how 
can you do yours?  Or are you going to find some other 
starship captain to represent the Federation."

"I'm surprised you don't want me to.  I'm hardly an 
objective observer at this point."

"You never were, Q, and you know it.  Ever since I 
figured out what was going on at Farpoint, you've been 
influencing the outcome of each test.  And as far as 
I'm concerned, you weren't all that objective at 
Farpoint either."

"You sound like Q," Q snapped in disgust.

"Which one?"

"My fucking sibling."  

A silence descended as Picard tried to digest that.  
"Is this going to work?" he finally asked quietly.

"It *has* to work, Jean-Luc."  Q moved quickly to sit 
on the bed next to Picard.  "I'll do whatever you 
want."

"No, that isn't right either," Picard replied shaking 
his head.  "Q . . ."  He paused again.  "Q, if you let 
me I'll run roughshod over you.  That's what I always 
do.  That's why I'm not . . . why I have such bad luck 
with relationships.  It's not just because there were 
things I wanted that I was afraid to ask for . . . but 
because I have to have things *my* way."  He put his 
plate down and reached out to grip Q's hand tightly.  
"I don't know what to do, but I want this, want *you* 
more than I've ever wanted anything.  I want to be with 
you and I want it to work out.  I've . . ."  He paused 
and then finished softly, ". . . been without you and I 
won't go there again."

"I didn't know what was happening," Q said, his own 
voice hushed.  "I'm used to being bored and at loose 
ends; I'm used to feeling like there should be *more* 
to my life . . . but after I left you . . . I felt . . 
. cut adrift and I didn't even know that I loved you 
yet.  Jean-Luc, I can't live like that again.  What do 
we do?"

"Make it up as we go along, I guess.  If we get in to 
trouble, and you really don't think we can handle it, 
come to me.  If there's time, come and tell me, and 
I'll listen . . . I'll *try* to listen objectively.  It 
might help if you didn't tell me what an idiot I am.  
Or at least only tell me once or twice."  He smiled 
slightly and shrugged.  "But if I think that you're 
going to get me out of every little mess I get into . . 
.  then I'm not me anymore.  Does that makes sense?"

"It does, but . . ."  Q looked away and then tried to 
meet Picard's eyes.  "When . . . when will you have 
time for me?"

End 4/5

 

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 1, 5/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:35:40 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: ACT Chap 1, 5/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter One
5/5
disclaimers in 1/5



"More often than you think and not as often as either 
of us would like.  Take the mission we're on right now 
. . . we're going to the Calvidia system for a First 
Contact.  I have to be on duty during the Alpha watch; 
I have to study the advance team's reports, and I have 
to work out a course of action, but I'll still have 
free time on my hands.  It'll take us at least three 
weeks to get there, and I have a drill planned for one 
day out of those three weeks.  Normally I'd spend time 
reading, fooling around on the holodeck, catching up on 
my correspondence, that sort of thing.  I will have 
time to be with you and I will want to be with you.  
Now if we were showing the flag at the edge of the 
Romulan Neutral Zone and tensions were high, I might 
not have as much time.  If we were on a milk run, I'd 
have even more time.  For every temporal anomaly I have 
to struggle to figure out, there are months that go by 
when we're not doing anything that requires 24 hours of 
my day."

"And Jean-Luc, temporal anomalies can be your friends."

"What do you mean?"

In reply Q snapped his fingers.  "What time is it?"

Picard looked at the chronometer on his bed-side table.  
"19:36."

"Keep watching it."  Picard did.  After what he thought 
was a minute, the numbers didn't change.  He reached 
over and changed the configuration to show seconds, and 
those numbers didn't move either.

"Q," he began.

"Just a demonstration," Q said, hearing the warning 
note in his lover's voice.  He snapped his fingers and 
the numbers began changing again.  "But we can have 
time together."

"I don't like it," Picard said firmly.  "I don't think 
it's a good idea," he added.

Q was about to open his mouth and promise not to do it 
if Jean-Luc didn't want him to, but then he looked at 
the stubborn set of Picard's jaw.  *No, I don't think 
so, Johnny.  You're going to have to bend a little 
here.*  "Well, I do.  I won't do it for long periods of 
time and if we go into the past I'll be sure that we 
don't do anything to your precious timeline."

"I'm just not comfortable with that kind of thing," 
Picard tried to explain.  "I'm not used to it."

"Well *get* used to it, Johnny," Q replied, his voice 
taking on an edge.  "You want to tell me when I can and 
can't be around, fine.  But I want to be able to 
guarantee that I have more than a night here or a few 
hours after dinner there.  Of course I could do what I 
used to do and just keep you up all night with no 
sleep."  He paused.  "Or are you going to run roughshod 
all over me on this one?"

Picard sighed.  "We're taught, at the Academy, that the 
timeline and time itself is something that we should 
leave alone.  Too many things can go wrong, too many 
things *have* gone wrong, and we can't always fix it."  
He paused.  "I should just trust you, shouldn't I?"

"You *do* trust me Jean-Luc."

"Yes, I do.  But this . . . it's hard in a lot of 
different ways.  You're so . . . far advanced.  You can 
stop time with the snap of a finger, you can repair a 
timeline the same way . . .  What are you doing here 
with *me*?  Really Q, what can I be to you, but an 
amusement, a passing fancy?"

"No!  Not that, Jean-Luc.  You aren't that now, and you 
never have been.  What you can be is everything I 
showed you last night and more.  You can be the first 
person who has *ever* trusted me enough to surrender to 
me.  Don't you realize how much that means to me?  
You're the only being in the galaxy that I've ever let 
that far into my . . . inner self.  You're the only 
person who can teach me to live in the 'now.'"  He 
shook his head, surprised at his self-revelatory 
outburst.  "What can you be to me?  You can be Jean-Luc 
Picard."

"I'm sorry, Q.  I know what you showed me, and I could 
tell that it was hard for you to let me in.   It's just 
that . . . it's hard for *me* to even grasp what you 
are, and what you're capable of.  Can you . . . can we 
. . . be careful?  Can you understand why it makes me 
nervous, and try to . . . go easy on me?"

"Oh Jean-Luc . . .  I'm sorry.  I really do forget that 
you . . . that this would be hard for you.  That you 
love me at all, that you accept all of this so easily 
is so amazing . . .   I shouldn't be surprised when it 
gets to you."  He paused and thought for a minute.  
"About this time problem.  You really ought to sleep 
some of the time.  Oh I can make it so you don't need 
it and so you don't go crazy without your dreams, but . 
. ."

"But then I'm no longer really Human."

"Exactly.  But what if I . . . just tamper a little?  I 
can fix things so that you don't need very much sleep.  
You don't already, you know.  You often get by on just 
five hours and you consider eight hours a luxury.  So, 
how about two hours a night?  You'll dream, your body 
will rest, and I'll have more of your time.  That 
doesn't mean that I won't want to take you on the odd 
temporal . . . vacation, but if I have your nights . . 
."

Picard didn't reply right away.  Instead he left the 
bed and paced into the living room, grateful that Q 
didn't follow him.  He looked at the stars for a long 
time, trying to figure out what to do.  He could insist 
that Q take him as he was, no changes to his sleep 
cycles, no stopping time . . .  *Have the upper hand . 
. .  is that what you want, Jean-Luc?  If you insist on 
it, it makes a mockery of your submission . . . I'd be 
saying that *I* call all the shots . . . all the time . 
. . but for him to *change* me like that . . . oh for 
Christ's sake, he's changed me already.*  He turned and 
walked back into the bedroom.  "I would like very much 
. . . to have more time with you.  If you're willing to 
do this for me and it doesn't . . . interfere with 
whatever it is that you . . . do."  He shook his head.  
"Oh God, I'm babbling.  Please, I'd like you to snap 
your fingers and make me capable of getting by on a few 
hours of sleep a night."  

"This won't hurt a bit," Q said, snapping his fingers.  
"There."

"Will it be obvious?  To Beverly I mean.  Will she pick 
it up during my next physical?"

"So what if she does?  It's not like they don't know 
what's going on."  Q frowned.  "You're not going to 
insist that Deanna be the only member of your crew that 
knows that we're lovers?"

"No, of course not . . ." Picard replied, looking a 
little sheepish.

"You, know, Jean-Luc there's such a thing as being too 
private.  Or are you feeling guilty about this?"  Q's 
voice was somewhat biting, and Picard felt himself 
getting angry again.

"Seven years ago, eighteen people aboard this ship 
died.  A little over a year later, over 11,000 people 
most of them in Starfleet, died.  There are very few 
people in Starfleet that didn't lose someone they knew 
and cared about at Wolf 359.  We both know whose fault 
it really was, but my people would rather blame you for 
it.  Under the circumstances, the fact that you're my 
lover is going to upset them."  His voice had an echo 
of the flatness that Q had heard before.  Jean-Luc was 
trying to distance himself from a pain that would never 
truly go away.  Given what had just said, Q supposed he 
should be angry and start yelling at Picard.  But there 
was more going on here than met the eye.  

"And you?" he asked softly.  "Do you really blame 
yourself or do you blame me?"

"It would be easier, in a way, if I could have blamed 
you for all of it.  But I couldn't."  Picard shifted, 
turning so that Q was left looking at his shoulder and 
the back of his head.  "I tried you know, during my 
recovery.  I tried to tell myself that if you hadn't 
introduced us to the Borg, I would never have been 
captured."

"Well, you were right.  They wouldn't have had a name 
to come after, and they might have grabbed someone 
else.  In a way it *is* all my fault."

"No, I turned you down when you asked to join us . . ."

"Bullshit.  If you had accepted, the result would have 
been much the same.  Oh I might have found a different 
peril, but I would have forced you to admit that you 
needed me."  Q ran his fingers through his hair.  "I 
wish I'd known what I really wanted from you back 
then."

"I wouldn't have agreed to anything back then.  You 
would have had to rape me, and I recall you saying that 
you didn't go in for that."  Picard paused.  "But I 
can't place all the blame for the Borg on your 
shoulders.  If I hadn't been so arrogant . . . well, 
it's old history and I've paid, and then some, for my 
arrogance."

"So did I."  When Picard looked at him curiously, Q 
explained.  "I was there, watching you, Jean-Luc, 
through all of that.  Knowing what you went through, 
even when you were nothing more to me than part of the  
project . . . it was terrible.  How did you do it?"  
Jean-Luc raised an eyebrow in question.  "Retain any 
sanity at all?  By all rights you should have gone 
insane within the first 24 hours."

"I just had to, I guess.  If the Enterprise had been 
destroyed ramming the Borg ship, I wouldn't have made 
it."

"And you wonder why I say you're special."  Q rose from 
the bed and began to pace again.  "My . . . superiors 
said that it was a good test."  There was a hint of 
anger in his voice as he spoke.

"In which failure meant the end of the whole 
Federation," Picard said bitterly.  "Why Q?  Are you 
all gods?  What gives the Continuum the right to do the 
things it does?"

"Power."

"So might makes right?  Is it really that simple?"  
Picard sounded disappointed and in a flash of insight, 
Q suddenly realized how much Jean-Luc's opinions 
mattered to him. 

"Not really," he tried to explain.  "Power is the easy 
answer.  There's also our experience, the occasional 
need to do *something* useful with the endless time we 
have on our hands, and a sense of duty."  He suddenly 
remembered Troi suggesting that he talk about his past 
with Jean-Luc.  "Someday, when we have time, I'll tell 
you the teaching stories, our myths if you will, about 
why we do what we do."

"And you have no use for the Prime Directive or a 
similar philosophy?"

"Do you?" Q countered quickly.  "What about your fellow 
Starfleet captains?  You all have good intentions, but 
the PD gets broken all the time.  Are you really better 
than I am because you *mean* well?"  

"At one time I derived great satisfaction from thinking 
that we were," Jean-Luc replied softly, his face 
pensive.

"I know, and it really irritated me, if you must know.  
You can be so bloody smug, Jean-Luc."  Q shook his 
head.  "And maybe you're right to be.  Maybe meaning 
well does count for something."

"Again, I'd like to think that it does."  A silence 
fell after these remarks and Picard finally had to 
break it.  "We won't solve our philosophical 
differences in one night, but . . . thank you."

"For what?"

"Talking to me.  *Really* talking to me, and listening 
to what I had to say.  It's good to know that there's 
more than just kinky sex going on between us.  I need 
this as much as I need that collar."

"I used to look forward to talking to you back then, 
two years ago.  It bothered me."  Q shrugged. "It still 
does to tell the truth."

"Why?"

"Because I'm Q.  I'm supposed to be omnipotent.  And to 
*need* you as much as I do . . ."

"I'm about to be brutally honest, and I may regret it, 
but, that one fact, the fact that *you* need *me,* is 
the only reason that we're here together like this."

"I know that, Jean-Luc," Q said gently.  "It was all 
over your mind yesterday afternoon.  Why feel guilty 
about it?"

"Because love should be enough.  I shouldn't have to . 
. . to want to have that control."

"Oh please, Jean-Luc," Q replied, rolling his eyes.  
"Could you really accept a relationship in which you 
don't maintain some control?"

"Isn't that the ideal?  After all, I *belong* to you, 
therefore, I should have no control."

"That only works on paper, and you know it.  You can 
always say "stop."  Frankly if I 'd wanted you to have 
no control here, you wouldn't.  It's just that simple.  
I'd just snap my fingers and you'd do what *I* wanted 
you to do.  But I *don't* want that.  Don't you see, 
Jean-Luc, the fact that you submit of your own free 
will is the greatest gift you can give me?"

"It *is* of my own free will," Jean-Luc said moving off 
the bed.  He moved to kneel before Q, and Q looked down 
at him.  "I couldn't do this for anyone else, you 
know."  As he looked back at Q, Jean-Luc's face almost 
shone, and Q could easily read his lover's sincerity 
without resorting to reading Picard's mind.

"I know," Q replied, gratefully.  "And I know it for 
the gift that it is."  He smiled down at Picard.  "Go 
get your collar, boy."


End Chapter One

ACT-Chapter 1





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(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

Comments: Authenticated sender is <asceml@popmail.mcs.net>
From: "ASCEML" <asceml@popmail.mcs.net>
To: "(ASCEML)"< (asceml@aol.com)>
Date: Wed, 18 Mar 1998 02:44:42 +0000
X-Distribution: Moderate
Subject: ASCEML -  REP: At the Center of Things -- Chap 2, 1/5 (TNG, P/Q,
Reply-to: ASCEM@earthlink.net
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From:
 ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
 REP: ACT Chap 2, 1/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)



Disclaimer (long version in Chapter One): Star Trek is the property of
Paramount.  This version of it is the property of me.  This story
involves m/m sex as well as bdsm.

At the Center of Things
by Ruth Gifford 
(c) 1997

Chapter Two
Revelations and Limitations

"I have a face I cannot show
I make the rules up as I go
It's try and love me if you can
Are you strong enough to be my man?

When I've shown you that I just don't care
When I'm throwing punches in the air
When I'm broken down and cannot stand
Will you be strong enough to be my man?"

"Strong Enough"
Sheryl Crow





Picard was nervous, as he sat his ready room several 
days later.  It wasn't surprising, but that didn't mean 
he had to like it.  How he was going to handle the 
upcoming conversation, he didn't know.  He'd thought 
about it for two days and he still had no idea.  The 
problem with trying to rehearse difficult conversations 
in advance was that one had no idea of how the other 
person involved would respond to your initial 
bombshell.  His door chime pinged, and he sighed as he 
sat down behind his desk.  *Time's up,* he told himself 
wryly.  "Come."

"You wanted to see me Captain?"

"Yes Number One. Please, have a seat."  Riker sat down.

"Is something wrong sir?"  Riker was glad that he felt 
able to ask the question.  For two horrible, long 
years, he had *known* that something was wrong with his 
captain and had been unable to ask what it was.

"Wrong?  No, not exactly.  Is it that obvious that I'm 
nervous?" Picard asked, a slight smile hovering around 
the corners of his mouth.  When Riker nodded, the smile 
became more apparent.  "Oh."  There was a slight pause 
while Riker tried to figure out what was going on.  
Beverly and Deanna had been annoyingly closed mouthed 
about it and he was starting to guess why.  

"It's Q, isn't it?" he asked now.  Before Picard even 
opened his mouth the look on the captain's face gave 
Riker the answer.

"He's serious this time," Picard said.  And then more 
quietly, "so am I."

"How do you *know* that he is?" Riker asked.  Maybe it 
wasn't the best question to ask, but after all Q had 
done, the first officer felt entitled. 

"How do you *know* that Beverly loves you?  How does 
Worf *know* how Deanna feels?  This isn't . . . it 
doesn't *feel* like it did two years ago.  He didn't 
*need* me then.  Now he does."  Picard looked shrewdly 
at Riker.  "Deanna and I have discussed this.  Our 
esteemed Counselor intends to tell me the minute that 
*she* feels that my . . . involvement with Q interferes 
with my duties as captain.  The only reason we're even 
having this discussion is that I'd like you to do the 
same."

"Actually," Riker said quietly.  "I wasn't asking as 
your first officer; I was asking as a friend who's seen 
you go through hell for over two years."

Picard sighed, hearing  Riker's carefully tendered 
rebuke.  "Believe me," he said seriously, "I truly 
appreciate that friendship, more than you can imagine.  
There are few first officers who would have put up with 
the attitude you put up with during that time.  You 
should never have *had* to put up with it, but I'm 
damned grateful that you did."  He shook his head.  "To 
answer your question as a friend, I wouldn't have let 
him back into my life if I didn't truly trust him."

"That's one hell of a risk," Riker said, struggling to 
keep his voice neutral.  Obviously he didn't manage 
completely.  Picard shot him a look.

"What would you have me say?  Obviously I think it's 
well worth the risk, but then I would, because  I'm in 
love with him."

The bluntness with which Picard spoke left Riker more 
than a little surprised.  So, not thinking, he simply 
said the first thing that came to mind.  "How could you 
fall in love with *Q*?"  As soon as he spoke, he 
regretted it, but to his relief, Picard seemed to take 
the question surprisingly well.

"Sometimes . . . there's someone who just . . . compels 
a reaction from you.  Q and I do that for one another, 
and to tell the truth I think we always have.  Yes, he 
hurt me, and I know that you blame him for that and 
other things as well, but there it is."

"The Borg," Riker said into the silence that fell after 
Picard's words.

"That's the kind of reaction I'd expect from someone 
half your age," Picard replied, his voice cool and 
distant.  "You know as well as I do and as well as Q 
does, for that matter, that the blame for the Borg 
rests squarely on my shoulders.  You were there in Ten-
Forward when I refused his request to become a member 
of this crew.  It was *my* arrogance and *my* 
conviction that I could prove him wrong that led him to 
act as he did.  I suggest that you bear that in mind."  
Picard paused, and drew a deep breath.  "I'm sorry 
Will, but I can never forget just where the 
responsibility for the Borg and for Wolf 359 truly 
lies.  You're welcome to disapprove of my lover; 
frankly I expected you to, but don't blame your dislike 
on something Q was not responsible for."

Riker was stung, and didn't bother to hide it.  Picard 
had expected him to disapprove and yet had cut him down 
when he did.  Then he thought about the *way* the 
captain had reacted as opposed to the words he'd said.  
Riker had been focusing so much on the more recent pain 
that Picard had suffered, that had lost sight of how 
scarred Picard had been and obviously still was by his 
experiences with the Borg.  Being honest with himself, 
Will also had to admit that his own hatred of Q stemmed 
as much from the fact that Q had made a total fool of 
him in front of Picard, as anything else.  He suddenly 
thought about the things Q had done for Picard.  Could 
introducing the Federation (through the Enterprise) to 
the Borg be balanced by the help Q gave the captain 
during the Continuum's temporal anomaly test?  And did 
it matter anyway?  Anything he said would not change 
the fact that Picard was involved in an affair that 
Riker simply could not understand.  *And why not just 
tell him that?*  Before he thought too much more about 
it, Riker did just that.  "I think my real problem is 
that I don't understand."

To his surprise, Picard smiled at him.  "Neither do I 
really.  I *know* Q doesn't understand it at all."  He 
laughed slightly.  "But then I have a *little* more 
experience with relationships than he does."  He 
paused.  "This isn't an easy conversation for either of 
us, but believe me I *do* appreciate your concerns."

"I know Captain, but . . . well it's Q, sir."

"I know.  As I said, I don't expect you to approve.  
And Will?"

"Captain?"

"I won't be asking him to join the poker game or to 
come to dinner."

Riker grinned ruefully and Picard breathed a sigh of 
relief.  Will would pass the news on to anyone he 
thought needed to know, and so this was the end of 
discussing his private life with members of his crew.

"Captain?" Riker said after a moment, and Picard 
realized that maybe this *wasn't* the end of the 
conversation. 

"Yes?"

"What about the ship?  Will he . . . leave us alone, or 
will he interfere with our missions?"

"He's promised not to interfere.  It wasn't easy 
getting him to agree."

Riker wasn't sure he understood.  "Why not?  Is he 
*supposed* to be . . . watching us, or whatever it is 
that he does for the Continuum?"

"I'm not exactly sure what his duties for the Continuum 
are.  That however, was not why he argued with me over 
not interfering.  He doesn't want . . ."  Picard's 
voice trailed off and Riker found it odd to see him at 
a loss for words.  "Think about it from his point of 
view.  I've asked him not to try to save me if I'm 
injured again.  It was a hard promise for him to make."  
Riker suddenly realized what Picard was talking about.  
Q wasn't upset that he couldn't interfere and make 
trouble, he was simply worried about Picard getting 
hurt.  The realization  brought on an odd flash of 
understanding and Will wasn't sure what to make of 
*that*.  "Unless we're completely in over our heads," 
Picard went on, "he's not to interfere with any of our 
missions.  That was hard for both of us.  I can accept 
that *I* might get hurt or even killed as a result of 
my own actions, but when my actions could result in the 
death of any of the crew . . ."

"But we can't do our job if we know we always have an 
out, sir."

"That's what I told myself.  Not surprising really; 
I've been telling myself that kind of thing for as long 
as I've been a captain."  He shrugged slightly.  "So 
don't expect Q to bring the cavalry over the hill.  
We're still on our own out here."

"Speaking of which," Riker said, "I'll have the reports 
from the First Contact advance team ready for you by 
the end of the shift."  He rose.

"Make it so, Number One."  Picard nodded, and Riker 
turned to leave.  As he reached the door, he heard the 
captain's voice, softer this time, "and . . . thank 
you, Will."


***

The mission was a delicate one; First Contacts always 
were.  The planet was called Calvidia by its 
inhabitants, a race of humanoid mammals, and they had 
met all the necessary requirements for First Contact.  
They had highly developed inner-system spaceflight, and 
were testing a primitive warp drive.  They had a 
planetary government.  They had, reflected Picard, done 
a better job of getting to this point than Humans had.  
He was used to thinking that thought before a First 
Contact mission, and it actually made things easier.  
It was so tempting to go in thinking that superior 
technology meant that you were superior in every other 
way as well.  To discover that a planet had managed to 
develop nuclear power as a way to light their homes as 
opposed to a way to kill  their enemies made one feel a 
little humble.  Of course the Calvidians had made their 
share of mistakes, and the first planetary government 
had been an ugly theological dictatorship, but all in 
all, Picard was genuinely impressed with their 
accomplishments.  Based on the reports from the advance 
team, Picard was actually prepared to evaluate Calvidia 
in order to offer them associate membership in the 
Federation, should they be interested.  But, still, 
there was something, an edge to the most recent advance 
team reports that tripped a warning alarm in the back 
of Picard's mind.  He worried at it for several hours, 
but it refused to come out into the open, and he 
resolved to give it more attention when he had more 
information.  As it was, the Enterprise was eight days 
out from Calvidia and they were expecting a pre-
arranged communication from the advance team tomorrow.  
Still bothered by that nagging thought, Picard left the 
bridge at the end of his shift.  After a stop for an 
inspection of the forward torpedo launchers, he headed 
eagerly toward his quarters.  He had lessons to learn.

There was, as there had been for the last several days, 
a note on his desk.  "Take a shower and then wait by 
the desk.  Don't eat anything.  Q"  Picard smiled, slid 
the note into a drawer, and headed for the shower.  A 
short time later he was kneeling naked in front of his 
desk, his hands clasped behind his back, his knees 
spread and his weight resting on his heels.  He was a 
little hungry, but long practice enabled him to ignore 
the feeling.  He wasn't so good at ignoring the feeling 
of being aroused, and he wasn't sure if he *was* 
supposed to ignore it or not.  Q was trying to teach 
him to concentrate less on his own desires and more on 
Q's, and Picard wasn't sure that he was getting it yet.  
It was so easy to pay attention to the insistent need, 
and it was proving increasingly easier to beg for what 
he wanted.  He wasn't sure when he was supposed to 
ignore that need and concentrate on Q.   The obvious 
answer was all the time, but Q *liked* to see his 
johnny begging for it.  

Picard sighed slightly as he looked up at his collar.  
It had appeared on the desk while he was in the shower, 
and now he thought about what it meant to kneel in 
front of his own desk, naked and looking longingly at 
the symbol of his servitude. The simple undecorated 
band of black leather was one more thing that helped 
him make his way into his slave-space, one more thing 
that made him become johnny and leave Captain Picard 
behind.  He wanted to feel it close around his throat, 
wanted to hear it "snick" shut as Q locked it. How long 
had he been here?  How long would he be here before Q 
showed up?  While in this space, he wasn't allowed to 
see any evidence of the passage of time.  His initial 
idea of limiting the length of their scenes had quickly 
fallen by the wayside.  Q simply decided when the scene 
was over and so far he hadn't asked Jean-Luc to remain 
in role longer than he could handle.  In fact, Picard 
was of the opinion that he could handle more time than 
he had.  He wondered if Q liked to keep him wanting 
more.  He would, if he were running the show.

He sighed again and tried to concentrate on the here 
and now.  *I'm kneeling, waiting for my Master to come 
and collar me . . . I will kneel here as long as He 
wishes me to . . . God this is hard . . . I wonder how 
long . . . come on johnny, got to stop thinking about 
*me* so much . . . the Master will be here when he 
wants to and not when i want him to . . . i'm not here 
to be satisfied . . . i am here for Him and no one else 
. . .*  He felt it then, the whisper of a brush across 
his mind, and he straightened slightly.

"Bring me the collar, boy," Q's voice said from behind 
Picard.  "Hands and knees."

"Yes Master."  Picard lifted the collar carefully from 
the desk, put it in his mouth, and slowly crawled to 
where Q waited.  His Master sat in one of the chairs at 
the dining table, and there was food on the table.  As 
Picard knelt up to have his collar locked on, he tried 
to ignore the smell of whatever was on the plate in 
front of Q.   It wasn't easy; he caught a hint of basil 
and garlic, and was pretty sure from the glimpse of the 
plate that there was some sort of pasta involved.  
"Please Master, please collar your slave."  The lock of 
his collar snicked and brought his attention back to 
the matter at hand.  As Q's hand withdrew from his 
neck, he turned to kiss it, hoping that such a thing 
would be allowed.  Q chuckled and brushed Jean-Luc's 
cheek.

"Such a sweet boy," Q said fondly.  Picard felt a flush 
steal across his face.  It was embarrassing to hear Q 
say that, while at the same time he felt pride in 
knowing that Q was pleased with him.   When Q suddenly 
cupped his chin, he braced for what was going to happen 
next.  The slap across his cheek was loud and hard, and 
it seemed to send ripples of feeling all the way down 
to Jean-Luc's erect cock.  Letting Q slap him was 
almost as hard as crawling, but it threw him hard into 
that slave-space.  When Q opened his mouth to speak, 
Jean-Luc hung on every word.  "Now, johnny, it's time 
for more lessons.  I don't want to hear you talk 
tonight unless I give you permission.  If you want to 
speak, you can put your head near my foot and wait 
until I give you permission.  Do you understand?"  
Picard bowed his head.  "Good.  I want you under the 
table, johnny.  I need somewhere to rest my feet."  And 
so Picard found himself folded up under the table with 
one of Q's booted feet resting on his back.  

He was nervous at first, straining to hear a command or 
order, afraid to relax.  But slowly  the realization 
came over him; he was here to serve as furniture, 
nothing else.  His own needs had no place here, and he 
began to relax.  In the back of his mind he knew that 
he was still hungry, but the more he accepted that 
*this* was his place, the easier he found it to forget 
that hunger.  Slowly he focused completely what he was 
and Q, as his brain filtered out the normal background 
sounds of his quarters.  Occasionally Q would shift or 
change his position and Jean-Luc was hyper-aware of 
each movement of the foot resting on his back.  Picard 
could hear the sound of Q's fork touching his plate and 
he became aware of the slightest movement of Q's body 
as it was transmitted through his foot.  Soon, although 
he had no idea how soon, his world narrowed down to 
being here under the table.  He was a piece of 
furniture and that was how things were supposed to be.  
When Q moved his foot off his back, Jean-Luc felt 
adrift.  Fortunately, Q spoke.  "I want to read your 
logs from the last two weeks, both your Captain's Log 
and your personal log.  You can speak to bring them up, 
but wait until I'm in the bedroom.  Bring them in on a 
padd."  He rose from the table and walked away.

End 1/5


-- 
***************************************************
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Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)
========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 2, 2/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:36:46 GMT


From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        REP: ACT Chap 2, 1/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)

At the Center of Things
Chapter Two
2/5
disclaimer in 1/5


It took a few short seconds to bring up the logs and then Picard hesitated.
How was he supposed to bring the padd into the bedroom?   Q had left no
instructions, and Picard felt that he was still too new at this to guess.
Just as he was about the drop to his knees in order to crawl, he heard Q's
voice again.  "*Now* johnny!"  Jean-Luc gulped, and walked into the bedroom
as quickly as he could.  Reaching the side of the bed that Q sat on, he
knelt and offered up the padd.

"Your boy is sorry, Master," he said in a rush; the words tumbling out of
him as soon as Q took the padd.  Q frowned, and Picard realized that he'd
made a very big mistake.

"I thought I told you that I didn't want to hear you unless you had
permission to speak."  Q sighed, and when he spoke again, he sounded
disappointed but not surprised at Jean-Luc's failure.  His Master's tone of
voice brought on a rush of tears that Jean-Luc fought, even though he knew
he probably shouldn't. "I was going to use you as a lap desk, but now . .
"   As his voice trailed off, he snapped his fingers and Picard was
suddenly chained spread-eagled to the wall opposite the bed.  Q tossed the
padd onto the bed, and walked to stand in front of his slave.  He held a
tangle of black, which he shook out.  Jean-Luc's eyes widened; it was a
gag.  He opened his mouth obediently and let Q buckle the gag in place.
"Now you don't have any choice in the matter.  That should make it easier."
Q snapped his fingers again and Picard bit down hard on the gag as he was
suddenly overwhelmed by sensation.  There was a plug in his ass, a pair of
tight and heavy clamps on his nipples, and the snug pressure of a cock ring
around the base of his cock and balls.  He squirmed slightly in a vain
attempt to get used to it all, and Q laughed at him.  "You look lovely,
johnny," his Master said mockingly.  "Black suits you."  And then Q turned
his back on Picard and walked back to the bed.  As he stretched out in
Jean-Luc's line of sight, he picked up the padd and began reading.  He
didn't look up, and Picard began to berate himself for his mistake.

How could he have been so foolish?  For Q to see him fail like this was far
worse punishment than being chained to this wall.  Actually, being chained
to the wall like this wasn't all that bad.  He wished Q would at least look
at him though; it would be nice to think that his Master was getting
*something* out of this.  He thought about punishment for a time.  How
would Q punish him?  If the affair of two years ago had taught them only
one important thing, it was that Jean-Luc was a masochist.  A beating
wouldn't be punishment, and neither would hanging here on this wall,
particularly given all the stimulation he was receiving.  He wanted to
apologize but knew better than to try to get Q's attention in some way;
that had gotten him in trouble in the first place.  He wondered how long he
was going to be left here.  His feet, although spread wide apart, were flat
on the ground, and the position wasn't an uncomfortable one.  Eventually
his shoulders would begin to ache, but he was in very good shape and he
knew he could probably stay here all night.  

As time (and he had no idea whatsoever of how much time) passed, he
wondered what Q wanted him to learn from this.  What was he supposed to be
thinking?  Q seemed engrossed in the logs, which was ridiculous, as he
could absorb the contents of the padd in a nanosecond if he chose to.  As
if in answer to the thought, Q looked up.  He shook his head as if still
disappointed, sighed, and returned to his reading.  Picard felt awful.  Not
even the pleasure he was deriving from his submissive position made up for
having let his Master down.  He wasn't surprised to find his eyes starting
to tear up again.  He fought it, the last thing he wanted to do was start
crying without being able to breathe through his mouth, but then he
remembered Q telling him that he was not allowed to hide his emotions.
When he gulped, it sounded very loud in the stillness of his room.  Q
looked up again and rose smoothly from the bed.

"Well," he said softly, looking into Jean-Luc's eyes.  "Do you know what
you did wrong?"  Tears started sliding out of the corners of Picard's eyes,
and he nodded, aware that he probably looked absurd, crying with this gag
in his mouth.  It didn't matter, he realized.  All that mattered was
letting his Master know how sorry he was for making a mistake.  "When I
tell you to remain silent, you remain silent.  If you make a mistake and
you want to apologize for it, ask for permission to speak."  Picard nodded
again.  Q smiled.  "It's not this easy, of course.  I have to punish you.
In fact, I'll be leaving in a few minutes.  I'll come back in the morning
to take your collar off you and handle some of the . . . side effects of
how you'll be spending your night."  He reached up and removed the gag.  "I
will be playing with you a bit, but I *won't* be monitoring you, boy.  I'm
going to count on you to tell me if you don't make it through the night
with out touching yourself." 

Q snapped his fingers, releasing Jean-Luc, who promptly dropped to his
knees, but did not go any further.  He had nothing to say.  The fact that Q
was going to leave for the night was more than punishment enough for *any*
mistake and he was trying not to break his silence and beg Q to stay.  Q
had said he would return, but still, Jean-Luc had a flash of the night Q
had left him before.  He tried to hide it, but some of his distress must
have shown on his face.  "johnny," Q said softly, crouching down next to
him and touching his face gently.  "I love you, and I *promise* that I'll
be back in the morning.  Now, do you want to call for a stop?"  Picard drew
a deep breath, and shook his head, encouraged by the faint look of relief
on Q's face.  Q stood and looked down at Picard for long moment.  "Then
take your punishment like a good boy."  He vanished in a flash of white
light, and Picard stood carefully.  The clamps and the plug were gone,
although the cock ring was still there.

*Now what?  I deliberately got caught up on everything . . . so what to do?
. . . this is *awful* . . . he must know that I won't bring myself off.*
The minute the thought crossed his mind however, he realized how aroused he
was.  It would feel so good to take care of it right now.  *And are we only
a good boy when the Master is around?* he asked himself scornfully.  Yes it
would feel good, but he really had no intention of disobeying.  This was a
punishment and a test and he damn well intended to get through it.  Oddly
enough, his mind went back to his collection of books.  *Well . . . not the
fiction maybe . . . no point in getting even *more* worked up . . . but
what about the . . . how-to books?  Maybe there are lessons I can learn on
my own.* 

Several moments later he was sitting on the bed, reading about voice
training, and postures.  It was probably a mistake; the reading only made
him more aware of the collar that encircled his throat, and the matching
one that encircled his cock.  *What *do* I look like?*  But even as he
thought about going to the mirror, he felt *something* touch him.  It took
him a moment to figure out that what he felt across his back were the tails
of a flogger.  He dropped the padd and bent over, leaving his back exposed
to any sensation Q chose to deal out.  All he received, however, were the
teasingly slow caresses of the thin leather tails, and then they were gone.
Shaking, he sat up and looked at the chronometer by the bedside. 20:05; it
was going to be a *long* night.  He thought for a moment, and then headed
for the full-length  mirror.  It took a few moments, but he managed to step
in front of the mirror and look.  What he saw, shocked him.  He looked . .
. totally different.  *Like a slave,* he thought.  As if the collar somehow
changed his very face, he saw that his features (even with his current
expression of surprise) seemed, relaxed or softened somehow.  The black
leather of the collar made his pale skin look even paler and, looking down,
he had to admit that the cock ring produced impressive results.  Curiously
he dropped to his knees, settling into the pose Q liked him to wait in.
Closing his eyes for a time, he thought about the way it felt when he
waited for Q like this.  When he opened his eyes again, he blinked in
surprise at the face he saw before him.  *That's not *me* . . .  how can I
let him do this to me? . . . make me feel like this? . . . make me *look*
like this?*  Oh, the face was recognizably his own, but the fleeting
expression he'd caught had been one of wide open vulnerability and need.
It was a far cry from his usual controlled expression and even further from
his Captain's mask.  As he thought about what this (all of this) was doing
to him, how it was changing him, a touch startled him.  Two pair of fingers
were gently toying with his nipples, pinching at them and rolling them
lightly.  He moaned and tilted his head back at the feeling.  He knew
better than to expect any of the harder pinches that usually escalated from
these gentle touches.  He had begun to suspect that if Q played long enough
and hard enough with his nipples, particularly if they had already been
clamped, he might come from that alone.  He wasn't going to find that out
tonight, and as the tease continued, he forced himself to open his eyes and
look at himself.  This time he was prepared and so wasn't as shocked as he
had been, but still the look of open *need* on his face frightened him.  He
closed his eyes again and concentrated on the feelings that surged through
him as a result of the tease.  Far too soon, they were gone, and he was
left on his knees, breathing heavily.  Without opening his eyes, he stood
up carefully, and turned away from the mirror.  When he reached his bed, he
thought about it, and decided that he might as well act like a slave who
was not in his Master's good graces.  He sat on the floor at the foot of
the bed and waited for whatever Q was going to subject him to next.  If he
was allowed to sleep, he figured he'd pull a blanket off the bed and sleep
on the floor.  He didn't know if this was too much, but he resolved to talk
(when Q next permitted him to talk) to Q about this sort of thing.  Thus
far it was proving to be very effective punishment.

***

Q carefully materialized in Jean-Luc's bedroom the next morning.  He smiled
as he looked down at Picard, who was sleeping lightly on the floor at the
foot of the bed.  *You've read too many trashy novels,* he thought
affectionately.  It was a thought that quickly gave way to a more important
feeling.  A rush of pure satisfaction ran through Q like lightning, and the
entity shuddered through it as he looked at the man who had voluntarily
abased himself for Q.  Part of Q's mind was telling him to wake Picard up
and reward him for taking his punishment so well.  Another part wanted to
chain johnny to the wall again and beat him until he screamed.  And yet
another part wanted to . . .  Q reached out one booted foot and nudged
Jean-Luc.  Picard's eyes flew open in an instant and Q could tell that he
was immediately aware of where he was and who was standing over him.
Silently he moved into position, on his knees, bent over, with his head a
few inches from Q's boot.  

"Good boy," Q  said.  "Knees and elbows, ass in the air, quickly!"
Jean-Luc put himself in the desired position quickly, and Q knelt behind
him.  He began to tease Picard with a slick finger, preparing him for sex.
"I'm going to fuck you johnny, but you're *not* allowed to come, do you
understand?" 

Picard nodded, and as Q moved slowly into him, he moaned.  He didn't know
if he had the control required to keep from coming, particularly after the
long night of teasing, but he was determined to try.  He gritted his teeth
and started  mentally conjugating verbs in Latin, trying to ignore the
feeling of Q's cock moving steadily in and out of him.  It was next to
impossible, but he struggled with it, at one point pounding his fists on
the floor.  Fortunately, Q wasn't in the mood to draw things out and soon
Picard heard a smothered groan from behind him.  Even after Q had withdrawn
and (by the sounds he made) moved to sit on the edge of the bed, Jean-Luc
remained in the same position.  

"Kneel up johnny," Q snapped.  Picard hurriedly obeyed, and Q looked him
over in silence for a moment.  Picard knew that he probably didn't look too
good, having spent all of the night on the floor and most of it awake.  He
was also sure that he'd been erect for the entire night.  Even what little
sleep he'd gotten had been full of darkly erotic dreams.  Now he tried not
to break down and ask for the release he'd been denied all night.  "You
want it, don't you?  Want what only *I* can give you?" Q asked.

It was on the tip of Jean-Luc's tongue to agree, to promise anything, even
to say "what ever pleases you Master," but he drew a deep breath and
remained silent.  Q nodded and Picard saw a smile on his Master's face.
Encouraged, he bent forward and put his head near Q's foot.

"You may speak, boy."

"Your slave wants nothing more than to please you, Master."  There had been
times during his training when Jean-Luc had felt that sentences like that
sounded stilted or like lines from a script.  This time, however he meant
every word of it, believed every word of it and knew that it sounded
utterly sincere.

"Stand up," Q said softly.  Picard rose to his feet, just as his alarm went
off.  Q waved a hand and the buzzing stopped.  Picard simply waited,
knowing that if Q was going to do anything or let *him* do anything, it had
to be soon.  He had taken to setting his alarm very late, knowing that Q
would see him clean, dressed and out the door in seconds.  And to be sure,
even now, Q held up his hand, and snapped his fingers.  Jean-Luc felt that
odd *rush* wash over him.  He was no longer hungry, sleepy, and he felt as
if he'd had a shower.  He was in uniform.  That alone made him narrow his
eyes.  While they hadn't really talked about it, he didn't like to still be
in role when he was in uniform.  But the training he been going through and
his own determination not to mess up this time, enabled him to remain
silent.  Q stood and pointed at the floor.  Jean-Luc knelt again.  "What
would please me would be knowing that my slave had truly suffered because
of his error.  And that you suffered merely to be punished for the mistake,
not because you expected a reward at the end of the night.  Go to work
johnny."  He snapped his fingers again and vanished.  For a second, Picard
almost called him back.  How could Q do this to him?  He couldn't work like
*this*, couldn’t make it through the day full of the demanding need that
had plagued him all night.  As he stood, however, he realized that the need
was gone, along  with his collar and his lover.  He didn't feel as if he'd
had an orgasm; he just didn't *need* to come any more.  He supposed if he
thought about it long enough, he could get himself all worked up again, but
that would be a really stupid idea.  Sighing, he tugged at his tunic and
headed out the door.  He didn't like the absence of desire, but then he
smiled to himself.  

*I'm being punished.  I'm not supposed to like it.*  Oddly comforted by
that, he headed down the hall toward the lift.

***

"Why don't I like these recent reports?" Picard asked his Senior Staff a
half an hour later.  He sighed and lowered the padd containing the latest
report from the advance team.  All the coding was right, there were a few
slang phrases in the body of the report, and all in all, there was nothing
that indicated that the report was either a fake or made under duress.  But
that nagging feeling was back in Picard's mind and it was stronger than it
had been yesterday.  "They just don't ring true."

Next to him Riker shook his head.  "We've been over the coding and the
wording of the report, and there's no way it could have been written under
duress."  He frowned.  "I know what you mean though.  I don't like it
either."

"Maybe . . ." Crusher said thoughtfully.  "Maybe it's *too* perfect?"  She
looked at Picard and when he nodded, she continued.  "There's too much
slang, almost like she's trying to prove that the report wasn't made under
duress."

"That's it!" Picard smiled at her.  "Data, I'd like a overview of all the
reports we've had from the Advance team, particularly those written by Dr.
Haynes.  Look for shifts in the style of the writing."

"Yes, Captain."  The android turned to Troi.  "Counselor, I would
appreciate your assistance.  You might be better at catching the subtleties
of language than either the computer or myself."

"Of course Data."

"Well," Picard said, looking around.  "Unless anyone has anything else . .
.?  Dismissed."

***

Data and Troi reported to Picard's ready room toward the end of the watch.
"There is a definite change in the reports written by Dr. Haynes," Data
said, bringing up a graph on Picard's terminal.  "I was able to obtain
several reports written by her for different missions.  In none of them
does she lapse into the vernacular as often as she does in the last four
reports we have received.  In fact there is a 35% increase in her use of
slang in those  reports."

"How current is the slang?" Picard asked.  "Is it at all up to date?
Where's she from anyway?"

"Earth's Moon, more specifically, Tycho City," Troi answered.  "She's been
on this mission for seven months, but before that, she was lecturing at
Aristarchus University, three domes away from her own home.  All of the
slang she uses in her reports would be perfectly acceptable from a Lunar
college professor who talked to her students a fair amount.  Take this
phrase, for example, from the most recent report."  Picking up the padd,
the Counselor read, "'It's an odd fashion statement; makes me think of a
bunch of groupers.'"

"Groupers?" Picard asked.

"'Groupers' is a term that was being used last year on both the Moon and
Earth.  It refers to . . . the nouveau riche, or people who try, yet
somehow fail to be truly trendy."  Troi shrugged as Picard shook his head.
"As I said, it's not what you'd expect from an anthropologist, but Dr.
Haynes is said to be very close to her students.  She's well liked, and
they probably talk to her a lot."

"But," Picard said, frowning slightly, "that doesn't explain why, all of a
sudden, she's changed the style of her reports.  Unless . . ."  His voice
trailed off as he thought.  "It's got to be deliberate.  What if she's
trying to bring something to our attention?"

"The reports are transmitted through subspace, sir," Data said.  "Why would
Dr. Haynes go through such an elaborate subterfuge?"

"If she feels that there's been a breach of security, she may be doing the
only thing that she thinks won't be noticed by the rest of the team.  I
need more information.  I want to know *what* she's talking about when she
uses slang."  

Troi nodded thoughtfully.  "It might help if we had Lt. Sandoval from
Engineering helping us."  In response to Picard's raised eyebrow, she
explained.  "He did a year at LIT before being assigned here."

Picard hid a sigh.  He should have known that.  "Make it so," he said,
quietly.  When the two officers left the room, he pulled up the crew
roster, and began reviewing it.  He'd been immersed in his own problems for
far too long.  Once, he would have known that an assistant in Engineering
had done a year at the Lunar Institute of Technology before reporting
aboard the Enterprise.  Well there was nothing to do but get back on top of
things.  As he thought that, a discreet chime from his terminal announced
the end of the Alpha Watch.   "Oh merde," he muttered.  Data and Troi would
be getting back to him at some point about Dr. Haynes' reports, and he
really ought to review the personnel files.  On the other hand there was Q
and their afternoon and evening plans, whatever those were.  Picard shook
his head and leaned back in his chair.  *Q?* he thought, wondering if he
could get the entity's attention.  There was a pause.

End 2/5

-- 
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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 2, 3/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:37:13 GMT


From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        REP: ACT Chap 2, 3/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)

At the Center of Things
Chapter Two
3/5
discalimer in 1/5



*Yes, Darling?*  Picard laughed; Q's mental "voice" was overly saccharine.

*You're making my teeth hurt.*

"Poor Johnny," Q materialized right in front of Jean-Luc's desk and before
he could stop himself, Picard glanced at the door.  It was a totally stupid
thing to do, but Picard supposed he couldn't be blamed.  Q was wearing the
black leather that Picard loved to see him in.  Snug pants, black silk
shirt, leather vest, knee high leather boots . . .  It was right out of the
dark fetishistic fantasies that had frightened Picard (while at the same
time beckoning seductively from the corners of his subconscious)  all his
adult life.  Now that those fantasies were real, now that he knew what it
felt like to be owned, he wanted nothing more than to drop to his knees and
beg to have his collar locked on in spite of the fact that he was on the
job.  Even though Q wasn't reading his mind, he obviously knew the effect
he was having on his lover, for he smiled slightly.  

Fighting the pull of Q's presence and his own desire, Picard remained
seated.  Looking at Q the way he would look at an erring ensign, he said,
"I need to work into the second watch.  I thought you'd want to know that."
Their eyes met and Picard refused to let Q back him down.

"Thank you, Jean-Luc," Q replied, smiling wryly.  "I appreciate the
courtesy.  I'll see you when your work allows."  He vanished from sight,
but not from Picard's subliminal awareness of him.  Jean-Luc sighed, hoping
that he hadn't angered Q too much.  "I'm angry at your damn job, not you."
The voice came from right behind him; Q had materialized behind his chair
and was whispering into his ear.  Picard could smell the rich scent of
leather, and he couldn't help it, he tilted his head forward as if waiting
for the collar.  What he got instead was Q's hand around the back of his
neck.  

It was a gesture of pure ownership and Picard whispered, "Master."

"Goood boy, johnny," Q murmured.  And then, he was gone and Picard was
alone in the stillness of his ready room.

*Oh God . . . why do I let him do that to me? . . . make me feel that way?
. . . because he's your Master . . . but not when I'm the Captain! . . .
but is that right?*  Picard sighed.  He had to work, but  his stomach was
also reminding him that he hadn't eaten since . . . he hadn't been full
since this morning.  He laughed at the unintentional double entendre, and
headed for his replicator.  

As he ate his quesadilla, he wrote in his journal.  Years of being a
starship captain had taught him that doing something other than work during
lunch (if he had the time) made life a lot less stressful.  //Should I tell
him that I don't want to be reminded of my role when I'm on duty?  It would
make my life easier, but Q will *not* be inclined to make my life easier
just so that I can spend time away from him.  Funny how he's managed to
project his worries about the future on me; now *I* worry that we will
never have enough time together.   But I know I'm right.  I won't be able
to be . . . whatever it is that I am for him if I can't be a starship
captain.  That's who he fell in love with and that's what I am.//

//But I'm *also* johnny, his slave.  There are four Rules in the back of
this book that confirm that, and I'm sitting here fighting an erection
because he simply put his hand on the back of my neck where my collar would
be.//   The erection he had been trying to ignore throbbed as he wrote the
words, and he resisted the urge to reach down and touch himself.  //I just
thought about jerking off.  Right here, right now, in my ready room.  When
was the last time *that* thought occurred?  Am I getting too involved in
this?//  He thought about that and then continued writing.  //I don't think
so.  I think this is just the thrill of having what I wanted all these
years, and of knowing that it's *real* this time.  To tell the truth, I
don't really want that thrill to go away.  So what if I have to sometimes
force myself to concentrate on the boring details of my job?  It's not like
I'm going to think about my sex life (no matter how satisfying) in the
middle of an emergency.//  He closed the book.  Was he indulging in too
much justification?  He leaned his head back, closed his eyes and tried to
empty his mind.  After a moment, he opened his eyes, leaned forward and
opened the journal.  //I *love* being owned.  I need it, I want it and *I
love it.*// For good measure, he underlined the two sentences a couple of
times, grinned (a look which, although he didn't know it, made him look
years younger) and closed the book again.  As he slid it into its drawer,
he thought, * I must get a red pen . . . No wait . . .*  He thought of the
color that Q chose to wear when he wasn't in black.  *A purple pen . . .*

***


A few hours into the Beta Watch, Data and Troi returned to present their
findings.  "There is a definite pattern to the use of slang in the reports,
Captain," Data said.  "Dr. Haynes seems to think that there might be a
resurgence on  Calvidia of the Sayamberites."

Picard shook his head.  "Not good news."  And it certainly wasn't; Sayamber
had been a minor deity in one of Calvidia's oldest pantheons, until a
charismatic priestess had decided to change the minor agricultural god into
the focus of a new religion, one that had swept the planet during the early
days of space flight.  Playing on the population's fear of new technology,
coupled with a cycle of drought and famine years, Sayamber's followers had
managed to unite the planet and had ruled it for sixty years.  According to
the information compiled by the initial research team, the Sayamberite
Theocracy had been hideously repressive, first quashing all their political
opponents and then outlawing all the other religions.  The first in-system
colonies on Calvidia's larger moon had been essentially concentration
camps, as the theocracy used the very technology it decried to rid the
planet of undesirables.  In the end the theocracy had fallen, brought down
by a combination of a determined resistance and splits within its own
leadership.  For a generation, the planet had suffered through sporadic
warfare as factions battled for their long denied place in political
affairs.  The discovery of important mineral deposits on the former prison
moon, coupled with an emerging peace movement had led to the tentative
formation of a new world government.  After a few stumbles, the new
government had managed to bring peace and then prosperity to a world that
had known too many years of war.  Picard remembered having been impressed
with the system of checks and balances within which the Calvidian
government operated, and the amount of voice the average Calvidian had in
the affairs of the government.

"It's been almost a hundred years since the Theocracy fell,"  the captain
said, running a hand over his head.  "I wonder why there would be a
resurgence now."

"There's very little in Dr. Haynes' report to explain why,"  Troi said,
shaking her head.  "What we managed to cull from her report was that, at
least in the province of Terchin, there's a new anti-government,
anti-outsider, and, most importantly, an anti-technology feeling among the
people.  It's getting dangerous to be too different; everyone seems to be
trying to blend in.  Of course this is all extrapolated from what she has
to say about local culture."  The empath gestured at the padd containing
the reports.  "The sentence where she used the term groupers, for example,
is part of a paragraph talking about fashions and how there seems to be
less individuality than there was when she arrived."

"The disturbing thing is that she feels it necessary to code her reports.,"
Picard said.  "The team has very sophisticated encryption equipment, and
there isn't any indication that the Calvidians have a working subspace
communications system yet."  He frowned, and then addressed the ship's comm
system.  "Picard to Riker."

"Riker here sir."

"Number One, I'd like a meeting of the Senior Staff  in a half an hour."

"Aye sir.  Riker out."

***

"Right now all we have are questions," Picard said after Data presented
what little information he and Troi had gleaned from the coded reports.
"Mr. LaForge, is it possible that the Calvidians actually do have subspace
communications?"

"Well, Captain," LaFroge replied, "they know it's theoretically possible,
but I doubt they've managed to develop a system that would be capable of
picking up the transmissions of the Advance team.  It would be like . . .
Alexander Bell being able to tap the phone systems used at the end of the
20th century.  He would know what a phone was, but not how fiber optics
worked."

"If Dr. Haynes is not afraid of the Calvidians intercepting her reports as
she sends them," Worf said, "she must have reason believe that they are
being read before she sends them."

"But why?" Riker asked.  "It sure looks that way, but for someone on an FC
Advance team to leak information . . ."  He shook his head.  "The
background and security checks on those people are incredibly thorough."

"There could be any number of circumstances that could lead Dr. Haynes to
code her reports," Picard said.  "There's no need to suspect sabotage from
a team member.  There could be a hostage situation, for example."

"There is also the fact that we are close to the Romulan Neutral Zone,"
Worf said. 

"Believe me Mr. Worf, that fact has been on my mind as well," the captain
said.  He glanced at the table display, checking the Enterprise's schedule.
"What I'd like is more information.  Any kind of information we can get,
scans of the Calvidian System, anything we can pick up from their
broadcasts, that sort of thing.  I want to push up our arrival, but I don't
want it to appear that we think anything is wrong.  Number One, I think we
can shave three days off our original ETA, and have it look like we just
made good time."

"Aye sir."

"Data, Geordi, I'll want the most up to date information you can give me on
the level of Calvidian technology."  As the two officers nodded, Picard
turned back to Riker.  Having reviewed the personnel 
files recently, Picard remembered someone whose work had caught his eye.
"Number One, I'd like you to brief Dr. Velaz on the situation and have him
meet with us tomorrow.  His interest in early warp cultures will come in
handy.  Specifically, I'd like him to take a look at what we have on the
Sayamberites before the meeting.  Mr. Worf, I'm going to trust Dr. Haynes'
instincts and experience and assume that something is very wrong with the
Advance team, so you'll also need to think about how we're going to get
them off Calvidia if we need to."

"Of course, Captain."

"Very well."  Picard looked around the table.  "We've done as much as we
can with the information we've got, so let's get more of it.  I don't need
to remind any of you how sensitive First Contact missions are, but then
again . . . I just did."  There were faint smiles around the table.   "I'd
like preliminary reports tomorrow and therefore we'll meet at the end of
the Alpha watch.  Dismissed."  As they all rose to go, Picard glanced at
Crusher.   "Doctor?"

"Captain?"  The doors closed and they were alone.  

"I wanted to thank you for figuring out what was wrong with the report.  I
knew there was *something,* but you saw what it was."  

She looked a little surprised, but then smiled.  "No problem.  Good night,
Jean-Luc."

"Good night, Beverly."

***

"Well?"

"You knew this kind of thing was going to happen; I warned you." 

"Do I have to like it?"

"Good God no!  I don't."  Picard sighed and reached a hand across the
table.  After a second, Q took it and gripped it tightly.  "Do you want to
know what kept me, or would you rather not talk about it?"

"I think I'd like to know," the entity replied.  He left unsaid the fact
that he could easily find out what was going on even without reading
Picard's mind.

Picard nodded and  began to talk about Calvidia in between mouthfuls.  "So
there's something going on and we don’t know what it is.  I'm worried about
the Advance team and to tell the truth, I'm worried about the Calvidians."
He shook his head.  "Worf said something about the Romulans and . . ." He
paused, thinking.

"And what?" Q asked, interested in spite of himself.

"How much do you really know about me?"

It was an oddly timed question.  "A lot, I like to think."

"I know you know about my past, but do you know the *way* I think?"  Q
raised a suggestive eyebrow and a faint flush of red washed over Jean-Luc's
fair skin.  Q was amused and as delighted as ever to know that he could
make his lover blush.  "Not *that*," Picard said, his voice steady.
"There's this . . . thing . . . a feeling that I get.  It's like puzzle
pieces fitting into place . . ."  he gestured helplessly as he tried to
find words to explain, and Q suddenly realized that he had a conflict of
interests to deal with here.  He knew full well what Jean-Luc was talking
about, that *feeling* that had grabbed Q's attention from the start; it was
one of the things that had pulled him to Picard. It was simple really, the
feeling Jean-Luc was trying to describe was nothing more than the latent
Talent he'd been born with, somewhat ahead of his race's schedule.

However, Q could not explain it to his lover.  He had very carefully hedged
around the truth the other night; the Q didn't actually have a *law* like
the Prime Directive, but there were traditions that, in the somewhat
stagnated milieu of the Continuum had the weight of law.   He wasn't
breaking traditions by getting so involved with his project, although it
certainly stretched the boundaries of good taste.  He did have to be
careful about revealing too much about Humanity's potential to Jean-Luc
however.  He could test and get away with giving hints, but a major
revelations would be gross violation.  Q had gotten away with gross
violations before, of course, but this time he felt he had too much to
lose.  He'd had been stripped of his powers once in his life; he'd been
exiled on several occasions, but none of that was anything compared to what
they could do to him now.  By loving Jean-Luc and by making half the
Continuum *know* that he loved Jean-Luc, he had given them something to use
against him.  All they had to do was take him out of action, perhaps lock
him in stasis for 100 years and then let him go.  Let him go to nothing, as
Picard would be long since dead.  He hated having to hedge on something
that was this important to his lover, but he comforted himself again with
that fact that Picard would want him to.  If offered the information that Q
had, Jean-Luc would do his best to reject it, because of his own Prime
Directive.  In spite of the fact that Q mocked the Federation's ethics,
they weren't doing too badly for a civilization at their level.  And
Jean-Luc *believed* in those ethics, and that belief enabled him to do the
things that he did and would enable him to do the things he needed to do in
the future. 

"I think I know what you're talking about," he replied to Picard's
question.  "You get flashes of intuition, but you don't like to call it
that."

"I try not to . . .   To act on intuition alone makes me nervous.  God
knows I've been wrong in my time.  That in itself I can handle, but the
problem with command is that when I'm wrong, people can die."  Q tightened
his grip on Jean-Luc's hand and was rewarded with a slight smile.  "I
*know* that the Romulans are involved, but I don't have a shred of
evidence." He sat for a moment and then pulled away, rising from the table
to clear his dishes.  "And so here I am, stuck with a moral dilemma."  He
stared out the window at the stars for a long time.  "After everything I
said about your not interfering . . .  I'm trying very hard not to ask you
what's going on."

"What makes you think I'd tell you?"  Picard turned at the question, and
raised an eyebrow at his lover.  "OK you're right," Q conceded.  "I
probably would *if* you asked me."

"Then I'll ask you something."  Q was shocked, was Picard going to throw
his cherished principles out the window at the first moment possible?  But
no, instead, Jean-Luc came and knelt before him.  "Please Master, hurt me .
. . train me . . . do *something* . . ."  Jean-Luc's voice trailed away and
he bent until his head was on the floor, inches away from Q's boot.  Q
could guess that the missing part of the sentence  was "to take my mind off
this."  And he *wanted* to; it was the only thing he *could* do for Picard
right now.

"Hurt you?  My dear johnny," Q said, lacing his words with an almost
tangible menace.  He saw Picard try not to shiver.  "I can do that.  Just
remember that *you* asked for it.  Now . . "  He moved his foot, forcing
Jean-Luc's head up with the toe of his boot.  "Go get your collar, boy."

End 3/5

__________________________________________________________________________

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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 2, 4/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:37:40 GMT

From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        REP: ACT Chap 2, 4/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)    


At the Center of Things
Chapter Two
4/5
disclaimer in 1/5


***

Picard rolled over carefully as he woke up the next morning.  As he shifted
his weight, his welts came into contact with the bed, and he couldn't help
hissing through his teeth.  At the same time the memory of everything that
had happened to him the night before made him shiver with the first signs
of arousal.  "Feeling it a bit?"

"Yes Master," Jean-Luc replied, feeling the weight of his collar around his
neck as well.  He'd been granted permission to sleep in it as a reward for
doing well.  At the beginning of the night, Picard didn't really think that
was doing all that well.  For only the third time in his life he'd been
caned, and in the two years that had passed between the last time and this
time, he had managed to forget just how much it hurt.  At one point he'd
had to beg to be restrained, because, as much as he tried not to, his body
fought each blow by twisting away.  Once restrained however, he'd reached
the point where the pain had taken him somewhere else, and all his will had
drained out of him, leaving him completely open to anything Q chose to do.
What Q had chosen to do was chain him to the wall as he had the night
before.  Only this time, there had been a blindfold instead of  a gag, and
Q had stayed with him, teasing him until Jean-Luc felt that he could bear
no more.  And then Q had teased him more, before taking him down from the
wall. 

"You'll do anything for it, won't you boy?  Give me the truth here."

"Oui . . ." Picard panted.  "Anything . . . Master . . . maintenant . . .
please . . . Master . . ."  A vague part of him was shocked at how abject
he sounded, but the overwhelming need for an orgasm was quickly
overshadowing those concerns.  It seemed as if he could *feel* that coil of
energy that Q had described to him; it was tightly knotted at the base of
his spine and seemed to be connected to his aching cock.

"Good boy.  Now get up here," here being the bed, "and fuck me."  Picard
blinked at him in confusion, and Q frowned slightly.  "Do I have to repeat
myself?"

"N . . . No . . .  Master . . ."  

Picard had soon realized that Q's seeming reward was really more tease.
"Slowly johnny, make it good for me."  And so Jean-Luc had struggled to
make it good, doing everything he could to ensure that Q was thoroughly
aroused and ready for him.  It had been unbelievably difficult,
particularly once he was actually fucking his Master; the temptation to
simply lose himself and come inside that tight heat had been overwhelming.
He'd managed however, waiting until Q gave him permission.  It had been
incredible to know that, as he came, the energy he gave off was enough to
send his lover crying over the edge.  Drained, exhausted, and definitely
*not* thinking of Calvidia, Jean-Luc had fallen asleep in his Master's
arms, his collar still locked around his neck.

Now he rested his head against Q's chest.  "You're so good to me, Sir. . .
why?"

"Good to you?  Get up johnny, and come with me."  Q led him over to the
mirror, and turned him around.  Picard smiled at the sight of his rear.
"And you think I'm good to you?" Q asked.  He pulled Picard close and began
running his fingers over the welts and bruises left by the cane.  Watching
and feeling each touch and each pinch made Picard feel wonderful, even as
it hurt.

"It . . . what you did, what you're doing, makes me feel loved."  It was
the simple unvarnished truth, and he stopped looking at the mirror and
looked instead at Q.  "No one has *ever* made me feel this loved."

"Of course no one has, johnny.  None of your other lovers were gods."  Q's
light tone of voice did not fool Picard for an instant.   "Of course that
doesn't explain what *you* do to me?"

"Master?"

"Come here johnny."  Picard followed Q back to bed.  Before Q said anything
more, he pulled Jean-Luc into his arms and kissed him long and slowly.
Breathless, Picard gave back as good as he got and when they finally
separated both of them were gasping.  "For one thing, I've never made love
to any Human that kisses as well as you do.  Or for that matter, makes love
as well as you do.  But it's not just the sex."  He tightened his arms and
then sighed.  "When I saved your life, that time I took you back to
Starbase Earhardt, I had to remind you that living in the *now* and making
each moment count, are things that make you the man you are.  But what I
didn't know then, was that you could do that for *me*."

"Sir?"

"Last night, after I beat you, you gave it all up to me, didn't you?"

"Absolutely, Master.  I would have done anything you asked, and I was . . .
that was exactly what I wanted.  To give it all up to you, to be totally
owned and mastered."  He paused and then tilted his head up and kissed Q
lightly.  "Your boy is very grateful, Master."

"And so is your Master, boy.  Because after I had you up on the wall, I was
able to . . . be *there* . . . or is it *here*  . . . oh damn this language
of yours!"  Q looked down at Jean-Luc.  "What I'm *trying* to say is that I
started to give more and more of my attention to *you* and what we were
going.  When you started touching me, making love to me, it was like
everything narrowed down and there was nothing but the two of us.  I was in
the *now*, Jean-Luc.  Do you have any idea what that means to me?"

"If I can do that for you . . . if I can make you  . . . help you
understand . . . oh damn this language of mine!"  Picard grinned and then
recalled his manners.  "I'm sorry Sir.  Please . . . "

"What is it, johnny?  As you would say to one of your people, permission to
speak frankly."

"There were times, back before we were first lovers, that I despaired of
ever making you understand Humans.  I remember thinking, after the whole
thing with the Nausicaans, that you sounded almost . . . wistful when you
talked about living in the *now*.  As if it was something that you knew I
understood and needed, but that you could never have.  If I can give you
that, maybe you can understand why it's important to us.  We don't know the
future and the past is blocked off . . . we live in linear time and if we
can't live in the now, then we can't live. "  He laughed.  "I know I sound
terribly pretentious, but if it's your job to study us, you need to
understand that."

"Lucky me," Q said, running his hand across Picard's rear.  "I get to mix
business with pleasure.  Speaking of business, your alarm is about to go
off."

"Of course it is, Master.  That's the drawback of the *now*, it's never
long enough and yet at the same time manages to be too long."

Q looked at Picard for a moment, trying to figure out if Jean-Luc was
joking.  "Jean-Luc, I'm not sure if you just said something truly profound,
or amazingly silly." 


***


At the end of that afternoon's long meeting, Picard looked around the
table.  Serious faces looked back at him; none of the new information
garnered had been particularly encouraging.  The most disturbing news had
been Worf and Geordi's discovery of some rather suspicious subspace traces
that could indicate a nearby cloaked Romulan ship.  Picard was fighting his
unfounded certainty that the Romulans were involved, and he was quick to
realize that the traces could be natural in nature.  But still, he was
worried.  "I like this less and less," he said as he prepared to dismiss
his officers.  "Unfortunately, all we can do at this point is play the
waiting game.  Dr. Velaz, I would like you to put together a team to work
with Mr. Data on reviewing as much of the Calvidian media as possible.  I
realize that they're a talkative system, but any information we can glean
before we go in there will be helpful."

"Of course Captain."  The middle-aged scientist nodded eagerly  as he
replied.  At the beginning of the meeting, he'd been very quiet, answering
questions as briefly as possible.  It had taken a few minutes for the
captain to realize that Velaz's problem had been with Picard himself.
Whatever that problem was, he'd lost it and by the time the meeting had
ended, he had seemed much more at ease.  

"Good.  Mr. Worf, Mr. LaForge, I want the Calvidian system scanned as
thoroughly, but also as discreetly as possible.  I know that's going to
hamper you, but I still want to go in there looking as innocent as
possible.  Fortunately, we'll have a scheduled log drop before we reach
Calvidia.  I'll take the opportunity to inform Starfleet of my concerns.
I'm afraid that, if we're being monitored, a sudden burst of coded messages
to Starfleet would look suspicious."

"Captain, what if we act like we're just being nervous because we're close
to the Neutral Zone?  If you contacted Intelligence in a coded message
after quizzing the outposts, it could just look like . . . routine
paranoia."

"Number One," Picard said dryly, "routine paranoia is not the Enterprise's
style."

"Captain . . ."  Oddly enough Riker paused and then, sighing, pressed
ahead.  "It's been over two years since the Enterprise was anywhere near
the Neutral Zone; they may have forgotten our style.  It's not much, but it
could be in our favor."

"I see."   Picard did see too.  Strange that it had never occurred to him
that the missions of the past two years had been . . . quiet, and nowhere
near any of the Federation's many hot spots.  Around the table people tried
to look disinterested, but Picard saw Velaz looking at his hands, obviously
wishing he were somewhere else.  "Very well, Commander.  Request downloads
from the nearest four . . .  no, make it six outposts, and talk to any
neutral ships in the area.  Be a little ostentatious about it, and throw
the blame my way when you talk to the neutrals."

"Aye sir."

"Thank you everyone.  Dismissed.  Number One, may I have a word with you?"
Picard waited until everyone had left, and then looked squarely at Riker.
"Well, what are they saying?"

"Which 'they' Captain?"

"The Starfleet 'they' Will."

"Permission to speak . . ."

Picard interrupted, "I thought we took care of that when you first came
aboard."

"They say you've lost it," Riker said bluntly.  "Quite frankly, right now
you owe your command to Deanna, and the fact that she thought that you
would never do anything to put the ship in danger.  She told me that your
job was the only thing you had, and that if you lost your command, the
results would have been disastrous to you." During Riker's stark
recitation, Picard had risen from his chair and was now staring out the
window.  Looking at his back, Will couldn't help remembering their first
real talk.  It had been here, in the Observation Lounge.  He'd been close
to hating Picard for the lack of welcome the captain had given him, and for
the wringer Picard had put him through by asking him to perform a manual
saucer reconnect.  Then they had talked and Riker was sure that he screwed
over any chance he'd had to serve aboard the Enterprise when he refused to
back down over what constituted the duties of a first officer.

"Isn't it just possible, Commander Riker," Picard had said back then, "that
you don't get to be a starship captain without knowing if it's safe to beam
down or not?  Isn't it a little presumptuous for a first officer to second
guess his captain's judgment?"

"Permission to speak candidly sir?"

Picard had pinned him in place with that direct hazel stare.  "Always."
Riker had let him have it then, had held his ground.  Picard had respected
him for it, and in turn showed a little vulnerability of his own.  Riker
had wanted to burst out laughing when Picard had admitted that he wasn't
comfortable around children; he'd thought himself lucky that Picard's back
was turned to him.  And then Picard had turned, held out his hand, and
really smiled.  "Then welcome aboard, Commander Riker."  Later that
afternoon he'd called Will "Number One" for the first time.  Now, suddenly,
Will remembered that Picard had met Q for the first time that day as well.


"Will?"  The captain had turned and was looking at him curiously.

"I'm sorry, sir.  Time . . . got away from me.  I was thinking of how
scared I was when I first met you.  I never thought that I'd be . . .
saying something like what I just said.

"It needed to be said."  Picard sighed.  "They may think I've lost it, but
I imagine that I still have *some* influence."  He moved to the replicator.
"Tea, Earl Grey, hot.  Coffee, black."  He turned and gestured to the
table, and Riker sat down, picking up the mug the captain passed him.  "I
know you aren't happy with my . . . choice of a partner, and I know you've
had to put up with more than your share of bullshit in the last two years."
Riker tried to hide his surprise, and Picard grinned at him.  "I was using
a mild term for what you've had to deal with from me.  There is one thing
that you've proven to me and to the rest of this ship, and that is that you
are capable of command.  Do you want your own ship Will?  It's been over
nine years since we had that conversation, and frankly I never thought
you'd still be here after nine years.  I figured I would be lucky to get a
year out of you before you got your own ship."  He smiled slightly.  "I've
only really tried to tell you once to fly on your own.  Given the results
of your refusal that time, I'm very glad you stayed.  Given the fact that I
currently owe my command as much to you as I do to Deanna, I'm glad you
stayed.  But nine years is a long time, Will.  If you think it's time to go
now . . . you'll have all the support I can muster for you."

As always, it was an easy decision to make.  "What and leave while things
are getting interesting?"  Riker shook his head.  "You're just hoping to
get some green kid in here to bully into letting you beam down into
dangerous situations.  Nice try, Captain, but no dice."  For a second Will
thought the captain was blinking as he looked down into his teacup, but
when Picard looked up, all the first officer saw was a smile.

"No, actually I was thinking of getting someone who doesn't know me as well
as you do."  He sighed.  "All right, Number One, I believe we have work to
do."

"Aye sir!"

***

End 4/5

__________________________________________________________________________

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========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 2, 4/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ascem@earthlink.net (ASCEM)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:37:49 GMT


From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        REP: ACT Chap 2, 4/5 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter Two
5/5
disclaimer in 1/5




When Picard finally made his coded message to Starfleet Intelligence he was
able to send along the downloads from the outposts and reports from the
four neutral ship's captains Riker had talked to.  Included in those
reports was a mild complaint from one of the neutrals about being
questioned so thoroughly.   Picard was amused, and wondered what Admiral
Brackett would have to say.  He deep coded the most important parts of his
report and added all of Dr. Haynes' reports and the Enterprise's analysis
of them.

"All I can say," he said at the end of his report in a deep coded personal
postscript to Admiral Brackett, "is that I have a feeling that the Romulans
are involved.  I have no hard evidence, but I'm not the type to see Romulan
plots every time things don't go our way."  He hesitated, putting the
recorder on hold.  How to tell her that he was "back" without making too
much of the fact that he'd been "gone?"  "It's been a while since I've been
this sure of a hunch, Ruah, and I'm not the only on aboard who suspects
Romulan intervention."  After the entire packet had been sent off, he did
some quick calculations.  All the way out here, it would be at least two
days before anything more than an acknowledgment of his message made it's
way back to the Enterprise.  And if the reply was to be detailed, it could
be longer.  Meanwhile they'd wait.

***

And wait they did, as the Communications Department grabbed everything it
could of Calvidia's broadcasts, and Velaz and his team went over it with a
fine-toothed comb.  Worf ran simulations of rescue operations; Geordi and
Data scanned the system for a possible Romulan presence and everyone
waited, Picard among them.  

The captain's nights became a strange time-out from the tension of the
waiting.  Picard discovered he could take off the worry as he took off the
uniform.  Oh, he worried when he was with Q, but what he worried about was
pleasing Q.  He talked to Q about the waiting and his increasing concerns
over the situation, of course.  These conversations were usually held
during meals, or right after Picard came off shift.  The rest of their time
together was intense and very hard for Picard as he struggled to learn all
that Q was teaching him.  But already, at the end of two weeks of this
strange relationship, he knew that he had changed.  Oddly enough what he
felt the most was a strange new sense of serenity.

"Why?" he asked one evening as he came out of the shower.  "Why do I feel
so . . . serene?"  He hadn't yet knelt to have his collar locked on and he
hadn't had dinner yet.  Sometimes Q wanted him to eat first, sometimes he
didn't.  Picard had come to realize that Q was frequently arbitrary in a
deliberate attempt to remind Jean-Luc of who was really in charge.  

"Good question," Q said.  There was a flash of white light, and the collar
appeared in Q's hands.  He flung it at Picard, who caught it easily.  "Nice
catch boy."  Picard dropped to his knees, put the collar in  his mouth and
crawled to where Q stood.  "Now," Q said after Picard had asked for and
received the collar.  "I want you to think about that, while you stay on
your knees here.  Why do you feel calmer, more serene now that you're my
slave?  I'll be back."  With that, he vanished.  Picard settled back on his
heels, clasped his hands behind his back and began to turn the problem over
in his mind.

About an hour later, Q watched Jean-Luc for a moment before
rematerializing.  His lover was still kneeling back on his heels, his face
pensive as he thought.  Q loved to see Picard like this, loved to see him
pushing himself in order to understand something new.  And this was a hard
thing to understand, the way that submission was changing Jean-Luc.  Q
didn't entirely understand it himself; it was beyond his own experience and
without permission to go into Picard's mind and find out what his lover was
thinking, Q found that in specific situations, he had nothing to go on
other than surface clues.  It made him feel oddly powerless and vulnerable
and he knew that there were times when those feelings caused him to act
more sadistically than he intended, as if somehow he was punishing Jean-Luc
for making him feel that way.  *But it's not punishment to him, it's me
telling him that I love him.  Here I am, a Q, and I can't understand the
way a simple Human thinks.*  He knew that to be unfair; Picard was the most
complex Human Q had ever encountered, but still, this not-knowing was
difficult for a Q.  Well, maybe Jean-Luc would have some of the answers.  Q
materialized, and Picard looked up, devotion written across his perfect
face. 

"Master."

"johnny," Q replied.  He snapped his fingers and a black leather leash was
attached to Picard's collar.  Q watched Picard's eyes widen slightly and
realized that he'd just been handed a very useful tool.  He had known that
Picard could take pain much easier that he could take humiliation, but this
really drove it home.  *How lucky for moi, because there are a *lot* of
ways to humiliate my johnny.*   "I like the look of *this*," he drawled out
loud.  Oh yes, there it was, that faint blush, and the slight quiver to
Jean-Luc's mouth that meant he was forcing himself to not argue with his
master.  More ammunition, Q thought gleefully.  "Come on."  He tugged on
the leash and Picard followed him, crawling out of the bedroom and into the
living room.  Q flopped down on the sofa and waved a hand at Picard.
"Kneel back."

"Yes Master."

"Well, tell me.  And don't worry too much about the formalities of speech,
boy."

*Tell him about serenity?  When I've just been lead across my quarters on a
fucking *leash*?  How dare he . . .  and why do I . . . oh God I want him
to take me . . . right now . . .I *liked* that . . .*  Jean-Luc shook his
head, shoving aside the extraordinary  feelings that battled one another in
his mind.  He knew he was blushing and that Q would see it and would use it
later.  Pain was so much easier and so much more fulfilling . . .
*Serenity, damn it!*  As always his private sense of humor came to his
rescue, and as he laughed inwardly, he began to relax.

"Master," he began.  "I know that part of what I feel is because I'm in
love, but there's much more to it than that."  Q was paying attention;
Picard could feel the weight of that attention pressing against him.  "I
feel so changed . . . I have a place now . . . something aside from
Starfleet.  That should terrify me, and yet . . . when you find something
that you've been looking for, and that you were deathly afraid of at the
same time. . . what I'm feeling is an intense relief.  It's as if a weight
I didn't even know was there has been taken off my shoulders."  He shook
his head, his mouth quirked in a slight smile.  "I know it sounds
melodramatic, but that's how I feel.

"There's more to it of course.  There's the fact that I'm so much in that
*now* with you.  When we're here, like this, this is the center of the
universe for me, and pleasing you is more important than anything else.  It
didn't matter the other night when I gave up all my control to you; you
would have taken it anyway, and I had no choice.  It doesn't matter that I
can put a stop to this with a word, because there's this surety that you
will work me and take from me, and that's exactly what I need you to do.
To know that you need it as well is utterly overwhelming but, it's so right
that I just can't question it."  He shook his head.  "I think I'm not
making very much sense, Sir."

"A little.  Am I and what we do really the center of your universe,
Jean-Luc?"

"Yes," Picard answered instantly, his eyes meeting Q's without flinching.
Q couldn't help it, he reached out, grabbed Picard's arm and pulled him up
to the sofa.

"Love me, please, johnny?"

"Always Master," Picard replied, a little taken aback.  He didn't think
that he had really told Q what he wanted to hear.  *Then again maybe I
did,* he thought.  He didn't think too clearly after that.  Q  began
touching him.  There was no pain, just the touch of the man he loved and he
was responding and it was *just* sex, nothing kinky or exotic.   When Q
moved to take Jean-Luc's erection into his mouth, Jean-Luc responded by
twisting until he could reach out and touch Q's cock.  He teased and
stroked in rhythm with what Q was doing to him, and he could feel it from Q
this time, a pulse of energy that hovered just at the edge of perception.
Breathless they staved it off as long as they could, winding each other up,
and the sound of their own harsh breathing was only one more factor in the
intensity of what was happening.  Finally, Q sucked that much harder and
Jean-Luc stroked that much more firmly and they went over the edge, gasping
and panting as they went.  Serenity could wait for another night.


End of Chapter Two



========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 3, 1/3 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:49:21 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: ACT Chap 3, 1/3 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)

Disclaimer (long version in Chapter One): Star Trek is 
the property of Paramount.  This version of it is the 
property of me.  This story involves m/m sex as well as 
bdsm.


At the Center of Things
by Ruth Gifford
(c) 1997

Chapter Three
Contact

"I'm waiting for ignition, I'm looking for a spark
Any chance collision and I light up in the dark
There you stand before me, all that fur and all that hair
Oh, do I dare ... I have the touch
 
Wanting contact
I'm wanting contact
I'm wanting contact with you"

"I Have the Touch"
Peter Gabriel




All the eyes on the bridge were on the viewscreen as Data 
enlarged the image of Calvidia.  Picard felt that 
satisfaction combined with a degree of awe that he always 
felt when seeing a planet he'd never seen before.  It 
didn't matter that he'd seen it, and in greater detail, 
in the reports.  It didn't matter that what he was seeing 
was an enhancement of something that was still quite 
distant.  What mattered was that it was something new, 
and he was "seeing" it now.  In spite of the difficulties 
of the mission ahead, in spite of the danger and the 
worries, he was able, for a brief moment, to feel nothing 
but that excitement.  He wished he could share it with Q, 
wished he could make his lover understand how much this 
meant to him.  A ghost of an idea fluttered across his 
mind and he pushed it aside, determined to think about it 
when he had the time.  He allowed himself and the crew 
the indulgence of looking at the planet for another 
minute and then glanced at Data.  "Any trace of Romulan 
activity, Mr. Data?"

"No, sir."

"They're out there," Worf practically growled.  

Picard had to agree.  He'd given up fighting his 
intuition as more and more clues came in indicating that 
that intuition had been correct.  The clincher had been 
the report from Admiral Brackett that had come in late 
last night.  Q hadn't been pleased when Riker routed it 
to the captain's quarters for decoding.  He'd been 
somewhat mollified by Picard's sigh of reluctance as he 
knelt and asked to have his collar removed.  Q had 
removed it and then himself, and Picard hadn't seen him 
since.  

"Well," Picard said, "let's get this underway.  Picard to 
Riker."

"Riker here, sir."

Picard paused for half a second, fighting the urge to 
give Will a lot of unnecessary advice.  "Go ahead, Number 
One.  And . . . be careful."

"Aye sir."

A second later, Data turned to look back at Picard.  
"Commander Riker's team is away sir."

Picard nodded and settled back in his chair.  More 
waiting.  When Picard was first officer of the Stargazer, 
Captain Wantanbe had jokingly told him that the *real* 
reason Starfleet was putting ready rooms on newer 
starships was to give a captain somewhere to pace.  "In 
fact, Number One," she had once said.  "I've heard that 
the ready room floors will be carpeted in a new titanium 
fiber, so that we don't wear them out."  At the time, 
Jean-Luc had laughed, assuming that she was indulging in 
her usual penchant for exaggeration.  He'd learned, all 
too quickly, that she was right.  Over the years, he'd 
taught himself, or maybe just forced himself, to learn to 
be patient.  It still didn't matter, he still hated 
waiting.  He tried to think about something else, Ruah 
Brackett to be exact.  The admiral had been her usual 
blunt self in replying to his private message.

"Well Jean-Luc," she'd said.  "As you know from my 
official message, you're right about the Romulans.  I'm 
glad to see that you've started paying attention to the 
finer details again."  Picard had thought he'd heard a 
ghost of a sigh on the recording.  "People were starting 
to wonder what was wrong.  For that matter, people are 
*still* wondering what was wrong.  Care to fill me in, 
Johnny?"  That had been the extent of it and he had to 
laugh at being called Johnny by a superior officer, it 
seemed strange now that the nickname had a far different 
meaning.  Of course, Ruah had been a junior the year he'd 
entered the Academy and while she hadn't been responsible 
for his nickname, she still tended to call him that.  It 
wasn't surprising really, there were still a lot of 
people who called him Johnny.  Governor Batanides of 
Nueva Prime still called her old friend Johnny, as did 
Captain Zweller of Deep Space Two.  He smiled inwardly, 
thinking about the trip to the past that Q had given him 
and the things they'd learned about each other there.  It 
had been there that Q had first called him Johnny, in 
that mocking drawl of his.  Jean-Luc resolutely tried to 
think about something else; thinking about Q and johnny 
didn't seem like a good idea right now.

***

"She was right," the message from Riker read.  "We're 
still in the groove."  Picard smiled as he read the 
second sentence.  So Dr. Haynes was right in that 
something odd was going on.  The "groove" wasn't an easy 
one, but in half a day, the Away team's computer expert, 
Jenny Williams, had managed to hack into the Calvidian's 
'net, and broadcast the message on such a broad band that 
there would be no way for anyone to pinpoint where it had 
come from.  Now Riker, Williams, Dr. Velaz, and 
Lieutenant Goldman and Ensign Vicario from Security, 
would start looking for the Advance team.  Picard had 
given up on appearing patient and was pacing his ready 
room.  

"Want to talk?"

Picard sighed and turned to face Q, who was suddenly 
lounging on the sofa.  "You're not making this easy, are 
you?  What I want is to know what's going on down there."

"You wanted me out of it," Q said.  

"I know.  Now I've got five of my own people down there, 
not to mention seven other Federation citizens, and I'm 
responsible for them."  Picard expected Q to argue but to 
his surprise, the entity said nothing.  "I know that I'm 
doing the right thing, and that they're the right people 
for the job, but . . . I could lose someone down there.  
Goldman is getting married next month, Velaz is a 
civilian, and Will . . . I don't want to lose *any* of 
them.  And what happens if  I do?  What do I say to 
Beverly *this* time.  'Oh I'm so sorry, Beverly.  I could 
have asked Q to save Will, but I don't like to work with 
a safety net.'  God, my monumental *arrogance* must be 
really annoying."

"Sometimes I wonder if it bothers you more than it 
bothers me,"  Q said quietly.  Picard looked at him in 
surprise.

"Are you turning into a counselor on me?"

"Heaven forbid," Q replied.  

Picard smiled.  "Does this . . . bother you?  Amuse you?  
Do you think I'm wasting my time?"

Q looked at Picard, admitting to himself that what he 
really wanted to do was to give Jean-Luc whatever it was 
he wanted.  *But I can't because his wants are so 
contradictory.  Part of him wants to just kneel at my 
feet and serve me forever.  Part of him wants to explore 
in guaranteed safety, to see all those new things that 
mean so much to him without anyone ever getting hurt.  
Part of him wants to try to make the galaxy a better 
place.  But he wants to do it all of it on *his* terms.  
Lucky me, I have to juggle all those considerations . . 
.*  Heaving the mental equivalent of a sigh, Q clung to 
the one thought that comforted him.  *He loves me.  I 
*know* that he loves me beyond any shadow of a doubt.*  
Aloud he said, "would what I thought matter?"

"Very much, actually," Picard replied, sounding surprised 
that Q had to ask.  He sat down next to his lover.

"All right, the answers are, yes, sometimes and no.  In 
that order."  He smiled as Picard gave him an exasperated 
look.  "Yes, this bothers me because it takes you away 
from me.  As you so recently pointed out, I'm terribly 
selfish and self-absorbed.  I'm not going to like 
*anything* that keeps you away from me, even if I *know* 
that we'd drive each other crazy if we were together all 
the time.  But that's my problem, not yours."  He 
shrugged, and was surprised when he felt Picard's hand 
slide over his, their fingers entwining.  As Jean-Luc 
undoubtedly intended, the gesture made Q feel a little 
better.  "Sometimes it does amuse me.  I'm sorry Jean-Luc 
but . . ."

"It all seems so trivial, I know.  What would you do, 
push us forward by several steps?"

"Frankly, no.  With Humanity and the Federation, it'd be 
a mistake and I'm not ready to ride herd on an Emerging 
species."  Picard could hear the emphasis on the word 
emerging, but he tried to push down his curiosity.  "I'd 
push *you* forward by several steps though."

Picard took a deep breath.  He'd been afraid that Q would 
make an offer like this.  "Take me up on the high 
mountain," he said softly.  "And offer me the kingdoms of 
heaven and earth."

"That's me, the rebel angel. Do you really see yourself 
as Jesus, Jean-Luc?"

Picard laughed.  "Not at all, I'm just a poor sinner."  
He spread his hands, looking downcast.

"Hah!  Don't start with that; I've seen your balance, and 
I know about the property you own.  You are many things, 
Jean-Luc Picard, and you may even be a sinner, but you, 
my lord, are *not* poor."  He brought Picard's hand to 
his lips.  To his amusement, Picard blushed.

"We, the family I mean, don't use the titles any more."

"And part of you hates that.  You have got to be the most 
aristocratic person I know that isn't a Q.  If you'd been 
the first son, you'd be itching to refer to yourself as 
Jean-Luc, Comte Picard."

"No I wouldn't!"

"Oh come on, Johnny, you would too." 

"Well . . ."  Picard smiled.  "Do you regard it as your 
mission to knock the stuffing out of me?"

"Only when I can't be *fucking* you."  Q smiled to 
himself as he saw Picard catch his breath.  He'd 
intentionally put a spin on the word "fucking" and it had 
obviously had the desired effect on Jean-Luc.  Q could 
feel the shift in the energy that surrounded Picard; his 
lover was becoming aroused.  *Can I get him to do it 
right here?*  The energy shifted again.  *Guess not.*

"Don't do that to me.  I'm not going to let you," and to 
Q's surprise, Jean-Luc leaned forward and put his lips 
right near Q's ear, "*fuck* me right now."  Q silently 
damned his Human form, as Jean-Luc's deliberately husky 
voice, the feeling of his breath on Q's ear, and the 
faint scent of  the lime and bergamot of his after shave 
all combined to make Q suddenly aware of his own all too 
Human erection.

Trying to hide his discomfort, he tsked.  "Baaad boy.  I 
should bend you over your desk and *not* fuck you."

"Poor Master," Picard crooned.  "All . . . worked up and 
no place to go."

"You're a *tease*, Jean-Luc.  The famous Captain Picard 
is a cocktease."

"As I used to say when I was a *lot* younger, you started 
it."  Jean-Luc laughed and moved off the sofa and headed 
toward the replicator.  As Picard ordered cold water, Q 
tried to take some satisfaction from the fact that Jean-
Luc was walking very carefully.  "So," the captain said, 
his voice bland, "you don’t think I'm wasting my time out 
here?"

"No," Q replied.  *Point to you Johnny, but oh what I 
have planned for you.  I can't wait to hear that oh-so-
careful voice begging.*  "As much as I'd like to tell you 
that I do, it'd be a lie.  Two years ago, you told me 
that you *had* to do it; do you remember?"

"Of course I remember, that night was the first time we 
made love."  Q was relived to hear no echo of pain in 
Picard's voice.  Q still felt a little guilty about the 
dare that had started all of this, but it sounded as if 
Jean-Luc had managed to let it go.  "You gave me the best 
massage I've ever had, asked me a lot of questions about 
why I do what I do and then . . ."  He let his voice 
trail off and then smiled.  

Q chuckled.  "And then?"

"It's not relevant to the conversation," Picard said 
primly, settling behind his desk.  "Shame on you anyway, 
taking advantage of a poor defenseless starship captain."  
His tone was still teasing, and Q shook his head.  Along 
with everything else that he'd missed during the two 
years he'd spent away from Jean-Luc, he'd missed that 
sense of humor that Picard kept hidden beneath his 
"Captain's Mask."  He was also finding the dynamics of 
Picard's movements around the room interesting.  

*He's totally controlling the conversation,* Q realized.  
*He brushed off my offer to make him a Q by making a 
joke.  He slapped down my attempt to get him worked up by 
getting *me* worked up, and now we're talking about what 
*he* wants to talk about.  The question is, do I let him 
get away with it?*  Q thought about it and decided that 
this was Picard's place.  The ready room and the bridge 
were the two places where his lover needed to be sure of 
his own power.  *That's why he brought me here that time.  
He was trying to go where he felt the most in charge.  
I've got to be careful here; he can't keep insisting that 
he's two people, but he's been Captain Picard a lot 
longer than he's been johnny.*  "You were asking for it," 
he said aloud.  Then he changed his attitude and got more 
serious.  "But you told me that night that you *had* to 
be out here, that you wanted to do something that 
matters.  Well, you are doing something that matters, and 
you really don't need me to tell you that."

"A little reinforcement doesn't hurt.  It's just that 
this damn waiting gets to me at times."  Q was touched; 
he knew that Picard hated feeling sorry for himself and 
*never* let anyone see this side of himself.

"So tell me what your Admiral friend told you."

"Ruah?  Apparently I'm right about the Romulans; she says 
that they've probably been sneaking around this sector 
for quite some time.  Starfleet Intelligence . . ."  he 
paused as Q snorted.  "Oh stop it, that's a very *old* 
joke.  Anyway, they don't know exactly what's going on 
out here, but I'm inclined to think that the Romulans are 
after something material.  It's the only thing that makes 
sense; this system isn't particularly well located and 
it's technically within our sphere of influence.  But if 
they can get Calvidia to go through another anti-
technology phase . . ."  He frowned.  "Picard to Data."

"Data here sir."

"Data, I'd like you to take a close look at the physical 
locations of the most recent Calvidian colonies.  You're 
looking for something . . . anything that the Romulans 
could be interested in, on the colonies that would be the 
most affected by an anti-technological government."  
Picard paused half a second and Q wondered if he would 
make the other connection.  "You should also take a look 
at the base that they're using for their warp 
experiments."

"I understand sir.  The scans may take some time, as I 
assume you would like them to be discreet."

"You assume correctly, Data.  Picard out."  The captain 
looked back at his lover.  "I'm sorry . . ."

"Don't be.  I have to get used to it.  Even when you're 
technically off duty, you're still going to have to do 
things like this, and right now you're on duty.  I 
probably shouldn't even be here." 

"Technically, you shouldn't be, but . . . I'm glad you 
are.  I really don't have anything to do except worry, 
and it helps to have you here.  If you need to be 
somewhere else . . ."

"I will at some point.  Right now Amanda is on vacation 
so that you and I can 'work things out.' "

"Her words?"

"Yes, she's starting to sound like Troi and she spends a 
lot of her time looking smug.  It's annoying."  Q snorted 
and Picard chuckled.

"She said you were nice to her."

"Oh wonderful, another masochist to deal with.  I'm a 
terrible teacher, Jean-Luc; I have *no* patience and I 
don't like explaining how to do things."  Q frowned;  
Picard was laughing.  "What's so funny?"

"You are.  Here you are, able to change the gravitational 
constant of the universe with a mere snap of the fingers 
and you sound like I do whenever I'm faced with a child."  
Picard began to laugh again.  "I'm sorry . . ."

To Q's surprise, Picard's laughter was infectious, and he 
began laughing as well.  He liked the way Picard looked 
when he laughed, and he could feel an easing of the 
captain's tension.  Jean-Luc had been right; it did help 
him to have Q there.  Q was surprised to discover that he 
liked this feeling as much as he liked the sex.

***

End 1/3

-- 
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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
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Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 3, 2/3 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:49:44 GMT

From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: ACT Chap 3, 2/3 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)	



At the Chapter of Things
Chapter Three
2/3
disclaimer in 1/3

***

*In the groove,* Riker thought the next afternoon as he 
and Rosalia Vicario sat in a colorful Calvidian café in 
the province of Terchin.  He looked at the woman across 
the table from him and tried to look utterly entranced 
with her.  *I had to say we're in the groove.  Yeah, 
well, we're here at least.*  He took a sip of the tea 
he'd ordered, and smiled at Vicario as she reached out 
and took his hand.  She chuckled.

"You look so different; I think I like it."

"Well don't get too used to it," Riker replied, his smile 
suddenly wry.  "I don't like it."

Vicario grinned at him.  "Someone's glancing over at us.  
A woman in dark blue, medium height, over there near the 
vegetable stand."  Riker forced himself not to look right 
away.  "So what does Doctor Crusher think of your chin?"

"After due consideration she decided that she likes me 
with a beard, thank God.  Are you talking about that 
blond?"

"Yeah." She paused.  "You better say something, you look 
nervous."

"I am nervous.  *That* is the famous Commander Sela."  
Riker tried hard not to stare at Sela.  *Just what we 
need,* he thought.

Vicario laughed and lowered her eyes as if he'd said 
something romantic.  "You sure?"

"Positive."

"She won't know who I am, but you might be a problem. Go 
to the bathroom, and I'll see what I can see while you're 
gone.  Don't forget to kiss me."

Riker leaned forward looking apologetic.  "I'll just 
close my eyes and think of Beverly."

"Snarky bastard; so will I," she replied.  Then he was 
brushing his lips across hers and trying not to laugh.

As Riker approached the bathroom, he suddenly got 
nervous.  Sela looked to be alone, but he doubted that 
she was.  So as he entered the small men's room, he was 
prepared for the man who tried to jump him.  A short 
quiet struggle ensued, and then Riker was stuck with an 
unconscious man on his hands.  *Damn it!*  He half 
dragged him out into the hallway and waited a long moment 
before Vicario appeared.  "Change of plans," he 
whispered.  "Look what I have."

"Shit," she muttered, taking in the situation with a 
quick glance.  "I was wondering where you were."  She 
looked at the unconscious man.  "Thank God he's in blue."

"We're all in blue."

"What's going on?"  Riker turned swiftly at the sound of 
another voice.  The speaker was a young man wearing an 
apron, and Will figured he was a busboy or dishwasher.

"My brother is sick," Vicario said.  "Is there another 
way out?"

"Here," Riker added, holding out a piece of paper.  "If 
you pay our bill for us, you can keep the change."

"Through here.  Are you really his sister?"

"I am everyone's sister," Vicario replied, holding up her 
hand and making a gesture.  The young man flinched and 
hastily helped them out the back door.

"The coast is clear, he must have been the one assigned 
to the back door," Riker muttered.  "What was *that* 
about?"

"Mike taught me a Syamberite blessing; that poor kid 
thinks I'm a priestess."

"Snarky bastard."

She chuckled.

***

"Good cop, bad cop?" Riker asked Lt. Goldman.  He and 
Vicario had managed to make it back to the seedy hostel 
that Riker had chosen for their base of operations.  It 
seemed to be a universal truth that places that demanded 
payment in cash and offered minimal services tended not 
to care about odd goings on.

"Nah, Rosie's not very good at it," she replied, ignoring 
Vicario's snort of irritation.  "It's too bad, I make a 
great 'bad cop;' I come over all big and dumb."  Riker 
wasn't at all surprised, Caroline Goldman was close to 
his own height and he guessed that she didn't weigh that 
much less.  Their encounters in the ship's gym had given 
him a healthy respect for her fighting abilities.

"Yeah, and it's quite a stretch for you," Vicario 
muttered, sotto voce.  "Anyway," she added, "all we have 
to do is shoot our friend up with babble juice and  . . . 
Jolan Tru."

"It's legal," Goldman said, catching sight of Riker's 
face.  "He's in violation of the Treaty of Algeron simply 
by being on this side of the NZ, we can interrogate him, 
up to and including the use of drugs, but excluding the 
use of torture."

"Yeah, I know," Riker said, sighing.  "And if his boss 
got a hold of any of us, I doubt she'd pay any attention 
to the torture proviso."

"No kidding.  Think we can nab her?  The captain might 
like that."

"He might, at that."  Riker wasn't sure what Picard would 
think about Sela being here.  He wondered how much Picard 
knew about what was going on down here.  The captain had 
guessed that the Romulans were involved and here they 
were.  After two years, it was good to again have a 
captain who made accurate guesses about delicate 
missions.  Will had gotten quite tired of comfortable 
missions, but he had to wonder what the next few years 
would be like.  He wasn't a fool and he could guess that 
Picard's relationship with Q would probably be rather 
complicated.  He was a little nervous about how their 
inevitable quarrels would affect the ship.  Shaking his 
head, he came back to the present.  

"Our guest is waking up," Dr. Velaz said, sticking his 
head in the door.  

When the three officers crowded into the room Riker had 
put the suspected Romulan in, the man was shaking his 
head looking groggy.  Lt. Williams eased away from his 
side, and gestured Riker out into the hallway.  "He's a 
Romulan all right," she said, handing Riker a tricorder.  

"Big surprise.  You better get Velaz out of there; 
Vicario and Goldman are going to shoot our guest full of 
truth serum."

"I think I'll skip it too.  That's no place for a 
civilian *or* a computer geek."

A half an hour later, Riker sat with Goldman, Velaz and 
Williams.  "OK, Jen," he said.  "We need to get another 
message out.  I want you," and he looked at Velaz, "back 
on the ship."

"What's going on with the Romulans and Dr. Haynes' team?" 
Velaz asked. 

Goldman frowned, but Riker answered the anthropologist's 
question.  "The Romulans have gotten their hands on one 
of the Advance team members.  He's still alive, but 
they've been using him to keep Dr. Haynes quiet.  They 
know we're here but had no idea that we knew that they 
are here."  Will paused a moment.  "Did that make any 
sense?"  The other three laughed and he saw Goldman 
relax.  "We got lucky, the Romulan I grabbed is Sela's 
second, he's a Sub Commander, and I think she'll agree to 
a trade.  Particularly once she knows that we know why 
she's here."

***

//And so,// the end of Riker's report read, //they're 
after the sulendurite deposits on the third moon of 
Calvidia VIII.  The idea is to revive the Sayamberite 
cult and call a halt to the warp drive project.  I 
suspect you'll be hearing from Sela soon.  We'll lay low 
and keep trying to find the rest of the Advance Team.//  
Picard smiled to himself, Data had found the sulendurite 
deposits about a few hours after Picard had asked him to 
look for them, several hours before Riker's report.  
Sulendurite was used in the construction of cloaking 
devices and as it was a fairly rare mineral, the Romulans 
tended to try and grab it wherever they could find it.  
That they were *looking* for it this far out meant that 
they had to be building more ships, which did not bode 
well.  *Ruah and her friends will find this all very 
interesting.  But . . . should we try to hang on to the 
Romulan or give him back?*  He sighed and put the padd 
down.  At least he knew what was going on now.

And, he had to admit to himself, the waiting had been 
easier.  Once he'd known about the sulendurite, he'd gone 
off shift and devoted his evening to Q, although he'd 
felt it necessary to warn his lover that they could be 
interrupted at any time.  It wasn't until he was drowsing 
off, contended and exhausted after being teased to beyond 
the point of begging, that he'd realized how gratifying 
it was to be right, to have that internal voice 
confirmed.  He'd been sure the Romulans were involved and 
they were.  He'd guessed that they were after something 
material and they were.  It wasn't exactly a brilliant 
assumption, in fact it seemed rather obvious, but still . 
. . he felt like himself again.  He'd smiled, leaned 
against Q and gone to sleep.

Now it was morning and he was waiting for the 
communication that had to come.  "Captain," Worf said, 
"we are being hailed from Calvidia.  The communication is 
coming in on a standard Federation frequency."

"That will be Sela," Picard said.  "I know it's asking a 
lot, but see if you can trace the communication back to 
its source."

"Aye sir."

"On screen."  Picard looked at the screen.  It was 
uncanny seeing the woman who was looking back at him.  If 
only she didn't look so much like Tasha.  *If only . . .*  
"Commander," he said calmly.

"I want him back, Picard."

"Do you?  You are aware that Sub-Commander Telik was 
captured violating Federation Law, on the  Federation 
side of the Neutral Zone?"  Picard worked at keeping his 
voice polite.  He'd  learned that it irritated Romulans 
almost as much as it irritated Klingons.

"Your law doesn't apply to Calvidia, Captain."  Sela 
replied, her voice silky.

"That is true," Picard conceded easily.  "However, the 
fact remains that he, and you for that matter, are on the 
wrong side of the Zone.  Unless I am mistaken, that is a 
direct violation of the Treaty of Algeron."

"Do you really want to play this one that way, Picard?  
You can sit there and quote the law at me all day, or we 
can make a simple exchange of hostages and this matter 
can be . . . forgotten."  She smiled.  "It really is the 
most practical thing to do."

*Oh *is* it?  Damn, I wish I knew where she was.  Of 
course that doesn't mean that Dr. Hamner is in the same 
place, but it would be a start.*  "I'm listening," he  
said aloud.

"I'm sure you are.  It's really quite simple, I'll meet 
with whoever it is you have here on Calvidia,"  her eyes 
took in the bridge. "Commander Riker, I assume.  It will 
be a simple exchange."

"Oh will it?" Picard asked in a voice that clearly said, 
'tell me another one.'  Sela frowned, but waited for him 
to continue.  "Perhaps it might be a better idea for you 
to leave Dr. Hamner in one place and provide us with the 
coordinates of that location.  We could do the same."  He 
paused.  "Of course the Federation is not in the habit of 
dealing with terrorists, so this is all theoretical."  
She had been expecting that; he saw her lip curl.

"Of course not."  Picard had to admire her; she sounded 
as bland as he did.  "I suggest you give some thought to 
making an exception.  The Tal Shiar might like having a . 
. . chat with a Federation civilian." Picard allowed 
himself to look worried, and she smiled.  "I'll contact 
you in an hour to arrange the exchange."  She cut the 
contact.  Picard smiled after Worf cut the contact from 
their side; as much as he liked having the last word, he 
wanted Sela to think she'd won this round.  *Come on 
Will, you have an hour to find them.*


***

"Got it!" Williams said excitedly.  "She was trying to 
use our trick, but her hacker isn't as good as I am."

"No one is, Jen," Riker said.

"They're tapping into the Calvidian net and broadcasting 
on a broad band.  But . . . they're not covering their 
tracks very well.  In fact I'm not the one that noticed 
first."

"Oh?"  Riker exchanged a worried glance with Goldman.

"The Terchin Regional Communication Company is not happy 
about people tapping into their net.  They tried to find 
me, but since we were just squirting compressed messages, 
they didn't have enough time to track through all the 
twist and turns I went through."  She smiled proudly.

"The Romulans, Lieutenant," Riker reminded her.  Williams 
had a habit of getting caught up in her own cleverness. 

"Oh, sorry sir.  The Romulans are tapping the net from a 
temple."  She looked up at Riker.  "A Sayamberite 
temple."

"Oh fuck!" Goldman said.  "Sorry sir."

"I think you spoke for me too," Riker said resignedly.  
"Where is it?"

Shortly thereafter Riker, Goldman, and Vicario crouched 
in a doorway near a small, rather shop-worn temple of 
Sayamber.  "The one over there, the big guy in dark blue.  
He's a Romulan," Vicario whispered.  "He's too stiff."

"Right," Goldman replied.  She glanced at Riker.  "Where 
is Williams?"

"She'll get through.  She really is as good as she thinks 
she is."

"Is that possible?" Vicario muttered.  Riker smiled to 
himself.  Vicario was probably the least noticeable 
person aboard the Enterprise, Worf had once described her 
a "a medium Human" and Will had to agree with him.  
Medium brown/blonde hair, light hazel eyes, medium 
height, medium build, she could pass as anything or 
nothing.  She had a far from medium brain however, and 
even at her young age, she was one of the best spies 
Riker had ever known.  He knew her slightly, having 
worked on a play with her and knew that Goldman's earlier 
disparaging remarks had been a joke.  Vicario's talents 
made her a formidable actress.  He wasn't at all 
surprised that she found Williams' boasting irritating; 
compared to Vicario, Williams was positively flamboyant.  
"OK, there we go," she said, interrupting his train of 
thought.

Will glanced across the square, the street lights had 
gone out, and windows that had been lighted were now 
dark.  "Way to go Jen," he muttered.  "OK let's do it."

***

"Captain, we've received the beam out signal," Worf 
announced.  "The Away Team is aboard."

"Riker to Picard."

"Picard here, did everyone make it out, Number One?"

"Present and accounted for, Captain.  We also have three 
Romulan 'guests,' but  . . .  I'm sorry, Captain, 
Commander Sela slipped out of our fingers."

"I understand, Will.  Make sure our guests have the 
proper accommodations."  He turned to look at Worf.  
"Yellow Alert, Mr. Worf.  Mr. Lavelle, take us out of 
here, three quarters impulse.  Go to Warp One as soon as 
it's safe."

"Aye sir."

***

"She left her own damn people for us as a distraction," 
Riker said angrily.  The first officer prowled Picard's 
ready room.  "I suppose I should be glad that she didn't 
kill Dr. Hamner while she was at it, but still . . ."

"Good Lord, Will, you got the Romulans out of there, you 
rescued the hostage; trust me, I'm not the least bit 
disappointed with your performance.  I imagine Admiral 
Brackett and the rest of Intelligence will be rather 
pleased with you as well."

"I suppose," Riker said. He came to one of the chairs in 
front of Picard's desk and slumped into it.  "What about 
the Calvidians?  Once the Terchin Regional Police go in 
there and find what the Romulans left behind . . ."  He 
shook his head.  "What a mess."

"Counselor Troi and I are going to make contact with the 
Conclave itself, instead of trying to go through one of 
the scientists on the warp project."

"What do you intend to tell them?"

"I thought," Picard replied with a slight smile on his 
face, "that I might start with the truth."


***

"And so, Madame Chair, we deeply regret the fact that our 
actions brought conflict to your planet.  It was not our 
intention."

"Intention or no, Captain," the Calvidian woman said, her 
cat-like gold eyes narrowing as she looked at Picard, "I 
am not happy with the fact that our world was turned into 
a playing field on which two alien races fought out their 
private war.  How are we supposed to feel at all 
comfortable with the idea of venturing out of our 
system?"

"I don't know," Picard replied honestly.  "All I can tell 
you is that superior technology does not make any race 
perfect."

Suddenly she smiled as heads around the chamber nodded.  
"No it doesn't, Captain.  But, I find it interesting that 
you do not attempt to shift the blame to your enemies.  
Nor do you seem to have any interest in telling us how to 
handle our new technology and the problems it brings us.  
In fact, you are taking responsibility above and beyond 
the actions of your own people.  I do not see the Romulan 
Commander in this chamber apologizing to us."  She 
glanced at the foot of the table.  Picard knew that the 
slight Calvidian man who sat there was the leader of the 
opposition party.  "Well Nianm?'

"I've always been a proponent of warp research Grochi, 
I've just wanted us to be cautious.  This is why."  He 
gestured at Picard and Troi.  "We didn't know what's out 
there.  But now . . ."  He sighed.  "The only thing that 
worries me is that we might end up depending on *them* to 
solve our problems for us."

"Sir," Picard said earnestly.  "As I mentioned we have a 
Prime Directive that forbids us to do that."  He thought 
about his conversation with Q a few weeks ago.  "It's not 
perfect and it doesn't always work, but we try."

Troi watched Picard with well-concealed surprise.  She 
knew that he meant everything he was saying, but he was 
also instinctively saying exactly what the Conclave 
wanted to hear.  If he'd come in and acted certain that 
the Federation was perfect, he would have lost them.  
Instead his . . . it wasn't uncertainty, more like self-
knowledge, was convincing them as much as his words did.  
She wondered if his involvement with Q was actually 
responsible or if it was merely another sign that he'd 
come out of the shell of the last two years.

"I'm glad to hear it," the Opposition Leader replied.  
"But we're forgetting our manners.  Captain, we should 
thank you for finding the Romulans and figuring out what 
they were up to.  You and your people worked very hard to 
keep *our* people out of the conflict."  Picard nodded.  

"Our people will have to be told, of course" the Chair 
added, sighing.  "But that is our concern.  Captain 
Picard, the Conclave will go into deliberations and we 
will issue position reports to the voters.  Once there is 
a clear consensus as to how much involvement Calvidia 
wishes to have with the Federation, we will contact you."

"Thank you, Madame," Picard replied. 

She smiled at him.  "I have a feeling that you will be 
pleased with the result."

End 2/3


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titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 3, 3/3 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 07:49:59 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	REP: ACT Chap 3, 3/3 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)



At the Center of Things
Chapter Three
3/3
disclaimer in 1/3


***

"This calls for a celebration."

"Is *that* what this is?" Picard asked, looking at the 
low table in front of his sofa.  Caviar, champagne, and 
an eclectic mix of appetizers; he could see sushi, 
stuffed mushrooms, spanikopeta, dolma and half a dozen 
other things designed to appeal to his varied taste in 
food.  There was one plate and one champagne flute.  The 
lights were low; in fact the only light was candlelight.  
It would have been a little too cliched, except that it 
felt right somehow.

"Yes, but you have way too much clothing on.  Go get 
undressed and bring me your collar."  As Picard headed 
toward the bedroom, Q added, "on your knees, johnny."

Picard smiled as the tension of the Calvidian mission 
drained away.  "Yes, Master," he replied fervently.

A short time later, Picard was on his knees in front of 
the sofa, his cheek still burning from the hard slap Q 
had given him.  He was wearing nothing but his collar, 
and the wrist cuffs which were locked together behind his 
back.  He was eating from Q's hands.  In between bites of 
food and sips of champagne, he was being teased by 
invisible touches, and each time he wanted another bite 
or sip, he had to ask for it.  The caviar was 
particularly entertaining because Q didn't bother with 
the traditional rounds of toast, instead he simply 
scooped it up with his fingers and made his pet eat it 
that way.  Jean-Luc tried to be as careful as he could as 
he licked Q's fingers clean after each time, swirling his 
tongue around them, and nibbling lightly.  His efforts 
were rewarded by Q's responses; Jean-Luc could hear faint 
sighs from his lover.  "You're a slut, you know that?"

Q always called him a slut, and why not, Jean-Luc thought 
as he replied, "yes Master."  *I certainly seem to forget 
myself when I'm with him.*  It was vaguely disturbing, 
really.  It sometimes frightened him to know that he 
could be reduced to this so easily.  But even as it 
bothered him, he realized that already this wasn't 
enough; he wanted more from his lover.  *Not just a slut, 
but a greedy one at that,* he thought ruefully.  "Please 
Master, may I have more food?" he asked, addressing the 
easier hunger.  It was sushi this time and Picard's eyes 
watered slightly at the sharpness of the wasabi.

"Too hot?" Q asked idly.

"No Sir," Picard replied.  He thought about it for a 
moment.  "It's just that . . . I seem to notice things 
like that more these days."

"Tell me why."

"Yes Master."  Jean-Luc paused, collecting his thoughts.  
Q took the opportunity to give him a sip of champagne, 
and Picard seemed to feel each bubble against his tongue.  
"I'm learning to be more aware of . . . my body, Sir," he 
said softly.  He was a little embarrassed; he had always 
prided himself on his self-control.

"Move to the head of the class," Q said with a fond 
smile.  He could tell that it was a hard thing for Jean-
Luc to admit.  *Oh no johnny, I'm not going to let you 
keep those masks on when you're with me.*  He smiled; 
pushing Jean-Luc was a pleasure that compared with 
nothing else he'd ever experienced.  While it wasn't a 
new pleasure, it was so much more fulfilling now that 
Jean-Luc was actually enjoying it.  *This is rather 
disturbing; it seems that *his* submission defines *my* 
dominance.  How odd.*  He brushed the thought aside and 
returned to teasing Jean-Luc.  There were certain places 
that required only a touch to bring Picard to an acute 
state of frustration.  The back of his neck was a perfect 
spot, for instance; the sensation of fingernails scraping 
across it was even now making Jean-Luc shudder.  Q 
watched intently as his lover tilted his head back and 
bit his lower lip, a moan escaping.  *Escaping!  That's 
it, I've got to push him past that.  I want to hear him 
*really* respond.*  With that goal in mind he stepped up 
the teasing, pausing now and then to feed Jean-Luc or 
give him more champagne.  *That'll help too,* Q thought 
watching as Picard drank more.

Jean-Luc was sure he was going to go insane; he wanted, 
no, he *needed* this so much.  In spite of himself, he 
started moaning.  He heard a soft laugh and opened his 
eyes to see Q looking at him.  Jean-Luc bit his lip 
again.  Q shook his head, a look of rueful amusement on 
his face.  Before Picard had time to try to figure out 
what *that* was about, the entity suddenly swept his arm 
across the low table.  Picard watched in shock as the ice 
bucket, the champagne flute and the tray of food landed 
on the floor.  He was still staring at the mess in 
surprise when Q reached out, grabbed his arm and flung 
him over the table.  Jean-Luc gasped as his skin came 
into contact with the cold glass, hardly noticing that 
his wrist cuffs vanished at the same time.

"Up johnny!  Knees and elbows!"

"Yes Master!"  It vaguely occurred to Jean-Luc that the 
table was bigger than it had been a second ago, but he 
was too busy responding to the sudden switch in the feel 
of the evening.  As soon as he was in position, he could 
feel Q's hands sliding between his legs, and he began to 
squirm as those hands teased his erection.  He wanted it 
so much, but he knew he had to wait.  He felt his hands 
clenching into fists.  

"Now here's what I'm going to do, johnny.  I'm going to 
fuck you and you're going to stay there and take it.  If 
you come before I give you permission, I'm going to be 
*very* disappointed."

"Yes . . Master."  Q moved into him, slowly.  After a 
moment, Jean-Luc felt his lover settle into a steady 
rhythm.  Knowing that Q could do this all night, Picard 
tried to distance himself from what was happening.  He 
couldn't; he had been too wound up going into this.  It 
got worse when one of Q's hands slipped around his hip 
and began teasing his erection.  *Oh God, I *can't*!  Not 
if he does that.*  He could hear himself panting and try 
as he might, he couldn't stop himself.  Soon he was 
moaning, and for some reason it seemed unusually loud in 
the quiet of his quarters.  He tried not to, but things 
were rapidly getting to the point where there wasn't 
anything in his universe but the feeling of Q moving 
steadily in and out of his ass and that firm hand on his 
cock.  The moans turned into groans and he was going to 
start crying out if he couldn't stop himself.  Desperate 
not to come and determined not to make too much noise, he 
suddenly realized that he had brought one hand to his own 
mouth and was biting on his knuckles in an attempt to 
remain quiet. Q abruptly stopped and Picard heard himself 
whimper.

"Why are you biting on your knuckles, boy!" Q snapped 
out.

Jean-Luc hastily pulled his hand away.  "Master . . ." he 
gasped out, his voice unsteady.  "I . . . was trying . . 
. to . . . to be quiet."

"Did I *tell* you to be quiet?"

"No Master."

"I *want* to hear you johnny.  I don't like the idea that 
you're holding out on your Master."

"Sir, your boy is sorry, sir."  *Oh no . . . not that . . 
. if I start making noise . . but he wants me to . . . 
but it's so . . .*  Q was moving again and his hand was 
once more teasing Jean-Luc's cock.  All too soon, Picard 
felt that control slipping out of his grasp.  He was soon 
moaning, aware that his voice was breaking and that his 
face felt hot.  He had no idea how long he'd been here 
with Q fucking him, but it was starting to feel like it 
had been forever and he was losing more of his control 
each minute.  He was sweating and his elbows hurt and now 
he could hear harsh groans coming from his own mouth.  
*But what if someone hears . . . no it doesn't matter . . 
.*  "Ohh God . . . oh it hurts . . ."  And it *did* hurt, 
but it was a sweet hot ache, burning him and making him 
want it to go on forever.  *And why not tell Him that, 
johnny?*  "Oh  . . . s'il vous . . . plait . . . don't 
stop . . . I need this . . ."  He was clutching the edge 
of the table now, arching his hips up and spreading his 
knees apart in an effort to get more of what he wanted so 
much.  Q had stopped stroking him and was holding his 
hips, and suddenly Jean-Luc thought about what this must 
look like.  Far from embarrassing him as it once would 
have, he loved the idea of being on this table getting 
fucked this way.  He could hear himself getting louder, 
and tears were coming to his eyes.  "So goood . . . it 
hurts so bon . . . tres bon . . . . oh yessss . . . use 
me . . . fuck me . . . need this . . . love this . . .je 
. . . j'taime . . .!"  

"That's my good boy," Q said.  "That's my sweet johnny.  
Tell your Master, boy; let me know how much you like 
this."  He picked up the pace.

"Like it?!" Picard managed to get out.  "I . . . oh Dieu 
. . . I LOVE IT!"  Suddenly he let go of all of it, the 
worry that someone other than Q would hear him, the fear 
that he looked absurd and sounded ridiculous, the tension 
of trying to control his reaction.  

When Jean-Luc started screaming, Q couldn't believe the 
wave of lust that rolled over him and he was glad he'd 
remembered to sound proof Picard's quarters.  Like 
everything else, once johnny let go, he really let go; 
Q's slave was soon unable to even get words out.  "That's 
my boy  . . . that's my little slut . . . oh johnny you 
look so good . . ."  And wasn't *that* true!  Jean-Luc 
had moved himself up onto his hands in order to fuck back 
as hard as he could.  But it wasn't enough, there was one 
last bit of the mask that Q had to remove.  He thought 
the right thought and they were suddenly in Jean-Luc's 
bed.  Q slipped out of his lover.  "Roll over for me 
johnny."

Jean-Luc obeyed, feeling nothing but an empty void where 
his lover had been.  "More please . . . oh Master . . . 
s'il vous plait . . . . please fuck your johnny . . . 
don't . . . oh please . . . non . . . don't stop now . . 
."  He pounded his fist on the bed, and spread his legs 
so that his knees were close to his chest.  They had been 
at it so long that it hurt when Q went back inside, but 
Jean-Luc welcomed the pain like a long lost lover, crying 
out loudly as he felt Q sink into him.  And it started 
all over again.  Without being told, he knew that Q 
wanted to see his face and hear him, so he didn't even 
try to hide anything.  *This is *me*!* he thought.  *And 
it's what He wants.*  The thought stripped it all from 
him and he gladly let go, knowing that nothing mattered 
as much as what was happening right here.

Q took it all in greedily and with a gratitude and pride 
that was overwhelming.  Once more, his johnny had pushed 
himself and given his Master more than he'd ever given 
any lover before.  Q suddenly realized that he could do 
no less and so he suddenly let go of the tight control 
he'd been maintaining on his Human reactions.  Driving 
his cock into Jean-Luc with rough force, he began 
talking.  "Gonna fuck you . . . ride you boy . . . hurt 
you . . ."

"Oh YES!" Jean-Luc screamed.  "Use your slave . . . take 
me . . . take it all . . . "  He arched his head back and 
Q could see the almost constant blinking as Jean-Luc 
tried to look up at him while at the same time his eyes 
tried to close from the overload of feeling.

"Now johnny!  Come for me, boy!"  Q let Jean-Luc's 
movements guide him and thrust harder as Jean-Luc tilted 
his hips to a different angle.

When it washed over him, the orgasm hit with all the 
force of a quantum torpedo, and Jean-Luc heard himself 
make a sound that could only be described (were he in any 
condition to attempt a description) as a combination of a 
scream and a howl.  At the same time he heard a roar from 
above him and felt the sharp pain of one last hard thrust 
as Q let go and came inside him.

The first thing that Jean-Luc noticed as he came down was 
that Q hadn't dried them both off.  They lay tangled in 
each other's arms and everything was sticky.  They 
smelled of sex and he realized that as fastidious as he 
normally was, he *liked* this.  "Mmmm . . ." he murmured.  
"Smells like someone's been fucking in here."

"Is that what it was?" Q said, his voice a little drowsy.  
"I thought I'd turned into a Human and had a religious 
experience."  He rolled slightly to the side, but didn't 
let Jean-Luc go.  "You are so beautiful when you're being 
fucked.  And oh, are you a slave to your passion."

"Your slave Master," Picard replied.  He shivered 
slightly and then smiled as Q pulled the blanket over 
them.  Jean-Luc smiled, the warmth felt wonderful as it 
wrapped itself around him.  Every muscle in his body 
burned and ached; he felt like he'd run a marathon, only 
no marathon, however well-run, could compare with this.  
They remained silent for a time and then Jean-Luc spoke 
again.  "Thank you, Master."

"For what, boy?"

"For forcing me to let go, Sir.  For making me scream."

"I was doing it for me too, you know.  But anyway, you're 
welcome.  Oh, I know you're probably worrying about this 
again.  No one heard you, I soundproofed us."

"So good . . . to your . . . johnny, Master," Picard 
managed to mumble.  He was swiftly falling asleep.  He 
struggled to come awake, but then subsided when Q stroked 
his face gently.

"Get some sleep love.  We'll save dessert for later."

In fact dessert had to wait for another night, as Picard 
slept so soundly that Q didn't have the heart to wake 
him.


***

Two weeks later, the Enterprise was closer to the relay 
stations and Picard managed to have a real time 
conversation with Ruah Brackett.   "So, the Calvidians 
are interested in establishing a relationship with us."

"Nice work, Captain."

"Thank the people who actually *did* something Admiral," 
he replied with a smile.  In spite of his modest reply, 
he was pleased at the compliment.

"Don't start that with me.  And Jean-Luc, about that 
other thing . . ."  Her voice trailed off as he shook his 
head.  

"Not over subspace, Ruah.  Next time we see each other 
I'll buy your drinks all night and let you give me the 
first degree."

"It's a deal."  They went on to talk of other things.  As 
the conversation wound down, she smiled.  "Well I should 
let you get back to work.  Have fun on your next 
mission."

"You'll be among the first to know if our surveys turn up 
any . . . birds."

***

"A survey mission,"  LaForge said resignedly.

"Look at a map," Riker said.  "Somehow I don't think 
we're just looking for M class planets out here."  He 
looked at Picard.

"Indeed not, Number One.  This *is* a serious survey 
mission; we will be rendezvousing with the Sakarov to 
pick up mission specialists and we will be charting a new 
sector of space.  However, we are still close to the 
Romulan Neutral Zone and we will be looking for  . . .  
well frankly we'll be looking for *anything* at all odd 
or unusual.  The Romulans were trying to get a hold of 
sulendurite, and we know what that means."

"More cloaking devices, meaning more warbirds," LaForge 
said.

Crusher frowned  "I'm surprised that the Romulans are 
thinking of . . . increasing tensions--that's the phrase 
we're supposed to use, isn't it?"  She smiled at the 
chuckles that  followed her question.  "But why would 
they try something now?"

"'Many a revolution has been prevented by a good war,'" 
Worf quoted.

"Kahless?" LaForge asked curiously.

Picard smiled.  "Actually it was Sulvan of Romulus.  From 
'The Way of Government,' wasn't it Worf?"

"Yes, sir."

"How bad *are* things on Romulus, Captain?" Troi asked.

"Not good."  He thought about the briefing that had come 
with his orders.  "The Senate is running scared, the Tal 
Shiar is cracking down on the resistance . . .  things 
are starting to come apart at the seams on Romulus."  He 
thought of Spock, who, according to Admiral Brackett, 
hadn't been heard from in over a year.  *God, I hope he's 
all right.*  "Very quietly, Starfleet and the government 
are preparing for a variety of scenarios, anything from a 
declaration of war to a peaceful revolution."  Worf 
snorted and Picard shot him an amused glance.  "Stranger 
things have happened, Mr. Worf."  He sighed.  "This is 
the middle-game and right now everyone wants information.  
We're out here to get some for our side." 

***

"Where exactly does this mission fall on the scale of: 
'How involved the captain has to be?'"  Q and Jean-Luc 
were sitting at Picard's dining table.  

"It's an 'I need to fret a lot, but can't *do* anything 
type of mission.'  Unless we actually catch a Romulan 
fleet out here, I won't have a lot to do beyond reading 
and writing reports."  Jean-Luc put his fork down, 
suddenly losing interest in his pasta.  "I have to . . . 
back off."

"Back off?"  Q looked curious.

"That's what I call it when I try to sit back and let my 
subconscious find a pattern.  I'll read all the sensor 
reports and *not* look for evidence of Romulan activity.  
It's that 'it' . . . that intuition that I've talked 
about.  Sometimes I have it, sometimes I don't, but I 
can't force it."  He smiled.  "But I know what you really 
meant."  He got up an walked over to stand in front of Q.  
As he fell to his knees he looked up and smiled wickedly.  
"I'll be very much at your disposal."

"Good, because I've been awfully easy on you lately."  Q 
grinned as the smug look on Jean-Luc's face disappeared.  
"Tell me, Jean-Luc, how good are you at polishing boots?"


End of Chapter Three







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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)


From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 4, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 09:23:21 GMT
Sender: ascem@earthlink.net (ASCEM)
Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut
Reply-To: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com
Message-ID: <3510e219.46643793@news.earthlink.net>
X-Mailer: Forte Free Agent 1.11/32.235

From:
 ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
 REP: ACT Chap 4, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)

Disclaimer (long version in Chapter One): Star Trek is 
the property of Paramount.  This version of it is the 
property of me.  This story involves m/m sex as well as 
bdsm.


At the Center of Things
by Ruth Gifford
(c)  1997


Chapter Four
The Tensions of Change

"And if (he) says come inside
i'll come inside for (him)
And if (he) says give it all
i'll give everything to (him)

i am justified
i am purified
i am sanctified
inside you"

"sanctified" (gender modified)
Nine Inch Nails




The survey mission was moving along on schedule.  The 
senior officers and those who had to know the double 
nature of the mission kept that knowledge to themselves, 
and the rest of the crew relaxed into a quiet routine.  
Picard made sure that it wasn't too quiet.  In addition 
to picking up ten mission specialists, there had been a 
crew rotation when the Enterprise and the Sakarov had 
rendezvoused.  Taking advantage of the routine nature of 
the mission, the Captain and his first officer had 
shuffled personnel.  The end result put Picard overseeing 
the Beta watch, Riker on the Gamma watch and Data on the 
Alpha watch.  It made no difference to Jean-Luc and Q, 
but the Captain noticed that Crusher took the opportunity 
to shake things up in Sickbay.  She had blandly explained 
that she should personally observe *her* Gamma watch, and 
Picard had smiled and signed her rotation roster.  Far be 
it for him to try to keep people apart.

His own private time was beginning to remind him of the 
early days of the first disastrous affair with Q.  He 
knew that it was because he wasn't all that involved in 
the current mission, but it troubled him a little.  Q was 
pushing him hard and he was pushing himself even harder, 
and as the weeks passed, he began to worry.  He loved the 
time with Q, he *needed* the time with Q, and he worried 
that he needed it too much.  What if he was absorbing the 
lessons too well?  He'd told Troi that his being a 
submissive masochist wouldn't interfere with his ability 
to perform his duties, but what if it did?  He struggled 
with these worries privately and tried to be everything Q 
wanted him to be.

What Q wanted him to be was nothing short of perfect.  He 
wanted to hear and see his boy's responses; Picard had a 
new Rule: "Unless told to, johnny will not to try to keep 
quiet or hide his feelings in any way."  He was tested on 
his rules.  He learned that it was possible to become 
aroused when you were kneeling on the floor polishing a 
pair of boots.  He learned that Q could go from cruelty 
to gentleness and back again in seconds.  He learned that 
he could always force himself to take *one* more blow, 
but that it never got easier to crawl or be slapped.  He 
learned that a caning would make him cry.  He learned 
more in those four weeks than he had at any point in his 
life with the possible exception of his first four weeks 
at the Academy, and his first four weeks as a Captain.  
Most of all he learned that he was loved more than any 
lover had ever loved him.  In return, he loved 
completely; even the thought of being with anyone else 
was completely absurd.  In light of that love, his worry 
about needing this too much seemed foolish.

Finally, of course, his worry made itself felt, but in a 
way neither he nor Q expected.  The survey mission was 
almost a month old and Q had promised and was delivering 
an unbelievable caning.  He had warned Jean-Luc that he 
was going to test his limits before teaching him the 
"proper" way to take the cane.  Jean-Luc had gone way 
under this time, reveling in the depths of his own 
humiliation, and helping his Master push  those ever 
flexible lines.  He would do *anything*, give 
*everything*, whatever it took to show how much he *had* 
to be here,  how much he *needed* to be here.  Here in 
this timeless space there wasn't anything that didn't 
belong to Q, no one in the great wide spiraling universe 
but Q, and the pain that Q dealt out was so *right*, so 
necessary, that it wasn't entirely pain anymore.  The 
slash of the cane was totally in sync with the very 
breaths Picard drew in, and each time it landed, the air 
around him seemed to get brighter, moving him closer to 
that sense of connection that he felt at times like this.  
It *was* pain of course, the searing, quick pain as the 
cane struck him and then the pain of the rebound, the 
prolonged agony of his flesh wrenching itself back to 
where it belonged.  And it marked far more than just the 
psychical reality of the welts; it set him apart, and 
made him belong even more to Q.  

His mind clung to that thought as the cane continued to 
land, the thought of belonging, of his total subjection 
to Q.   He wanted a permanent mark, he realized suddenly.  
*Something* that would always remind him of what it was 
like to be here, something to remind him that he was a 
possession, a slave. The collar Q permitted him to wear 
during these scenes was no longer enough, because it came 
off when the scene was over, and Picard's mind always 
knew that the scene would eventually be over, as much as 
he wanted it to go on forever. But a mark, a "Q" perhaps, 
that he could always see or touch . . .  At the thought 
of bearing Q's indelible mark, Picard convulsed in an 
overpowering orgasm that took both himself and his lover 
by complete surprise.  The shame of forgetting himself 
and violating a very basic rule rushed over Picard, 
leaving no room for the memory of *why* he'd violated 
that rule.  Q said nothing, but Picard suddenly felt the 
immobility that had kept him pinned to his bed disappear.  
He instantly rolled off the bed to throw himself at Q's 
feet in as abject a position as he could manage, in tears 
at the thought of having failed.  

Q said nothing, merely looked down at Picard in faint 
surprise.  Jean-Luc had actually proven to be quite 
capable of either holding back or at least warning Q if 
he was getting too close to release.  For this to happen 
was surprising; he must have something on his mind.  Q 
felt a certain degree of concern, something that would 
have once surprised him.  He should have been paying more 
attention; after all, it indicated a certain lack of 
control on his own part that he hadn't noticed that 
Picard was getting close.  Of course Q had been caught up 
in the feelings that went along with beating his lover, 
caught up in the sound of the cane moving through the 
air, caught up in Jean-Luc's reaction to each blow.  He'd 
had to force himself to give Jean-Luc breaks in between 
each stroke, because he wanted to hurt his lover more and 
more.  Q sighed, and waited for the apology that Picard 
should know to tender up.  Knowing Jean-Luc, Q knew that 
right now he was being far harder on himself than Q could 
ever be.

 "I'm sorry Master . . ." Jean-Luc stammered.  " . . . 
truly sorry."

"What *will* I do with you, johnny?" Q asked, knowing 
that there could only be one answer to that question.

Picard gave him that one answer.  "Whatever pleases you, 
Master."

"What would *you* think was fair?"  This was a hard 
question for Picard, and Q liked asking it.  It was 
enjoyable to watch Jean-Luc struggle to find a punishment 
that would please Q.

Picard moaned softly.  He would have a few seconds to 
think this over, but he had to be quick or Q would get 
annoyed and come up with something truly diabolical.  
"Restrict me please, Master."  He'd learned that 
restriction meant no orgasms, no beatings, and could 
sometimes mean no Q at all.  Jean-Luc would be in his 
submissive role, but there would be none of the rewards 
that went along with that role.  He wouldn't be allowed 
to serve Q in any way, and would spend most of his time 
in a variety of humiliating poses.  At this point, Q had 
only put him on restriction once, and it had been 
excruciating,

"Three nights restriction, boy." Q agreed.

*Three nights!  But . . .*  Picard suddenly realized that 
he had better acknowledge the punishment.  "Thank you, 
Master."   He leaned forward to kiss the toe of Q's boot, 
but the boot was pulled away. 

"Stay down like that until I tell you otherwise," Q said.  
He flopped back into one of the easy chairs and picked up 
a padd.  "I want to read your personal logs, johnny.  
Bring them up."  Picard quickly spoke the required 
authorization, and as Q began to read, the entity added 
in an offhand tone, "try not to think too loudly, boy.  
It disturbs me."

It wasn't until halfway through the next afternoon, as 
Picard sat in his ready room working, that he remembered 
the thought that had made him loose control the night 
before.  "Oh God," he breathed into the silence.  Now 
more than ever, he was grateful for the compromise 
regarding access to his emotional state that he had 
worked out with Troi.   *I can't believe that I wanted 
that,* he thought, laying down the padd he'd been 
reading, and staring absently at his model of the 
Stargazer.  He could distinctly remember the feeling of 
belonging that had rolled over him and he could even 
remember wanting a permanent reminder of that feeling.  
*To be marked . . . set apart . . . easy to think that 
when I'm *there* . . . but now . . .*  He was appalled at 
the workings of his subconscious.  *I'm not his slave all 
the time . . . I couldn't be that . . . why would I want 
to be marked? . . . permanently? . . . am I giving too 
much of myself to him and to *this*?  Do I *need* this 
too much?*  It was that worry, this fear that he would 
lose himself in this relationship, that his own sense of 
self would be subsumed by Q's overwhelming personality 
and the roles they each found easier and easier to 
assume.   He thought he'd been handling it better that 
this; he knew that Q loved him, and the omnipotent entity 
had been careful to give Picard the space he needed.  But 
this wasn't *Q*'s fault; Q had never said, or indicated 
in any way, that he wanted Picard to bear an indelible 
mark.  Once Q might have accepted Picard's submission as 
his due, but now, he seemed to know it for the gift of 
trust that it was.  What truly bothered Picard was that 
this thought was his alone.  *What's wrong with me?*  

He frowned and reached into a drawer for his journal, 
and, opening it, flipped through it.  He wondered as he 
did, what Troi would make of it.  The first few pages 
were fairly neat, but he'd discovered that it read like 
he was writing for an audience.  So one day he just wrote 
whatever came into his head and found it surprisingly 
liberating.  Now he found that he sometimes tried to 
stick to a thought and sometimes he just rambled or even 
doodled.  He had about five different colors going at 
this point and at the bottom of the last page he'd used 
was a joke he'd heard Will telling Geordi after 
yesterday's staff meeting.  // I don't know, but if you 
hum a few bars . . .//

Still shaking his head, he looked at the last few pages.  
There in his neat, ordered, printing were his Rules.  He 
read the most recent Rule and smiled ruefully.  *Not that 
it matters for the next two nights,* he thought glumly.  
*I'm not going to be getting any opportunities to make 
noise.*  The thought of being under discipline, as 
onerous as that discipline was, made his breathing go 
shallow, and forced his thoughts back to the cause of 
that discipline, as he turned back to the front of the 
book.

//Why do I want Q to mark me permanently?// he wrote.  
//Is it that I feel more alive when I submit to him, and 
that I don't want to let go of that feeling?  But I don't 
let it go, I can remember it right now.  I never have the 
words,// and indeed front pages of the journal were full 
of his hesitant attempts to describe that almost 
spiritual sense of connection, //but I know what it feels 
like.  But this is different, this isn't wanting to 
remember the transcendent feeling, it's wanting to 
remember the feeling of being *owned*.//

//And I am owned, aren't I?  I could try to pretend that 
this is all a game, but that would be denying something 
that means too much to both of us.  He *needs* to own me 
as much as I need to be owned.  Why?  Why are we like 
this?  Not just sadist and masochist, not just dominant 
and submissive, but truly Master and slave, Q and johnny.  
I never want to lose that; there's a certainty to my life 
now.  It used to be that I thought of myself in only 
professional terms: Captain Jean-Luc Picard, Commanding 
Officer, USS Enterprise.  Now I'm only Captain Picard 
part of the time, and I'm johnny part of  the time.  
Maybe it's not so odd that I want a mark; I have my 
uniforms and all the symbols of my power as Captain 
around me all the time, maybe I want something to remind 
me of the other side of myself.  But I take my uniform 
off, and he puts my collar on me.  I *do* have a symbol 
of my place.//  He sighed.  This wasn't helping, he was 
just rambling.  Rambling was all well and good, but today 
he wanted answers.  He also still wanted the mark, while 
at the same time thinking that it was an absurd need.  
This was getting him nowhere and there was work to be 
done.  Resolutely, he closed the book, put it back in the 
drawer and returned to his work. 

Three nights later, he crawled across most of his 
quarters for the third time that night.  He'd already 
brought the collar to Q, and then the largest of the 
leather floggers.  Then Q had sent him back into the 
bedroom, telling him to bring the one thing in the trunk 
that hadn't been there earlier.  So now, here he was 
crawling again with a heavy single tailed whip in his 
mouth.  From his reading, he knew it to be a signal whip, 
it would be loud and he knew it was going to hurt, hurt a 
*lot*.  He was already dreading the pain, hoping 
desperately that he would be able to take it.  After no 
attention of any kind for three days, however, Jean-Luc 
would have taken any pain, however great, that Q wanted 
to inflict.  He reached Q's feet, and knelt up, offering 
the whip as he'd been taught, head up, eyes down.  Q took 
it, holding it for Picard to kiss and then he backed off.  
"Up!" he snapped, and Picard scrambled to his feet.  
"Hold still, johnny," he said, menacingly, his fingers 
poised to snap.

"Yes Master," Picard replied, feeling the comfort of the 
ritual surround him.  Where they were going, he had no 
idea, that was for Q to decide.  Q snapped, there was the 
bright light, and Picard was chained to a stone wall that 
was covered with canvas.  *Nice touch,* he thought 
absurdly.  *I won't get scratched.*  The habit that his 
mind had of straying off on meaningless tangents had 
become a private joke with himself.  He was shying away 
from what was about to happen, he knew, clinging to 
minutiae as a shield against his coming ordeal.

"Well . . ." Q drawled.  

"Please Master, please beat your slave."

"Since you asked so nicely," Q said, chuckling.  He 
started lightly with the flogger, and Jean-Luc relaxed as 
he felt the familiar thud of the leather against his 
back.  He'd learned that he liked "thuddy" things; it was 
easy for him to relax and work *with* the sensation and 
the pain.  Things that stung, like the riding crop or the 
cane, required a definite force of will to take at all, 
let alone surrender to.  Q had reached the middle of his 
back by now and Jean-Luc moaned as he felt the tension 
drain out of himself.  

After some undetermined length of time, Q stopped.  He'd 
been careful, and deliberate, letting the force of the 
blows build so gradually that by the time he was done, 
Jean-Luc knew he was being beaten hard, but he'd never 
noticed the escalation of the blows.  His body had 
noticed however.  His back and ass burned and throbbed, 
and he realized that he'd been moaning rather loudly.  
He'd reached that stage of utter receptivity, and in 
spite of his earlier worries about the signal whip, he 
was relaxed.  If Q wanted it to  happen, it would happen 
and that was the way things were.  He was johnny and he 
was Q's property, and as such, he *had* to let Q take as 
much as he wanted.  *A slave doesn't argue,* he thought.  
*Property doesn't negotiate.*  It was in this frame of 
mind that he heard Q toss the flogger aside.

"Why am I doing this?" Q asked, his voice almost 
reflective.  He looked at his lover, enjoying patterns 
left by the flogger.  johnny's back and ass were red, 
with whiter patches where welts were forming, and Q 
smiled. 

"Because it pleases you, Master."

*Yes it does,* Q thought, shaking out the signal whip.  
When he had first been with Jean-Luc, the domination had 
simply been a means to an end, a way to fulfill his dare.  
Now it was something all together different.  He *needed* 
to hurt his lover, needed to take everything that Jean-
Luc could give him and then push until he took more.  He 
had more than once been described as a sadist, but it had 
taken Picard to teach him what sadism really was, and how 
frightening it could be.  Q wanted the tears, wanted the 
sounds that his lover made when he was in pain (it was 
one of the reasons that he'd told Picard to never try to 
remain silent), and he needed it all so much that it 
terrified him.  Fueled by that terror, he was even 
crueler, and still it didn't matter to Jean-Luc, who 
wanted this hard demanding proof of love.  But there was 
more to it than even that; Q *could* do it.  If he wanted 
to beat johnny, he could beat him; if he wanted those 
tears, and moans, he could have them.  *Jean-Luc 
*belongs* to me,* he thought.  *I can do whatever I want 
to do to him.* 

In that frame of mind, he snapped his wrist 
experimentally, hearing the whip crack and smiling as 
Jean-Luc flinched.  He moved into position and snapped 
his wrist again, watching as the whip first struck Jean-
Luc's ivory pale skin, evoking a loud groan.  *If someone 
had deliberately thought to make him perfect they 
couldn't have done much better,* Q thought, watching the 
first welt come to the surface of Jean-Luc's  skin.  
Picard twisted and Q waited until he steadied again.  
Then he flung the next blow, and waited, and then the 
third. . .  Q was timing them perfectly, and he began to 
be hypnotized by the pattern of welts as they slowly 
moved down Jean-Luc's back.  His lover was crying now, 
and each blow wrenched a sound that wasn't quite a scream 
from him.  His hands clung with white-knuckled strength 
to the chains that his cuffs were locked to.  Q could 
*see* the energy that surrounded Picard begin to shift, 
and felt a surge of pride.  It wasn't every time that he 
could do this, send Jean-Luc out like this.

It was happening again, Jean-Luc could feel it, that 
feeling that he was *elsewhere*, still here (wherever 
here was) chained to this wall, bearing this unbearable 
pain, but simultaneously out among the countless wonders 
of the universe.  Surrounded and kept safe by the love 
that he could feel like a second skin wrapped around him, 
Jean-Luc was free to explore this indescribable 
experience.  He wasn't going to let go this time, because 
this was an experience that transcended even his body's 
demand for an orgasm.  He was at the center of a spiral 
as large as the galaxy, and yet as small as a strand of 
DNA.  Each caress (stroke, slash, stripe--he could no 
longer tell) sent bursts of light coursing through him 
and around him, visible, tangible, audible light that 
touched every sense.  Here in this place, in this time, 
there were no lines, no separation of himself into 
categories; he was the Captain as much as he was johnny, 
and he didn't know why he'd ever tried to separate the 
two.  The light that moved through and around him, 
surrounded *all* of him, and all of him belonged to Q. 

Q continued his methodical pace, basking in the glow of 
the energy Jean-Luc was giving off.  He could feel it 
too, and even knowing what was happening to both of them 
didn't make the experience any less precious or real.  As 
the power Q put into each blow coursed through Jean-Luc 
and then spiraled out to flow back through Q, the entity 
found himself putting more physical strength into each 
blow, taking both of them further and further.  When he 
first saw the blood, it was just one more thing that he 
could do to his slave, just one more way to bring them 
closer together.  Since he was keeping very close tabs on 
Jean-Luc, he knew that, while he was pushing johnny's 
limits, he hadn't crossed the line yet.  And so he 
watched as each stripe opened up, taking in every 
response, visible and emotional as his due, something 
that Jean-Luc offered up to him.  Then, the moment came; 
the point where Q knew that if he kept this up, the 
energy that caressed would begin to blast.  Deliberately, 
Q laid into the last three blows as hard as his physical 
strength allowed.  Jean-Luc screamed, but still Q knew 
that using the word "stop" didn't occur to Picard on any 
level.

Suns exploding, the galaxy collapsing, a matter/anti-
matter explosion--these were the terms Jean-Luc used 
later to try to describe the feeling.  It was pain beyond 
any he'd ever felt, but it was so right and it was 
exactly what he needed to bring him back to himself.  He 
collapsed, letting his weight rest entirely on his wrist 
cuffs.  He hadn't passed out; he just had no energy left.  
He also noted with satisfaction that he hadn't had an 
orgasm.  After several seconds of total bonelessness, 
during which the last three stripes continued to burn and 
throb far more than all the others, he heard a deep 
breath behind him.  Carefully, Picard moved to stand 
again, although what he really wanted was to do was to 
fall to his knees and crawl into Q's arms.


End 1/4

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)



========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: REP: ACT Chap 4, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 09:23:29 GMT

From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        REP: ACT Chap 4, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things 
Chapter Four
2/4
disclaimer in 1/4



Q's first thought when it was all over was so 
overwhelming that he lost track of his Human form, 
forgetting to breathe for over a minute.  The love he 
felt for Jean-Luc welled up and almost spilled out of 
him, like a giant fountain of light, as he realized 
something that seemed very important.  *Those will scar; 
he’ll be *marked* as *mine*!*  Then suddenly he was 
appalled, looking at the stripes from a Human 
perspective.  *What if he’s not ready for that; what if 
he’s angry, or frightened?  What do I do?*  "Hold on, 
johnny.  I’m letting you down," he said automatically.  
He snapped his fingers, releasing Jean-Luc, while 
simultaneously changing the environment back to Picard’s 
quarters.  As soon as Picard knew where they were, he 
dropped to his knees, looking up at Q with such 
overwhelming love and gratitude that Q felt even worse 
about those lines across Jean-Luc's back and rear.  Q 
crouched down next to him, trying to decide how to 
apologize, but Picard forestalled him by leaning forward, 
his whole body pleading for an embrace.  Still struggling 
with his worry and the triumph he felt at having marked 
his lover, Q pulled his johnny close.

"Thank you . . . oh Master . . . thank you . . ." Jean-
Luc sobbed, collapsing against Q.  His stammered 
gratitude was inadequate of course.  There were no words 
to describe what had happened, and he knew that to 
explain, he’d have to let Q into his mind.  That Q might 
see the desire for a mark (a desire that Picard no longer 
feared) was beside the point.  Right now he wanted Q to 
see everything, because there was no other way he could 
thank his lover for the experience he’d just had.  He 
pulled back slightly, shifting in order to sit back on 
his heels.  Without thinking, he brought a hand back to 
feel those last three whip marks.  A flash of expression 
crossed Q’s face--it looked like worry, but why would Q 
be worried?  Then his hand found the stripes, no not 
stripes, he realized; they were actual wounds.  Q had 
opened his skin.  Wonderingly, Picard carefully explored 
each stripe with his fingertips, understanding Q’s worry.  
*He thinks that I’m going to be upset over this.  But 
why?  It was inevitable, we play rough.*  He brought his 
hand around and looked at his fingertips.  Only then did 
it occur to him that open wounds like these would scar if 
not healed completely.

Q waited in agony for Jean-Luc to grow angry or 
disgusted, but the expression that crossed Picard’s face 
was amazement.  No longer able to stand the silence, Q 
spoke.  "I can take care of those, and the ones on your 
back," he hastily assured Picard, who was still looking 
at his reddened fingers.  "Jean-Luc, I’m so . . ."

Knowing what Q was about to say, Picard dared to 
interrupt him.  "Please Master," he said, his voice firm.  
He lowered himself into deep obeisance.  "Please let them 
stay.  Sir, I *need* them.  I've *wanted* to bear your 
marks on me.  Please Master?"  His voice tore at Q’s 
heart; Jean-Luc sounded as if he feared that Q would not 
allow this.

That overwhelming feeling was back and Q felt helpless 
before this love that was so deep it almost hurt.  Jean-
Luc wanted the marks, said he *needed* them.  Needing to 
be sure, Q reached down and pulled Picard’s face up by 
the chin.  Not wanting to dilute the intensity of what 
was happening here, he didn’t ask for what he wanted; 
rather, he demanded it.  "Let me in."

Picard’s eyes widened, and met Q’s with total 
determination.  "Yes Master."  Instead of closing his 
eyes as he usually did, Picard left them open.

Q gave up on breathing; it was suddenly too much to 
bother with in the light of what Jean-Luc's mind 
revealed.  Q saw it all, felt and absorbed Picard’s 
internal debate of the last three days, as Jean-Luc 
struggled to reconcile his need to be owned and marked 
with his need to retain some sense of self.  But the 
conflict was over, as the experience of this night had 
made Picard realize that no reconciliation was necessary.  
He was both Captain and slave, and it was possible to be 
both without losing anything.  In fact Q could see that 
Jean-Luc felt that he’d *gained* something, a deeper 
knowledge of what was happening between himself and Q.  
He might not understand (and who could blame him for 
*that*?  Q didn’t entirely understand it either) but he 
accepted it, and for the first time in his life, felt 
completely comfortable with his desire to belong, to be 
owned.  Picard’s mind, groping for metaphors, had come up 
with the image of a key piece being dropped into a puzzle 
that he’d been trying to put together for most of his 
adult life.  Oh he would always be frightened by the 
things he wanted, but the fear was a necessary part of 
the ritual; without the fear, the rest of what happened 
between the two of them would have no meaning.

Q was proud of Jean-Luc; once he would have arrogantly 
assumed that Picard was far too limited to accept such a 
difficult contradiction.  Now he let that pride show, 
along with the feelings that he had first had upon seeing 
the blood from the wounds he’d inflicted in the name of 
love.  *I *own* you Jean-Luc Picard,* Q said 
telepathically, staring into Picard’s eyes as he 
simultaneously stared into his mind.  *You will never be 
free of me; you will be *mine* forever.  I have to own 
you, I need it more than I’ve ever needed anything.*  As 
he spoke he reached around and ran his own fingers across 
the stripes.  Holding up his hand before Jean-Luc’s face, 
he then leaned forward and brushed his fingers across 
Jean-Luc’s lips, leaving a faint trail of red.  *MINE!*

*Master,* Picard replied.  Because his mind was wide 
open, every level exposed to Q, that simple word was 
invested with layers of meaning that could never be 
articulated with mere speech.  His need to belong, his 
need to offer himself up to Q, his need to be challenged, 
his need to be totally loved, his intense reaction on an 
emotional, physical, and spiritual level to Q’s 
ritualistic gesture--all wrapped up in one word. 


***


The marks hurt like hell the next morning, of course.  
Jean-Luc had grown somewhat accustomed to sitting 
carefully because of bruises or welts, but this 
discomfort was of a far higher magnitude.  He was glad 
that the first time he sat down was in the privacy of his 
quarters, while eating breakfast with Q.  They were a 
little shy with each other after the intensity of the 
night before.  Q had not permitted Picard to get any 
sleep, and the sex had been rough.  They had both learned 
that each time they grew closer emotionally and 
psychically, Jean-Luc had to prove his love for Q all 
over again, for both their sakes.  What sometimes amused 
him was how much Q wanted physical sex.  He'd once gently 
teased his omnipotent lover about this need for an 
activity that was the province of "mere" mortals.  Not 
surprisingly, Q had then tied him to his bed and teased 
him without mercy (or release) for a good five hours, 
before finally giving it to Picard’s abject, and 
inarticulate, pleading.  Of course, they both knew the 
truth, a truth that remained unspoken, which was that Q 
*loved* sex.  Not just because it was a way for Jean-Luc 
to prove his devotion, but also for the sheer variety and 
pleasure of it.  Having spent much of his existence 
looking for sensation, Q had found something that kept 
surprising him.  The fact that his emotions were involved 
had a good deal to do with it, as did the fact that his 
lover had proven to be so willing to try *anything* at 
least once.  

"Are you going to be able to sit still today?" Q asked, 
jolting Picard back to the present.

"I'm getting rather good at it," Jean-Luc replied 
smiling.  "Trust me, I want to feel *these* as long as I 
can."  He left unsaid the feeling that he'd carried away 
from their mind link, a feeling that the marks were the 
only permanent token he had of the depth of Q's love for 
him.  He couldn't wear his collar outside of his 
quarters.  There would never be anything as concrete as a 
ring; the thought of being *married* to Q seemed a little 
absurd--marriage was too pale a term to describe the 
relationship.  Therefore the marks Q left on him were all 
he had.  And now these marks would be there forever.  He 
smiled.

"What?" Q asked, taking in the smile.  Oh, but his Jean-
Luc was gorgeous when he smiled.  His eyes lit up and you 
could see that some of those lines on his face were 
actually laugh lines and not from the tension of his 
rank.

"I was thinking that . . . these are part of me now, 
they'll always be there. It's a little . . . 
overwhelming."

Q nodded; he was a little overwhelmed as well.  He 
actually envied Jean-Luc for having something tangible 
and symbolic to remind him of his place in the 
relationship.  *That's absurd,* Q thought.  *I've been 
too much in this form, I'm starting to think like them.*  
But the thought had none of the contempt that it would 
have once had; instead he felt a degree of wistfulness.  
He was watching Jean-Luc change, and he'd be a fool not 
to expect any changes on his own part.   He smiled as he 
had an idea, and waited impatiently as Jean-Luc finished 
his breakfast.  It was time for a grandiose gesture.  
When Picard put his coffee cup down and tossed his napkin 
on to the table, Q stood.  He looked at his lover, 
smiling as Jean-Luc instantly shoved his chair back and 
stood as well.  Q pointed to the floor and Picard dropped 
easily to his knees, his head tilted back.  He obviously 
assumed that Q was going to remove his collar and he was 
partially right. Q simply looked at him for a long 
moment; Jean-Luc had made a morning habit of getting into 
all of his uniform except the tunic, and so he was all in 
black, the collar riding a little above the neckline of 
his tee-shirt.  Q raised his fingers, carefully 
manipulated his own energy, and was suddenly holding a 
silver key.  He watched as Picard's eyes widened in 
curiosity, but Jean-Luc was far too well trained to say 
anything.  "Unlike the clothing," Q said quietly, "this 
is part of *me*, I'll absorb it back into myself when I'm 
not in this form."  He wondered if Jean-Luc would 
understand the symbolism of the gesture, and was 
gratified to see tears well up in his lover's eyes.  When 
he bent to unlock the collar, Jean-Luc turned and brushed 
his lips across Q's hand.

"I love you so much," Picard whispered as he felt the 
collar removed.  He didn't feel the sense of loss that he 
was used to feeling in the mornings.  True, he wished 
that there could be more time, but he suddenly realized 
that he wasn't trying to separate the two halves of his 
personality anymore.  He blinked and held his hands up 
for the collar.

"Look at it," Q said.  Jean-Luc turned it in his hands to 
look at it and smiled.  On either side of the closure was 
a silver gothic Q, exactly like the one Q used to sign 
his notes.  "It's like getting another pip," Q said.  
"Consider it a promotion, Jean-Luc."  

"I do, Master," Picard replied seriously.  "I'm more 
yours than ever."

Q couldn't help it; he froze time and reached down and 
hauled Jean-Luc up by his arm.  Pulling him into a tight 
embrace, he kissed his lover so thoroughly that by the 
time the kiss ended, they were both gasping and aroused.  
Picard was once more reminded that one of the many 
benefits of having an omnipotent lover was the remarkable 
power of recovery Q had apparently granted him.  He was 
growing accustomed to the fact that if his mind was 
willing, his body would be too.

They ended up on the bed, Jean-Luc moaning as Q traced 
each of the whip marks with his tongue before rolling him 
on to his back.  Jean-Luc eagerly spread his legs and 
began crying out almost instantly as Q began to fuck him.  
Q rode him long and hard, until both of them couldn't 
stand the tension anymore and as they both made a lot of 
noise when they peaked, Jean-Luc had a vague thought of 
gratitude for the continued sound-proofing of his 
quarters.  When they finally started coming down, Q 
insisted on joining Jean-Luc in his shower and it started 
all over again.  This time, Picard knelt and brought Q 
off with his mouth, taking his time to be as thorough as 
he could.  By the time he was done, he was once again 
aroused and was amazed and grateful when Q asked to be 
taken.  They ended up on the floor of the bathroom, Q 
flat on his stomach while Jean-Luc carefully and gently 
made love to him.


***

End 2/4

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Date: Sat, 21 Mar 1998 05:55:44 +0000
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From:
 ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
 REP: ACT Chap 4, 3/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)

At the Center of Things
Chapter Four
3/4
disclaimer in 1/4

***


Deanna Troi shifted restlessly as she finished up her 
last session for the day.  She had  been on edge for the 
last couple of weeks and she wasn't sure why.   At first 
she assumed it was a mood or that she was ovulating, but 
two weeks was a long time to feel like this and she was 
beginning to think that someone on the ship was affecting 
her moods.  Worf wasn't about to complain, in fact he had 
started spending a lot of his time looking smug.  Troi 
smiled at the thought of the broad grin he always gave 
her when she'd put Jeanne to bed and started growling at 
him.  The sex was inevitably good but Troi was becoming 
more and more certain that someone else was responsible 
for the way she felt.  Part of it was that she'd felt 
more . . . not receptive exactly (although she was that), 
but almost submissive.  Last night had been a good 
example; she had known that Worf would have liked to see 
her above him, but instead she'd squirmed and moved until 
she was on her knees and elbows, crying out as he took 
her from behind.  *I have my moments,* she thought now, 
*but I like being on top of him and normally I'd have had 
no problem doing that.  But who . . .?*  She froze as the 
answer suddenly dropped into place.  "Oh no," she 
breathed out loud.  It had to be the Captain.  Oh, there 
were other people on board who had relationships based on 
dominance and submission, but she wasn't close enough to 
any of them to be affected by them.  But Picard . . .  *Q 
is *supposed* to be blocking that off.  If he's doing 
this as a joke, so help me . . .*  She sighed; she knew 
it wasn't a joke.   Either Q's screen was slipping, or it 
needed to be boosted and Q didn't know it.  The latter 
was probably the most likely.  If the feelings between 
the Captain and Q had increased, or their games had 
gotten a lot more intense, then the old shield wasn't 
going to be enough.  Avoiding the thought of trying to 
explain this to Picard, Troi decided that this might be a 
good afternoon to sit in on the Beta watch.


***


*Oh God, I'm doing it again.  What's wrong with me?  I 
mean it's the *Captain*!*   Lt. Shireen Tabrizi frowned 
at her console and tried to concentrate on the data that 
she was supposed to be monitoring.   Even as she adjusted 
for the finicky port lateral sensors, her mind wandered 
back down the same path it had been wandering down for 
the last week or so.  Tabrizi was new on the Enterprise; 
she and her husband Eric Coleman had transferred from 
Starbase 66, and they were lucky to have gotten this 
assignment.  So why was she so bound and determined to 
mess things up by having such unbelievable thoughts about 
her commanding officer?  It wasn't like she and Eric were 
having trouble; they were fitting into the social 
structure of the ship well, and their sex life was going 
along fine. She thought about last night and how good 
he'd been about keeping still as she dripped hot wax all 
over his chest.  That was all well and good, but then her 
mind substituted the Captain for Eric and she jumped 
slightly as her console beeped at her.  She sighed and 
routed the newest data to Stellar Cartography.  Oh no, 
the Captain was making the rounds.  She tried to 
concentrate as he moved closer.

"How are those port laterals doing today, Lieutenant?"  
She turned and looked at him, trying to look 
professional.

"They're still a little fussy, sir," she managed to 
reply, pleased that her voice was steady.  He moved to 
study the board and she backed off to give him room.  It 
was unfortunate that she just happened to look at the way 
he bent over, so graceful and careful.  *He *has* got to 
be a sub, dancers are the only other people who move that 
way.*  She felt a sudden rush of heat as she wondered 
what he would look like on his knees with a gag in his 
mouth, and his eyes pleading.

"Yes, well, hopefully Mr. Data and Mr. LaForge will 
manage to get that taken care of.  I'd hate to have 
Commander T'Sata come all this way and not be able to get 
the data she needs."  He turned to look at her and 
Tabrizi hoped that her blush didn't show too much.  She 
had another flash, his time of what he'd look like with a 
hand print forming on his cheek after he'd been slapped.

"I've been compensating as much as possible, Captain, but 
I'll be glad when it gets ironed out."

"Keep up the good work, Lieutenant."

"Aye sir.  Thank you, Captain."  Tabrizi watched as he 
turned to walk back to the command chair.  Was she 
imagining things or did he wince slightly as he sat down?  
She had to be, even if he was a sub, there wasn't even a 
breath of gossip about him being involved with someone on 
the crew or even one of the mission specialists.   But 
still . . . he had the look of someone who was getting a 
lot of what he wanted.  She turned back to her board, 
missing the thoughtful look Counselor Troi shot in her 
direction.

Troi turned back to look at the main veiwscreen.  *Now 
that's interesting.  Tabrizi has no empathic talents but 
she's sensing it too.   It's not all that odd to have 
someone on the bridge that wants to have sex with the 
Captain, but not like that.*  Heaving the mental 
equivalent of a sigh, she decided that she was going to 
have to look into this, not to mention have a quick talk 
with Tabrizi.  The poor lieutenant was upset with 
herself, thinking that there was something wrong with 
her.  *And how do I explain it to her?*  After all, it 
would hardly be correct professional behavior for the 
Ship's Counselor to be discussing the Captain's sex life 
with a junior science officer.  *Well, Captain,* she 
thought, *your sexual preferences may not affect *your* 
job . . .*  She sighed, this time out loud.

"Something wrong, Counselor?" Picard asked quietly.  

"Just thinking, Captain," Troi replied easily.  To her 
relief, Picard accepted the answer and turned back to the 
padd he'd been studying.

***

"Counselor, I'd like to talk to you if you have a 
moment," Lt. Tabrizi asked at the end of the shift.

"Of course," Troi looked at the lieutenant carefully, 
glad that Tabrizi had come to her.  "Perhaps Ten Forward 
as opposed to my office?"

A few moments later, they were sitting comfortably in a 
corner table near a window.  As a server brought them 
their drinks, Troi looked around, thinking that Ten 
Forward just didn't feel the same anymore.  Ben did a 
good job, but there were still times when Deanna missed 
Guinan.  Abruptly she wondered if Guinan knew about 
Picard's involvement with Q.  The bartender had left the 
Enterprise on some sort of family business close to three 
years ago and had therefore missed everything that had 
happened between the Captain and Q.  Somehow, Troi 
doubted that Picard had written to Guinan about the 
affair, but you never knew with him.  She pushed aside 
her own curiosity and turned to Tabrizi, who looked a 
little embarrassed.

"Um . . . I've been having a hard time concentrating 
while I'm on the bridge," the science officer said.  She 
looked worried and Troi imagined that this had to be as 
difficult for Tabrizi as it was for her. Troi had had to 
help junior officers work through their crushes before, 
but Tabrizi was in her late thirties, and was old enough 
to avoid a simple crush.

"I did notice that you seemed a little distracted this 
afternoon," Troi said, her voice carefully noncommittal.

"Oh God, do you think the Captain noticed?"

"I doubt it," Troi said.  "He tries not to."

"It's just that I keep . . . thinking these things that I 
shouldn't,"  Tabrizi frowned, "about *him*.  You know 
what I mean?"

"It happens," Troi said.

"Not to me . . . I'm sorry, I meant not like this.  Sure, 
I look at people, but I don't let it interfere with my 
life.  Now it is and what's worse, it's happening while 
I'm on duty.  I'm going to start making mistakes and I 
*like* being on the Enterprise.  I don't want to screw 
this up."

"Can you tell me what kinds of thoughts you're having?"

"Well . . .  Eric, my husband?"  Troi nodded.  "Eric and 
I have an unusual relationship.  We're into S/M."  
Tabrizi seemed to breathe easier when Troi merely nodded 
again.  "I'm the one on top, and lately, I've been 
thinking about doing things to the Captain that I do to 
Eric."  She blushed.  "After being around people who are 
into the 'scene' . . ." and once again she searched 
Deanna's face to see if she was being understood.

"I know what you mean."

"Anyway, I'm really good at guessing who's a sub, and . . 
. well, the Captain keeps tripping my alarms.  But I've 
*got* to be wrong about him."

"Why?"

Tabrizi looked at Troi in surprise.  "Captain Picard?!  
He's . . . well . . ."  She looked at Troi in confusion.  
"Is he?"

"You know that I won't answer that one way or another.  
Anyway, would it make any difference?  

"I guess not."  Tabrizi sighed and Troi knew she was 
about to hear the rest of it.  "It's just that he's so 
*perfect*.  The way he moves and the way he carries 
himself . . . I don't know if I can explain, but if you 
were in the scene, you might know what I mean.  It's not 
like he acts like he'll roll over for anyone who comes 
along.  It's almost the opposite actually, like he would 
go under, but only if you measure up to his standards.  
But it doesn't really matter, because he's already got 
someone."

"What makes you think that?" Troi asked, genuinely 
curious.

"Subs who don't have a top aren't that sure of 
themselves; they always seem a little lost.  But you can 
tell that he's happy and that he's comfortable with it, 
which means that whoever he's with values him a lot." 

"Is it still going to distract you on the bridge?"  Troi 
asked after a moment, breaking the silence that had 
fallen.

"I don't think so.  Talking about it helps.  I just hope 
I'm not as obvious as Ensign Ng."  

"Trust me, you're not."  

"Poor kid."  Tabrizi laughed.  "And poor you.  Do you 
have to do this a lot; talking to people who have crushes 
on the Captain?"

Troi smiled.  "On this ship?  All the time."


***
Troi observed the Beta watch for another week and she 
started paying attention to the way everyone perceived 
Picard.  She was relieved to see that it hadn't been her 
imagination, a lot of people seemed to stare after him as 
he walked off the bridge, or came out of the ready room.  
He was actually causing some confusion; she noticed that 
people who hadn't thought he was interesting before 
thought so now.  Chief Keller, the Beta Watch engineering 
officer seemed surprised by her attraction to any man, 
let alone the Captain, and she wasn't the only one.  Troi 
even found herself watching Picard for reasons that were 
less than professional, and that made no sense.  Although 
she had always thought he was a fairly attractive man and 
there had never been any sexual tension between them at 
all.  The way she looked at him now, had something to do 
with talking to Tabrizi; she couldn't help seeing him 
through the other woman's eyes.  It had never occurred to 
her that someone who knew all the unwritten rules of 
those "games" (as she thought of them) would be able to 
guess Picard's orientation.  

Trying to tell herself that it was part of her job and 
not mere curiosity, she started reading about dominance 
and submission.  She was surprised at some of the things 
she'd read.  It was one thing to be a psychologist and 
have a good understanding of sexuality, but another to 
actually look a certain facet in depth.  The more she 
read, the more it made sense that Picard would find this 
kind of sex compelling.  Control seemed to be at the 
heart of it, and Troi knew all too well how much control 
meant to the Captain, and how hard it was to push past 
his controlled exterior.  That Q could do it, she had no 
doubt, and that Q wanted to do it didn't surprise her 
either.  She read of other things that she knew would 
appeal to Picard, the intensity of the experience, the 
fact that there seemed to be an emphasis on ritual 
formality, she could see that he would find the structure 
very reassuring.  *One more way to make it easier for him 
to let go,* she thought.  And it would be hard, he was 
undoubtedly a challenge to Q, and looking back, she 
guessed that he always had been.  *Twenty-twenty 
hindsight, how very helpful.*  As to the rest of it . . .  
She finally decided that she understood enough and didn't 
need to know what they actually did.  She did decide that 
it was time to start asking some of the people who had 
known Picard as long as (if not longer than) she had.  
She certainly wasn't going to be explicit, but she wanted 
to know if any of her friends saw any difference in the 
Captain.

"So," she said as Data dealt the cards on a Tuesday 
afternoon, "I have a question for all of you."

"Oh god," Beverly said.  "What now?"

"It's about the Captain," Troi said, smiling down at her 
jack.  "No bet."

"What about the Captain?" Riker asked.  "He seems to be 
fine."  Troi wasn't surprised to feel a bit of unease 
from Will.  He still hadn't accepted Picard's new 
relationship and talking about Picard's private life 
seemed to make him uncomfortable.

"He certainly smiles a lot more that he did," Beverly 
said.  "Twenty."

"That's what I was going to ask," Troi said tossing her 
chips into the center of the table.  "What kinds of 
differences do you notice, now that he's with Q?"

"I am curious Counselor," Data said, dealing out more 
cards.  "Why do you ask?"

"Why do you think I ask?"  Troi shot back.  "Fifty."

"Fifty?!" LaForge exclaimed.  "No way."  He folded and 
looked at Data curiously as around the table people 
folded or met Troi's bet.

"I understand that being in love changes people," Data 
explained.  "What I would like to know is if the  
question is a professional question or if it is merely 
curiosity."

"Both."  Troi looked at her cards and smiled.  "Another 
fifty."  The only person who took her up on it was 
Crusher, and when the hand was over, Crusher had won it.

"Well he's certainly easier to be around," LaForge said, 
as he gathered up the cards.  "For a while there I was 
afraid that I was bothering him whenever I had a problem 
in Engineering, but lately, he seems to be much more 
interested in what's going on around here."

"Twenty," Data said.  "I do not know if this is 
relevant," he went on, "but I notice that he moves 
differently."

*Trust Data to notice that,* Troi thought.  *He probably 
accessed his memory and compared the Picard of now to the 
Picard of last year.*   She met and raised Data's bet.

"I noticed that too," Crusher said as she folded.  "Do 
better next time," she said to LaForge.  "I can't get 
rich if I don't get decent hands."  

"So sorry," Geordi replied, with no sympathy in his 
voice.  "How does he move differently?"

"It's part of what you were noticing," the doctor 
replied.  "He's easier, more comfortable, I'd say more 
graceful, but that's not all of it."  She looked around 
the table and grinned.  "He's getting laid," she said 
impishly.  "He always has that *look*."

"Beverly!" Riker said.  "I'll call," he said absently to 
Troi.  She smiled and showed her hand.  "Damn!" the first 
officer muttered and began to gather up the cards.  "Five 
card stud."

"Well it's true," Crusher said.  "So what do you think?" 
she asked Troi.  "Having sex with a god has got to be 
pretty good."  Worf looked as shocked as Riker.  "Oh come 
on," Crusher exclaimed.  "It's not like we haven't been 
wondering."

"Fifty," Data said.  "What I have found interesting about 
this, although perhaps it is my own lack of knowledge in 
these matters, is that the Captain did not seem to be 
interested in men before he was with Q."

"Q's not a man," LaForge said.  "He can be anything.  
Your fifty and twenty more."

"Yeah," Riker said, "but the Captain refers to Q as 'he' 
and 'him' when he talks about him."  He met LaForge's 
bet.  He frowned and Troi felt that surge of unease from 
him again.  "But do you really think he's interested in 
men in general?"

"No," Crusher answered for Data.  "I'm out," she added, 
laying down her cards.  She turned back to Will. "He's 
not looking at anyone.  I don't think he notices anybody 
in that way anymore."

"Well they're certainly looking at him 'in that way,'" 
LaForge said with a grin.  "Ensign McGregor keeps trying 
to find reasons to run errands to the bridge, and he's 
not the only one."

"I'd sort of forgotten what that was like," Riker said.  
He looked at LaForge and Worf.  "I'll call."  They both 
flipped their hands over and Will smiled.  "Thank you 
gentlemen," he said as he raked in the chips.

"What *what* was like?" Crusher asked.

"Dealing with the crushes.  They've sure started up 
again." He shrugged and looked around.  "It's not really 
any of our business."


End 3/4


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From:
 ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
 REP: ACT Chap 4, 4/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)



At the Center of Things
Chapter Four
4/4
disclaimer in 1/4




"So why did Will get so upset yesterday?" Troi asked 
Crusher the next afternoon.  They had finished working 
out and were sitting in the steam room.

"I think he's trying to pretend that Jean-Luc isn't 
involved with Q.  You know how he feels about Q."

"How do *you* feel about Q?"

"Do you *ever* go off duty?"  Crusher sighed.  "I don't 
know.  I'm really happy with Will, you know.  I suppose I 
should be grateful to Q for that.  Why *did* you bring 
that up at the game?"

"Because the crushes *are* coming back and there seem to 
be more of them than there used to be."

"I had this dream about him a couple of days ago," 
Beverly admitted quietly.  "I haven't had one of *those* 
in years."  She shook her head.  "I can't pin down why, 
but there's more than just the fact that he smiles more."

"You got some of it last night.  He's getting laid and 
he's giving off those signals."  Troi smiled.  "I find 
him a little smug at times."

"Yeah," Beverly said.  "Like he's saying, 'I'm getting 
some and it's better than what anyone else is getting.'  
But that's not all of it either."  She paused.  "I 
wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"You do know that his family is really traditional?"  
Troi nodded.  "Well, I wonder if he always wanted to be 
with a man, but couldn't get past his upbringing.  It 
still happens you know, and it might explain why he kept 
women at a distance."  She frowned thoughtfully.  "Maybe 
he's just getting something that he always wanted and 
that's why he . . . glows."

*That's for certain,* Troi thought.  "You could be 
right," she said aloud.


***


"Captain, may I have a word with you?"

"Of course Counselor.  Please, have a seat."  Picard 
gestured to the chairs in front of his desk, and looked 
at Troi curiously as she say down.  She'd been watching 
him a fair amount lately and he suspected that he was 
going to find out what was bothering her.  

"Captain, I don't know if you've noticed," Troi began, 
and then faltered as he looked at her.  

"Yes?"

"Your affair with Q is changing you," she finally said 
bluntly.  "It's not affecting your judgment at all, but 
it's having an effect on the people around you."

"If this is about Ensign Ng, you needn't worry.  Her . . 
. preoccupation has almost run its course."  He smiled at 
Troi's surprise.  "I assure you, Deanna, I'm not blind."

"Oh?  What about Lt. Tabrizi? And Ensign McGregor down in 
Engineering and Chief Keller and  . . ."

Picard sighed, embarrassed.  He never knew what to do 
about crushes, but remembering how he'd felt as a young 
officer, he'd long ago decided that pretending that he 
didn't notice was easiest for everyone involved.  "This 
used to happen before Q came into my life."

"Yes, but not as much and . . .   You didn't distract 
those of us who should know better."  At Picard's look of 
surprise, Troi sighed and continued.  "May I ask a you 
personal question?"

"You may ask," Picard replied, his slightly teasing tone 
warning her that he wasn't necessarily going to answer.

"Has something significant happened between you and Q?  
You see," she explained, "in the last couple of weeks, 
I've been feeling this . . . feeling."  She sighed.  "It 
would probably be a good idea if you had Q boost that 
screen he has on you."

"Why didn't you say something sooner?" Picard asked, 
looking worried.  "I'm sorry, Deanna; I had no idea that 
my private life was affecting you."

"Well, to tell the truth, it took me a while to figure it 
out.  So many things can affect an empath without her 
being aware of them.  It could have been a lot of 
things."  

"I'll talk to Q."


***


"She said what?"  Q dissolved into gales of laughter.  
"Oh that's good . . ."

"Well . . ." Jean-Luc began and then he started laughing.   
"All those times that she's pried and wanted to know what 
I was feeling, and now she's getting more than she 
wants."  He suddenly fell silent.  "Maybe it's not that 
funny."

"Of course it is," Q replied.  "It's hilarious. Maybe I 
should drop the screen all together.  There, Deanna, take 
that."

"Q!  You didn't . . ."

"No of course not.   But trust me, I'm not screening you 
for Troi's sake, but for yours."

"She's one of my officers, and she's an empath.  If my 
actions are affecting her judgment," Picard broke off as 
Q looked at him shaking his head.  "What?"

"Listen to you.  Are you telling me that Starfleet 
doesn't allow its Captains to have a sex life, or is it 
just you?"

"No, it's just that I don't think it's that funny."  
Picard sighed.  "Look, I'm feeling a little guilty."

"Why?"  Q was genuinely confused.  He thought that it was 
perfect; as Jean-Luc had said, Deanna had made him feel 
uncomfortable for years.  Now that was backfiring and Q 
thought it was a nice bit of revenge.  Oh but of course, 
*that* was why Jean-Luc was feeling guilty; he probably 
thought that wanting revenge was petty.

"Oh it's nothing," Picard replied.  He didn't really want 
to discuss this with Q.

"Let's see," Q said.  "No sex life, no vindictive 
feelings . . .  Jean-Luc, does it ever occur to you that 
you ask a little too much of yourself?"

"Look," Jean-Luc replied, testily.  "I said it was 
*nothing*."   A silence fell and then he sighed.  "I'm 
sorry Q, but that wasn't all that Deanna had to say."

"Oh?"

Picard could feel his face heating up.  "Crushes," he 
said rather indistinctly.

"Crushes . . .?  Oh! I get it."  Q couldn't help it; he 
began to laugh again.  Jean-Luc tried to bury his face in 
his hands, but the sight of his ear turning red was even 
funnier.  "You're too sexy for your own good," Q said 
chuckling.

Jean-Luc tried to hang onto his temper, by telling 
himself that Q just didn't understand.  After all, his 
command wasn't all that important to Q except that it was 
important to Jean-Luc.  Q didn't understand the delicate 
balance that made up the workings of a starship and more 
importantly a bridge crew.  *Drop it, Jean-Luc,* he told 
himself.  He looked up at his still chortling lover.  
"Yes well, I guess I am," he dead-panned.  He turned his 
head and vamped slightly, sending Q off into more gales 
of laughter.  

"Oh try that on her someday," Q said.  He still felt a 
little uneasy, there was something not right here, but he 
changed the subject and the evening went on as planned.


***


*Well, johnny,* Q thought after Picard had walked out the 
door the next morning.  *let's see who notices you on 
this tin can of yours.*  Shielding himself tightly, Q 
proceeded to follow Picard through his day.  The first 
stop was a staff meeting, and Q watched the senior 
staff's reactions to their Captain.  Data, LaForge and 
Worf's attitudes were pretty much what Q would have 
expected from them; they simply acted as they would have 
acted three years ago before Q had thrown their Captain's 
life up in the air.  The main thing Q could read in 
Troi's mind was relief at the new shield Q had thrown 
around Picard.  Effortlessly, Q found out why she was 
relieved and he was amused all over again.  He wasn't 
surprised that she hadn't mentioned to Jean-Luc just 
*how* the spill-over had been affecting her.  Crusher was 
mulling over the conversation she'd had with Troi the day 
before.  Q grabbed the complete memory out of her mind 
and was annoyed that she was having erotic dreams about 
Picard.  *Tough luck, you silly woman,* he thought 
smugly.  He rooted around and dug up the recent dream 
that had disturbed her.  *No imagination whatsoever,* he 
sniffed disdainfully.  *Of course not, she's sleeping 
with *him*.*  

Naturally, Q then turned his attention to Riker.  On the 
surface the first officer was all business, but buried 
deep in his sub-conscious was his confusion about 
Picard's new lover.  And not only that, Q realized, but 
there was confusion about Picard as well.  Q couldn't 
resist the temptation to go digging around.  What he 
discovered amused him no end.  Riker *had* noticed the 
difference in Picard; he really couldn't help noticing.  
That Riker was good at picking up sexual signals didn't 
really surprise Q; in fact Riker was pretty honest with 
himself about how much he liked sex and how important it 
was to him.  Unlike Jean-Luc, the first officer didn't 
try to hide that aspect of himself behind a wall of 
reserve, but, also unlike Jean-Luc, Riker was 
surprisingly set in his ways.  There were no long held 
unfulfilled fantasies here and Q wasn't surprised to 
discover that Riker's tastes were fairly tame.  That was 
it, Q realized, Picard had confused Riker by doing 
something new.  Not only was the Captain sleeping with Q, 
but Riker assumed (correctly as it happened) that it was 
Q in the form they were used to seeing him in.  Q was 
actually glad to note that it wasn't bigotry, but more an 
unease about someone Riker thought he knew well suddenly 
changing, and changing in a way that Riker couldn't avoid 
being aware of.  That was the funniest thing of all, Q 
thought.  Riker was suddenly subconsciously *aware* of 
Picard in a way he hadn't been before and it bothered the 
hell out of him.  Q seriously entertained the notion of 
slipping Riker a dream about Picard that would put him in 
a spin, but he decided that Jean-Luc wouldn't appreciate 
it.  Anyway, Riker didn't really want Jean-Luc; he just 
was getting mixed signals that didn't make any sense.  
*Jean-Luc's totally *on*, and poor Number One's tiny 
little brain can't handle it.  What makes it so funny is 
that, Johnny has no idea that he's giving off such clear 
signals,*  Q thought.  

Q couldn't have picked a better day to observe, because 
after the staff meeting, there was a working lunch 
meeting with the mission specialists and several of the 
Enterprise's scientists.  It was a buffet and Q sat back 
and watched the dynamic of the room as Picard walked from 
group to group, chatting, listening and in short, being 
the perfect host.  People stopped talking to watch him 
pass, and Q noted elevated pulses and temperatures, and 
suddenly dry mouths.  *Like sharks circling spilled 
blood,* Q thought.  *They're seeing what I see, only they 
can't see all of it.  Of course, Jean-Luc can't see it 
either, not at all.*  He would have been more amused 
except for two people in the room; the two people who 
could see all of it.  An attractive woman in the blue of 
Starfleet sciences leaned against the wall and watched 
Picard through curious eyes.  Her name was Lt. Shireen 
Tabrizi, Q discovered in a split second and she knew that 
her Captain was a sub.  And she *wanted* him, and wanted 
him in some of the same ways Q wanted him.  She didn't 
particularly want to *own* him, but she would love to 
have a chance to play with him for a while.  And what 
about this man?  He was in civilian clothes and Q soon 
had a name, Dr. Gerald Dumont, to go with the attractive 
face.  He was about to make a move on Jean-Luc, and Q was 
astonished at the anger that he felt toward this 
obnoxious Human.  This obnoxious good looking Human who 
was even now walking up to Q's johnny and . . .  Q 
watched in astonishment as the man blathered some 
scientific nonsense, while all the while his eyes told 
Jean-Luc that what Dumont really wanted was to see him on 
his knees and elbows with his ass in the air.  What would 
Jean-Luc do?  Astonished, Q got his answer right away.  
Picard did nothing.  Absolutely nothing, except reply to 
Dumont's comments and then politely excuse himself.  
Confused, Q backed off and resumed his watching.  

He took a little side trip when Picard retreated to his 
ready room.  Q was curious about the reaction of the rest 
of the crew, and so he conducted a little survey.  He'd 
actually done this once before, although with a much less 
narrow focus.  When Picard had defeated him after Q 
granted Riker partial Q powers, Q had researched Picard 
thoroughly.  He'd looked into Picard's past (including 
looking all the way back to the founding of the family in 
Gaul by a Roman vintner in the year 10BCE), and he'd 
investigated the crew's reaction to their Captain.  Even 
then, he remembered, he'd been a little surprised at the 
number of crewmembers who entertained sexual fantasies 
about Picard.  And now?  Now there were more and they 
were all fairly recent, within the last month or so.  Not 
all of them (in fact very few of them) echoed Tabrizi's 
assumptions, and most of them were idle daydreams, but 
still it annoyed Q in a way he couldn't quite understand.  
By the end of the day, he was more confused than he had 
been at the beginning.  

***

"I don't understand it at all, Jean-Luc."

"Don't understand what?" Picard asked curiously.  Q had 
been oddly quiet since Picard had come off shift, and the 
Captain wondered if something was wrong.  He hastily 
pushed down the brief surge of irrational panic, telling 
himself that Q was not going to vanish again.  

"I watched you today," Q admitted.  Jean-Luc's concern 
vanished, to be replaced with slowly growing anger as he 
realized what Q meant.

"Did you?" he said, pleased that his voice was so calm.

"Do you have any idea of how you affect people?"

"What do you mean?"  This was not what Picard had 
expected, but then he didn't know what he *had* expected.  

"Tell me about Dr. Dumont."

"What?"  Q didn't answer the question and Picard felt his 
anger growing.  What was this all about?  "He's an exo-
botanist.  I gather he's well thought of in the field.  
Q, why are you asking me about him?"

"You really *didn't* see it did you?"

"Q!"

"Johnny, at lunch today Dumont was doing his best to let 
you know that he wants you."  Q paused as Picard looked 
at him in surprise.  "And that's not all, he wants you 
rough."

"Oh please, Q . . ."

"I'm serious, it was all over his body language.  As for 
the things he was thinking . . ."

"Let me get this clear; you followed me around the ship 
today reading people's minds without letting me know you 
were doing it?"

"I was just curious, just . . . keeping an eye on you .  
Do you have any idea how many people on this ship want 
you?"  Q could tell that Picard was upset, and he wasn't 
quite sure why.  Jean-Luc didn't seem at all interested 
in talking about what people thought about him; he seemed 
to be going off on some tangent that Q couldn't exactly 
follow.  "Did you know that the real reason that Troi 
wanted me to boost the screen on you is that she's been 
letting Worf jump her every chance he gets?  And 
Beverly's having rude dreams about you, and as for Will . 
. .   He can tell that you've changed, he doesn't 
understand it at all, and, poor thing, he's confused."  Q 
stopped; Jean-Luc was looking at him with narrowed eyes.

"And how do you know all of that?" the Captain asked, his 
voice low and deadly.  "No don't bother to explain, you 
just climbed in and read their minds, didn't you?"

"Well of course I did.  That's not the point here, Jean-
Luc . . ."

Picard slammed his hand down on the table and jerked his 
chair back as he rose to his feet.  "I don't give a damn 
about what *you* think the point is!  How dare you treat 
my people as your private playground?!  That is such a 
gross violation of privacy . . ."

Q stared at Picard in shock.  "But Jean-Luc, I wasn't 
reading *your* mind."

"And that makes it all right?  My God, Q, don't you 
understand?"  He turned away, and slammed his fist into 
his palm.

"No I don't understand," Q replied.  He felt himself 
getting angry at Jean-Luc's accusations.  "I was *trying* 
to figure out how people react to you, since *you're* too 
blind to see it for yourself!"

"Did I ask you to do that?!"  Jean-Luc shook his head.  
"No, you just had to go in and meddle and then come back 
to me and tell me things I don't need to know about my 
crew.  Did it occur to you that I don't *want* to know 
about Beverly's dreams or Deanna's sex life?  No, of 
course not, because you don't give a damn about my ship 
or my command.  I should have realized it last night when 
you brushed off everything I said."

"I did not!  That's why I was doing it today.  You were 
upset about the crushes and I wanted to see what was 
going on."

"You just don't *get* it, do you?  Not only do *I* not 
want to know about their lives, they don't want me to 
know."  Picard tried to calm down, and explain why he was 
so upset.  "Q, a starship, even one as big as the 
Enterprise, has a very delicate balance.  I'm responsible 
for everyone on this ship, and how do you think it makes 
me feel to know that *my* lover is violating their 
privacy because he's jealous?"

"Jealous?"  Q looked at Picard in shock.  

"Why else would you do it?  And don't tell me that you 
did it for me!"  Jean-Luc paused; Q was looking at him 
with a frown forming on his face.  "Admit it, I mentioned 
the crushes and you had to go out and make sure you 
didn't have any competition.  Well?  Did I pass your 
test?  Did my people pass your test?"

"Johnny . . ."

"No Q, don't bother.  You don't have to explain anything 
to me; I'm just your pet.  Well fine, take me to bed and 
fuck me or hurt me, that's what I'm here for."

"Oh please, Jean-Luc, you know better than that."

"Do I?  I thought I knew better; I thought I wouldn't 
have to ask you to leave my people alone.  But no, 
they're not  real to you."  The more he thought about it 
the angrier he got.  "The next time you make fun of Will, 
remember that I'm just as Human as he is and change often 
confuses me just as much as it confuses him.  I'm not a 
fool, Q; I know that I'm his father figure, and I know 
that he he's having a hard time accepting that for no 
reason that he can see, I'm suddenly sleeping with a man.  
I have no doubt that I show up in the morning looking 
like I got laid (and well laid at that) the night before, 
and he's curious and then feels upset that he's curious.  
Do you think I'm stupid; that I can't guess that my 
entire senior staff, with the possible exception of Data, 
is dying to know what it is that we do?  They're trying 
to be calm about an affair that, from their point of 
view, makes little or no sense.  They're trying to 
believe that I'm in this relationship of my own free 
will, and they're hoping that, regardless of my personal 
feelings, I can still do my job.  And this is what they 
get in return?  You violating their privacy and telling 
me things that I have no business knowing."

Q stared at Picard in shock.  He really hadn't thought it 
through; he had simply acted on one of his whims and now 
Jean-Luc was angry at him.  Q grudgingly admitted that 
Picard was right, and that was even worse.  He *was* 
jealous, and jealous where he had no reason to be.  He 
knew that Jean-Luc loved him, he knew that Jean-Luc 
didn't even look at anyone else.  Hadn't that been 
confirmed at lunch?  But . . . there was more to it, and 
Q wasn't sure if he should bring it up or not.  He 
sighed.

"Tell me," Picard said flatly.  When Q looked at him 
curiously, he smiled slightly.  "I'm beginning to be able 
to read your mood a little; there's something you're 
afraid to talk about."

*Afraid?  Me?  I'm a fucking Q . . .  and yes he's right; 
I'm afraid to talk about this.*  "You're only partly 
correct Jean-Luc," he began.  "I . . . shouldn't have 
gone digging through your people's minds.  But . . . it's 
not just that I'm jealous of *them* or that I'm . . . 
afraid that you'll find someone new.  I'm . . . well . . 
. I'm jealous of *her.*  Your ship."

"I know, and there's nothing I can do about it."

"You *know*?!"  Q stared at Picard in shock, and Jean-Luc 
shrugged, and tapped his head.

"Do you think that the mind reading is all one way?"  He 
paused and tried to figure out how to deal with this. 

"Don't, Johnny."

"Don't what?"

"Don't try to solve it.  Neither of us can."

"I know that too.  You just have to believe that I love 
you.  If it . . . if my career truly comes between us, 
I'll . . .  *we'll* talk about it more."  He shrugged and 
tried to make light of the conversation.  "I'll have to 
move on some day.  There's a fine tradition of Enterprise 
Captains going on to become Superintendent of the 
Academy.  Look at Kirk and Harriman; I'd be in good 
company."

Q stared at Jean-Luc in shock.  "No," he said flatly, and 
then suddenly understood why Humans sometimes wanted to 
bite their own tongues.  Picard couldn't give up the 
Enterprise, at least not any time soon.  Q didn't *know* 
all of Picard's future, even a Q couldn't predict every 
minute detail, but Q knew that Jean-Luc had to be here, 
with this ship, for a while to come.  *And otherwise, 
you'd accept his offer?* he asked himself. "I don't want 
that kind of submission," he said, surprising himself 
even as he spoke.  "No Johnny, we'll fight it out each 
time.  I'll hate the Enterprise sometimes and you'll be 
angry when I forget about things like privacy and we'll 
yell and snap at each other, but . . .  I can't ask you 
to give this up for me.  I have things that I'm 
neglecting because I want to be with you, and there may 
be times when you resent that."  He rose from his chair, 
reached out a hand and Picard came up to him and took it.  
"I wish this wasn't so hard."

"Why do you think I've avoided relationships like the 
plague?  I'd rather face a Romulan fleet than argue with 
someone I love."

"Do you Johnny?  Do you *really* love me?"

"Come to bed and let me show you how much I love you."  
Jean-Luc tugged gently and Q let himself be led into the 
bedroom.

End Chapter Four 

-- 
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Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)



========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 5, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 20:15:00 GMT


From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        NEW: ACT Chap 5, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


Disclaimer (long version in Chapter One): Star Trek is 
the property of Paramount.  This version of it is the 
property of me.  This story involves m/m sex as well as 
bdsm.



At the Center of Things
by Ruth Gifford
(c)  1998


Chapter Five
Points of View

"But I can see your world
Can't you see mine?
Can't you see mine?
Can't you see through mine?"

"Aqua"
Claire Voyant




Picard looked around the observation lounge, not 
surprised that all the faces that looked back were 
serious.  The Enterprise had diverted from her four month 
old survey mission to pay a courtesy call on the 
Telemachi, and this wasn't the first such visit during 
the mission.  Dozens of non-aligned governments dotted 
the fringes of Federation-explored territory, and the 
Enterprise had visited three of them up to this point.  
The visits were supposed to look like R&R calls or 
courtesy visits, which was, Picard thought, a comforting 
fiction.

The Telemachi were a saurian race who had not only 
colonized two planets in their home system, but the 
inhabitable planets of three nearby systems.  They prided 
themselves on their resourcefulness, a pride that Picard 
had always thought justified in light of their 
accomplishments.  He had been to the Telemachi Ring once 
before as Captain of the Stargazer, and had found the 
Telemachi to be relaxed and sure of themselves.  Given 
their precarious position on the edges of the 
Federation/Romulan Neutral Zone, that alone was 
impressive.  Now, 25 years later, the Telemachi weren't 
so relaxed. 

"They're afraid," Troi was saying.  "Afraid of the 
Romulans, afraid of us. . ."  The empath shook her head 
sadly.  

"Not surprising.  They see a war coming," Picard said, 
sighing slightly. He'd expected to have to use his 
intuition on this mission, but you'd have to be blind not 
to see what was happening out here. 

"They sure do," LaForge replied.  "When Data and I 
visited the Wall of Words there were people who had been 
waiting for hours to write their piece."

"One of the custodians told us that most of the words 
being written were hopes that the coming conflict would 
bypass the Telemachi Ring,"  Data added.  He looked at 
Picard seriously.  "He made very sure that we understood 
what he was saying."

Picard nodded.  "The Ring Council did their best to 
emphasize their neutrality, and then at the reception we 
heard all about the recent courtesy visit from the 
Romulans."

"That's not all," Riker said.  He picked something up 
from the floor near his chair and put it on the table.  
It was a small personal pouch of Telemachi design, and 
when the first officer emptied on the table, the rest of 
the officers present could see that it had been full of 
coins.  Will picked a small coin out of the pile and 
flipped it to Data who snatched it neatly out of the air.  
"There are a lot of these floating around."

"A Ferengi tenth," the android said.  He blinked, 
bringing his eyes into closer focus.  "Minted this year."

"Arms traders," Worf said with certainty.

"If that is true, can any of us really blame the 
Telemachi for arming?" Picard asked.  He stood and paced 
to the window.  "They know that any conflict with the 
Romulans will start out here."  He stared out at the 
stars and when he spoke his voice was low, but still 
audible.  "The Romulans don't care about the non-aligned 
planets, but they're not going to come at us where the 
Zone actually touches Federation space." "And they won't 
come at us first, they'll aid someone out here.  Help in 
a revolution here, get involved in a war over there."  He 
turned and looked at Riker.  "A practice run."

"Spain, then Poland?" Riker asked.  Picard nodded.  
"Thank God," the First Officer said, "that we sometimes 
learn from the mistakes of history."

"The problem is that the Romulans do too," Crusher said.  
Picard, still near the window, raised an eyebrow in 
question.  "They've been less than subtle in the way 
they're leaning on the non-aligned worlds.  We're hearing 
it here in the Ring, and we heard it a month ago from the 
D'havri.  Are we being led around by our suspicions?"

"It's possible," Worf rumbled, looking at the doctor with 
respect.  "Of course," he added,  "it's also possible 
that the Romulans are feeling pressured."

"It's always a chess game with them," Riker said with the 
air of quoting someone. 

"Chess?" Picard asked, moving back to sit in his chair.  
"Or is it closer to *your* game Number One?"

"Oh thanks," Riker said with mock annoyance  that caused 
a chuckle around the table.  "Now I'll have nightmares 
about playing poker with Sela and Tomalok."

"Well, Admiral Brackett gave me a few things to throw in 
the pot," Picard said.  "I'll be offering the Telemachi 
"Most Favored Trading Partner" status when I have my 
final meeting with the Ring Council."  Everyone looked 
startled, which wasn't surprising.  Most Favored status 
wasn't commonly given to systems this far out. "No 
strings attached, of course."

The briefing ended soon after that, but as everyone left, 
Picard motioned Riker to stay.  "Will," the Captain said 
pensively, once again standing at the window staring at 
the stars.  "How do you feel about people who cheat at 
poker?"

Riker sighed.  "This isn't a game of poker."

"I could see their hand, you see," Picard said quietly.  
"I could ask to know what's happening on Romulus and I 
could save lives."

"And I could have saved that child all those years ago."   
In spite of his concerns, Picard smiled slightly at 
Will's understanding.   In a deliberate attempt to seem 
less distant, he returned to his chair and sat back down.  
"Is it even an option?" Riker continued.  "Would he tell 
you?"

"All I have to do is ask.  You see," and he looked down 
at his hands, "he still has a . . . an interest, a 
responsibility to the Continuum.  Looked at that way, I 
can see him saying yes, just to see how I deal with it."

"That's a little cold."

Picard shot a shrewd look at Riker.  "And it isn't cold 
of me to walk out every morning, effectively telling him 
that I'm not willing to forgo my duties in order to be 
with him?  He's a Q Will; I certainly don't have to keep 
the day job."  He shrugged.  "I have a duty and he does 
too."

"Do they have a conflict of interest policy?" Riker 
asked.  He was surprised that he could sit here with the 
Captain and discuss Q so calmly.  *I'm getting used to 
the idea,* he thought.

"Not that I can tell."  Picard frowned slightly as he 
tried to explain.  "But I don't know.  There are a lot of 
things that we don't talk about.  After all," and the 
frown was replaced with a  faint smile, "a permanent 
relationship is not something *either* of us has any 
experience with.  In spite of the strange circumstances, 
we're no different than any other new couple.  We're both 
making this up as we go along." 

"Better you than me," Riker said, and both men laughed a 
little.  Feeling more relaxed about things than he had in 
a while, Riker brought the conversation back to the 
original point.  "If it makes any difference Captain, I 
think you're right not to ask."

"So do I," Picard replied.  "And yes, it does make a 
difference."

"I can't imagine . . ." Riker began.  When his voice 
trailed off, Picard looked at him curiously.  "How do you 
deal with the fact that he's . . . watching us work, you 
in particular?"

"He doesn't do that anymore.  He knows what's going on; I 
tell him a little about what we're doing, but he's not 
hanging over our shoulders and watching us."  He sighed.  
"It's odd, but I sort of got used to having that thought 
buried in the corner of my mind."

"Once the subject knows about the experiment, the 
parameters change," Riker said, hoping that he wasn't 
pushing things.  To his relief, Picard merely chuckled.

"Something like that."  Picard sighed, obviously deciding 
that this line of conversation had gone far enough.  
Riker wasn't surprised when the Captain rose to his feet 
and paced back to the window.  In fact, Will was amazed 
that Picard had said as much as he had; it was one more 
way in which the relationship with Q was changing Picard.  
"Number One, I hate to be an alarmist, but one of us is 
going to have to get paranoid."

"If you grant Most Favored status to the Telemachi, 
they'll probably think about opening more serious  
negotiations with us.  The lack of trade with the 
Federation has always been a stumbling block out here."  
They were back on professional ground now and Riker knew 
what was expected of him.  "It would be damned useful to 
have someone out here watching the Romulans for us."

"On the other hand," Picard said.  "The Romulans won't 
like it.  They'll see it as a provocation."

"They see everything as a provocation," Riker countered.  
"This way if the Telemachi are attacked, we'll be in a 
position to help them."

"But, if they aren't involved with us they may not be 
attacked."  Picard sat back down at the table and the 
argument was off and running.

***

"What is it?" Q asked as he flashed into Picard's 
quarters.  Picard looked up from the report he'd been 
writing.

"What is what?" he asked, putting the padd down on his 
desk.  

"Whatever it is that has you sitting there frowning."

"The Telemachi," Picard replied quietly.   "But you don't 
want to hear about that."

"Oh?" Q asked, a hint of something buried in his voice.  
Picard, who was learning to read his lover rather well, 
raised a questioning eyebrow.  "You think I won't be 
interested?"

"I think that you prefer not to waste the time we have 
together hearing about my job in any great detail."

"Is that a note of bitterness I hear?" Q asked.  

"Perhaps," Picard replied carefully.  

Q moved to sit on the sofa.  He thought about telling 
Jean-Luc to leave his desk, and join him, but decided 
that he had to fight fair.  He wondered if Jean-Luc was 
as nervous as he suddenly was.  Q hadn't enjoyed the one 
serious argument they'd had.  

"So you think I don't care about your job?" Q asked.

The entity was relieved when Picard appeared to take the 
question seriously.  "What I think, is that you resent my 
job and the amount of my time that it takes."  He paused, 
rising to join Q on the sofa.  "I think you worry that 
it's more important to me than you are, or that, if I had 
to make a choice . . ."  

"Well, is it?  Would you?"

"You wouldn't be who I fell in love with if you asked me 
to make that choice."

"Oh, very good Jean-Luc," Q snapped.  "Point to you."

Picard's eyes narrowed.  "And do you intend to put me in 
a position where I have to make a choice?"

Q flashed out of existence and reappeared in the middle 
of the room, pacing even as he faded into view.  "What if 
I did?"

"*Are* you going to?"

As Q opened his mouth to answer, he suddenly thought 
about the way Picard had asked that simple question.  
There was no hint of emotion in his voice; Q heard that 
flat monotone he'd learned to hate after Picard had 
almost died on R'thel, back when Jean-Luc was afraid to 
love, and afraid of Q, back when the Enterprise had been 
all that Picard had.  *At least she never let him down,* 
Q though glumly.  Breathing carefully, he walked over to 
the sofa and sat down again.

Picard just looked at him and Q thought of all the things 
he'd asked of his lover.  He seemed to take it for 
granted that Jean-Luc could just submit on demand, 
although he knew that the things he asked Picard to do 
were things that were incredibly hard for his lover.  
He'd demanded so much control, so much of the one thing 
that made Picard who he was.  And now, if he asked for 
this . . .  Q shook his head.  

"It would be incredibly stupid of me to do that," he 
said, looking at Picard seriously.  "If I did, it would 
just be to test you, not because I really want you to 
have to give up something that you care about so much, 
something that you *need* to do to be who you are."  He 
looked down at his hands and then back at Jean-Luc.  "I 
promise that I'll never ask you to make that decision."

Picard let out the breath he hadn't even known he was 
holding.  "Thank you," he said quietly.  "You have no 
idea how much that means to me."  An odd look crossed his 
face.

"What is it?" 

"We keep coming back to this," Jean-Luc said 
thoughtfully.  "Coming back to this sense I have that 
you, for all that you know me better than anyone else, 
don't know why I love what I do so much."

"But I do know," Q replied.  "I could tell you the 
reasons, from the most important to the most trivial.  I 
*know* you amazingly well."

"And how," Picard murmured, deliberately letting his 
voice get husky.  He watched as Q smiled, but Jean-Luc 
refused to let the entity get diverted from the matter at 
hand.  

"I have no doubt that you could tell me all the complex 
psychological reasons that I love my job and why I'm good 
at it," he told Q.  "You even know what it means to me.  
*But,* I don't think you can understand that knowledge.  
I don't think you know what I *feel* about it."

"What makes you say that?" Q asked, privately agreeing 
with Picard.

"The fact that I know that you've never had anything in 
your life that you cared about that much."

"Until you," Q said softly.  Meeting those inhuman brown 
eyes, Picard felt as if his heart were going to hammer 
its way out of his chest.  It was terrifying to be loved 
this much, to be looked at with that almost tangible 
need.  It was the one reason that he could do the things 
he did with Q, things that, until he'd been loved this 
much, had only been fantasy.

"When you look at me like that," he said quietly, "I know 
why I'm willing to crawl for you."  

Q gulped and stared at Picard.  Before he had a chance to 
think about his words, he spoke.   "Do you have any idea 
what it means to me to hear you say that?"  He frowned at 
his own inability to explain.  "I wish I could do 
something difficult to prove myself to you  in some way."

"You do," Jean-Luc replied gravely, "every time you let 
me in, every time we're together and I know how much you 
need me."

"But you did all those things, crawled and let me hurt 
you, before I needed you," Q said sadly.

Surprisingly, Picard smiled.  "No, I did all those things 
before you *knew* you needed me.  I'm afraid I was ahead 
of you that time."

"Don’t you want to do . . . something to me?  I don't 
know, beat me or make *me* crawl or something?"

"Why?" Picard asked.  "That's not the way we are.  If you 
want me to be on top, that's fine, but I can't  seriously 
hurt or humiliate you.  Besides, you would hate it."  He 
shrugged.  "So would I, for that matter."

"I'm just feeling a little out-classed here," Q groused, 
his tone only half joking.

Picard chuckled.  "Let me understand, you want to make 
some sort of gesture, do something difficult, so that 
I'll know how much you love me.  And so that you'll feel 
better."

Q was about to open his mouth and protest, when Picard 
held up a hand.  "Wait," Jean-Luc said. "I know what you 
can do for me.  Actually, it's something you can do for 
us.  After all, my motives in being your slave aren't 
100% altruistic."

"What can I do?"

"Be me for a day."

"What?!"   Q was confused; Jean-Luc had just said that he 
didn't want to be on top.

"I know that some extremely talented Betazoids can 
essentially 'piggy-back' their consciousness onto a 
willing host.  They can only manage it for a short period 
of time, and under ideal conditions, but I figure that 
anything they can do . . ." 

"You're asking me to walk a mile in your boots."


End 1/4

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 5, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 20:15:08 GMT

From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        NEW: ACT Chap 5, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter Five
2/4
disclaimers in 1/4



"Exactly," Picard replied.  "I had this idea, back when 
we were first at Calvidia, that there had to be some way 
that I could share that part of my life with you.  First 
hand, as I felt each feeling, saw each new thing, as 
opposed to reliving things later through mental contact, 
with all the baggage they've accumulated by the time you 
touch my mind."  He frowned.  "Or have you already done 
it to me as part of your 'project?'"

"Oddly enough," Q said, "I should have, but I could never 
bring myself to do it.  I know exactly what you want, and 
I've done it with other mortals before.  But I've never 
been invited to do it."  What he didn't say was that he'd 
only done it a couple of times and that he'd never liked 
it.  The loss of control involved was incredibly 
unnerving for a Q, even when he knew he could get out of 
it in a second.  *Rather like a "scene" for Jean-Luc,* Q 
thought ruefully.

"Well, *I'm* inviting you to come and share something 
with me, something that's very important to me."  He 
looked at Q and the entity couldn't look away from the 
light in his lover's hazel eyes.  "It would mean a great 
deal to me."

Q wanted to protest that it wasn't necessary, that, as 
they continued to grow closer, their mind-to-mind 
contacts would become more all-encompassing and that 
they'd know all they needed to know about how the other 
felt.  But he couldn't say it.  Not only was Jean-Luc 
right in that it would be different, but, more 
importantly, it was something that Jean-Luc wanted.  And, 
although it terrified him, Q realized that it was 
something *he* wanted to do.  Not just for Jean-Luc, but 
for himself as well.

Picard waited as Q sat, silent and withdrawn.  He was 
certain he'd asked for too much, that Q didn't want to 
share this part of his life with him.  He steadied 
himself to brush it off and go on with life knowing that 
a major part of his life was of no real interest to the 
person he loved.  He was so braced for it that he almost 
didn't understand when Q nodded.

"All right," Q said quietly.  When he saw the smile 
spread across Picard's face, he smiled too.  "You didn't 
think that I'd do it, did you?"

"I didn't know," Picard replied.  "I'm sorry to have 
assumed that you don't care."

"Don't apologize, just tell me how you want this to 
happen."

Picard nodded sharply, his face set in a look that Q had 
seen many times, although it had rarely been directed at 
him since he'd become Picard's lover.  Picard was 
planning something and he'd tell Q exactly what he wanted 
Q to know, when he wanted Q to know it.

"Very well," the captain said.  "First of all, I don't 
want you to peek.  No looking forward at any of the 
possible headings we could take as we leave the Ring the 
day after tomorrow.  Don't look at my orders or anything 
that would give you a clue as to what I have planned for 
that day."

It would have been an impossible request for a Human, 
like asking someone not to think about a zebra, but a Q 
could do it.  Q firmly quashed the instinct to look ahead 
of the Enterprise and he carefully shut all his knowledge 
of the surrounding space into a part of his mind that he 
couldn't access.  It wasn't easy; to a Q knowledge was 
power and Q struggled for a moment with the sudden lack 
of knowledge.  He consoled himself with the fact that he 
could access that knowledge if he really needed to.

"I'm as blind as I can be about where we are and what 
we'll be doing," he explained to Picard once he was 
certain of himself.

"And you can do that?" Picard asked, his curiosity 
obviously piqued.  "Just voluntarily repress your 
memories and knowledge?"

Q wanted to brush off the question, but he remembered 
Deanna Troi asking him what he was doing committing 
bestiality.  

"We've never met any species that has the same sort of 
control over their thoughts that we do," he explained, 
taking care not to talk down to his lover.  "Remember 
when I told you that, for me, there's no distinction 
between fantasy and reality?  You quoted Keats."

"I remember it rather well.  You put all those invisible 
clamps on me on me that night and the damn things hurt 
like hell."  Picard laughed.  "So Troi was right at 
Farpoint when she said that your courtroom was real?"

"Yes and no.  The Q may not have an distinction between 
fantasy and reality, but we do recognize different levels 
of reality."  Q gestured almost helplessly.  "Someday, I 
think I'll be able to better explain.  Once we’ve been 
together a long time and you've been inside my mind more, 
you may have more points of reference in common with me."

"Probably.  But I think that I *can* understand the 
concept of differing levels of reality.  What's a 
holodeck, but a different level of reality? Look at 
Moriarty and the Countess, living their lives out in 
their own reality."

"So do you think that what you said that time could be 
true, that maybe you *do* exist in an elaborate 
simulation playing out in a small box that sits on 
someone's table?"

"It's possible," Picard replied.  He got up and 
disappeared for a moment.  "I thought I'd have some 
Armagnac.  Do you want some?"

"Hold still for a moment, Jean-Luc" Q said, smiling.  He 
snapped his fingers and suddenly he and Picard were in a 
comfortably rustic cabin.  Q was sitting in front of a 
fire and Picard was halfway to a kitchen that was 
separated from the living area by a low bar.  "The 
Armagnac," Q said, "is in the cupboard over the sink, and 
the glasses are in the next cupboard to the left."

A moment later, Picard was comfortably ensconced in an 
easy chair, sharing an ottoman with Q.  They were both 
wearing warm shirts and pants and Jean-Luc had seen the 
gleam of moonlight on snow out the kitchen window.  The 
living area was lit only by the fire and several oil-
burning lamps and he instantly felt at home here although 
he'd never seen this place before. 

"You were asking about what I said that day, when we 
trapped Moriaty in the protected file," he said to Q 
after taking a sip of the dry brandy.  "My question is: 
does it matter?  It's still my reality."

"So you define your own reality? How very solipsistic of 
you Jean-Luc."  Q laughed along with Picard.  "Fucking 
center of the universe, are you?"

"Hardly," Picard replied dryly.  "That's *your* line."  
He looked at fire through the snifter of Armagnac, 
swirling it gently and watching the almost hypnotic 
interplay of light and liquid.  "What I mean is that, 
regardless of what the universe is, I have to live with 
it, interact with it."

Q snapped his fingers and a picture formed in the fire.  
A younger Jean-Luc Picard was standing on the bridge of 
the Enterprise, a beardless Will Riker behind him.   When 
Riker spoke, his voice carried clearly to the two 
watchers.  "What to we do now, sir? If they're monitoring 
our every move, every word . . ."

"We do exactly what we'd do if this Q never existed.  If 
we're going to be damned, let's be damned for what we 
really are."

Q snapped his fingers again and the scene disappeared.  
He looked at Picard. 

"And I did exactly what I said I would do."  Picard 
smiled.  "And I was right to do so."

"There are times I wish I'd had the sense then that I do 
now."

"Oh?"

"I've never ripped one of those lovely snug uniforms off 
you and fucked you while you begged for more."

"So," Picard replied evenly, ignoring the way Q's words 
made him feel.  "Why not do it?  Go back in time and take 
him.  You're a Q after all."

 Q laughed.  "Oh please.  It'd be rape.  You hated me."

"Don't try to fool either of us; what I felt was more 
like contempt than hatred."  Picard sipped his drink 
thoughtfully.  "So what you're saying is that, there at 
Farpoint, I wasn't the man who would willingly let you 
fuck me.  What you're not mentioning is that you didn't 
want me any more than I wanted you."

"Ah, but if I went back now, I *would* want you."

"But you still wouldn't be the same Q."

"Yes I would."

"No you wouldn't!  How could you be?"  Picard frowned.  
"I'm being too linear, aren't I?"

"Time is a form of reality Jean-Luc."

Picard pondered that as he noticed that, although he'd 
been sipping from his glass fairly frequently, the amount 
of Armagnac in the glass hadn't changed.  "So," he said, 
saluting Q with the glass, "is volume."  After a pause 
while they both drank, Picard continued.  "But if you 
went back and became that Q at that time and still wanted 
me the way you want me now, and tried to get me to want 
you, you'd be creating a differing reality.  In effect, 
what is usually called an alternate or parallel 
universe."  He looked around.  "So is this a different 
universe, or a alternate reality, or a parallel timeline, 
and again, does it matter?"

"What if I told you that we are in an alternate timeline 
and that, having accepted it as real, you're stuck in 
it?"

"Hmmm."  While Picard thought about how to answer that, 
he felt something stroking his foot.  Looking down he saw 
that Q was rubbing his own foot against Jean-Luc's.  
"Never ending glasses of brandy, and foot-to-foot 
contact?  Professor Q, are you trying to seduce me?"

Q laughed.  "Don't make me turn this reality into the 
Evil Headmaster and the Naughty School-Boy."

"Heaven forbid.  Who says that I've accepted this as 
real?"

"Could you?"

"Yes, but extremely reluctantly."

"Why?"

Picard smiled.  "I know where you're going.  And you know 
the answer to your question.  I'd hate it because I had 
the knowledge of another reality.  And if you took that 
knowledge away, then I'm just like that Picard you showed 
me in the fire.  A man who does not have the experiences 
and background I have now and who doesn't love you the 
way I love you."

"So your experiences define your reality?"

"Everything defines my reality," Picard said, gesturing 
with his glass.  "All my physical senses say that this 
place we are in is real.  Then again, all my physical 
senses say that Dixon Hill's office on the holodeck is 
real too."  He smiled at Q.  "I can even accept that this 
reality might be more real than the holodeck, because 
your creativity is infinitely more sophisticated than the 
Enterprise's computer, but I can't accept that this is as 
real as the Enterprise, or at least real in the same 
way." 

"Flatterer," Q said, smiling.  "Put the glass down, Jean-
Luc."

Picard obeyed, and braced himself as Q raised his hand.  
Suddenly, he was chained to a wall in Q's dungeon.  The 
cool dry air and the feel of the rough canvas against his 
naked back made the transition difficult at first, but he 
was a little surprised at how easily he was able to shake 
off the comfortable feeling of the cabin and the brandy 
and the talk of reality.  His collar was around his neck 
and he was johnny and his Master was with him.  Within a 
moment, he was aroused and waiting for whatever Q wanted 
of him.

"So, boy," Q snapped, "is this real?"

Before Picard could answer, he heard Q snap again and 
they were back in the cabin.  Everything was exactly as 
it had been, the fire, the lamplight, the snifter of 
brandy on the floor next to his chair.  Well almost 
everything was as it had been, Picard realized.  The main 
difference was that he still had an erection, and he 
stared at Q in confusion for a moment.

Before Picard spoke, he felt at his neck, making sure he 
wasn't wearing his collar.  "You can't expect me to hold 
my own in a serious discussion when all the blood in my 
brain has headed south."  Q laughed and Picard continued.  
"We should have stayed there a little longer." 

"You'll get yours, johnny."

Picard smiled at Q.  "That's not what I meant.  If we'd 
stayed there longer, the answer to 'is this real?' would 
have been simple.  It's real if you, the Master, says it 
is.  When we're there, *you* define my reality."

To Picard's surprise Q frowned.  "But that makes me the 
same as Gul . . . never mind."

"It's not the same," Picard said quickly.  He rose from 
his seat and moved to sit on the ground near Q's knee.  
"He was trying to break me, and he never had my consent 
for any of it.  With you," and he looked up at Q, hoping 
his face conveyed the seriousness of his words, "it's the 
exact opposite, don't you see?  I *give* you that control 
of my own free will."

Q stared down at Jean-Luc, his eyes wide.  Picard's face 
was a complex map of shadowed planes and bright angles.  
He was beautiful enough to Q's Human vision, but with the 
strength of his emotions shining in his eyes, he was 
equally amazing to the entity's Q perception.  Now he 
looked up at Q with love and trust and understanding, and 
Q didn't know how to react.

"Please," Picard continued.  "Don't compare yourself with 
him.  There *is* no comparison, and there never has 
been."

"But I . . ."  Q's words trailed off as Picard rose 
explosively to his feet and strode away, only to turn and 
glare at him.

"Goddamnit Q!  You give me what I want!  You give me what 
I need!  And you can't pretend that the only reason you 
do it, the only reason you put up with all the 
inconveniences you put up with because of me, is that you 
want to fuck me!  You *love* me; you've proved it to me 
over and over again.  I *won't* have you comparing 
yourself to a monster!"  

They stared at one another for a long moment and then 
Picard looked around.  "Is this real?  Yes, because 
you're here with me.  Being with you is *real*.  It's the 
deepest level of reality I've ever encountered.  Don't 
you understand?  When I'm with you, all of me is here, 
heart and brain, body and soul, *everything* that makes 
me who I am, that makes me real, is caught up in what we 
are."  He nodded.  "What is reality?  You Q.  You are 
real and I am real and this damned erection is real and 
if you don't do something about it *real* soon, I'm going 
to take care of it myself."

Q flung his head back and laughed.  Picard stared as the 
entity rose from his chair, still laughing.  "I do love 
you, Jean-Luc.  I'm not sure how we got from me walking a 
mile in your boots to a discussion of the nature of 
reality to the amazing things you just said to me.  And I 
don't care."  Picard smiled hesitantly.

"What is reality?" Q asked as he walked up to stand in 
front of his lover.  "Reality is what is."  He looked 
down at Picard and snapped his fingers, a gesture that 
left Picard naked.  "And right now reality is a very hard 
starship captain."

Picard stared in shock as Q dropped to his knees.  It 
seemed incredibly wrong for a moment and then that hot 
mouth was closing over Jean-Luc's erection and his whole 
body was shuddering with pleasure and nothing was wrong 
at all.  There was nothing but the hot rush of need and 
desire that radiated from his cock to move out across his 
whole body.  It was perfection, and Q was perfect, moving 
when Picard needed him to move, sucking with just the 
right amount of pressure, using his tongue in all the 
right places.  Picard reeled from the shock, but Q's 
hands guided his own hands to Q's shoulders and then 
those hands steadied his hips.  And just when Picard was 
sure that he couldn't take it for a minute longer, just 
when he trembled on the knife's edge between agony and 
fulfillment, Q took him safely over the edge and into an 
explosive climax.  

Strong arms caught Picard as his knees buckled, and he 
was eased down onto his bed.  When he opened his eyes, it 
was to see the familiar surroundings of his own bedroom.  
Q, naked, was lying next to him, propped up on one elbow 
and watching him with amused eyes.  

"That," Picard said, his voice still a little shaky, " 
was some of the most  *real* oral sex I've ever had."

"That was nothing," Q said, laughing.  "Roll over and 
I'll show you some real fucking."

***

Two days later, Picard woke to the sound of his alarm.  
"Off," he said as he sat up.  He could feel Q in his 
mind, the way he had felt him when they'd practiced this 
the night before.  It had been a long night, coming after 
a final banquet with the heads of the Telemachi Ring.  
Picard was glad that he had the ability to get by on an 
hour or so of sleep; it would hardly do to be exhausted 
today.  *Are you ready for this?* he asked.

*Just a minute,* Q replied.  Picard was curious about the 
requested delay, but, a second later, he knew the reason 
for it, as a ripple of what felt like charged energy  washed 
over his whole body.

"Ohhhh . . ." he moaned, leaning back on his elbows.  The 
energy pulsed across him several times, leaving his skin 
charged and tingling, before it concentrated itself on 
his cock.  Picard was soon shaking at this strange 
sensation; it felt as if his erection was wrapped in 
electricity that surged and pulsed around him.  There was 
nothing subtle about this pleasure, and Jean-Luc found 
himself close to an orgasm a few short moments after it 
had started.  The energy shifted, found just the right 
nerve endings, and Picard yelled as the swift, hard 
climax overtook him.  After lying on the bed for a few 
moments of recovery, he chuckled.  *Was it good for you, 
too?* he asked.  

*Yes, it was.  But . . .  it was odd, probably because 
your body reacts differently than mine does.*

*That makes sense.  It's not as if what you did was all 
that normal for me. You always do that to me, spring some 
sort of new form of sex on me.*

*Only because you're so susceptible, Johnny, so easy.*

Picard shook his head, and sighed as he got up and headed 
for the shower.  *It's all *your* fault,* he replied.

*Blame me, go ahead.  Q the scapegoat, Q  the bad guy, Q 
the. . .*

* . . . exasperating, annoying, entity I had the good 
luck to fall in love with. *  

There was silence in Picard's head for a moment, and 
then, as he stood in the doorway to his bathroom, he felt 
a brief hard embrace.  *Now don't you have a job to do, 
Captain?*


By the time Picard got the morning staff meeting 
underway, Q was still trying to grow accustomed to the 
odd feeling of not being able to control the body he was 
in.  He'd had a bad moment as Picard sat down and Crusher 
had leaned toward Picard to tell him that she had sent 
the final draft of an article to the FMA Journal.  Q's 
instinct was to lean back and maintain distance, and he 
felt a strange dizziness when Picard leaned closer to 
Beverly in order to tell her that he was interested in 
reading the article.

"I've worked on it for so long that I think it's 
glaringly obvious," Crusher muttered to the captain as 
the rest of the staff settled into their chairs.  "Damn 
journals."

Picard chuckled and again Q felt unsettled.  *What's so 
funny?* he asked.

*Beverly.  She *always* says that.  The FMA takes forever 
to accept articles and then they ask for an average of 
three different revisions, and half the time they change 
readers on her.  This one's based on her research into 
Develati pressure point healing.  We were on Develat over 
a year ago.*  Picard moved slightly in his chair.  *Are 
you all right?*

*Fine,* Q replied.  He forced himself to relax and accept 
that Jean-Luc just wasn't going to move the same way he 
did when in his own Human body.  He didn't like the 
feeling very much and he wondered if he could go a whole 
day like this.  It wasn't as if he didn't know what to 
expect.  He'd been observing Humans and this Human in 
particular for a long time, and of course he had his 
memories of the horrible time he had spent bereft of his 
powers and trapped in a Human body.  This was easier than 
that, but it still wasn't fun.

As Picard got the staff meeting under way, Q also 
wondered why he'd agreed to this; he was already bored 
out of his mind. He knew that a meeting like this was 
necessary but he couldn't help but feel that Picard was 
wasting his time here.  There were so many interesting 
things that they could be doing, and instead here they 
were in this room listening to LaForge go on about a 
glitch in the secondary environmental controls.  Q 
wondered what Picard was thinking and then he remembered 
what Jean-Luc had said two nights ago when he'd proposed 
this.   Jean-Luc wanted his lover to experience what he 
experienced, to feel what he felt.  But Q wasn't doing 
that, he was still observing.  True, he felt the physical 
sensation, but he knew that Picard had wanted him to go 
deeper than that.  It was a tricky technical problem 
really, trying to experience Jean-Luc's emotions without 
totally invading his thoughts at the same time.  It took 
a few minutes to figure the logistics out and Q knew that 
he wasn't going to be able to avoid picking up Picard's 
surface thoughts.  *Is this going to interfere too much?* 
Q asked once he thought he had himself settled in.

*I don't  think so, but if it does, I'll let you know.*  
There was a pause, during which Q felt Jean-Luc's 
gratitude and his love.  *Thank you.*

*Only for you Jean-Luc, only for you.*  Q fell silent 
then and tried to pay attention.

End 2/4

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(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

Comments: Authenticated sender is <asceml@popmail.mcs.net>
From: "ASCEML" <asceml@popmail.mcs.net>
To: "(ASCEML)"< (asceml@aol.com)>
Date: Sat, 21 Mar 1998 05:55:46 +0000
X-Distribution: Moderate
Subject: ASCEML - REP: ACT Chap 5, 3/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
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From:
 ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
 NEW: ACT Chap 5, 3/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter Five
3/4
disclaimers in 1/4



It was totally different from merely watching.   Picard 
had a surface awareness of Q's presence, but Q was 
surprised at how quickly the captain adapted to the idea 
that Q was there watching him.  Of course Picard had 
lived for seven years with the knowledge that Q could be 
watching him at any moment, and Q had always wondered how 
much of what Jean-Luc had done had been for that 
audience.  Now, as Picard relaxed and moved on with the 
meeting, Q realized very few of Jean-Luc's actions as 
Captain of the Enterprise had been done to impress Q or 
to persuade him that Picard was right about the Human 
potential.  As he'd said the other night, he had to live 
in the reality the universe presented him with.  
Fortunately,  he had enough stubbornness and enough self-
discipline to go about his business ignoring the feeling 
of being watched.  

Q had watched Picard's meetings before and when he was 
being fair, he knew that they were important on a number 
of levels.  Now, however, he felt what they *meant* to 
Jean-Luc, how important it was for the captain to know 
that he was working *with* his senior staff, not merely 
commanding them.  As Worf gave an analysis of the 
Telemachi Ring's military capabilities, Picard was 
concentrating intently on the Klingon's words, weighing 
them against his own observations and those of Riker. In 
his normal Q form, Q was accustomed to perceiving the 
world around him in the patterns of energy that 
everything gave off. Here, inside Picard's emotional 
center, he saw his lover's feelings as colors that he was 
able to read the same way he read another Q's speech 
patterns.  When Picard concentrated, the colors become 
more intense and focused.  

As Worf finished and Picard and Riker began to ask 
questions, Q saw the intense pride Jean-Luc had for his 
people as a steady glow of silver light.  Picard didn't 
see it that way, but Q couldn't help but notice that it 
seemed to be connected to Jean-Luc's thought centers, as 
if the pride he felt made it easier for him to "see" the 
military options  that Riker and Worf were discussing. 

Pride, of course, wasn't all Picard felt.  There was a 
cool bluish pleasure that the captain felt at being in 
command of a group that worked this well together.  That 
pleasure had a tinge of possessiveness to it, and Q 
remembered Picard once admitting that he wanted  to know 
that his people were the best and that they worked for 
*him*.  It was also very different than the hot red 
pleasure of sex or the warm gold pleasure of love that Q 
was accustomed to feeling from Picard.   *How Human,* Q 
mused to himself.  *Cool for the "lofty" feelings, and 
warm for the "earthy" feelings.*  

All in all, he wasn't learning anything that he already 
didn't *know,* but, as Jean-Luc had pointed out, 
*knowing* was different than *feeling.*  Knowing was 
concrete and certain and not subjective in any way.  
Knowing Picard's pride in his people was far different 
than being able to feel it, to ascribe an constantly 
changing energy signature to that emotion. The silvery 
white of Picard's pride didn't remain one constant shade, 
instead, it fluctuated between various intensities and 
mixed with the colors and energy signatures of several 
different emotions. 

Q had actually felt Picard's emotions like this before, 
of course, when they'd joined mind-to-mind, or when 
Picard was so far into what was happening in a scene that 
he projected his feelings for Q to share.  But in all 
those times, Q had never really known how Jean-Luc felt 
about anyone else.  He'd never really thought it 
mattered.  As far as Q had always been concerned, his 
interest in others was solely based on how they 
interacted with Jean-Luc.  Now he was given the 
opportunity to watch how the patterns of Human connection 
worked, even if it was from the point of view of someone 
as seemingly removed from the people around him as Jean-
Luc was.

The entity couldn't help but compare this situation with 
the last time he'd been near a Staff Meeting, when he'd 
eavesdropped to discover what Picard's people felt about 
their captain in light of his new relationship. Although 
he'd learned some interesting things, the price had been 
pretty high.  Now he was going to be able to learn almost 
the opposite, not what Picard's officers thought about 
their captain, but what their captain felt about them.  
In fact, given "where" he was in Picard's consciousness, 
he was able to feel emotions that Picard was only 
subliminally aware of.  *I'm pretty deep,* Q thought to 
his lover at one point.  *I may be invading your privacy 
a little.*

*If you see anything in there that you think I need to 
know about let me know,* Picard replied.  *After all, you 
know so much about me already, I doubt that anything you 
discover will surprise you too much.  Now let me pay 
attention, please.* 

"And you and Mr. LaForge experienced no difficulties 
working with the Telemachi Communications  Department to 
establish secure channels to our nearby listening 
outposts?" Picard asked Data.

As the android explained that the Telemachi  
communications equipment was very compatible with 
Federation technology, Q smiled to himself, and directed 
his attention back to Picard's feelings for his people.  
Not too surprisingly, the main emotion Picard felt was 
that silvery pride again.   Q was discovering that that 
cool light seemed to be one of the constants of Picard's 
command persona.  It didn't feel like the same arrogant 
pride with which the captain had once dismissed Q's offer 
to join the crew.  Q went deeper, trying to discover the 
different "colors" of that pride.  The captain felt sort 
of gold paternalism, of course, which was mostly directed 
toward Data and Riker, but extended to the rest of them 
as well, all except Beverly.  For her, Picard still felt 
a sort of pale rose colored affection, but that affection 
was tinged with a certain amount of gratitude that she'd 
accepted the changes in her old friend and had moved on.  
He was surprised, and Q noticed, a little chagrined at 
the knowledge that Beverly had chosen Riker as a lover, 
but there was no jealousy there.  

Buried in his attempts to understand Jean-Luc's feelings, 
Q didn't pay much attention to the actual discussion that 
went on during the meeting.  Some sort of deal had been 
worked out with the Telemachi, and everyone seemed a 
little smug about that, including Picard.  Worf was still 
worried about the Romulans, and in his inner thoughts, 
far away from Picard's consciousness, Q had to admit that 
for once, the Klingon's paranoia was totally justified.  
He was surprised at Picard's feelings toward Worf.  Jean-
Luc was well aware that Worf regarded him the way a 
knight would have once regarded his liege lord.  What 
amused Q was that Picard was not only deeply touched by 
the honor Worf did him, but he also evinced a rough iron 
determination to live up to it.  Picard, like his 
chivalric French ancestors, knew that the debt of honor 
worked both ways.  Again, Q smiled to himself, and 
wondered if he'd mention this to Jean-Luc or not.  He 
certainly wasn't going to mention that Picard's own 
dedication as Q's slave was similar,  and that Q felt 
very keenly the need to live up to Picard's expectations. 
*I probably don't *need* to tell him that,* he thought; 
Picard was probably already well aware of it.

Q was so deep that he was genuinely startled when Picard 
stood up.  

*Are you all right?* Picard asked.  Q realized that the 
meeting was over and that Picard was alone in the 
observation lounge.

*It's . . . difficult,* Q replied.  *I have to be careful 
not to get *too* caught up in your feelings.*

*Surely they're not all *that* compelling?*

*Compelling?  Jean-Luc, everything about you is 
compelling.  But, no, it's not that.  It's just that . . 
. what you feel, your feelings . . . they're so intense.  
I'm worried about . . .*  Oh, it was hard to admit it, 
but Q owed Jean-Luc so much that he didn't dream of not 
telling him.  *I'm afraid of . . . getting lost in here.*  
Q felt the sharp stab of worry in Picard's stomach.

*I'm sorry, I should never have . . .*

*No," Q interrupted.  *I can handle it.  It's like you 
worrying about getting lost in a scene.  When the scene 
is over and you've had time to come back, you're fine.  
I'll be all right, Jean-Luc, I promise you that.*

Q felt the short nod.  *If you have to pull out . . .*

Q took advantage of their mental closeness to make Jean-
Luc feel his amusement.  *Have I ever pulled out?*

*Only when I least want you to.*

Picard let it rest, although Q could feel his lover's 
worry hovering near the surface for a moment.  He then 
felt something like an iron band push that worry down and 
aside.  Picard drew a deep breath and rose from his 
chair.  *Onward,* he thought.

*So where to now?* Q asked.  Picard wasn't headed for the 
bridge, and Q felt his own brief moment of relief as they 
entered the turbolift.  The bridge and all it represented 
was still a little more than Q was ready to deal with.

*You're going to love this,* Picard replied.   *I'm 
inspecting the Shuttlebays.*

*This is fun?*

*This is part of the job, Q.  Sometimes the job is fun, 
sometimes it's boring.*

*I don't suppose you'd skip the boring parts for once?*

*What do you think?*  Picard forestalled any answer by 
exiting on Deck Four.

As far as Q was concerned, the inspection was a huge 
waste of time.  Unlike the meeting, whose purpose made 
sense to a Q, this was just dull, plodding routine, 
something the Q never bothered with.   *Why do this?* he 
wondered, taking care not to let his thoughts spill over 
to Jean-Luc's awareness.  *Riker or Data could do this, 
and Data would probably be a better choice for it. Why 
waste a captain's time on trivia?*  

Remembering that he was here to understand how Picard 
felt about his command, Q forced himself again to pay 
attention to what Picard was feeling. As Picard went over 
his checklist and inspected the shuttles in the company 
of the Flight Deck Officer, he spoke with the pilots and 
the maintenance crews, greeting people by name and making 
it obvious that he remembered who they were.  As the 
captain inquired after people and their interests and 
their families, Q began to understand and he was a little 
surprised.  Picard knew full well that the inspection had 
nothing to do with readiness or any of that and 
everything to do with what these people thought of their 
captain.  It struck Q as being a bit of cynical 
manipulation and he was rather taken aback.  True, Picard 
had once admitted that he was good at manipulating the 
people around him, but Q had to wonder how his lover, 
with his lofty morals, justified this.  

Q, of course, knew of the intense loyalty that the crew 
of the Enterprise felt toward their captain, and now he 
was seeing how that loyalty was earned.  It wasn't just 
Picard's bravery, or leadership in times of crisis, but 
his quiet, understated charisma, and his focused interest 
in everything.  Although these people couldn't see that 
heightened colors of that concentration, they could feel 
the effect.  They all knew that a routine inspection was 
far from exciting, and yet Picard looked and sounded 
interested.  Probably, Q mused, because he *was* 
interested, 

And then Q realized that, in spite of the fact that 
Picard was doing this to earn that loyalty, he also *was* 
interested in what he was doing, and interested in the 
people under his command.  It was an interest that 
manifested itself to Q's reading as a sort of sunny 
yellow that was connected with the warmer gold of that 
paternal concern.  It seemed to work both ways, and the 
Cynical Manipulator wasn't really as much a part of 
Picard as the Proud Captain was.  Again, Q felt that 
silver of his lover's pride in this ship and her crew.  
It was enough to make a Q laugh, directing all the power 
of that intense glow of sliver-white feeling at this 
silly little piece of technology and the people who cared 
for it, but Q wasn't laughing.  He wasn't sure what he 
was feeling and he resolved to think about it at some 
later date.  Having everything he *knew* be reinforced by 
what Picard *felt* made him worry about the things he 
didn't know.   He struggled with those concerns for a 
moment and then managed to put them aside.  Not for the 
first time, he envied the iron band of Jean-Luc's 
control.. 

"And now, Mr. Yuan, I should probably take a look at the 
main flight simulator," Picard said to the Flight Deck 
Officer, as Q again became aware of outside events.  

"It's all ready Captain.  It think it will live up to 
your expectations."

"Shh," Picard said, and Q could feel an anticipatory 
purplish glee bubbling under Picard's serious facade.  "I 
don't want to know any more."

"Aye sir."  Yuan led the way to the flight simulator and 
Picard  walked through the doors and looked at the plain 
holographic grid.  He was grinning now that there was no 
one to see him.

*Ready for something a little more interesting?* the 
captain asked Q.  Before Q could answer, Picard tapped 
his comm-badge.  "Go ahead, Lieutenant."

Without warning, they were in a small spacecraft.  "A 
runabout," Picard said, as he slid into the pilot's 
chair, "this ought to be fun."  Almost as soon as the 
words were out of his mouth, the little ship lurched 
alarmingly and its status board was covered in amber and 
red lights.

Picard was right; this *was* fun, in a horribly atavistic 
way.  Although Jean-Luc's mind knew that this wasn't 
real, his body wasn't so sure and responded to the 
situation with a surge of adrenaline.  Q had experienced 
the "fight or flight' syndrome as a Human before, and 
he'd hated it.  Now, knowing that he was perfectly safe, 
he found himself leaving his concerns behind and sharing 
Picard's fierce enjoyment of the predicament that the 
simulator offered up..

The predicament was serious, the runabout's most 
sophisticated sensors were out, as was the port nacelle 
and several of the attitude thrusters.  To top it off, 
they were flying in an asteroid  field and there seemed 
to be someone on their tail.  Q could feel Picard's 
concentration as he skillfully maneuvered the runabout, 
dodging asteroids and phaser blasts.  The captain's pulse 
was pounding and there was a tight smile on his lips as 
he dropped the runabout in between two asteroids that 
were terrifyingly close to one another.  Sliding behind 
one of them, Picard vented drive plasma from the failed 
nacelle just as their pursuer attempted to follow them.  
A touch to the right control and the plasma ignited, 
causing the enemy ship to fly blindly into the nearer of 
the two asteroids. 

As the force of the collision caused the asteroid to 
break up, Picard yelled, "Hang on!" and flung the 
runabout out of the way of the exploding rock.  The 
ship's structural integrity field groaned in protest and 
for a moment Q thought that Jean-Luc had asked too much 
of the runabout.  He was wrong, as, with a few deft 
movements, the captain activated his shock harness and 
cut the ship's internal gravity.   Without the strain of 
having to maintain gravity, the runabout had enough power 
to fly more smoothly, Q was dimly aware that part of the 
elation Picard was feeling was due to the lack of 
gravity, but he was mostly reveling in that elation, the 
feeling of living when you should, by all rights, be very 
dead.  A few more minutes of flying, some of it tricky 
but not too dangerous, and they were out of the asteroid 
field.  There was a chime and the bland female voice of 
the computer spoke.  

"Please prepare for resumption of normal gravity."  
Gravity resumed and, a moment later, the runabout faded 
around Picard, leaving him standing on the black and 
yellow grid of a holosuite.

"Will Riker," Picard said, as he calmed down.  Q could 
feel the blue of the extreme satisfaction Picard felt for 
having done as well as he had mixed with a paler version 
of the silver of pride, this time a pride in his own 
accomplishments that the captain rarely allowed himself 
to feel.  To Q the feelings and the colors were dazzling, 
and he once more realized that *knowing* about Picard's 
emotional control, and seeing/feeling the colored 
emotions behind it were two very different things.  

Picard's voice interrupted Q's musing.   "This was one of 
Will's, I'm sure of it."  He paused on his way to the 
door.  *Did you like that?*

Forgoing the vagaries that came with even telepathic 
speech, Q simply opened up and let Jean-Luc feel how much 
he'd enjoyed it.  His lover had been showing off, 
spreading his plumage to impress Q.  And Q was impressed, 
not to mention touched that Jean-Luc let him see this 
playful, almost silly, side of his personality.   Picard 
had set it up so that he would do something that he was 
amazingly good at, just so that he could remind himself 
that he was good at it and so that his lover could see 
him being good at it.  It was a totally self indulgent 
thing to do and Q knew Picard hated being seen as self 
indulgent.  Q sent his awareness of all of this and his 
gratitude that Picard had wanted him along for the ride.  
*Thank you,* he said after a moment.  *Of course, you're 
insane and no one in their right mind should let you 
anywhere near a conn.*  He felt Picard's flush of pride 
at the tease, and then felt something else.  *Are you 
always this . . . wound up . . . after playing in the 
simulator?*  A second later, he added, *so that's what 
those blushes of yours feel like.*  

*Stop it, Q.  I have to walk though that door and look 
cool and collected.*  Picard's thoughts were tinged with 
amusement, and his mood was such that Q knew no amount of 
teasing from Q could fluster him. 

*Pity, I like you looking hot and bothered.*

*Poor dear,* Picard sent back, and then walked through 
the door, almost daring Q to keep teasing him.  Q didn't; 
in fact, he mentally awarded points to Picard. 

*Later,* the entity thought, *I'll make him pay for it 
later.*

As Picard walked out onto the flight deck, a round of 
applause went up, and both the captain and Q could tell 
that it was not mere flattery.  Picard smiled slightly 
and then turned to Yuan.  "One of Commander Riker's?"

"Yes sir.  You beat his best time by three minutes."

"I see.  Of course, I'm sure he'll find that out and try 
to beat my time."  

"Data to Picard."

"Picard here."

"Captain, we have reached . . ."

"On my way Data," Picard said hastily, cutting the 
android off.  Q was surprised by the curtness of Picard's 
response; it seemed unusual given Picard's good mood.  
Then he remembered that Picard didn't want him to know 
where they were going.  Again he forced himself not to 
peek.

Worried about his ambivalent feelings toward Picard's 
command, Q was braced, he thought, for anything.  What he 
got as they stepped out onto the bridge, however, amazed 
him.  Picard's emotions were complex as he swiftly looked 
the bridge over.  There was a pride and possessiveness  
that were very similar to what he'd felt in the meeting, 
only far brighter, almost blinding.  This was the center 
of Jean-Luc's domain, and this ship with all her grace 
and power, and her highly trained crew were Picard's.  He 
commanded here and what he said was made so.  But that 
fierce bright pride was tempered by a warm orange 
gratitude and a kind of greenish amazement, as if, after 
over nine years on this ship, Picard could still not 
believe his luck.  There was still something of the small 
child who had received, against all hope, a gift he'd 
wanted for years.

End 3/4

-- 
***************************************************
*    Ruth    |     Visit GiffStein Productions    *
*   Gifford  |  http://www.cyberg8t.com/ereshkgl/ *
*-------------------------------------------------*
*    alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated      *
*    Resistance is possible, but why bother?      *
*-------------------------------------------------*
* Better living thru TrekSmut--See for Yourself!  *
*    http://home.earthlink.net/~ereshkigal        *
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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)


========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 5, 4/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 20:15:22 GMT

From:
        ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
        NEW: ACT Chap 5, 4/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)

At the Center of Things
Chapter Five
4/4
disclaimers in 1/4



As the captain settled into his chair and looked at the 
viewscreen, he was also feeling an excitement that was 
quite different from the playful excitement he had felt 
in the flight simulator.  The viewscreen was displaying 
the Solcari Nebula, a beautiful cloud of autumn colored 
gases that were occasionally sparked with gold.  Q 
recognized it instantly, but that didn't matter.  What 
mattered was the almost religious awe that Picard felt as 
he looked on something that had never been seen by any 
Federation ship this close up.  "Computer, lower light by 
50%," Picard said softly.  It was obviously a commonplace 
command, because no one on the bridge looked at all 
surprised.

*Look at it,* Picard said to Q.  *Isn't it gorgeous?*  
Right then, Q felt one more feeling from his lover, one 
that was far more important than all the others and 
seemed to be made up of all the colors Q had felt from 
Jean-Luc all day.  This place, this nebula, this mission 
on this ship, all meant more to Picard than any other 
such mission.  They had this intense personal meaning 
invested in them simply because Q was there to share the 
sight and the feelings and the *moment;* he was sharing 
Picard's beloved "now," with Jean-Luc.  Yes, Picard loved 
the ship and the career that had brought him to this 
moment, but one of the main reasons he loved them now, 
was that they had brought him to Q.  New sights, new 
places, had always been meaningful to Jean-Luc, but Q now 
knew that those things had always been touched with a 
hint of sadness, because there was no one that Picard 
could truly *share* them with.  Without any attempt at 
deeper analysis, Q simply absorbed all the feeling that 
Picard was pouring into him and into the moment, and he 
didn't know how to respond, how to show Jean-Luc what 
this meant to *him*.  Looked at in the light of this 
revelation, all of Q's worries about the Enterprise and 
Starfleet seemed petty.

*No, not petty,* Picard thought softly.  *Understandable.  
But *now* do you see?  Do you understand how much this 
means to me?  I see this and part of me knows what the 
gaseous content is, and that those sparks are plasma 
discharges, and that early Telemachi astronomers called 
this the Portal of the Beyond.  I *know* all of that, but 
a bigger part of me is looking at it and thinking how 
beautiful it is and how seeing it is worth all the 
trouble it took to get here.  And it's so much better 
than I expected it to be, because *you* are here.  
Twenty, thirty years from now, someone will mention the 
Solcari Nebula, and I'll think, 'Yes, I saw that with Q, 
and it was perfect.'*  

He fell silent as he looked around the bridge.  Q noticed 
that everyone on the bridge was looking at the 
viewscreen, even  the stolid, practical Lt. Goldman at 
Tactical kept looking up from her board with a delighted 
smile on her face.  When she saw Picard notice her, 
instead of being embarrassed at being caught out, her 
smile got broader.  And now she and her response would be 
part of Jean-Luc's moment too.  Picard was pleased that 
not only could *he* see this sight, but that others could 
see it too. 

Jean-Luc was right, Q knew, and he always had been.  As 
he'd said on the night when they'd first made love, he 
*had* to be out here, doing this job.  That strength that 
Q loved, that concentration and intensity, and everything 
about Jean-Luc that made him so special came from Jean-
Luc's deep abiding knowledge that he was in his right 
place.  This was why he'd done the truly amazing things 
he'd done; it explained how he'd held out as long as he 
had against the Borg, and the Cardassian with his lights, 
and why he'd clung to his duty when Q had abandoned him.  
He'd done it all because some deep inner part of him felt 
so connected to the life he lived.  This was the bedrock 
on which everything else that Jean-Luc was existed, and 
he could no more survive without it than he could survive 
without his brain.  This was home, far more than La Barre 
or even Earth; this certainty of purpose was the home 
Jean-Luc carried with him.  And now, it was the home to 
which he'd brought his lover.  Q would still occasionally 
resent the time this vocation took up, but he would never 
again resent the vocation itself.

Q had known that some of his thoughts were spilling over 
into Jean-Luc's mind; in fact, he'd wanted them to.  And 
yet he was surprised when Picard rose from his chair 
quickly, and headed toward the ready room door.  "You 
have the bridge, Mr. Data," he said just before the doors 
slid open.

"Please," he said as soon as the doors shut behind him.  
"I'm sorry, but I really need to *see* you right now."

As soon as Q carefully extricated himself from Jean-Luc 
and materialized in front of his lover, Picard reached 
out and pulled him into a strong embrace, clinging to him 
with almost inhuman strength.  "Yes," he said, his voice 
muffled because his face was half buried in Q's neck.  
"This *is* home, and I had to leave the bridge right now 
because I was afraid I'd start crying in front of 
everyone.  I want nothing more in the universe than to be 
who I am and to have you with me.  Oh God Q . . ."  He 
did start to cry then, soft, shaky tears as he held Q 
close.  After a moment, Q turned them both and then 
turned Jean-Luc until he faced the window.  

Jean-Luc could see the nebula then, just the trailing 
edge of it, but it was there, glorious and golden.  Q had 
wrapped his arms around him and he could feel that 
closeness on every level, the comfort of Q's Human form 
at his back, the emotional closeness, the psychic 
connection that Q left open to him.  For an unknown 
amount of time they remained like that, connected by the 
love and the simple sharing of feelings that took on more 
and more meaning every moment.  

*Everything I ever thought was love was just leading up 
to this,* Picard thought.  *This is the . ..  this is the 
Real Object and all the rest of it was simply a shadow on 
the cave wall.*

*At least you had the shadow,* Q thought back.  *This is 
. . . you are . . . *we* are the center of my universe 
now.  Nothing in my existence had ever been as . . . real 
as this.*

A moment later, the Picard's terminal chimed, announcing 
the end of the Beta watch.  "Oh good," Q murmured.  He 
snapped his fingers and they were in Picard's quarters.  
Picard was still too overwhelmed by his emotions to 
protest the fact that he hadn't been seen leaving his 
ready room.   He could still see the nebula, because they 
were standing in the same pose at one of his windows.  
The only difference seemed to be the fact that their 
clothes had disappeared during the transition.

"We've never done it in front of a nebula before," Q 
murmured in his ear after a while.  "Of course, you're 
missing a vital piece of attire, boy."

A few minutes later, Picard was bent over, resting his 
weight on a window sill that normally wasn't there.  Q 
was teasing him with lube slicked fingers and Jean-Luc 
was squirming, and spreading his legs in a vain effort to 
rush his Master.  "So impatient," Q said.

"Oh please," Jean-Luc murmured," I *need* you so much, 
Master."

"Oh do you?  Well, I needed you, boy, back after you 
showed off in that flight simulator."

"I'm sorry, Sir," Picard replied.

"So was I," Q replied.  "You shouldn't tease me like that 
johnny, it's not nice."  Q paused.  "You need to be 
reminded of your place, but later, boy, later.  Right 
now, I'm going to make damn sure you remember this 
nebula."

"Please," Picard moaned.  "Please Master, fuck your 
johnny."

And Q did just that, grabbing Picard's hips with a tight 
grip and moving carefully, letting the tension build up 
slowly.  It was hard to hold back, even for a Q, because 
he and Jean-Luc fit so well together, not just 
physically, although the feel of all that tight heat 
wrapped around Q's cock was perfect, but also in what 
they got out of this.  For over 8 hours, Q had been with 
Picard as the captain commanded, and it had been easy to 
see the arrogant man Q had first met so many years ago.  
To compare that captain with the collared slave who 
spread his legs to let Q fuck him harder and deeper, who 
breathlessly begged for more, was wonderful.  Letting go 
of Jean-Luc's hip with one hand, Q traced the scars that 
marked Picard as his.  "You belong to me, Mon Capitaine," 
he said.  "Jean-Luc Picard, the Captain of Starfleet's 
flagship, is my slave."

"Yes Master . . . oh yes . . ."

"I can do anything I want to you."

"Yes . . . Master . . . all yours . . ."

"That man, that captain, who can fly rings around almost 
any pilot in the fleet, is bent over in front of me 
taking it in the ass, begging for more."  Q couldn't help 
the wave of feeling that rushed over him as Jean-Luc 
arched his hips and let him in further.

"Please . . .oh please"

"Not yet."  Q snapped.  "Not for a while." 

Picard gritted his teeth and stared at the nebula.  No 
matter how often he had to do this, force himself not to 
come, he was always sure that he wouldn't be able to do 
it.  It seemed, sometimes, as the Rule that said he 
wasn't to come without permission was in direct 
opposition to the one that said he was never supposed to 
hide his reactions and feelings.  It would be easier to 
have some control against this maddening buildup of heat 
and pressure, easier to ignore the feel of Q's hands hard 
on his hips and the way his Master's cock pounded into 
him if he could concentrate on silence.  But he couldn't, 
and so, in addition to everything else that was pushing 
him closer and closer to the brink, he had to listen to 
himself moaning and crying out.

"Oh . . . YES!" Jean-Luc yelled as Q slipped a hot, oiled 
hand around his hip and began stroking his cock.  "I 
can't . . ." Picard panted, in between moans.  "Oh . . . 
please Master . . . pleasepleaseplease . . ."

"No," Q replied, his voice steady.  He bent over Jean-
Luc's back and started nipping at Picard's shoulders and 
neck.

Picard was aware of nothing but the heady mix of 
sensations swirling through his body.  Q's teeth were 
sharp on his skin, and that hand was still strongly 
pumping his cock, and over it all was the rough driving 
rhythm of Q inside him.  He kept forcing his eyes open to 
stare at the nebula, and he tried to concentrate on it.  
It helped, but only a little, and he moved ever closer to 
the point where he'd either have to ask Q to stop, which 
was unthinkable, or come, which was equally unthinkable.  
And then he felt one more stimulus, one more sensation.  
Q's mind was pressing gently against his, seeking 
entrance to his thoughts.

Jean-Luc didn't hesitate; not only had they been so close 
all day that insisting on privacy seemed a little absurd, 
but right now, if Q wanted in, then Q was to be allowed 
in.  Picard tried to open himself as much as possible.  
*It's all yours, Master, all of me, mind and heart, body 
and soul. Yours!*

*Mine!* Q insisted fiercely, as he moved into Picard's 
mind, brushing his lover's pleasure centers in an effort 
to overwhelm Jean-Luc with pleasure.  He also poured in 
the pride he felt for this lover.  *You are perfection,* 
he insisted, *and you belong to me.  All that 
intelligence, all that ability, all that skill, all 
belongs to me and no one else.*

"No one . . . else . . ." Picard gasped aloud.  He 
remained as passive as possible, laying himself open 
mentally as he did physically, offering up everything he 
was, trusting in Q to see him through this.  

That trust hit Q like a phaser beam, cutting a white hot 
path of feeling through him.  One by one, Jean-Luc had 
lowered his defenses until he had given everything he was 
over to Q.  Q had always held the power of life and death 
over mortals, but until now, not one of them had ever 
*wanted* to give him that power.  For a moment, Q thought 
about taking them one step further; he trembled on the 
edge of  joining with Jean-Luc on a Q level, but then he 
noticed that Jean-Luc still had a few, deeply buried, 
subconscious concerns about losing himself in Q so much 
that he wouldn't be able to come back.  Resolving to wait 
until his lover was ready, Q backed off then, bringing 
the physical sensations they were still experiencing back 
to the forefront of their minds.  

Q could still feel what Picard was feeling and he 
marveled at the fulfillment that his lover found in 
submission.  Once more there was that sensation that this 
was where Jean-Luc needed to be, this was the counter-
balance that his life had lacked until Q came bursting on 
the scene.  Being with Q like this made Jean-Luc feel 
complete, and he could no more do without it than he 
could do without his command. There were still faint 
echoes of barriers that had stood between Jean-Luc's two 
selves, but more and more, he was accepting that those 
barriers were false, that he was who he was.

And then, Jean-Luc's body pulled Q back into the moment; 
the time had come when everything, the physical fucking, 
the emotions, the mental stimulus, were reaching their 
height.  Before Jean-Luc could climax on his own and feel 
that he'd broken one of his Rules, Q surrounded him with 
pleasure.  

Picard's world seemed to explode.  Q was everywhere, in 
his mind, and buried deep in his body.  No longer able to 
speak, Jean-Luc begged mentally for release, his whole 
body tense with the strain of holding back and his mind 
thrumming with need. 

*Yes,* Q whispered into his mind, and then Jean-Luc was 
given over to feeling.  He could feel it all so sharply, 
the incredible physical pleasure as his body convulsed in 
orgasm, the electrical spark as he gave off that energy Q 
loved so much, the emotional bond as it tightened with 
the entity who was Jean-Luc's . . .

"Master!" he screamed into the darkness that was swooping 
down on him.  That darkness was lit by the fierce light 
of Q's climax and Jean-Luc held himself open to it, 
trusting Q to see that he was safe.  The light and heat 
and energy surrounded him, filled him, until there was 
nothing but light and darkness.  The gold, and reds of 
the nebula before his eyes seemed to swirl with the light 
studded blackness behind it until Jean-Luc could bear it 
no longer.  As he felt his mind shutting down, unable to 
take the onslaught, everything slowly faded to tolerable 
levels.  He was fading with it, until the safe, 
comfortable, darkness surrounded him once more.  

Q had let their physical bodies fall to the floor, and 
now, with a simple thought, he moved them to Jean-Luc's 
bed.  Wrapping his lover up in his arms, Q maintained 
their mental contact until he was sure that Jean-Luc was 
all right.  Assured that he was and that all he needed 
now was time to recover, Q eased out of his mind and 
savored the simple Human pleasure of their physical 
closeness. 

He was far more drained by the day than he'd expected to 
be.  Tightening his hold on his lover, the entity 
marveled at his own luck.  How, after all the measureless 
time of his meaningless existence , had he managed to 
find the one thing that made life seem worthwhile?  It 
was almost enough to drive a Q to believe in some sort of 
Grand Scheme, or Higher Power, as absurd as that concept 
was.  But he didn't need religion to explain this.  It 
was simply that Q had found an even deeper level of 
reality than he had ever experienced.   Reality, he had 
told Jean-Luc, is what is.  Right now, Q thought, as he 
curled his Human body around the sleeping form of his 
lover, reality is Jean-Luc Picard.


End Chapter Five





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Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 6, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 20:15:29 GMT

From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 6, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)

Disclaimer (long version in Chapter One): Star Trek is 
the property of Paramount.  This version of it is the 
property of me.  This story involves m/m sex as well as 
bdsm.

At the Center of Things
by Ruth Gifford
(c)  1998


Chapter Six
Voices From the Past

"If I had to lose a mile
If I had to touch feelings
I would lose my soul
The way I do

I don't have to think
I only have to do it
The results are always perfect
And that's old news

Would you like to hear my voice
sweetened with emotion
Invented at your birth?"

"Oh Me"
Meat Puppets



"Six months surveying," Picard said to Admiral Ruah 
Brackett.  The Enterprise had put in at Starbase 323 in 
order to restock after the survey mission.  Picard hadn't 
been too surprised when Brackett just "happened" to be 
visiting the base on an "inspection tour."  "I hope I 
picked up a lot of points for that one."

"You did, particularly for all that information you 
managed to uncover from the neutrals."  She smiled.  "Not 
to mention the ones that aren't neutrals anymore.  You're 
the only one I know that could convince the Telemachi 
that opening negotiations with us would be a good idea."

"Trust me, I had a lot of help from the Romulans.  Rather 
short-sighted of the Empire, antagonizing the non-aligned 
systems like that."

"They're not short-sighted, Jean-Luc, just running 
scared."  The admiral smiled as she pushed her chair 
back.  "My compliments to your replicator, Captain; that 
was wonderful."

"I'll pass along your compliments to my sister-in-law.  
She sent me that meal as a Christmas present."  They 
moved into Picard's living area, and he gestured to the 
sofa.  "Still drinking Drambuie?"

"Still."  She accepted the glass he handed her and waited 
until he had poured himself a glass of Armagnac.  "To the 
oh so evasive captain of the Enterprise."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't exactly meant as one.  You've been dodging me 
all night."  

Picard sighed as Q's words echoed in his memory.

***///***

"And just what are you going to tell your nosy friend, 
Jean-Luc?  'By the way, Admiral, I'm having really hot 
sex with an enemy of the Federation.'"

"If you think that I'm going to believe that you haven't 
read your file, you're sadly mistaken," Picard said 
mildly.  "You're not classified as an enemy, and you know 
it."  He smiled slightly.  "Last I heard, Intelligence 
still considers you a wild card in the grand scheme of 
the Federation's politics, and they mostly seem to be 
glad that we haven't heard anything from you recently."  

"Well," Q mumbled, bending to bite at Jean-Luc's neck and 
smiling into the warm skin there as he heard a moan.  
"I've been a little distracted lately . . ."  He pulled 
away suddenly, and looked down at Picard slightly flushed 
face.  "You're avoiding my question, Johnny."  

"Actually I've been thinking about this for several 
months now.  I'm not going to tell Command what's going 
on between you and me."  He sighed.  "I probably should, 
but as long as it doesn't affect my command, there's no 
need for them to know.  That's total self-justification, 
but I think I'm entitled to my private life."  He smiled 
slightly, trying not to show how much the deception 
bothered him.

"Do you really believe that?"

"I'm *trying* to believe it.  Or more importantly, I 
*have* to believe it in order to believe in Starfleet 
itself." 

Q slid around in the bed until he was sitting behind 
Jean-Luc.  Picard sighed as he felt the pressure of 
strong, hot, oily hands along his neck.  "Oh?" the entity 
asked.

"Mmmm . . ." Picard's voice rumbled wordlessly.  "I've 
done what I did when I was involved with Neela.  I've 
told the people whose job it is to measure my 
objectivity."  Q bore down strongly on a particularly 
tight knot of muscles.  He wasn't about to point out that 
Neela Darrin hadn't had the capacity to brainwash the 
entire crew if she so chose.  It didn't matter, in the 
end *Picard* not Riker, Troi, or Crusher, had been the 
one to realize that his feelings for Neela had 
compromised his objectivity.

"God, that feels good."

"The least I could do."

***///***

Now, taking strength from his certainty that his 
relationship with Q was *right*, Picard began by telling 
Brackett  the truth.  "I had a very disastrous love 
affair."

"So Phillipa was right."

"Did you make any money on it?"

Brackett actually looked a little hurt.  "I wouldn't bet 
on your emotional health."  When he nodded in an unspoken 
apology, she relented a little, and chuckled.  "That sort 
of thing is below the dignity of a Starfleet officer of 
my rank.  Are you all right now, Johnny?"

"It hasn't been easy and it took almost dying to get it 
through my thick head that maybe I should let the past be 
the past."  He sighed slightly; he'd moved from the 
truth, however truncated, into fabrication.

"Why am I not surprised?" she asked softly.  "You've 
always been a little dense when it comes to l'amour."  
She laughed.  "I've never asked, but what possessed you 
to make that bet with Astazi?"

"Oh Lord, Ruah," Picard said, shaking his head.   "That's 
ancient history; can't you let it go?  Your brother made 
a mint off me, and I got grounded for a semester."

"If I'd been on the staff and not merely a senior, I'd 
have advised throwing you out."   Brackett smiled to take 
the sting out of her words.  She would have done no such 
thing, of course; she'd always liked Picard and in 
addition to the attraction she'd felt toward him, he also 
made her feel a little protective.  It came of having 
known him back when the arrogance didn't have any heroic 
deeds to back it up, back when that attitude of his was 
much more obviously covering up a kind of shy pride.  She 
finished her drink and he rose to get her a refill.  "I'd 
have been wrong, but still . . ."

"Paris *did* recommend that I get tossed.  
Fortunately no one listened to him, or I'd be flying a 
cruise-liner on the Earth to Risa run."

"Fate worse than death."  She saluted him with the glass 
he handed her.  "I didn't know that, but it doesn't surprise 
me; he never liked you very much."

"It was mutual," Jean-Luc said dryly.  Suddenly he 
grinned and Brackett saw the wild young cadet she'd known 
all those years ago look at her though those deepset 
hazel eyes.  In fact, several times during the course of 
the evening, she had been reminded of the way he'd been 
back then.  He seemed younger than he had five years ago 
when she'd sent him to Romulus to look for Spock.  And, 
damn him, he just got better looking every time she saw 
him.  She mentally shook her head at her flight of fancy, 
and paid attention to what he was saying.  "Phoenix 
Squadron still beat Nova that year.  Even without me."

"Yeah, and Gary made another mint."

"How is Gary?"  Picard listened as Brackett filled him in 
on her brother.  She then moved on to fleet gossip and he 
got caught up, laughing at the latest jokes and shaking 
his head over the odd pairings.  

"And on top of it all," the Admiral said, with the air of 
someone saving the best for last, "McNeil is getting 
married."

"You are talking about *Sara* McNeil?"  Picard's mind 
flashed back to a bar and Jack introducing his Academy 
roommate to his captain.  All those years and Jean-Luc 
still remembered a penetrating pair of gray eyes and that 
one dramatic white braid against the black waterfall of 
her hair.  With a blink, he came back to the present.  
"With the leather, and the games, and a lover in every 
port?"

"The one and only.  She's making Admiral this month and 
she's going to marry Dr. Kaveren Anderson from Starbase 
92.  They've been together for a long time now, and I 
guess McNeil decided that a promotion deserved some sort 
of gesture."  She paused, and then looked at him.  "Jean-
Luc, was it Beverly?"

"Was who . . .?  Oh, no, it wasn't.  If there ever really 
was anything to that, it was over a long time ago.  I 
suspect that she and Will are going to be setting a date 
sometime soon."

"So I've heard.  Don't look at me like that; I'm in 
Intelligence for God's sake."  He laughed with her and 
the conversation rambled on.  Nothing more was said about 
his personal life. 

As Brackett left, she could tell he was relieved that she 
hadn't questioned him further.  She had thought about it, 
but had decided that since he could obviously still do 
his job, any further questions would simply be a matter 
of prurient curiosity.  He could do his job, and that was 
enough for the Admiral.  He looked happy, and that would 
have to be enough for the friend. 

***

"Well?" Q demanded.

"Well what? You mean you didn't listen in?"

Q reached out and slapped Picard's arm.  "Don't be 
sarcastic, boy."

"I told her I'd had a disastrous affair and that I was 
only now recovering from it.  Partly true, but still . . 
.  I don't like deceiving her."  He sighed, looking at Q.  
His lover was stretched out on the bed on his stomach, 
head propped on his hands.  Jean-Luc smiled; it was such 
a Human pose.  "Do I deliberately let myself forget that 
you're a god?"

"Flattery, my dear Jean-Luc, will get you far.  About 
Brackett, could you tell her the truth?  She is your 
friend, after all."

"If she weren't in Intelligence . .  Hell, these days, 
she *is* Intelligence.  It wouldn't be fair of me to put 
her in a situation where she'd have to put her friendship 
for me ahead of her job."  He sighed.  "You'd be seen as 
a very valuable ally, and sometimes we . . . we forget 
that the Prime Directive should apply to *us* as well as 
to less developed cultures."

Q looked at Picard curiously, wondering if his lover 
realized just how arrogant he really was.  Jean-Luc 
wasn't sure that Starfleet and the Federation Council 
could handle the temptation of having Q on their side, 
and so, all on his own, he had decided that they weren't 
going to be presented with that temptation.  Of course, 
he was right.  And that was the thing about Jean-Luc's 
arrogance, Q realized.  It was backed up the simple fact 
that, most of the time, Picard was *right.*  There was 
also that uncompromising sense of duty and honor the led 
Jean-Luc to really *believe* that he had the right to 
make decisions that would affect millions of lives.  
*You're such a Q,* Q thought, looking fondly at Picard.  
*Such an annoying arrogant son of a bitch.*  "I love 
you," he said aloud.  Jean-Luc's face lit up, and he 
smiled almost shyly.  *And you're so beautiful,* Q 
thought.  *No wonder I'm besotted.*

"It still surprises me," Picard said softly. 

"Well," Q drawled languidly, "it should.  It had better 
flatter you as well."

Jean-Luc began to chuckle.  "This sorry mortal, this 
obtuse piece of flotsam, is ever so grateful for whatever 
scraps of attention the great Q chooses to toss his way."

Q reached out and pinched Jean-Luc's bare thigh hard.  He 
smiled as he heard the little gasp that unexpected pain 
usually provoked in his lover.  "I thought I told you not 
to be sarcastic."

"It's an unreasonable request," Picard replied haughtily.  
Then he relaxed.  "Were you serious?"

"No, I just wanted an excuse to pinch you."

"You *own* me, you don't need an excuse.  Do you *want* 
me to start misbehaving just to get attention?"

"Anything but that."  There was a comfortable silence for 
a time and then Q spoke again.  "What did she say that's 
made you so quiet?"

"You told me that you investigated my past very 
thoroughly."  When Q nodded, Picard went on.  "Do you 
know who Sara McNeil is?"

"She was Jack Crusher's roommate at the Academy," Q said 
instantly.  "You met her over 20 years ago years ago in a 
bar, where both of you ignored Jack and your first 
officer as you talked non-stop to one another.  Later, 
when she was standing up to go buy another round, you 
accidentally closed your hand around her wrist and she 
damn near melted all over the table."  He ignored the 
familiar tug of jealousy.  Jean-Luc had been utterly 
captivated by McNeil, and Q knew that if things had been 
a little different, the brilliant engineer would have 
fulfilled a good number of Jean-Luc's buried fantasies 
way back then.

"Jack had told me that, 'an open mind is necessary with 
Sara.'" Picard said.  "When I grabbed her wrist and she 
responded, I couldn't help but wonder . . ."

"If she'd play the other way too."  

"Right," Picard admitted, amazed at how easy it was to 
discuss something that had terrified him at the time.  He 
could remember the dryness in his throat as his hand 
closed around Sara's wrist and her face softened in 
response to his touch.

"She would have.  In fact, she was wondering if you 
would."  He was certainly right there, Q remembered.  
McNeil had been planning her attack even as she let 
Picard lead her out of the bar by her wrist.  She'd seen 
something in him long before Q had bothered to even look 
for it, for all that he claimed to have gone back in time 
and investigated his lover so thoroughly.  Q suddenly 
realized that, aside from Vash, he'd never paid any kind 
of close attention to Jean-Luc's sex life other than 
noticing that the captain sometimes had one.  *I didn't 
want to look there.*  Aloud, he continued talking about 
Sara McNeil.  "And you never found out because ten 
minutes after you walked out of that bar, you  got called 
back to your ship and she to hers.  And you've wondered 
all those years, haven't you?"

"Yes.  But not any more."  Jean-Luc smiled again, and 
there was no doubt in his tone of voice.  "Please . . ."

"Yes?"

"Please, Master, may I wear my collar?"

"Go get it." Q smiled as well.  For Jean-Luc, the past 
was a closed book and that was a comforting thing for Q 
to remember at times like this.   For his Human lover, 
there was no going back and following a branch of time to 
find out where his actions could have lead him.  *Goodbye 
Sara McNeil, hello Q,* Q thought.  The sight of Picard 
crawling into the bedroom carrying his collar in his 
mouth, gave the entity that familiar thrill of ownership.  
*Mine,* Q thought.  *He's mine, and I had him like this 
first and I'll be the only one to ever have him like 
this.*  

It was, of course, still too soon for Q to admit that 
Jean-Luc was the first lover (of any kind) that he'd 
*wanted* to possess  to this degree.  It was even harder 
to admit that he had the occasionally frightening 
realization that no other being could mean to him what 
Jean-Luc meant.  That was too close to Q's private fear 
and he banished that type of thought as thoroughly as 
only a Q could. 

***

Two days later, Picard stood in Sick Bay, facing his CMO 
and a complicated array of scanners.  "Can we just get 
this over with?" he asked Crusher.  "I swear, I've never 
had a CMO that didn't make as much as possible out of a 
simple annual exam."  He was in an absurdly good mood in 
spite of his words, but that was the way he usually felt 
these days, so he hardly even noticed it anymore. 

"They cover that at Starfleet Medical," Beverly replied, 
responding to his good humor.  "Bedside Manner 101:  How 
to make your captain sweat."  She smiled at him and 
pointed.  "Boots on the Xs; you know the drill."  She 
hmmed slightly as she activated the various scanners.  He 
was, as usual, almost disgustingly  healthy, although she 
noticed that he'd put on a few kilos, which was a good 
thing after the gaunt thinness of the two years after Q 
left him.  When one of the diagnostic readouts blinked at 
her, she checked it.  *Scar tissue?  There?  Oh my . . . 
God.*  "Jean-Luc?" she said aloud, knowing that her voice 
was not as calm as she would have liked it to be.  She 
looked up from the forensic readout on her scanner array, 
all thoughts of joking gone.  "What on Earth is a signal 
whip?"

The question took Picard completely by surprise.  The 
look on Beverly's pale face indicated that she 
desperately wanted to hear that her scanners were wrong.  
*I should have expected this,* he thought.  He surprised 
himself by opening his mouth and replying in what sounded 
like a very matter of fact tone of voice.  "It's a type 
of single tailed whip that got its name because it was 
used in Alaska to signal dog sled teams.  It's very 
loud."  

"I see," she said, reaching for the same matter of fact 
tone of voice.  "And how did your back and rear end 
happen to come into contact with one?"

"Because I asked for it," he replied simply.

"You asked . . .?!"  While it was the answer she'd 
expected from his attitude, it wasn't the one she'd 
wanted to hear.  Unaware that she was clenching her 
fists, Crusher struggled to modulate her tone of voice.  
Screaming at him wasn't going to get her anywhere. "Jean-
Luc, those scars are thick; that had to have *hurt*."  It 
was an inane thing to say, but at least she wasn't 
shrieking:  "Are you out of your fucking mind?!!"

End 1/4

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 6, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 20:15:34 GMT

From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 6, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)



At the Center of Things
Chapter Six
2/4
disclaimers in 1/4



"Of course it hurt," Picard replied, and Crusher wondered 
if she was imagining the slight note of pride in his 
voice.  "There wouldn't be much point to it if it didn't 
hurt."  No, she hadn't just imagined it, the pride was 
certainly there.  

"And you *let* him do things like that to you?"  In spite 
of her resolve to keep to a level tone of voice, she 
could hear the anger in her voice.  *Come on, Doctor,* 
she told herself sternly, *you've seen the results of 
those sorts of games before.*  It didn't help; in fact, 
it made it worse.  She wasn't hopelessly naive, and the 
thought of Jean-Luc and Q doing those things . . .

"It's not exactly a matter of *letting* him do it, 
Beverly."  Picard shook his head as he tried to explain.  
"It's more a matter of *needing* him to do things like 
that."

She shook her head, her expression one of confusion, and 
although she didn't know it, a certain degree of 
distaste.  Her array beeped as it finished its cycle, and 
she automatically checked it.  Aside from the scars, 
there was nothing wrong with him at all.  "We're finished 
here," she said.  "But I really think we need to talk."  
She looked back at the sensor array.  "I can get rid of 
those scars if you want me to."

"No!"  Crusher flinched slightly at the swift response.  
"I'm sorry, Beverly, I didn't mean to snap.  I guess 
there are some things I need to explain."  He gestured 
toward her office and she nodded and led the way.

"Well?" she asked as the door closed and they sat down.

"I know this comes as a shock," he began, obviously 
choosing his words carefully.  She wanted to yell at him, 
to shake him out of this odd calm and make him see how 
bizarre this seemed to her.  Of course she did no such 
thing.  As he paused, doubtlessly  trying to figure out 
the right approach, she was astonished to find an odd 
calm of her own descending.  It had to be in response to 
his mood and she suddenly wondered if their very ability 
to calmly discuss their feelings hadn't been part of 
their problem all along.  "I'm sorry, it didn't occur to 
me that your scanners would pick up new scar tissue."

"Relatively new," Beverly replied automatically.  
"Several months old I'd guess."

"You're right."

He didn't say any more and the question that had been 
hammering at the back of her mind finally burst out of 
her.  "*Why* Jean-Luc?!"  She felt almost guilty at 
raising her voice and asking the question.  Her instinct 
as a friend *and* a doctor was to allow him his privacy.  
But the part of her that had once loved him demanded 
answers.  And, knowing her as well as he did, he would 
understand that.

"Because we both want it," he said, his voice almost 
gentle.   She felt another sudden burst of anger wash 
over her.  He was talking to her as if he were explaining 
something to a child.  "He doesn't just do this for me."

"That I can believe," she snapped.  "I would have thought 
that *you* just did it for *him*."  She knew her voice 
was scornful, but she still couldn't reconcile the man 
she'd known all these years with the scars  her scanners 
had found.

"Oh, I do.  But not *just* for him.  I do it because I . 
. . "  He looked down at his hands for a moment, and when 
he looked up again, Beverly was amazed at his expression; 
he looked almost other-worldly, somehow seeming serene 
and joyful at the same time.  In trying to find a way to 
explain, he was obviously searching his own feelings.  
Even after all this time, she was aware of the old 
jealousy she'd always felt for his lovers.  And this time 
she couldn't even justify it by thinking that *she* would 
be better suited to him.  She grit her teeth and forced 
herself to listen.

"Because it's a way to prove myself to him and show just 
how much the relationship means to me.  Because there's a 
connection, a bond, that is unlike any I've ever felt 
before.  Because it turns out that I'm a masochist and so 
I can turn the pain into something that goes beyond pain.  
Because I can't always let my barriers down unless I 
don't have a choice.  I *let* him force me to let him in, 
so both of us can see each other clearly."  He frowned 
slightly.  "I don't think I can fully explain it.  In 
fact, I *know* I can't and believe me, I've tried.  It's 
just *right*; it's just the way we have to be with each 
other."  

"But you never . . . before Q, you never . . ."  She 
couldn't help asking, although she knew she was getting 
into dangerous ground. 

"Oh, I guessed at it.  But . . ."  He shrugged.  "I 
wasn't ready to face it.  When Q came into my life, I was 
ready.  Granted, he manipulated me to a fare-thee-well to 
get me ready, but that's the past."  And it was the past, 
Jean-Luc realized.  He really had let go of what Q had 
done to him.  Suddenly he felt free of part of the past, 
and, looking at the woman across the desk from him, he 
began to feel free of her as well.

"How do you know that you really want it?" she asked, 
posing the question Picard had guessed she would.  "How 
do you *know* that you really are like that?  What if 
it's just Q making you want those things?"

"If it is *just* Q, he's gone back pretty far into the 
past to make sure that I'd be like this."  

Crusher knew she shouldn't pursue this line of 
questioning, and yet she persisted.  "How far back?" she 
asked, feeling a certain gratification at the way he 
looked faintly hurt by her harsh voice.  "My God, Jean-
Luc, did you want something like that from *me*?"

Later, Picard wished he'd had a little more control.  But 
Beverly, like Q, had always been able to push past the 
mask he showed the rest of the world.  So he supposed he 
couldn't be blamed for having to hold back a laugh, even 
as he saw that it only served to make her angrier.  "I'm 
sorry, but . . .  No, I never wanted that from you.  I 
don't think I could have ever let you in that far.  Too 
much history."  He was certainly right there, he 
realized.  Not only that, but, although she was trying 
not to let it show, he could hear the distaste and unease 
underlying her words.  He'd been right about that too; 
she would never have understood.  It hurt a little, but 
it was more like the ghost pain of a long ago injury.

"Oh really?" she asked, her voice scornful.  "So you 
wanted me, you said you loved me, but you weren't ever 
going to show me all of you? That's certainly  not what 
love means to me. "

"I know," he replied quietly.  "It's why you divorced 
me."  She stared at him.  "In that future I saw.  You 
wanted me to let you in and I couldn't.  We'd make love 
and the barriers would fall down, but in the morning 
they'd be there again and I'd essentially deny that I was 
ever vulnerable."

"You sound rather dispassionate about it."  Even as she 
spoke, she noticed that a note of the same dispassion had 
crept back into her voice.  This had happened after Kes-
Prytt as well, when they'd talked about their feelings.  
*If we had ever really wanted it to work out,* she 
thought, *we should have spent more time *acting* on 
those feelings.*

"I wasn't at the time," he replied, his voice reflective.  
"I promised to change, but you got tired of waiting.  You 
said you didn't want to have to force every last bit of 
emotion out of me and then there was a chance for you to 
get a command."  He sighed, finding it so odd to have 
memories, however hazy and confused, of a time that had 
never, and now would never, occur.  "And then, I 
committed the worst sin of all."

"Oh?"  Back after his adventure in time, he'd only told 
her that the marriage they'd had in the possible future 
hadn't worked out; he'd never told her why.  Three weeks 
later he'd fallen apart and she hadn't been able to talk 
to him about anything, let alone a marriage that became 
more and more hypothetical every passing day.  And one 
that *Q* had shown him.  She knew better to ask him if he 
thought that Q had possibly rigged the whole event.  She 
wasn't sure of the details of the "bet" that had led to 
Q's initial seduction of Jean-Luc, and she decided that 
he did deserve his privacy in that matter at least.

"I didn't stand in your way."

"And I wanted you to."  She saw his mouth tighten in 
reaction to her hard tone of voice.  "What?"

"It was a . . .difficult divorce."  He sighed.  "And it 
never happened."

A silence settled down over the small room and Crusher 
searched her emotions as she tried to figure out just 
what she was feeling.  "I think . . .  I think I'd like 
to be alone for a while."

"I understand."  He rose to leave and his new 
understanding of emotions and love enabled him to see how 
upset she was, although she tried to hide it.  The love 
he had always felt for her had paled to the light of a 
distant star when compared to the blazing sun that was 
his feelings for Q.  The star was still there, though.  
"Beverly," he said, very gently, "I never meant to hurt 
you."

"I know."  Her voice was quiet and still, and he could 
almost feel that cool analytical side of her brain 
turning the conversation over.  Echoing her earlier 
thought, he realized that they'd always *thought* too 
much.  Beverly had always been too aware of his reserve 
and how important his control was to him.  Well, Q knew 
it was important too, but he refused to let Jean-Luc hide 
behind it.

In the corridor outside Sick Bay, he met Troi. *Of 
course.  She just happened to be passing by,* he thought 
sardonically, not really in the mood for her prying.

"Captain, is Dr. Crusher all right?  I felt. . . "

"Dr. Crusher is fine.  She and I just had a difficult 
conversation and now she wants some time by herself."  
Troi nodded, and before she could turn her attention to 
him, Picard smiled blandly at her.  "If you'll excuse 
me?"  His tone of voice indicated that this was a 
dismissal formatted as a polite question, and she sighed 
and nodded.

But Beverly Crusher didn't get as much time as she 
wanted.  Only five minutes after Picard had left, her 
office door chimed.  At her command, the door slid open 
to reveal the smiling face of her lover.  "It's my turn, 
isn’t . . ."  Riker's voice trailed off as he saw her 
face.  "Are you all right?"  She shrugged and he came 
into the office to perch on the edge of her desk.  "What 
is it, Beverly?"

"I had a talk with Jean-Luc," she said softly.  "And in 
that talk, I learned some things I'd rather not have 
learned about him and said some things I probably 
shouldn't have said.  I'm not sure what I'm feeling right 
now."

"Should I leave, or do you want some company?"  Beverly 
looked at Will and saw the worry and concern he felt for 
her clearly visible on his face.

"He was right . . ." she said softly.

"About what?"  Riker held his hand out to her and she 
gripped it tightly.  It was one of the things she loved 
about him, the easy way he touched people and the way he 
wore his heart on his sleeve.  It had been one of the 
things she'd loved about Jack.

"He finally told me about the divorce.  Our divorce in 
the future that he saw."  Will nodded in understanding.  
"Apparently we split because I got tired of trying to 
convince him to show me what he felt."  She shook her 
head.  "That, of all things, never occurred to me."

"I imagine he'd be a hard person for you to live with.  
He does feel, you can tell that much, but you have know 
him and work hard to see it.  I can see you getting very 
tired of that."

"It's a good quality in a captain, but not so good in a 
husband."  Beverly drew a deep breath.  "I think that I 
can . . .  let go now."  She smiled at Riker, that 
playful little smile that promised so much. He'd been 
delighted to discover that she kept those promises.  "Let 
Q drag his feelings out of him; I have better things to 
do with my time."

"Drag his feelings out of him?  That's an odd way of 
putting it."

"Trust me, you *don't* want to know."  Oddly enough, the 
thought of Riker learning the things about Jean-Luc that 
she'd just learned struck her as almost funny, and she 
quickly changed the subject.  "Tell me, did you see the 
new regulation that says first officers have to strip for 
their annual physicals?"

"Yeah," he replied, obviously deciding to go along with 
her.  "There was something about CMOs giving hot oil 
massages when they were done."  He grinned at her as she 
laughed.  "I love you, you know."

"I know, Will.  And I love you."

***

Q was rather surprised.  He'd hardly even gotten started 
and Jean-Luc was already crying.  Concerned, Q tossed 
aside the flogger, and moved to stand beside Picard, who 
was chained to the dungeon wall.  "What is it johnny?"

"It's not too painful, Master," Picard replied, his voice 
shaky.  "I'm just . . . feeling very emotional . . . 
right now."  He obviously bit back an apology, and Q 
smiled at him.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Whatever pleases you, Master."

Jean-Luc's textbook answer presented Q with a bit of a 
dilemma.  On the one hand, it was what he was supposed to 
say and so Q had no way of knowing if he meant it.  On 
the other hand, Q did have an obligation to pay attention 
to Jean-Luc's emotional state.  It was a bit of a problem 
and he was annoyed that he couldn't just go in and read 
Picard's mind to solve it.  What to do?  He thought about 
it for a moment.  If he stopped and asked Jean-Luc what 
was going on, he would probably clam up and not answer.  
Oh Q could command him to explain, but Q hesitated to use 
his position to do things like that.  Of course, if he 
kept beating Jean-Luc, he might be able to let go enough 
to tell Q what was wrong.  *Or maybe I just want to keep 
beating him.*  Without bothering to examine his motives 
too much, Q picked up the flogger and began bringing it 
down on Jean-Luc's back again, deciding to go strong and 
steady until Jean-Luc let down the barrier.  He hadn't 
had to do this in a while, and, as concerned as he was 
about his lover, he rather liked the challenge.  *Most 
Humans would call me a pervert,* he thought, almost 
cheerfully, admiring the way Jean-Luc's scars became dark 
as the skin around them flushed up.

*Oh thank God,* Jean-Luc thought as he felt the familiar 
thudding sensation start up again.  He didn't want to 
have to *think* about anything that had happened today, 
he just wanted to *feel*.  He began to talk much earlier 
than usual, murmurs of "oui!" and "please," punctuating 
his sobs and moans.  By the time Q started working on his 
ass, he was *there*, arching to meet the blows and crying 
at the same time.  All his control was gone and it felt 
so good to be here at the mercy of whatever sensations Q 
chose to inflict.

***

"Are you busy?"

"Not if you don't mind playing with the baby," Troi 
replied, not at all surprised at the call.  "Come on 
over, Beverly."

"Thanks, I'm on my way."

A few moments later Crusher was seated comfortably in 
Troi and Worf's quarters.  Eagerly taking Jeanne off 
Troi's hands, she sat the baby on her knee and bounced 
her for a while before Jeanne snuggled up, holding on to 
Beverly's arm and not letting go.  "You are," Crusher 
said to her seriously, as the doctor tried to ease out of 
Jeanne's grasp, "as stubborn as your Name-Father."  
Before Troi could say anything, Beverly smiled.  
"Speaking of whom . . ."

"I was coming to talk to you earlier, but he said you 
wanted to be alone."

"I thought I did, but then Will came in.  He was the 
person I really needed to see."

"What did the captain say to you that had you so upset?"

"Oh God, Deanna."  Crusher sighed.  "Where to start?  Do 
you know what he and Q *do*?"  Troi looked down at her 
hands.  "You do don't you?  They . . .  Deanna, Jean-Luc 
came in for his physical today, and he has *scars*!"  She 
shivered.  "I don't understand it."

"I know, it's hard to understand."

"That's putting it mildly," Crusher said, rolling her 
eyes.  "I know people do that sort of thing.  And yes, I 
know that in almost all cases, there's nothing wrong with 
it.  But Jean-Luc? It just doesn't make any sense."

"Actually it does.  He's very much a 'type,' Beverly."

"Oh I *know* that," Crusher snapped.  "I've done the 
reading too, Deanna.  But what you know intellectually 
and what you know emotionally are two very different 
things.  He told me that he'd guessed that much about 
himself for a long time."

"Oh?  I didn't know that."  The two women exchanged 
glances.

"Deanna, are we gossiping or are the CMO and the Ship's 
Counselor discussing their captain's mental health?"  It 
was an incongruous question to ask while holding a baby, 
but Jeanne was a surprisingly comfortable baby to hold.  

"We're talking about someone we both care about."  Deanna 
sighed.  "Back after the assassination attempt on R'thel, 
when he first told me about Q, he told me a little about 
the way things had been.  Then when they got back 
together, he 'came out' to me.  He told me that Q hurts 
him and that he likes it.  Trust me, there wasn't any 
room to ask questions."  She smiled slightly.  "It 
doesn't make a bit of difference, you know.  He's 
perfectly capable of command."

"I know!"  Jeanne looked up at Crusher, her big eyes 
solemn, and the doctor smiled and tickled her a little.  
"Sorry dear, I didn't mean to frighten you."  She fell 
silent for a moment.  "He told me about the divorce, our 
divorce, in the other future.  Apparently I got tired of 
trying to get him to open up."

"One would," Deanna said softly.  "I wouldn't want to be 
married to him."

"Funny, that's pretty much what Will said."

"Good thing, I don't think Will is the Captain's type."  

They both laughed and when Beverly spoke again, her voice 
was more relaxed.  "Neither am I, really.  Do you know 
how long it's taken me to get to the point of saying that 
and *believing* it?"

"I have a good idea."

"I've never told you all of it. . .  hell, I've never 
told *anyone* all of it."

"You don't have to," Troi said, her voice gentle.

"Yes I do, and anyway I have to rehearse it before I say 
it to the one person who really needs to know it."

Forgoing any advice on the uselessness of rehearsing 
conversations, Troi nodded.  After all, she couldn't help 
being curious..

"You see, Jack was . . . well, he was a lot like Will."  
Beverly laughed a little.  "You would have liked him, 
everyone did.  You always knew what he was feeling and he 
was very demonstrative.  Always touching and being close 
. . .  I wanted . .  Oh God this is hard."  She toyed 
absently with the baby, letting Jeanne tug on her 
fingers.  "I wanted both of them, you see.  Jean-Luc was 
so intense and so reserved, but when he did open up . . . 
there's so much passion there.  Jack was so relaxed and 
open . . . he wasn't as intense . . . and he never 
struggled with the fact that he wanted me . . . Jean-Luc 
did . . . there's something so compelling about being 
wanted that much . . ."

Troi frowned inwardly.  This was one of the times that 
growing up as a Betazoid didn't help much.  Had she had 
Beverly's dilemma, she would have seen the easy way to 
deal with it.  "Beverly," she said, framing her next 
words carefully.  "I don't know about your relationship 
with Jack, but couldn't the three of you worked 
something out?"

"Jack," Beverly replied very quietly, "cared about Jean-
Luc a lot, loved him in his own way.  We . . . thought . 
. ."  She bent and fussed over Jeanne a little.  When she 
looked up again, her face was calmer.  

"It almost happened once.  We were all on Pacifica and 
we'd been to dinner.  There was a lot of wine and all 
three of us were having fun and they were both flirting 
with me and maybe a little with each other  . . . and 
then Jean-Luc closed in on himself and left.  Jack was 
going to . . . try to talk to him about it, but three 
weeks later there was the accident.  He never had time."  
When she looked up, Troi saw the tears in her eyes.  

"I'm sorry, Beverly." 

End 2/4

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 6, 3/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 20:15:40 GMT

From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 6, 3/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter Six
3/4
disclaimers in 1/4



"I don't know if Jean-Luc ever knew what we . . . Jack 
and I, wanted to happen that night.  And I couldn't tell 
him afterwards, because he froze up on me.  I know he was 
feeling guilty, but I couldn't get past the mask.  And 
maybe . . . well . . . part of me blamed him for Jack's 
death."

"Under the circumstances, it would have been hard not 
to," Deanna said, her voice neutral.

"And then there was time and distance, and later, the 
Enterprise . . .  I'm so *tired* of all of this.  In a 
way he did me a favor this afternoon."

"How so?"

"By telling me how much Q means to him."  Crusher sighed.  
"It was a slap in the face, but I needed it."

"What did he say?"

"Well . .. it was the scars.  They're all down his back 
and across his rear." Troi was silently amused at how 
matter-of-fact and professional Crusher's voice became, 
given something medical to talk about.  "They're from 
something called a signal whip."  Crusher shuddered.  "I 
don't even want to think about how that felt.  But 
anyway, I offered to get rid of them and he snapped at 
me.  Said no, like I was way out of line."  She paused.  
"As if he was afraid that I was going to try and take 
something precious away from him.  And later, when he was 
trying to explain it . . . he looked so . . . so happy . 
. . almost serene . . . it was really weird.  I could 
never do anything like that to someone I love, and that 
was when I knew for certain that I would never have been 
enough.  And he wouldn't have been enough for me, because 
when Will came in and was all concerned about how I felt 
and then started flirting with me . . .  he *wanted* me 
to know how he felt.  And he was right; it made me feel 
better."  She fell silent for a while and then spoke 
again.  "Well, I realized that I'm a lot better off and 
that I really am happy too."

"It's hard, isn't it?" Troi asked.  "Giving it up after 
all those years?"

"Yes."

***

"Tell me," Q said softly.  Jean-Luc was curled up in his 
arms and he'd finally stopped crying.  "I want to know."

"I realized what an idiot I was," Jean-Luc muttered into 
Q's shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"This afternoon at my physical, Beverly found the scars."

Q tried hard, and successfully, not to snort with 
laughter.  *Oh I wish I could have seen *that*,* he 
thought.  "What did she say?"  He knew that Jean-Luc 
wasn't going to see the humor of the situation for quite 
a while.

"A lot of things.  And I said a lot of things, and I 
realized that the future was right; it never would have 
worked between us."

"I never understood it myself, Jean-Luc."  Q was rather 
proud of his own tact.  He knew about the guilt and love 
and the other tangled feelings that had bound Jean-Luc to 
Beverly for so long and he still couldn't understand 
them.  It was tied up with Jack Crusher and friendship 
and Picard's fear of getting close to anyone, let alone 
someone under his command, but it was so Human that it 
didn't entirely make sense to a Q.  He tended not to 
think about it because it involved loss and love and 
those were two things that he didn't like to think about 
in connection with Picard.

"You know about it though?" Jean-Luc asked.  He 
straightened out in the bed to lie on his back, wincing a 
little.

"I know what happened," Q replied.  His voice was very 
gentle as he added, "and yes, I know what you would have 
*liked* to have happened."

"But I still would have had to be in control . . . in 
charge.  I still don’t think I would have been able to 
tell them about me . . .  I told myself that maybe I 
wouldn't want it any more . . . and maybe I wouldn't have 
. . .  It almost happened, but then . . . I guess I was 
afraid.  Partly because Jack was one of my people; if it 
hadn't worked out . . . what if I hadn't been reading 
them right that night?"  Q sighed, caught on the horns of 
a major dilemma.  Should he tell Jean-Luc what he knew?  
Before he could think too much about it, Jean-Luc was 
talking again.   "I was, wasn't I?"

"Jean-Luc, do you really want to know?"

"Of course," Picard replied indignantly.  "I wouldn't 
have asked if I didn't."  

*You're so brave,* Q thought suddenly.  *You know this is 
going to hurt and yet . . .*  "You were reading them 
right.  They talked about it before you joined them in 
the restaurant.  Jack was worried that you would say no, 
and so they decided to just see what happened, if you'd 
pick up on their signals."

"I hurt them when I left, didn't I?"

"A little, but they understood.  Jack was going to . . ." 
Q suddenly trailed off.  He couldn't tell Jean-Luc this; 
it would make no difference.

" . . .talk to me about it.  I guessed, but I never 
guessed what he was going to say.  I was so afraid . . .
of the conversation I guess.  I didn't . . ."  He rolled 
away from Q and curled up on his side, his shoulders 
beginning to shake.

"Johnny?"  Q leaned over him.  "Jean-Luc?"

"Please," the muffled voice said.  "Please tell me . . . 
because I wanted it . . . that because I was afraid . . 
.. . . I didn't . . . that I wasn't responsible . . . 
that I didn't . . . kill him."

"Oh Jean-Luc," Q said softly, amazed at the wave of 
caring that washed over him.  He wanted to take Jean-
Luc's pain away, and in this one way, he could.  "Jean-
Luc, roll over and listen to me."  Slowly, Picard rolled 
over.  "You had nothing to do with it.  He was the right 
person for the job and he knew the risks when he 
volunteered for the mission.  You did *not* kill him.  Do 
you hear me?  I'm a Q, and I'm telling you that it was 
*not* your fault that he died."  After a moment spent 
looking into the past, Q added the one last thing that 
Jean-Luc needed to hear.  "He didn't blame you.  When he 
knew he was dying, he didn't blame you at all. He died 
thinking of you and Beverly and Wesley."

He'd told himself that of course.  He'd been told it by 
others.  He'd received forgiveness from Jack's friends, 
from the other officers on the Stargazer, even from 
Wesley and Beverly, but until Q spoke with the weight of 
truth behind his words, Jean-Luc had never forgiven 
himself.  He wasn't really paying attention to much after 
that, and when he finally became aware of his 
surroundings again, he was curled tightly in Q's arms, 
his throat sore and his eyes burning from all the crying.  
He was still half sobbing and he was aware of nothing but 
extreme fatigue and a feeling of safety that he hadn't 
felt since he was a very small child.  He drew breath to 
speak, but Q shushed him and he let himself relax and 
drift off into sleep.  The last thing he heard was Q's 
voice in his head murmuring, *I love you Jean-Luc,* over 
and over.

***

"I'm . . . sorry . . . you're . . ." Beverly gulped, and 
tried to smile.  "You're all soggy."

"I won't rust," Will said gently.  "And if you can't cry 
on me . . "

"I was afraid . . . I don't know . . . I was afraid that 
you'd think that I still love him."

"Don't you?"  Crusher lifted her head and stared at him 
in surprise.  "Beverly," Will continued gently, "it's all 
right.  I know that you don't want to be with him, but I 
never expected you to stop loving him." 

"You don't have to compete."

"I know that too," he replied, tightening his arms around 
her.  He'd buried that particular demon over a year ago, 
when his anger at Picard for withdrawing had been great 
enough to allow him to let go of the past Beverly shared 
with the captain. Now, watching as Picard almost bloomed 
because of his relationship with Q, Will had realized 
that he himself had changed because of Beverly.  It made 
it easier to understand Picard, and on a more basic level 
it made it easy to realize that the captain wasn't going 
to suddenly change his mind and want to come back into 
Beverly's life.  Now, hearing her explain things, Riker 
realized that she didn't want Picard back any more than 
he wanted her.  Will couldn't understand why Picard would 
want Q when he'd had a chance at being with Beverly, but 
he knew better than to question his own good luck.

"And you're right, I don't want to be with him.  
Certainly not after this morning."

"That's cryptic."

She pulled back to look him in the eyes.  "Do you 
*really* want to know the details of what's probably 
going on down the hall?"  She smiled slightly as Riker 
grimaced.

"Not really."

***

Several days as Picard ate dinner, he wondered if 
something was bothering Q.  His lover hadn't been exactly 
preoccupied, but Jean-Luc was beginning learn to read 
*something* (what ever it was) that gave him clues about 
Q’s moods. 

When Q finally spoke, his voice was pensive.  "Jean-Luc, 
I have a question for you."

"Yes?"

"It's about Amanda.  I've started working with her again, 
and . . . well . . . I'm having a hard time teaching 
her."

"Well, I not sure how much I can help you with that.  
I've always thought I'd be a terrible teacher, and I 
*certainly* don't know how one goes about teaching a 
fledgling Q."  He paused, and then, unable to resist 
asking, he spoke again.  "*How* does one teach a 
fledgling Q?"

"That's my problem," Q replied, exasperated.  "I don't 
know."

"How were you taught? Picard asked curiously.  Q rarely 
talked about the Continuum, and Picard tried not to ask, 
figuring that Q wasn’t supposed to, or didn’t want to 
talk about it.  He knew from the past that Q didn’t get 
along all that well with his fellow Q and the only two Q 
he really talked about much were his sibling and Amanda.  
When Q didn’t answer his question right away, Jean-Luc 
frowned.  "I'm done with this," he said looking down at 
his plate.  "I'll clean up and then we'll have some 
Armagnac?"

"Forget cleaning up," Q said.  He snapped his fingers and 
suddenly they were in the living area, snifters in hand. 
"You see, Jean-Luc," Q began.  "I don't want to . . . it 
was rather brutal."

"Oh," Picard said.  He didn’t really know what else to 
say.  He had gathered from what little Q said, that the 
Continuum was neither a safe nor a pleasant place to 
live.  But he didn't really understand it and wasn't sure 
that he would ever have enough information to be able to 
understand it.  All he could do was listen.  

"I know that she has to learn to take care of herself, 
but . . ."  Q frowned and wondered why he was trying to 
explain this to Picard.  But it *was* a little like 
trying to train people and Picard had done that.  In 
spite of his earlier protest, the captain was an 
excellent teacher.  "Today, I was testing her shields and 
she was fine against a frontal assault, but I could have 
gotten in by blindsiding her.  I *should* have gotten in 
by blindsiding her."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because it *hurts* when that happens."

"Can't you . . . pull it, the way a martial arts 
instructor would?  Or is that analogy not correct?"

"If I pull it, she won't know how to handle it when it 
happens.  When you were learning unarmed combat, you 
never really learned how to deal with a kick in the 
groin."

"But I've been kicked in the groin, and I managed to get 
through those fights."  Picard frowned.  "But, no,  that 
doesn't work, because I'd been hurt there before, and so 
I knew what to expect." 

"Oh she's been hurt, Jean-Luc; trust me, she's been 
hurt."

"Yes but was it in a controlled situation where she could 
learn to deal with it?"  He shook his head.  "I’m not 
sure how to explain this, Q, but isn't there some kind of 
. . . simulation or something that you could run for her.  
That’s how *we* learn."  He suddenly laughed.  "And we're 
so perfect; everything should be done exactly the way we 
do it."

"At least you're compassionate," Q said glumly, ignoring 
Picard's attempt at levity.

"And you aren't?"

"You must be joking," Q replied, staring at Picard in 
shock.

"Ah ha," Picard said, laughing at his lover.  "I think 
I've found a weak spot.  The great and powerful Q doesn't 
want to be thought of as compassionate."  Q was frowning 
and Jean-Luc shook his head at him.  "Who held me while I 
cried the other night?  Who told me over and over that I 
was loved while I fell asleep?  Who helped me exorcise a 
20 year old demon?"

"That's . . . different."  Q looked away.  "It was 
*you*."

"So you can only be compassionate to me?  I don’t believe 
that.  If you didn't care about Amanda, you would have 
blindsided her this morning, damn the pain."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Q said 
angrily.  "I *can't* care about her.  It's too 
dangerous."

"Dangerous?" Picard asked, suddenly serious.  Q was 
genuinely upset and Jean-Luc wanted to help him.  "For 
whom?"

"For her," Q said.  

"Because she won't receive proper training?  There's 
really *is* only one way to train a Q?"

Q looked at him suspiciously but realized from Picard's 
face that his words hadn't been sarcastic.  Jean-Luc 
obviously wanted to help.  *As if he could . . . no, 
that's not right . . . maybe he can.*  Q sighed and spoke 
aloud.  "It's not that simple.  Even if I train her 
another way, I can't let it out that I care about her, 
that she's important to me."  Afraid that Picard wasn't 
getting it, and too restless to sit still, Q rose to his 
feet  and began pacing.  "I keep a shield on this ship 
and on you, you know."

"What?"  Amanda and Q's problems training her vanished 
from Picard's mind as he glared at Q.  "I thought you 
said that . . ."

"That I wouldn't interfere.  And I don't.  I won't unless 
. . ."

"No!" Picard snapped.  "No unless.  That wasn't the deal 
. . ."  His voice trailed off as he looked at Q, and 
realized the point Q was trying to make, not only about 
the Enterprise and Picard, but about Amanda as well.  
"Oh, of course.  I'm sorry."  He rose from the sofa and 
moved to stand behind Q.  Wrapping his arms around his 
lover's waist, he spoke softly to Q's back.  "You're 
protecting us from *your* enemies, aren't you?"

"Yes," Q said quietly.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I was afraid . . .  I don’t know.  I didn't . . ."  He 
pulled away from Picard and walked over to the window.  

"I'm your weakness," Picard said.  The sympathetic 
understanding in his voice made Q feel awful.  Fighting 
down an unreasonable anger, he turned.

"I suppose that makes you happy, doesn't it, Mon 
Capitaine?"

"What?"  Picard, picking up on Q's anger but not knowing 
the reason for it, just stared at his lover.

"What was it Guinan said that time?  'How the mighty have 
fallen?'"

Understanding battled with irritation inside Jean-Luc.  
"Everyone has their Achilles heel . . ." he began to say 
in a reasonable tone of voice.

"Oh spare me your sympathy, Jean-Luc."  Q's voice dripped 
sarcasm.  

"Fine!" Picard snapped.  "You're just angry because you 
have to admit that I'm important to you.  That you *need* 
me as much as I need you."  He tried to collect himself, 
but Q still seemed to have the ability to anger him 
beyond control.  "I'm so sorry that I'm too important to 
you."  

"It's not that!" Q replied hotly.

"Oh?  You couldn't come to me and warn me, could you?  
You couldn't come and tell me that I'm important enough 
to you that an attack on me would be an attack on you?  I 
suppose it's easier to beat me than to show a little 
vulnerability!"

Q glared at Picard.  He'd shown more vulnerability in the 
last year than he had in all his life and this was what 
he got?  Never mind that some of the rest of what Picard 
was saying was a little too close to the truth for 
comfort; Q concentrated on the last thing his lover had 
said.  "What do you want me to do?  Tell you every minute 
how I feel?  Is that it?  I don’t say 'I love you' often 
enough?"  Too angry, and worried that he might lash out, 
Q clenched his fists.  "Oh this is absurd!  And I thought 
*you* could help *me*!"  With that he vanished and Picard 
was left alone.

"Oh fine!" he snapped, guessing that Q could still hear 
him.  "Throw your little tantrum."

***

End 3/4

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 6, 4/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Thu, 19 Mar 1998 20:15:46 GMT

From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 6, 4/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter Six
4/4
disclaimers in 1/4


Worf was leading his evening class through their warm up 
in one corner of the gym when a flash of movement caught 
his eye.  Glancing toward the door, he was surprised to 
see Picard walk through it, his face set in an angry 
frown.  Not looking around, the Captain stalked over to 
the nearest weight machine and set the weight levels with 
hurried movements.  He then practically slammed himself 
onto the bench of the machine and began to run through a 
set of reps.  Worf watched for a moment and then turned 
to Lt. Goldman.  "Take the class, Lieutenant."

"Aye sir," she replied quietly, her eyes flickering over 
to Picard and then back to Worf.  As the Security Chief 
strolled over toward the machines, he heard her snap, 
"Well, let's get back to it, people.  We don’t have all 
night."

Worf was a little surprised and rather impressed when he 
saw the weight level Picard was working at. The captain's 
muscles strained under the thin cotton of his t-shirt, 
but he was breathing evenly as he smoothly finished the 
first set of reps. His eyes were narrowed and focused on 
something far from the Enterprise's gym.  

"Good set," Worf said, as Picard finished.

"Thank you," Picard said briefly, his fingers on the 
configuration controls.  He sat up and began going 
through the next set of reps.

Worf nodded and settled down into the machine next to 
Picard's, setting his weights and beginning to work. He 
surreptitiously watched Picard out of the corner of his 
eye, not liking what he saw.  The captain had worked out 
a lot after Q had saved his life.  Worf had gotten used 
to seeing Picard come into the gym and literally push 
himself into near exhaustion after he'd had a session 
with Deanna.  Seeing it now, he could only guess that 
there had been some sort of disagreement between the 
captain and Q.  Not knowing anything about the 
relationship, and really preferring to not know anything 
about it, Worf still couldn't deny that Picard was 
happier with Q than he had been in the nine years prior 
to the relationship.  Worf didn't like Q, in fact, at 
various times he had actively loathed Q, and now he found 
himself wondering what the entity had done to anger 
Picard so.  Knowing that there was nothing he could do, 
Worf settled for matching Picard's work out, if with a 
somewhat higher weight level.

It was a while before Picard realized that Worf was 
trying to keep him company.  It was a little bit of a 
bother, really; Jean-Luc knew that he was trying to hang 
on to his anger at Q, as stupid as that was.  Having his 
burly Klingon Security Chief babysitting him was making 
it difficult to be angry.  Finally, it was too much and 
Picard leaned back on his bench and began to laugh.  The 
weights slammed back into place.

"Captain?" Worf asked.

Picard chuckled a moment more and then stood up.  "Thank 
you Mr. Worf," he said, seriously.  "Your concern honors 
me," he added in Klingon and then left the room.  Worf 
sat on the bench, a little dumbfounded, but pleased.   He 
wasn't quite sure what he'd done, but he'd done 
*something.*

***

*Q?*  Picard sighed and tried again.  *Q, please.  We 
should talk.*  

There was a flash and Q appeared, his words coming out in 
a rush as he stood in front of Picard.  "I'm sorry Jean-
Luc I wasn't thinking and I should have told you and . . 
. "

"Q," Jean-Luc said, reaching out and taking Q's hands.  

". . . and I don't even know why I got mad or well I do 
know but it was the wrong thing to do when . . ."

"Q!"

". . .when you were just trying to help me but I don't 
like looking weak and if you want you can beat me again."

"What?!"  Picard put a hand over Q's mouth for a moment.  
"Q, listen to me.  Come over here and listen to me."  He 
pulled Q over to the couch and they sat down, Q reaching 
out and gripping Picard's hands tightly.  "Neither of us 
is comfortable with our feelings, and both of us hate to 
admit mistakes.  Quarreling is inevitable and we'll lose 
patience with one another and say things before we 
think."  He drew a deep breath.  "I'm sorry I laughed at 
you.  It was . . . partly relief and partly fear."    
When Q looked curious, Picard  paused and tried to 
explain.

"I love what we do, and I need it so much, that . . .  
Well, sometimes it frightens me.  I *know* that you need 
it too, but still, it helps me to know that I'm not the 
only one . . . the only one who needs, who's vulnerable.  
I go so deep into this. . . and at times I'm afraid that 
it's . . ."  His voice trailed off, but Q gripped his 
hands again and he found the strength to continue.  "I'm 
afraid that it's not real . . . that it's some dream that 
I'm having and I'll wake up and I'll be . . . alone 
again."

Q found himself taking strength from hearing Jean-Luc 
confess his fears, fears that mirrored Q's own worries to 
a surprising degree.  "No," he said, seriously.  "I 
*won't* leave you alone again.  I . . . can't."  He 
looked down at their hands.  "Do you have *any* idea how 
hard that is for me to say?  I *can't* leave, Jean-Luc.  
I need you too much . . ."

"Good," Picard said.  Q looked up in surprise, but Jean-
Luc was smiling.  When he spoke again his voice had that 
husky edge to it that Q loved.  "Because, you see, I'm 
not *allowed* to leave, and if you *can't* . . ."

"That would mean," Q said, his own voice deepening, " 
that *you*, Jean-Luc Picard, are stuck with me."  His 
hands moved to encircle Picard's wrists.

"Is that so?" 

"Yes," Q replied firmly.  "Perhaps you need to be 
reminded of that fact in a more concrete way."

He snapped his fingers and Jean-Luc found himself 
sprawled over Q's lap.  "Q!"

"Q?  Well, I'll excuse that this time, since you're not 
wearing your collar, but really Johnny, there's something 
else you're in trouble for."

"Really?"  Picard had no intention of letting Q walk all 
over him.  As the entity had pointed out, he wasn't 
wearing his collar, and they weren't in role.  Or were 
they?  He couldn't help feeling ridiculous and humiliated 
to be over Q's lap like this, almost as if Q were going 
to  . . .  "No," he said.

"*You* went out, and wandered around the ship dressed 
like *this*?" Q asked, ignoring Picard's protest.  "I 
mean really, Jean-Luc, you count on your crew's restraint 
a little too much."  One of Q's hands stroked its way 
across Jean-Luc's shoulders and than down one arm.  "This 
shirt is awfully thin and I have no doubt that when you 
work out, everyone can see how nice your arms are."  Q 
made a tsk tsk noise and continued to stroke Picard 
through the thin shirt.  "And these . . ."  Q suddenly 
snapped the waistband of Picard's shorts.  "Don't you 
think they're a little *short*?"  

"Oh for God's sake, Q," Picard snapped.  "They're 
athletic shorts.  They're designed not to get in the 
way."

"Well, I don't like them," Q declared firmly.  "I'll 
grant that they don't get in your way, and yes, your legs 
are absolutely awesome, but, yuck!  What a boring color.  
They're gray."

"What would you prefer?" Picard asked.  "Chartreuse?  
Bright pink?  Maybe purple?"

"Right now," Q said, chuckling slightly, "I'd prefer that 
they weren't there at all."  With that he grabbed the 
waistband of the shorts and yanked down.  

Picard gulped, and realized that he was going to be very 
uncomfortable unless he lifted his hips and let Q pull 
the shorts down further.  Aware that he was blushing more 
than usual, he did so, hoping that Q wouldn't say 
anything.  

"My," Q said, dashing Picard's hopes.  "I like *this* 
better."  Again there was the snap of elastic hitting 
bare skin.  "Maybe I'll have you run around in it for a 
while."  To Picard's embarrassment, he realized that he 
was getting aroused.  "Well," Q drawled, as he slid a 
hand between Jean-Luc's legs.  "Good thing you're not 
wearing an actual cup.  This," and he rubbed at Picard's 
erection through the thick cotton that it strained 
against, "would be a little constrained if you were."  
Picard wasn't really paying much attention to Q's voice; 
he was too busy squirming against Q's hand.  He moaned in 
disappointment when Q stopped rubbing him to snap a leg 
strap.  "I love the way this frames your ass, Johnny."

"Q . . ." Picard began, squirming slightly as Q began run 
his fingers over Picard's exposed skin.  "I feel 
ridiculous like this."

"Like what, Captain?" Q asked, his voice expressing 
nothing other than idle curiosity.   "Do you mean that 
you feel ridiculous at being over my lap, with your 
shorts around your knees and nothing but an athletic 
supporter to cover your . . . dignity?"

Picard just moaned, unable to answer Q's question, and Q 
brought his hand down sharply Jean-Luc's ass.  Jean-Luc 
moaned again, and Q laughed.  Placing his other hand 
firmly on Picard's back, the entity spoke.  "Something 
wrong, Johnny?  It's just a little spanking."  Before 
Picard could think or say anything, Q began to spank him 
in earnest.

It didn't really hurt, or at least it didn't hurt like 
any of the whips or the riding crop or things like that 
hurt.  But it did sting, and it was incredibly 
humiliating to have Q spank him.  There was no dignity to 
it, no way to feel pride at what was happening.  Q was 
*spanking* him and it was just so . . . embarrassing.  
Jean-Luc could feel the heat radiating from both his face 
and his ass and he wasn't sure which was hotter. He 
couldn't help remembering what Q had said.  *I'm over his 
lap and my shorts are around my knees . . .*  The moan 
that Picard let out had nothing to do with his 
increasingly uncomfortable ass, and everything to do with 
the situation he found himself in.

"You like this?" Q asked softly.  Picard couldn't answer 
yet, he was still too aware of the indignity of it all.  
And yet, there was something reassuring about this.  Q 
wasn't using any of their "toys" on him, which made it 
feel surprisingly intimate. Taking comfort in the fact 
that he didn't *have* to answer, Jean-Luc remained 
silent, although he couldn't help arching up slightly to 
meet Q's hand.  "I'll take that as a yes," Q said, and 
speeded up his rhythm.  Now Jean-Luc *was* moaning 
because it hurt, a wonderful hot ache that heated up his 
skin with each successive blow.  

"Ohhh . . ." he breathed.

"Yes?" Q asked, not stopping.

"I . . . oh God . . . Q . . ."

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"Show me . . . please . . ."

Q actually stopped spanking him for a moment.  "You want 
to see this?"

"Yes," Picard replied.  "I . . . when you told me where I 
was . . ."

"Got to you, didn't it?"

"Please . . ."

There was a flash and Picard was facing a mirror.  Of 
course it didn't reflect his face, but rather, it 
reflected the scene that was playing itself out on his 
sofa.  He did look ridiculous, absurd even, and he 
quickly glanced away.  *This is  *so* . . .*  He looked 
at the mirror again, noticing that he was moving to meet 
Q's hand, and that Q had a look of intense concentration 
on his face.  *incredible,* Picard thought suddenly.  
*This is incredibly hot . . .*  "Q?"

"Yes Jean-Luc?"

"Look . . . at me . . ."

"I am Johnny, believe me, I am."

"Do you . . . do you like me . . . like this?"  He moaned 
as Q's hand smacked the top of his thigh, and another 
burst of heat rippled through Jean-Luc body.

"Jean-Luc, I *adore* you like this.  Do *you* like you 
like this?"

Picard looked at the mirror again.  "Oh yes . . . oh . . 
."

"I didn't have to ask of course."  Q's thigh rubbed 
against Jean-Luc's erection.

"Please . . . oh please . . ."

"What?"

"Fuck me . . . please . . . Q."

"Jean-Luc, I thought you'd never ask."  He shoved Jean-
Luc off his lap, smiling at how eagerly his lover went to 
his knees and elbows.  "Nice," he said, following Picard 
down to the floor.  "I think someday I want to see you in 
one made out of leather."

"Q?" Picard muttered, hoping he wasn't getting himself in 
too much trouble. 

"Yes, Jean-Luc?"

"I'm here like this and all you can think about is what 
I'm *wearing*?"  He slid his knees further apart and 
arched his back slightly.  

"Enough of your back talk, Mon Capitaine, or I'll put 
your collar on you and tell you to hold yourself open for 
me."  Q smiled tightly as Picard shivered but said 
nothing.  Threats of pain didn't work all that well, but 
Picard still *hated* being degraded.  *Oh fuck it,* the 
entity thought, *he's right.  Time for some action here.*

Picard sighed gratefully as he felt Q's cock slowly 
sliding inside him.  This was what he'd wanted, what he
*needed* after their quarrel.  Nothing kinky, just 
something that proved that he was needed, that Q wanted 
him for himself.  He didn't have to worry about any sort 
of protocol, and there was no fear of disappointing Q 
here, just the simple, rough pleasure of being fucked.  
He couldn't help remembering the first time they'd done 
this and how shockingly good it had been.  It still was.

"This is . . . so good," Q murmured, echoing Picard's 
thoughts.  "Just us like this . . . me inside you  . . ."

"Yes," Picard moaned in reply.  "Please . . . take it 
slow . . . make us both feel it . . ."

"Don't know . . . if I can . . ." Q replied through 
gritted teeth. Picard was hot and tight around him and Q 
felt oddly Human, totally at the mercy of this incredible 
pleasure.  Ever since he'd spent that day living Picard's 
life, he had found it easier to shut his own Q awareness 
down until his world was focused the same way Jean-Luc's 
probably was right now.  Q concentrated on controlling 
himself, on letting Jean-Luc's pleasure build as high and 
as far as it could.

"Good . . ." Picard murmured, both at the feelings that 
rolled through his body and the fact that Q wasn't 
rushing this.  It burned a little as Q slid in and out of 
him, and instead of wanting the burn, he ignored it and 
concentrated on the way Q's cock filled him.  "So good . 
. . feeling you move . . . knowing you need me . . ."

"Need you?" Q gasped out.  "Need isn't the word . . . oh 
Jean-Luc . . . I'm trying to last here . . . but I . . ."

"What?"  Picard stilled his own motion and Q moaned. 

"I'm feeling . . . so . . .  I want you so much and . . 
."

"What do you want, Q?"  Picard words were calm.

"You to . . ."  Q struggled with the words.  It was so 
hard to find the words and the promise of ecstasy that 
hovered just out of reach didn't make things easier.  
That Jean-Luc could do this to him like this made the 
entity angry until he thought about all that he'd forced 
Jean-Luc to do and say and admit.  He looked down at the 
scars that marked that fair skin and thought about how 
easy Picard was on him.  He knew that he could say 
nothing, grab those lean hips and slam into Jean-Luc just 
as hard as he liked.  Jean-Luc wouldn't deny him that, 
wouldn't even be angry or disappointed in him; it was, 
after all, Q's right and privilege to do so.

"I want you . . . to love me," Q said softly.  "Love me 
and never tell me to leave.  I can't be without you . . . 
can't be who I was before and live without you . . ."

"And you don't have to," Picard replied, his voice 
serious.  "There's no collar on me now, there's no 
compulsion or order I'm obeying.  I'm here on my knees, 
with you inside me, because I love you and because this 
is what *I* want."  He shifted his weight slightly and 
then thrust back against Q.  *Always love you,* he 
thought at Q as Q took the invitation for what it was and 
began to slam into him.  *I'll always need you to love me 
and need me.*

"Yes!" Q yelled out.  He repeated the word over and over 
as he felt Jean-Luc's love wrap around his mind the way 
Jean-Luc's body wrapped around his cock.  He buried 
himself in his lover's mind and body and knew that he 
would always be loved.  When he felt the energy of Jean-
Luc's orgasm gathering, he simply took it as one more 
sign that he was loved.  This was one more vulnerability 
that they shared with each other, one more intimacy that 
proved how right their feelings were.  He slipped a hand 
around Picard's hip and began roughly stroking Jean-Luc's 
cock.

With a cry of, "Q!" Picard came.  

Between the mental cry that echoed Jean-Luc's verbal cry 
and the thrashing of the body he was thrusting into, Q 
gladly gave himself over to his own climax.  Yelling his 
lover's name, the entity came and then collapsed.  His 
weight and Picard's own exhaustion left them both 
sprawled on the floor, Q on top of Jean-Luc.  They rested 
for a moment and then Picard rolled over and held Q 
close.

"I never stop loving you," he said softly.  "Not when I'm 
angry or thinking of something else, or even when I seem 
to be miles away."

"I know," Q replied, feeling intensely gratified to hear 
the words.  "We knew it wasn't going to be easy."

The response was a muffled snort, and when Picard spoke, 
Q could hear the smile in his voice.  "But it's oh so 
worth it."  

Q didn't trust himself to reply.  Instead he wrapped his 
arms around Jean-Luc and let the tightness of his embrace 
speak for him.  But it wasn't enough.  "I love you," he 
murmured.  "I need you."

"I know," Picard replied.  "That's why I belong to you."

Q hugged him hard for one more second and then sat up, 
smiling.  Although Picard noticed that Q's eyes were 
suspiciously bright, he mainly noticed the menace in that 
tight smile.  "Yes you do," Q said.  "And is this how you 
think I want to see you?  All sweaty?"  He leapt to his 
feet and looked down at Picard.  "I want you in here in 
five minutes, clean and ready to serve me."

"Yes, sir!" 

End Chapter Six




-- 
***************************************************
*    Ruth    |     Visit GiffStein Productions    *
*   Gifford  |  http://www.cyberg8t.com/ereshkgl/ *
*-------------------------------------------------*
*    alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated      *
*    Resistance is possible, but why bother?      *
*-------------------------------------------------*
* Better living thru TrekSmut--See for Yourself!  *
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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 7, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshgkl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Fri, 20 Mar 1998 06:07:33 GMT


From:
	ereshgkl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 7, 1/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)	


Disclaimer (long version in Chapter One): Star Trek is 
the property of Paramount.  This version of it is the 
property of me.  This story involves m/m sex as well as 
bdsm.



At the Center of Things
by Ruth Gifford
(c)  1998


Chapter Seven
Wait for Me


"i want to roll down the windows 
and teach you to fly
i want to give you a thrill
the kind you can't buy

i want to lose all your demons and go
i want to tear off your chains cause i know
all the way to heaven is heaven
caught between the spirit and the dust
all the way to heaven is heaven
deep inside of us"

"All the Way to Heaven"
Melissa Etheridge




*Wait for me in the place in which you find yourself.* the note said.  It
was sitting on top of a pile of confusing clothing that had been tossed on
Jean-Luc's bed.  He'd known something was going on the minute he'd walked
in the room.  It wasn't just the faint smell of leather and some other
acrid smoky scent he hadn't liked very much, there was also a feeling of
"something" in the air.  After a year of being Q's lover, Picard knew when
something interesting was going to happen.

Jean-Luc looked at the note:  "Put the clothing on; make yourself
presentable and walk out the door.  Wait for me in the place in which you
find yourself."  As usual, the note was signed with an elaborate Q and
there was no doubt in Picard's mind that he would follow the instructions,
sparse as they were.  He sighed slightly; Q liked taking him off the ship,
but Picard felt a little guilty when he went along with it.  His lover had
assured him that in the case of an emergency he would return Picard to the
Enterprise, but even that wasn't quite enough.  Jean-Luc had never voiced
his true concern to Q, the concern that in an emergency, just being on the
bridge wasn't enough.  He had to be The Captain in an emergency,  and while
he didn't have the problem with the transition that he'd once had, he
didn't think having been somewhere else would make it easier.  Of course it
was easier when Q did what he usually did, which was to take them somewhere
else *after* Picard was firmly into his role.

*It *is* sort of a thrill,* he thought, as he sorted through the clothing
and other things on the bed.  *I think I rather like not knowing what's
going to happen next.*   He noticed the leather first, all of it black, and
all slightly worn, although well cared for.  There were leather pants, and
he knew without a doubt that they would fit like he'd worn them every day
for years.  There was also a leather jacket of a rather odd cut; when
closed all the way, the heavy sliver zipper would cross his chest at an
angle.  Given that the lapels were snapped open,  Picard realized that it
wasn't supposed to be closed all the way.  Along with the leather was a
plain white undershirt that looked a little small.  Socks and a pair of
heavy calf high boots completed the ensemble.  Picard sighed, aside from
the shirt, there was no other underclothing.  He knew better than to grab a
pair of briefs from his dresser.  Q was nothing if not through, and
Jean-Luc didn't want to pay the price of presuming that his omnipotent
lover had simply forgotten.  He started stripping, feeling the early tingle
of arousal roll across his skin.  He was under orders now and he could feel
his mind easing into that place where what Q wanted became paramount.

A half hour later, he looked at himself in his full length mirror.  He had
showered, shaved, and dressed in the clothing left for him.  The pants did
fit, although tightly, and he was a little embarrassed.  Dressing as
ordered had left him semi-erect, and he had no doubt that once he was in
Q's presence, he'd be even more aroused.   In these pants, that fact would
be instantly noticeable.  He reached down, thinking to try to adjust things
somewhat, and then stopped himself.  It would only make things worse.  

As he looked at the rest of himself, his well controlled streak of vanity
surfaced briefly.  The undershirt was a bit small and clung snugly to his
chest.  The black jacket made him look a little dangerous, and he smiled
suddenly.  If he, the bottom, looked like this, what on earth would his top
be wearing?  He had wondered at the accessories; a set of keys on a clip
that was already hooked to one of the belt loops on his pants, and a black
and white patterned bandanna that was half tucked into one of his back
pockets.  There was also a chain threaded through the epaulet and around
under the armhole of his jacket, the chromed metal gleaming against the
leather.  The last few items had been a plain silver watch with a black
leather band, a silver lighter of some kind (he recognized it from his
Dixon Hill forays on the holodeck) and a wallet that had been tucked in an
inside pocket of the jacket.  He had looked through it curiously, but it
had been completely empty.  He shrugged, undoubtedly Q knew what he was
doing.  *Not very subtle, but I rather like it,* he thought looking himself
up and down one more time.  *Enough johnny,* he told himself firmly.  *It's
time to go, boy.*  

Drawing a deep breath, he paused, and then walked out of his quarters—to
find himself . . . somewhere.  He had no idea where he was, except that it
was a dark, loud, and very smoky bar.  That alone convinced him of the
reality of this.  On the holodeck, when a bar was smoky, it merely looked
that way, here it smelled that way too.  Between the smoke and the noise of
the loud thumping music, he hoped he wasn't going to end up with a
headache.  

His entrance had gone totally unnoticed, which was a good thing, as he'd
essentially walked through a wall to be here.  He leaned against the wall,
watching for a pattern that would give him some clue as to where and when
he was.  The bar was full of men; the few women he could see proved, on
closer scrutiny, to be men as well.  As he listened, he realized that the
language was American English.  Looking for more clues, he reached into his
jacket pocket and pulled out the wallet.  It was no longer empty, and he
carefully looked though its contents.  There was money, which he quickly
counted—225 US dollars.  The other contents of the wallet proved even more
interesting.  There were two plastic cards with his name and several
numbers embossed on them; one said American Express and one said Chevron.
Credit cards of some kind he guessed, noticing that the signature on the
back was his own.  The real prize was what purported to be a California
Driver's License.  There was a flat picture (not a very good one) of
himself, and his name and an address: 225 Alvarado Street #310, San
Francisco CA, 94114. The license was valid through July 13th 1978.  

Picard knew a fair amount about San Francisco and its history and he
suddenly knew without a doubt exactly where he was--the Castro district, a
block or two southwest of Market street (and incidentally a block or two
away from Alvarado Street).  The time was the mid 1970's and he was in a
gay bar.  He shook his head; he wasn't used to thinking of himself as being
gay, but he knew that in this time it mattered.  Here he was safe, and even
in most of the surrounding city he would be all right, but dressed as he
was, if he went too far, or met the wrong people, he could be in very big
trouble indeed.

*Meet the wrong people here and I could be in big trouble,* he thought
wryly, as he stuffed the wallet back into his jacket and leaned against the
wall looking over the crowd.  There was a lot of leather, almost all of it
black and most of it decorated with sliver.  It was a uniform of some kind
and it didn't take a science officer to figure out what all this silver
accented leather meant.  *Not just a gay bar, but a gay S/M bar,* he
thought.  He settled back and watched, trying to understand what was going
on.  Full leather like what he was wearing was actually somewhat rare; a
lot of the men wore tight denim jeans and just had the jackets like his.
They all wore leather boots however, some of then heavy round-toed work
type boots like his own and some of them pointed-toed western style boots.
There were men in black leather chaps, a few well built men with no shirts
wearing black leather and sliver harnesses, young men in leather shorts and
white tank tops or no tops at all . . . men in leather everywhere and
Jean-Luc began to look just for the sake of looking, no longer worrying
about where he was. 

He had never been one to look at men all that much, but a year of being
involved with Q had changed his attitude somewhat.  Even in his own world,
he would find himself looking at men the way he'd once only looked at
women.  Here it was unavoidable, and he found himself liking what he saw.
He also liked the open atmosphere of sexuality, not just any sexuality, but
the attitudes and postures that came of eroticizing dominance and
submission.  *I belong here,* he surprised himself by thinking, finding an
odd kinship with these men who were outlaws in their own time and place.  

Gradually some patterns of behavior made themselves clear.  Some of them he
knew from his days of reading about the games he now found himself playing
and the role he now lived.  The bottoms kept their eyes down most of the
time, waited until noticed and acknowledged before speaking, got the drinks
and lighted the cigarettes, and, in short, acted like the submissives that
they were.  The tops varied more in style, from the rough to the quietly
arrogant, but all of them had a power that belonged in this smoky loud
world.  

He realized why his keys, handkerchief and epaulet chain had been placed
the way they were.  Until you saw one of these men interact with another,
it was hard to tell what they were.  The clothing alone wasn't the clue;
some of the tops didn't wear full leather, and some of the bottoms did.  It
was the placement of the accessories, the tops had theirs on the left,
bottoms on the right.  And the hats, the leather caps some tops wore, but
no bottoms did.  He smiled to himself, his keys and everything else were on
the right, and there had been no hat with the clothing.  The handkerchiefs
worn in back pockets seemed to have even more significance, as they came in
a plethora of colors.  He wondered what the black one that he was wearing
meant.  Not that it mattered, against the wall as he was, it couldn't be
seen.  He was so busy looking around that he didn't notice that he was
being looked at as well.

"Light," a man's voice ordered, breaking his concentration. He looked to
one side, to see a tall blond man wearing the mandatory jacket and holding
an unlit cigarette to his mouth.  Picard couldn't help it, he dropped his
eyes and fumbled for his lighter.  Suddenly his face was hot; he was being
ordered around by someone who was *not* Q.  Worse still, he was responding.
He lit the man's cigarette as quickly as he could, aware that he somewhat
lacked his usual ease.  

"My aren't *we* slumming," the man said, his voice sharply sarcastic.
"Don't worry," he added a little more kindly.  "Anyone who sees you *here*
is in the same boat."  Picard still kept his eyes down and said nothing,
unsure of the etiquette involved.  It took him a moment, but he then
understood that the other man thought that Jean-Luc was afraid of being
recognized.  His thoughts on what that meant were interrupted when the
blond man spoke again.  "You're far too interesting be here by yourself."
His voice made the sentence a question and Picard relaxed.  He could answer
questions.

"I'm waiting for someone," he said.  He had to groan inwardly, it was the
oldest line in the book, but it was true in this case.

"Aren't we all?" sighed the man.  He reached up and patted Jean-Luc on the
cheek.  "He better appreciate what he's got."  He then turned and wandered
off, leaving Picard with a pleasant feeling.  

*I think I've just been complimented,* he thought.  *Q will be proud of
that.*  How he knew that his Master would be proud, he wasn't sure, but
know it he did.  He straightened slightly, knowing that it was possible
that Q was here watching him. 

The next man to approach  him was more direct.  He was a short, broad
shouldered man with a young and very pretty blond companion.  The top
stopped in front of Picard and looked him up and down, making Jean-Luc feel
like a cadet under the scrutiny of an admiral.  In spite of himself, he
felt that slow burn shiver across his skin, and coil itself around his
penis.  The top smiled slightly, noticing instantly.  He suddenly reached a
hand out, grabbed the front of Picard's undershirt and pulled his face
close.  Breathless, Jean-Luc managed to get a few words out, "please . .
don't . . ."  It was probably the wrong thing to say, he thought, but no,
the man let go of his shirt.  Knowing that some of his distress must be
showing on his face, Picard gulped and lowered his eyes.

"If you don't want something like this, what the hell are you doing here,
dressed like this, boy?"  As the top snapped out the question, the young
man behind him glared at Jean-Luc.  Picard didn't find it at all odd to be
addressed as "boy" by someone who was very probably half his age.  The
man's' manner was self assured and in spite of himself, Jean-Luc wondered
what it would be like to be under his discipline.

"Please, sir," he said respectfully.  "I'm sorry, sir, but I was told to
wait here, sir."  He bowed his head as he'd been taught, and the man
chuckled.  

"You have nice manners—so formal, I like that."  The top's hand caressed
Picard's chest possessively.  "I bet I could have you begging to come home
with me in very little time."

Picard did not raise his head or meet the top's eyes.  When he spoke, he
was extremely quiet; he knew that the stranger was the only one who could
hear him. "Don't make that bet," he said, his voice pure command.  "You'll
lose and that won't look good.  Sir."  The man said nothing and covered his
start of surprise very well.  He reached out and slapped Picard's face, not
too hard, but hard enough to sting.  Behind him, his boy snickered at
Picard. 

"Beers, boy.  Two of them."   The young man stilled his face and moved off.
"Just who the hell are you?"

*Familiar ground,* Picard thought.  *I can handle this.  Just don't let him
lose any more face.*  "Johnny, sir."

"You always wear your keys on the right?"

"I can't answer that, sir," he replied, letting respectful regret color his
voice.

"And that will be your answer to anything else I could think of asking.  I
wish I had the time to teach you a lesson or two.  But I have the feeling
that your . . .?" his voice trailed off in a question.

"Master, sir."

"Of course.  Well, he's probably more than even I can handle."  The man
shook his head, as if surprised by his own honesty.  "If he doesn't show up
before I leave . . ."  His voice trailed off again as the boy returned.
"Down!" he snapped over his shoulder.  The boy fell to his knees, holding
up one of the bottles.  The top took it and then jerked his head toward
Picard.  Pouting, the young man offered the other beer to Jean-Luc.  He
took it, ignoring the boy and nodding his head toward the top.

"Thank you, sir."

"The least I could do," the top replied sardonically.  "I'll pass the word
that you're taken, and that you're new here."  With that, he turned on his
heel and left, his companion scrambling to his feet to follow him.  

He must have passed the word, for although Picard was subject to a lot of
scrutiny, no one else approached him.  He left his spot at the wall to get
another beer, but found an equally removed spot where he could watch the
ebb and flow of the bar.  For a while it was entertaining, but he began to
wonder when Q was going to show up.  He *knew* Q wouldn't abandon him, but
still, he began to worry.  He tried not to look at his watch too often, but
he was beginning to feel a little lost and confused.  It was starting to
sink in just how much he was alone here, and how far he was from home.  He
could go outside and look around, see if he was where he thought he was,
but no, Q had said to wait here.  He hid a sigh of concern and shifted
against the wall.  

A short time later, the pretty young man who was with the short dark-haired
top walked past him.  "Well," he said snidely.  "Looks like *you've* been
forgotten.  Anyway, aren't you a little *old* for this game?"  Before
Picard could frame a reply, a black gloved hand moved out of the crowd, and
yanked the boy up onto his toes.  Picard, reacting automatically to the
presence of his Master, stood straighter and clasped his hands behind his
back.  

A pool of silence began to ripple out from the tableau and Picard sighed
slightly in awe as Q moved out of the crowd.  The entity was dressed
exactly as Jean-Luc except that his undershirt was black.  He also had a
hat trimmed with silver in addition to the gloves.  His epaulet chain and
keys were on the left and Picard knew that he would have a black and white
bandanna in his left back pocket.  A phrase spoken by Q several years ago
surfaced in Picard's memory: "the jackbooted dark god of your dream."  And
that was what Q was now; Jean-Luc wanted to fall to his knees, but he knew
better than to do so before he'd been acknowledged. 

"It's way past your bedtime, child," Q said softly, the very sweetness of
his tone even more condescending than the words themselves.  "That might
explain why you're pestering your betters."

"Is there a problem?"  Picard recognized the voice of the boy's top, and he
waited like everyone else to see what would happen now.  The odd thing was
that Jean-Luc had been in countless bars where fights were brewing under
the surface, and he had always been right in the thick of it.  When he was
younger he had more often than not, been the one to start throwing punches,
and later, he had been the one trying to smooth things over.  Now he was
content to remain a spectator, trusting that Q could handle it.  Q looked
at the other top.

"You have a rude boy here," he said, his voice now calm.  Picard, like
everyone else who was paying attention, held his breath.  Q's words could
be taken a number of ways, and the moment depended on how the short man
wanted to take them.

"He's trash," the man said dismissivly.  His eyes flicked to Picard.  "We
can't all have the best."  He reached out and plucked the unhappy young man
out of Q's grasp.  "Before you haul your sorry ass out to the curb boy, I
want you to apologize."

The young man dropped to his knees in front of Q.  "Sir, I'm sorry, Sir.
Truly I am, Sir."  He sounded sincere, Jean-Luc thought with well hidden
amusement.  Q crossed his arms and nudged the boy with his boot.

"I'm not the one you insulted."  The boy looked up in confusion and Q
jerked his head toward Picard.  "When you've taken what he can take, you'll
be a real man.  Tell *him* you're sorry."

Jean-Luc remained in his respectful pose as the young man knelt before him
and stammered out a rather sincere apology.  He felt sorry for the boy, who
was simply in over his head.  The boy's top sighed slightly  and the young
man looked even more distressed.  That look clued Picard into something,
and he suddenly knew that if the young man could grow up a little, he
*would* be able to take the things that he, Jean-Luc had taken.  Daring
greatly, Jean-Luc looked toward his own Master.

"johnny," Q said, as if only seeing him for the first time this night.
Picard nodded respectfully and then slid his eyes to the door.  Q nodded.
"Go ahead and walk the boy out."  He turned, and then tossed his words over
his shoulder.  "Bring a pair of beers with you when you come back."

"Yes, Master.  Thank you, Master," Picard replied firmly, and took the boy
by the arm, hauling him to his feet.  Around them the crowd went back to
its own business, and Picard moved toward the door, the boy at his side.

"What's your name?" he asked when they were outside.   He looked around
briefly.  Not the Castro after all, maybe South of Market?  The street was
poorly lit and he could see other bars along it.  He smiled slightly to
himself, half expecting to see Dixon Hill come walking along the dirty
pavement, trench coat wrapped around him and his fedora cocked to just the
right angle, even if the era was wrong.

"Terry," the young man replied, dragging Picard's attention back to the
present.  "Look, I'm really sorry, but it really pisses me off  when Steve
. . ."

"Lesson number one, Terry," Picard interrupted firmly.  "He's always right.
If he wants to look at someone else, he can look at someone else.  He is
*always* right."  

"I know," Terry said, sighing miserably.  "Does it ever get any easier?"

"Do you want it to be easy?"

Terry sat down on the curb and looked up at him, understanding on his face.
"It's not a game to you, is it?  You're . . . real."

"Yes," Picard replied gently, sitting down beside Terry.  "And because it's
'real' as you put it, it's hard, incredibly hard. He often hurts me and he
frequently humiliates me and sometimes I fail him and that's the worst
thing of all.  But he's patient and he's training me and I'm getting
better."

"You fail?"

Picard laughed.  "Hard to believe," he mocked gently.  "Of course I do.
Everyone does.  Well, everyone except my Master."  Q of course, was far
from perfect, but when Picard was in this space, he genuinely believed that
Q was the perfect Master.  He looked at Terry again; the boy really was
very pretty, with high cheekbones, full lips, and an air of 'protect me'
about him. "If he has any sense, Steve will be out here in a while to take
you home."  He brushed a hand lightly across Terry's face, and then leaned
in and kissed him gently.  "You're very beautiful, but if you stop relying
solely on that pretty face of yours, maybe they'll see that there's
something 'real' about you.  Good night Terry."

As he stood up, and turned to enter the bar, he heard Terry say,  "Thanks,
Johnny."

End 1/4

-- 
***************************************************
*    Ruth    |     Visit GiffStein Productions    *
*   Gifford  |  http://www.cyberg8t.com/ereshkgl/ *
*-------------------------------------------------*
*    alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated      *
*    Resistance is possible, but why bother?      *
*-------------------------------------------------*
* Better living thru TrekSmut--See for Yourself!  *
*    http://home.earthlink.net/~ereshkigal        *
***************************************************

"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 7, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Fri, 20 Mar 1998 06:07:44 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 7, 2/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter Seven
2/4
disclaimer in 1/4


A few moments later, he knelt in front of Q and Steve, holding two cold
beer bottles.  It was far more exciting and a lot harder than Picard had
expected, kneeling like this in public.  He was safe, of course; this was
the past and no one here knew him, but that didn't matter all that much.
He was kneeling before Q as if it was the most natural thing in the world
and there were *other* people present.  People who would have a good idea
of the kinds of things that Q did to him and the things he did for Q.  Just
thinking about it made his cock stir against the leather of his pants,
which in turn stimulated him more.  *I can't believe that I'm getting so
aroused, simply kneeling here holding a couple of beers.*  

Q reached down casually to take a beer and a moment later Steve took his.
Freed of his duties, Jean-Luc knew better than to rise without permission.
"It depends," Q was saying.  "I tend to find that beating him doesn't work
very well.  johnny likes pain and so it's not a very effective punishment."
Picard could feel himself blush slightly.  "Ignoring him works, but then I
have to do without.  I just usually deny him basic privileges; do things
like making him eat off a plate on the ground."  Picard's face grew
hotter—that had been utterly horrible and hearing Q discuss it casually was
almost too much.  "Worked too," Q said glancing down at Jean-Luc.  "The
thought still upsets him, doesn't it johnny?"

"Yes Master," Picard replied softly, hating Q while at the same time
remembering how grateful he'd been for the discipline.  *How is it that
sometimes I can hate him more than I ever did before, and yet love him so
much that I'll do anything he asks of me?*  It was one of the
contradictions of being a slave, and Picard was slowly coming to accept and
cherish those contradictions. 

"Nice thought, but it wouldn't work with Terry.  He's half puppy as it is."
Steve laughed.  "He's a good boy, and I think he has some potential, but
he's got a lot to unlearn."  He looked down at Picard.  "May I?" he asked
Q.  Q made a be-my-guest gesture.  "What do *you* think I should do with
Terry?"

"Be strict with him, sir.  I think," Picard paused and then continued as
Steve nodded.  "Sir, I think he's afraid that you'll think he's not worth
the bother.  He was honestly upset when he knew he'd disappointed you,
sir."

"I probably do let him get away with too much, but he's just so cute,"
Steve said thoughtfully.  He looked at his watch.  "Maybe it's time to go
drag him home and work him over a little."  He stood and pulled a matchbook
out of his pocket.  Grabbing the stub of a pencil off the bar counter, he
scribbled something and handed the matchbook to Q.  Q shoved it in his
pocket, and held out his hand.  The two men shook hands and Q looked down
at Picard, nodding once.  Jean-Luc went down gracefully, resting his head
against Steve's boot for a second.  As he knelt back up, Steve patted him
on the cheek and walked out.

"So, johnny," Q said quietly.  "Under the circumstances I understand your
admirable restraint, but you can greet me properly now."  Picard sighed
with relief and bent down again, kissing Q's boots with more than usual
passion.  Doing so here, in this public space, made him acutely aware of
his status and he shivered at the humiliation of it all.  When he knelt up,
Q instantly noticed the effect of that humiliation on his slave.  He
stretched out one booted foot and began rubbing the bulge in Jean-Luc's
pants.  He was pressing rather hard, but Picard moaned and stayed still for
it.  A few people glanced down and then went back to their conversations.
As the boot continued to press against him, Picard began to move against
it, his body was responding to the pain and pressure.  His eyes flicked to
the front of his Master's pants; he wasn't the only one who was enjoying
this.  "See something you want, boy?" Q asked.  Picard nodded, moaning more
as the pressure of Q's foot increased.  "You'd probably do it right here,
wouldn't you, pet?"  Picard closed his eyes, but noticed that he was
nodding his head again.

*I'm such a slut,* he thought, grinding his erection against Q's foot.
This was so horribly thrilling; he wanted to be somewhere, anywhere, else,
while at the same time, he really was willing, even eager to satisfy his
Master any way he could, wherever Q wanted him to.  His breathing was
unsteady now, harsh pants as he fought against the impending orgasm.  At
the point where he was just about to open his mouth and ask Q if he was
allowed to come, Q stopped, and slid off his bar stool.  He reached down,
unhooked Picard's epaulet chain and expertly looped it around his slave's
neck.  Unhooking his own chain he clipped it to the improvised collar and
tugged Jean-Luc to his feet.  Without a word he headed toward the back of
the bar and then into the bathroom.  Finding an unoccupied stall, he pulled
Picard into it, ignoring the amused glances from the men at the urinals and
the blushes of his embarrassed lover.  Once inside he leaned against the
door.

"Go ahead, johnny."

*Oh God, I can't believe this,* Picard thought.  *I'm in the men's room in
a bar, on my knees, about to go down on my Master.*  His cock pulsed
against the tight leather of his pants as he unzipped Q's fly.  *I really
want to do this . . . I really want to . . . *need* to be here.*

"Oh . . . shit!" he heard Q mutter.  He looked up, startled; Q sounded
genuinely annoyed, but Picard didn't have time to think about it.  Without
any warning or transition, he was . . .

. . . elsewhere.  In his quarters to be exact.  Q was gone, the leather was
gone, and most importantly, his erection was gone.  He was in his uniform
and the shrill sound of a Red Alert was sounding through the comm systems.
"Oh shit, indeed," he muttered as he headed toward the door at a run.  "I
just  *knew* this was going to happen someday."

When he reached the bridge, Riker sighed slightly with relief and moved out
of the Captain's chair.  "Report, Number One," Picard ordered crisply as he
sat down, his eyes automatically going to the status panels in the arm of
his chair.  As Riker confirmed what the panels reported, that the
Enterprise was being threatened by an unknown energy source, Picard waited
for his mind to balk at the transition it had just had to make.  It didn't,
and he realized that he was already formulating plans to deal with the
situation the ship now found itself in.

The reports streamed in; the ship was in danger of being overtaken by the
energy field and their options were narrowing.  Data and LaForge both felt
that a concentrated burst from the main deflector would polarize the
swiftly moving field.  "It's obviously attracted to the warp nacelles,"
LaForge said, his voice worried.  "Going to warp would be a very bad idea,"
he added, anticipating Picard's next question.  "I hate to think about what
would happen if that thing interacted with a developing warp field." He
paused.  "I *think* we can polarize it," he muttered.

"Can you be sure?" Picard asked.  He had moved to the aft deck, and was
standing back a few paces from the Engineering station.  Data and LaForge
were running though the possible frequencies looking for a match-up.
Riker, who had been standing behind Picard. moved back down the ramp as
someone asked a question.

 "If I had more time, Captain,"  LaForge said, shaking his head.  "Data,
what if we go up into the theta bands?"

"One moment," Data replied, his hands moving with their usual speed over
the board.  

"Captain," Riker said quietly.  Picard turned, letting LaForge and Data
work.  "Lt. Lavelle thinks he can out maneuver the field."

Picard felt *it*, that little nudge of his. Ignoring Riker's slightly
worried look, and remembering that Sam Lavelle was an outstanding pilot,
Picard leaned over the aft railing.  "Best evasive maneuvers, Lieutenant,
make it so."

"Aye sir," came the confident reply, and the ship leapt out of the path of
the energy field.  Picard, watching their course on Worf's board, shook his
head, glad that the inertial dampers seemed up to the task of holding his
ship together as Lavelle threw it into a dizzying series of maneuvers. 

"Got it!" LaForge announced a few tense moments later.  "We're shifting the
main deflector into the iota range now, Captain."  

"For this to work, Captain, Data said, "we will need to be facing as much
of the energy field as possible."   

Picard nodded as he headed quickly toward his seat.  Checking the readouts
on his monitors, he figured the approach.  "Lt. Lavelle, bring us to 257
mark 42 on my mark."

"Aye, sir."

"We're ready, Captain."

Picard watched the display and knew when the time was right.  "Mark!"  The
ship leapt in response to Lavelle's handling, and for a moment Picard felt
as though he were looking into hell.  The energy field pulsed and glowed
dead ahead, then a dark hole seemed to appear in the middle of it and it
dissipated, fading swiftly.  The silence on the bridge was total, except
for a very small sigh of relief from the conn station.  *So help me, Q,*
Picard thought, not caring if his lover heard him or not.  *I'm going to
kill you.*  Aloud he said, "stand down from Red Alert," noticing that his
voice was as smooth and steady as ever.  He stood and looked aft to Data
and LaForge.  "Good work, gentlemen."  Heads around the bridge nodded
agreement and LaForge looked embarrassed while Data simply nodded  back.
Picard then moved to the conn station, and put his hand on the back of the
chair.  "Well done, Lieutenant.  That was nice flying."

There was the faint sound of a gulp and then Lavelle turned and gazed up at
Picard, a look of pure worship on his open face.  "Thank you, sir."
Picard couldn't help it, his mind brought up the image of Terry sitting on
a curb 300 years ago.  *Lavelle isn't as pretty,* he thought, both amused
and annoyed at himself for the thought.

Picard nodded and moved back to his chair.  "Damage report, Mr. Worf."  As
the report was given, he saw Riker slap Lavelle on the back and give him a
quick thumbs up.

The ship was safe, although LaForge thought that the inertial dampening
system needed a level two diagnostic, a precautionary move that Picard
readily agreed to.  After he had finished taking in the various reports he
needed right away, Picard retreated to his quarters, ostensibly to write
his own report.  In reality, he intended to have a few words with his
lover.  Q just could not keep dragging him all over the galaxy through both
time and space simply to play games.  Picard had loved being in the bar; it
had been a long held fantasy to be able to be on display as Q's slave, to
serve Q in public.  His ship could have paid a hideous price for his
selfish fantasies, and he was furious with himself for going along with Q
simply for a sexual thrill.  In this frame of mind he burst through the
doors to his quarters.  He half expected to find himself in the bar again,
but Q had the sense not to push him that hard.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"Oh for heaven's sake, johnny," Q started.

"No!  Don't you 'johnny' me!" Picard yelled.  "I'm not your boy right now,
I'm the Captain of over 1000 people who could have died if I made the wrong
decision!  How dare you do this to me?"  His hands bunched into fists and
he glared at Q.

"Oh please!" Q snapped back.  "I held a phaser to your head, and forced
you, is that it, *Captain*?"  He sighed in disgust.  "Oh, *pooor* Jean-Luc
Picard," he purred, his voice arch,  "dragged off his ship by the big bad
leatherman."  He paused and when he spoke again his voice was deadly
serious.  "You're missing the point here, Jean-Luc.  Try thinking clearly
for a moment."

In spite of himself, Picard began to calm down.  When Q wasn't yelling, or
being bitchy, or posturing at all, Jean-Luc had learned to take him
seriously.  "I'm supposed to see that I handled the crisis fine, and thank
you for teaching me the lesson.  But," and the gaze he turned on Q still
smoldered with anger.  "I can't overlook the fact that *you* put my ship in
*danger* just to teach me a lesson.  I thought you had left that behavior
behind."  He couldn't help it, a note of pain crept into his voice.  After
all their shared experiences and the love that bound them together, it hurt
to know that Q could still be so careless with Picard's people.  "Don't you
understand, Q?  I have a responsibility."

"I know that, Jean-Luc and we both know it's a responsibility that you
discharge better than anyone else ever has.  I wish you thought better of
*me*.  I didn't put that energy field out there.  I'll grant that I knew it
was there, but I'm not responsible for this danger."

"Knowing it was there, waiting for us, you took me off the ship.  I know I
asked you not to warn me of the unknown unless there's an overriding
reason, but . . . you *took* me away."

"No, Jean-Luc, don't make that mistake.  I know you're feeling guilty right
now, but remember your first rule.  The word ‘stop' means stop, no
questions asked."

Picard sighed miserably; Q was right.  He hadn't been forced, or even
coerced.  Knowing that Q was taking him off the ship, he had blindly
stepped out of his quarters because he wanted to be dominated.  It was that
simple, and in the long run it did no good to blame Q.  This whole thing
was his fault.  He sighed again.  "How could I have been so damned
selfish?" he muttered.

"Oh get over it!" Q snapped shortly.  "You were back in your quarters on
the first blast of the Red Alert warning.  It would have taken longer to
get to the bridge if you'd been in the head.  Are you going to start
feeling guilty every time you do *that*?  On top of it all, you did exactly
what you always do, listened to the options and then did the right thing."


Picard looked up a him, startled out of his self-pity by Q's words.  He
*had* done the right thing, that *it*, that instinct had still been there.
The entity moved closer, reached out and tapped the four pips that
indicated Picard's rank.  "These never really leave you, Jean-Luc, they've
been a part of your skin for too long.  They're part of what you are, and
these," and Picard shivered as  Q reached around and with that uncanny
accuracy of his, traced one of the scars on Picard's rear, "don't change
that.  You've discovered that you can be johnny in spite of Captain Picard,
and now you know that you can be Captain Picard in spite of johnny."  He
smiled gently.  "I count myself lucky to be *Jean-Luc's* lover; *I* get
both the Captain and the slave."

Picard sighed; Q, damn him, was right.  "What if I hadn't been able to do
the right thing, what if I couldn't make the transition?" he asked, trying
to cling to his anger for some unknown reason.  He hoped it simply wasn't a
need for reassurance.  

Q rested his hands on Picard's waist, pulling him closer.  In spite of the
teasing expression on his face, Jean-Luc knew that he was serious.  "Then I
would have saved your ship, gotten down on my knees right there on the
bridge, apologized, and promised never to take you off the ship again.  See
how much *I* trusted *you*?  Can you imagine me risking *that* if I thought
you couldn't handle it?"

Picard smiled at the mental image his lover's words conjured up.  "I'm
sorry I blamed you for the problem."

Q smiled.  "You should be."  He pulled Jean-Luc closer and kissed him hard.
Pulling back, he stared at Picard, adding, "boy."  His hands moved to
Picard's shoulders and he pressed down.  Picard didn't resist at all,
bowing his head as he fell to his knees.  There was a split-second of
disorientation, and then they were . . . 

. . . back in the men's room of the bar.  Jean-Luc didn't knew if the
erection that throbbed between his legs was the same one or a new one, but
he also didn't care.  His Master wanted to be served and he was eager to do
so.  As he freed Q's cock from the tight leather pants and began kissing
and licking at it, he was keenly aware of his surroundings and the fact
that he was he kneeling with his hands behind his back.  Q had spent a lot
of time making sure that his slave learned all the nuances of positions and
postures, and Jean-Luc had gotten very used to doing a lot of things with
his hands behind his back.  Doing this, sucking Q's cock like this, never
failed to take him back to the very first night, when after confessing his
deep buried desires, he'd knelt, just like this, in front of Q. 

*And now, here I am, in this men's room, in a bar full of lethermen,
servicing my Master.*  Even as he slid his mouth down and took Q's cock all
the way into his mouth, he could hear moans from other stalls, and the
rhythmic sounds of someone getting fucked.  Q had a strong grip on the
chain around Jean-Luc's throat and he was thrusting hard into his slave's
mouth.  *He's using me,* Picard thought as his own excitement grew. *That's
what's happening here and that's all I am while we're here.  Q's johhny,
Q's slave . . .*  There was that *click* that he associated  with
discovering something new about himself,  another puzzle piece falling into
place in his head.  *I can have this . . . I can let go and have this . . .
and it's all right . . . and I'm safe . . .*  He then threw all his
attention to the task at hand, wanting to be his Master's good boy, needing
to serve.

***

The street lights of Noe Valley gleamed dimly through the curtains as Q
watched his lover sleep.  *How do you do it?* he wondered.  *How do you say
‘I'm sorry, Q, you were right and I was wrong" so easily?*  Granted that
Jean-Luc hadn't said those exact words, but he had acted them out several
times over that night.  *What *is* it about you, Jean-Luc?  How did I ever
earn this trust?* 

Q knew some of the answers, of course.  Jean-Luc desperately needed to be
loved unconditionally.  Q's domination and the patience he exhibited in
training Jean-Luc, was proof to Picard that he was both loved and worthy of
that love.  Jean-Luc also needed challenges and that was certainly a need
that Q filled.  But there was more to it; Q's memory flickered back to when
they'd returned to the bar and that moment in which Jean-Luc had made an
important discovery about himself.  Q hadn't been trying to read his
lover's mind, but there were times when he couldn't help it and this had
been one of those times.  There had been a feeling of intense relief, as if
an important barrier had given way (which made sense, of course; one had).
*I can have this . . . I can let go and have this . . . and it's all right
. . .*  Under the circumstances, those thoughts made perfect sense.  Once
convinced that he *really* could do his job and have what he wanted, Picard
had happily *taken* what he wanted.  But that last thought, *I'm safe;*
what had that been about?  Q had never thought of Jean-Luc as wanting
*safety*.  Now he mulled it over, hampered by his promise not to intrude on
Jean-Luc's thoughts.  On the surface, a man who had one of the most
risk-filled careers in his time could hardly be seen as wanting safety.
But maybe this was personal safety, the security of knowing that someone
else would take care of him, and be *right* for him.  

As Q realized this, he sat up and stared down at Jean-Luc, amazed all over
again that his lover could let him so far inside.  *He trusts me enough to
let me take care of him.*  No one *ever* took care of Jean-Luc Picard; Q
had known that about him long before they were lovers.  Picard begrudged
every second in Sickbay, resisted Troi's efforts to coddle him emotionally,
and chafed against Riker and Worf's attempts to keep him from physical
danger.  Q knew that Picard had wished on more than one occasion that he'd
been born a good hundred years earlier, and had become a captain in a time
when captains risked their lives on routine missions.  Although his
intelligence told him that a captain's place was on the bridge of his ship,
his arrogance, ambition and drive led him to hate the restrictions.  It was
humorous, really; that vaunted patience that his adoring first officer
tried so hard to emulate was a total facade, a mask forced into place by
its owner's steely will.  But by accepting Q's love and trying to learn the
lessons that Q was teaching him, Picard had essentially said, "teach me . .
. help me . . . take care of me please."  

Q had to laugh silently.  Given where and when they were, the whole thing
took on overtones that would make Deanna Troi raise an eyebrow and nod
knowingly.  Q had done his research; his knowledge of S/M far outstripped
Picard's own reading on the subject, and he knew that they were closer to
the Daddy/boy game than either of them would have liked to admit.  Q had
called Picard "boy" from the beginning; he'd used the term the first time
he ordered Picard to his knees, even before Jean-Luc had confessed the
fantasies that had terrified him so much.  Picard however, had *never*
called Q "Daddy" and knowing what he knew of Maurice Picard, Q was glad of
that.  But there was this odd need to be loved and cherished, a need that
Jean-Luc fought far more than he'd fought his need to be dominated and
hurt.


End 2/4

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(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated,alt.fan.q
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 7, 3/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Fri, 20 Mar 1998 06:07:54 GMT


From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 7, 3/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)


At the Center of Things
Chapter Seven
3/4
disclaimer in 1/4



"I do want to take care of you," Q admitted softly, both to the sleeping
man at his side and to himself. 

"Mmmm?" Picard mumbled, rolling to lie on his back.  Looking at him, Q was
seized by the sudden urge to touch him.

*Well, I can,* he told himself.  *He's *my* slave after all.*  Viewing his
movements almost objectively, Q watched as his own hand reached down to
close gently around Jean-Luc's neck.  "Hands above your head, johnny."

"Yes, Master," Picard replied instantly.  Q was amused yet again by the
fact that Picard's Starfleet training (training designed to make him the
defender of freedom, among other things) made him such a good slave.  He
always woke instantly, alert and able to do whatever Q wanted him to do.
Now he lay passive, although shivering a bit, his arms above his head and
Q's hand on his neck.  Q exerted a bit more pressure, noticing that while
the shivering increased, Jean-Luc arched his head back slightly, as if
offering up his neck or even his very life to Q.

Entranced, Q began to speak, almost chanting the words.  "I'm going to take
everything you can give, Jean-Luc, I want all of you, *need* all of you.
I'm going to take and take and then I'll take more."  He tightened his grip
as he spoke, terrified at the wave of pure possessiveness that washed over
him.

"Please," Jean-Luc whispered, his eyes almost glowing.  "Take it all;
everything I am is already yours, Master."  He arched his neck and spoke
again.  "You are my God, and my life has always been in Your hands."  His
voice was firm and strong, there was no doubt and no hesitation; it seemed
to Q that Jean-Luc knew how much Q *needed* to hear this.  Oh he meant it,
Q could feel that much; Picard utterly believed every word he spoke, but he
also was giving them to Q as a gift.

*Just who *is* owned here?* Q thought as he realized how much he *needed*
to be here hearing these words.  His fear of that question made him angry,
and he glared down at Picard, only to be brought up short by the love he
read in Jean-Luc's face.  "Oh, johnny," he breathed out.  "That's what I
want."  Leaving his hand on Picard's neck, he bent his head down and began
kissing Jean-Luc hard.  He could tell that Jean-Luc was struggling slightly
for breath, but he remained still, surrendering utterly to Q.  "This is
what we're about," Q whispered.  "This is what all the rituals, all the
'games' we play, boil down to, this moment, right here."

*Yes, Master.*  Q didn't try to hide either his surprise at Picard's
ability to initiate telepathic contact, or his pleasure at that surprise.
*i know that, Master.  Right here, with Your hand on my neck is where i
belong.  It's where i need to be.*

*And where I need to be.*  Q slowly let his energy coil around them both,
suddenly sure they were ready for this.  *I'm about to do something very
important, and I have to abandon this form to do it.  Stay with me,
johnny.*

*Always, Master.* 

Q let go of his Human form, and took a certain vain delight in the way
Picard's eyes widened as he looked up at the shimmering swirl of purple
light that hovered above him.  Q was careful to keep the sensation of a
hand on Jean-Luc's throat, and he maintained the mental contact as well.

"You're so . . . beautiful, Master," Jean-Luc whispered aloud, and Q felt a
flush of pride ripple across him.  He began to work the energy that
surrounded both of them, taking great care not to do anything that would
damage Jean-Luc.  *i love you,* Picard thought at him.  

*So good,* Q thought, watching (in his own way) as his purple energy coiled
around Jean-Luc's own energy.  He looked at Jean-Luc, if his lover was a Q,
he would be an almost translucent, but dazzling  bight white, sparked here
and there with deep flashes of red.  *I love you.*

Jean-Luc had to keep remembering to breathe.  It wasn't the hand at his
neck that was making him feel this way, or even the vision of that awesome
display of controlled energy that hovered so carefully above him, as if he
were being made love to by a warp core.  It was the feeling of . . . what?
that was leaving him breathless.  There weren't even mental images, let
alone words, to describe what was happening to him. 

 Power, pure power was surging around him, ebbing and flowing, rippling
across his skin, and under it, wrapping itself around him and through him.
His senses, already enhanced by the time he spent with Q, told him that
although most of the energy was Q, some small part of it was himself.  This
was like those times when Q beat him or when they made love and it all
worked so well that Picard had that *connection* and went elsewhere.  As
soon as he realized that, he surrendered wholeheartedly to what was
happening.  He was safe here, and he could control none of it; all he could
do was *feel*.

And feel he did.  As if his surrender had allowed Q to somehow enter him,
he was overwhelmed by a rush of sensations . . . it was as gentle as the
first time he's hesitantly kissed a girl . . . as rough as the time two
weeks ago when he'd knelt, face to the floor as Q fucked him hard and fast
. . . it was new and different . . . and it was comfortable and familiar .
. . he was *there* again . . . out among the small mysteries of the galaxy
and the great Mystery of the Universe . . . and now his body began to try
to process the sensations physically . . . every nerve was alive . . .
singing and surging to the rhythm of this strange tide of energy that
surrounded him . . . as he relaxed into it more . . . opened himself up
utterly, the more familiar sensations of sex became part of the experience
. . . they *were* familiar, and yet he had never felt like this before . .
. there was pain, heavy and sharp at the same time . . . a pain that
constantly shifted with his ability to accept it . . . an erotic pain that
made his prior beatings seem like mere warm-ups to this . . . there was
pleasure, in spite of, and indeed, because of the pain . . . but this was
also the pleasure that he felt when he was taken gently . . . he was
wrapped in liquid flame . . . honey-fire that burned and caressed . . . wet
and hot and thick and sweet . . . now he was entered . . . he could feel
himself open up easily, even greedily, to the pressure that surrounded him
. . . a pressure that was increasing . . . but he was able to take it . . .
to let it into him . . . deep and hard and hot . . . relentlessly insistent
. . . each new increase of pressure somehow increasing his ability to
receive . . . now there was a voice? . . . a thought? . . . something . . .
his name . . . *Jean-Luc* . . .  yes his name . . . being said over and
over . . . a ritual incantation . . . and it seemed only right that as the
physical sensations increased . . . as the honey-fire thickened and flamed
. . . as he took in more and more . . . it seemed only right that he
respond with his own incantation . . . *Q* . . . he was . . . whispering .
. . shouting . . . screaming . . . thinking . . . over and over . . .
because above it all, at the center of things . . . was Q . . .

At the center of things was Jean-Luc . . . all of him . . . Q knew that he
had to maintain some control; his lover could very well die here . . . but
each time he thought that this was enough . . . too much for a fragile
mortal to bear . . . Jean-Luc let him in even more . . . Q could see his
lover's transparent flame shot energy becoming infused with a blush of
purple . . . he was beginning to lose himself in this . . . this  feeling
that he'd never felt . . . so much better than it had been with his few Q
lovers . . . he was absorbing Jean-Luc into himself while knowing that he
poured his own energy back into his lover . . . the strands . . . coils . .
. spirals of energy that surrounded them were becoming increasingly melded
and mingled together . . . he effortlessly pulled the image of honey-fire
from Jean-Luc . . . and it *was* hot and sweet and good . . . this fusion
of the energy . . . he had to . . . to be careful . . . wrapping Jean-Luc
in a protective field, Q yanked them across space and time . . . and into a
corner of space that was safe . . . and he reveled in the fact that he was
taking care of his lover . . . giving Jean-Luc what he needed . . . and
taking what he, Q, needed . . . more fire . . . more honey . . . the thick
rich sticky strands of it wrapping and braiding themselves around the two
of them . . . it rushed over Q . . . the *need* to pour himself completely
into this . . . to give Jean-Luc everything . . . he coiled the strand up
tighter . . . and then an echo caught him . . . "You are my God; my life
has always been in Your hands."  He shifted the energy yet again . . .
flinging it away to flare out around them like the white-gold corona of a
star . . . and he knew that he was pouring *some* of the flame into
Jean-Luc . . .

He was awash with it . . . this honey-fire . . . it spilled into him from Q
. . . he was burning . . . drowning . . . it triggered some kind of release
of his own . . . pale in comparison . . . but he *was* giving back . . .
returning some of this energy . . . this love . . . it flared out if him .
. . like and unlike any orgasm he'd ever had . . . he gave himself up to it
. . . over and over . . . flame and energy and light . . . and still a part
of him heard his own name . . . *Jean-Luc* being shouted . . . whispered .
. . chanted . . . and he was still, somehow, responding . . . *Q* . . . the
pressure . . . the heat . . . the sweetness . . . the flame . . . it
finally peaked . . . and overwhelmed him . . . and he was safe, cradled and
blanketed in comforting, safe, darkness . . .


***

Picard woke up and stretched luxuriantly.  He felt good, in fact, he felt
incredible.  No surprise really, given that last night . . . last night had
been . . . he wasn't exactly sure *what* had happened to him last night
except that once more, Q had given him something that he could get nowhere
else and that he had been looking for all his life.  They had had psychic
sex before, Q driving Jean-Luc to distraction and then over the edge
without laying a single finger on him.  There had been times when Q had
been inside Picard's mind as they made love and times when he'd widened the
contact to show Picard what it felt like from Q's point of view.  But never
anything like this.  *That's how *they* do it,* Picard thought.  *That's
how the Q make love.*  

He could remember a point when he felt a tremendous effort on Q's part, a
holding back, not of feelings or emotions, but of that awesome energy that
made up Q's real form.  *It would have killed me, if he hadn't sent that
energy elsewhere.  But he did give me some of it, and I gave him some of
mine.*  It always struck Picard as odd; every time he swore he couldn't
belong to Q more, couldn't feel more, couldn't love Q more, something would
happen that would cement the relationship further. 

Picard smiled and rolled over.  He was alone in bed, but Q was somewhere
nearby, although not in the apartment . . .  *That's right, we're still in
San Francisco.  I let Q take me out of time for this.*  He didn't mind as
much as he once would have, although he still marveled that he had been
able to instantly make the switch from johnny to Captain Picard.  He sat up
and stretched again, feeling very much like a child who has been told that
school was canceled for the day.  There was a note on the pillow next to
him.

//Make yourself at home; after all, it's your apartment.  I've gone to get
breakfast.  Q//  Jean-Luc caressed the paper, and laid the note to one
side.  He'd save it, of course.  He had more than a few notes in the lower
drawer of his bedside table.  There were  times he felt a little foolish
about them, but when Q couldn't be with him, the notes were there and he
would feel better.  *I'm so over-the-top,* he thought, amused.  He
carefully put the note aside and got out of bed.  

He didn't really remember too much of the apartment's layout from last
night.  Q had shoved him to his knees in the hallway outside the front door
and made him crawl to the bedroom.  Picard smiled as he remembered kissing
Q's boots, an activity that had lasted a lot longer than usual as he ran
his tongue over the black leather again and again, trying without words to
convey his gratitude for the lesson he'd learned that night.  Other things
had followed, and he'd seen very little of the apartment that was,
according to Q, his.  

*Alvarado Street,* he thought.  *Noe Valley, near the Castro.  If there's a
view, it will be down the valley toward the Twin Peaks.  But first, the
bathroom.*  A few moments later he emerged from the bathroom and began to
prowl around.  The bedroom was moderate sized and seemed rather dark.  He
moved to open the curtains and then remembered that he was naked, not a
problem on the ship, but here . . . well it wouldn't be a good idea to
shock the neighbors.  Q hadn't told him to stay naked and so Picard put on
the bathrobe that hung in the bathroom; it was typical of the things that Q
liked to see him in, jewel toned paisley in this case.  He smiled, running
his hands over the fabric of the sleeves.  He had become so much more
*aware* of textures and sensations in the last year.  This was silk, and
heavy silk at that.  *Q is spoiling me,* he thought, deciding that he liked
being spoiled.  It might not be a good idea to let Q know that, however.
Picard had to admit that he was frequently embarrassed by the fuss that Q
made over him, even as he craved the attention. 

Shaking his head, he moved to the widow and pulled the curtains open.  "Oh
my . . ."  The view *was* of Noe valley, but it was through a profusion of
plants that crowded a balcony.  He could see into the garden of a
neighboring building and then down the hill.  It didn't look all that
different from the San Francisco that he knew and he remembered that the
city had been lucky during the wars and riots of the early 21st century.
He abruptly remembered something from last night.  When they'd gone back
into the bar, there had been a faint ghost of concern in the back of his
mind.  Now that ghost took on substance, and he looked around the room for
some indication of the date. He found an appointment book  on one of the
nightstands; the year was 1976 and it seemed to be late August.  

*1976,* Picard thought, sitting down on the bed.  *The American
Bicentennial, of course.  What else? The Student Riots in France were in
the '60s, now Mitterand is President, Jimmy Carter is going to be elected
President of the US in November, the oil price wars haven't started yet,
the Cold War is going on but right now it's at a low point, the Middle East
is very tense, but the Iranian revolution and the Iran-Iraq war are a few
years off.  The Vietnam War is over and times here in the US are good.  But
the future . . .*  

Hard times were coming and no one here knew it.  All those men in that bar
last night . . . in five or six years they would watch in horror as their
numbers began dying of AIDS.  The kind of careless behavior they had
indulged in would become a thing of the past, and the tolerance that was
slowly being extended to the homosexual community would vanish.  There
would be wars and growing economic hard times and finally there would be
the millennium and the riots.  The gay community would suffer through these
with the added scourge of their own plague.  Picard suddenly felt ashamed
of the night he'd had; how could he come and play in this time like a
tourist and then go back to his own time where the term "safe-sex" meant
that the zero-gee generator had been recently diagnosed?   *Q!  I hate this
. . .* he began.  

*A little learning can be a dangerous thing,* Q's mental voice replied.
*This isn't the past that you know, Jean-Luc.  It's close, but there is no
need to put on sack cloth and ashes and wander the streets yelling, 'The
plague is coming!'  This place is watched . . . protected.  I can't tell
you anymore right now, but trust me, please love?*

*Thank you,* Picard thought back.  *I just felt . . .*

*Guilty, sympathetic, wishing that you didn't have to deal with the Prime
Directive . . . I know Jean-Luc.  If you don't want to be here, we can go
back to the ship.*  There was no mockery on Q's mental tone at all. 

Picard thought of the feeling of belonging he had felt last night in the
bar and the way it had felt to be led out of the men's room by a chain
while everyone looked at him.  *No Master, please.  I liked . . . really
liked being in the bar with you last night.  It was hard, but . . . I
*needed* it.*   Jean-Luc knew that Q loved to hear that Picard needed him
and the things  they did together, and Picard *did* need it.  Q also liked
to hear him talk about how hard all of it was for his johnny.  *Please . .
. can we . . . can *you* take your boy there again, Master?*

*Of course I can.  Other places here in the City as well.*  There was an
amused feeling to Q's mental voice.  *Don't ask, johnny, just accept that I
chose this dimension and this time for a very good reason.  Now stop
pestering me.*

*Yes Master,* Picard thought back with a slight chuckle.  He felt a hand
slide over his silk clad rear ever-so-briefly, and then Q's presence faded
back into the background of his mind.  Smiling, Picard continued to look
around.  The furniture in the bedroom was dark; the bed, the nightstands
and the massive dresser were made of well cared for mahogany.  The floor
was hardwood, he remembered that much from last night; it had been hard on
his knees.  There was a lovely Persian carpet at the foot of the bed, its
deep red tones matched by the bedspread and the curtains.  *Rather
restrained, given the era and the fact that Q set all this up,* he thought
with amusement.  He checked out the top of the dresser; a silver tray held
a set of silver brushes and a glass bottle with his initials on them.  The
bottle held cologne, his usual lime and bergamot mix.  "You are so
thorough," he murmured, as he opened the jewelry box.  It took a little
while but he realized that the pieces that came in pairs were cufflinks.
Most of them were the kind of thing he would be likely to wear, nice but
nothing flashy, although a few pair were downright gaudy.  There were two
complete sets of studs for formal wear, one onyx and another malachite.
The other thing that immediately caught his eye was the bracelet made of
massive silver links and a flat plate engraved with the familiar gothic Q. 

He stood for a long moment, wanting to put it on, but not sure if it fell
under the rule that said that he couldn't put his collar on himself.  He
shrugged lightly, putting it back into the box.  He could always beg Q
later to be allowed to wear it.  A search through the dresser drawers
revealed the expected socks, and underwear.  He had to raise an eyebrow at
some of the underwear, brief things designed to conceal very little.
"Well, I, or at least the *me* in this dimension, didn't buy this."  He
tossed a black g-string back into the drawer, realizing that the thought of
wearing something like that for Q was rather appealing. 

The other drawers yielded up several pair of jeans and t-shirts, including
several t-shirts bearing the logo Bay To Breakers.  He looked at them with
delight and noted the years, 1971 through 1976.  He'd last run the Bay To
Breakers in 2363 and had the t-shirt to prove it in a drawer aboard the
Enterprise.

Having seen the more casual side of his wardrobe, he headed for the closet,
smiling ruefully.  *Q is turning me into a clothes horse . . . odd, when
you consider that most of the time I'm with him, I'm naked.*  The closet
was organized neatly, there were several suits and dress shirts, obviously
business attire; they were all in dark sober colors.  At one end of the
closet, however, the clothing was much more interesting.  Formal wear, a
standard tuxedo, and a much more flamboyant one in dark green velvet.  He
chuckled, as he pushed the formal wear aside.  He'd much rather wear either
of the tuxedos than what passed as formal wear in his own time.  Of course
for him it was never a problem, one advantage of having to wear a uniform.


Suddenly the dichotomy of the two suits struck him.  *Maybe this Jean-Luc
Picard isn't open . . . (out  is the word) . . . how horrible to lead a
double life.  I suppose I lead a double life . . . but not really . . . my
crew knows what Q is to me . . . well not all of it of course . . . but
Deanna and Beverly do know all of it . . . the family knows that my lover
is a man . . .  Marie keeps pestering me to bring him home to meet them . .
. I *don't* think so . . . Marie would be polite, and Q would charm her . .
. Robert would be rude and Q would butt heads with him while keeping up a
running mental conversation with me . . . and Rene?  What to tell Rene?
'Well, Uncle, when you have a ship of your own, you may be unlucky enough
to meet someone just like Q.'*

*I heard that!*

*I thought you don't read my mind.* 

He felt a mental sigh from his lover.  *Jean-Luc, it's like you not
listening to someone in the same room who is talking to themselves.  You're
getting stronger, you know.  You could reach Deanna with no problem and you
could probably manage to yell loud enough to get Riker's attention.
Although why you'd want to . . .*

*Q?*

*Yes?*

*Weren't you supposed to be getting breakfast?*

*Aye aye, Captain.*  Q's presence faded again.  Picard, suddenly tired of
the closet, left the bedroom.  The hallway was narrow, with black and white
photos of the northern coast on the walls.  All in all, Picard thought as
he walked into the living room, this place was somewhere he could imagine
himself living.  The living room was brighter than the bedroom had been,
and furnished comfortably.  The colors here were lighter, beige and tans,
with a spectacular blue Isfahani carpet.  The blues in the carpet were
picked up by the throw pillows and one of the chairs was a deep blue.
There was a fireplace, and one wall was dominated by a sliding glass door
that opened on to the same plant covered balcony as the bedroom.  The wall
opposite the fire place was decorated with another series of photographs,
this time color.  There were a couple of pictures of mosques, one of the
Grand Canal of Venice, and several pictures of Notre Dame de Paris.  

"I apparently have good taste, or at least the money to pay for good taste.
Who am I here anyway?"  He smelled it then, coffee.  He moved through the
dining area, noting that the table looked remarkably like the table in the
kitchen at home in LaBarre.  There was a odd looking coffee maker on the
kitchen counter, and Picard smiled, having seen something a lot like it in
a museum of 20th century machinery.  This one seemed to be working
perfectly, and he found a mug in the nearby cupboard.  The kitchen was
clean and didn't look like it was used often.  Once more Picard wondered
who "he" was in this time.  There hadn't been a desk in the bedroom or
living room, and he wondered if there was another room.   Carrying his mug
with him he investigated further.

There was another room, and Picard's eyes lit up when he saw it.  It was
perfect, a small but gorgeous library/office with built-in bookshelves and
a dark desk.  The two chairs in the room were upholstered in dark green
leather and the room smelled of books and paper.  He scanned the shelves
briefly, approving of the few titles he read, and then moved to rifle
through the desk.  At no time did he feel like an intruder; this place felt
like it *belonged* to him, it was somehow right.  *Thank you,* he thought,
knowing even without a reply that he'd been heard.  He than sat down and
started looking through drawers.  

A short time later he had a pile of interesting documents in front of him.
There was a "Resident Alien Permit," which seemed to confer the right to
work and live in the US.  He had laughed at the title, he wasn't an alien,
just a time traveler.  But here he was an alien, except in two countries,
France and England.  The proof of that also lay on the desk, two passports.
According to the information in each, he maintained residences in both
Paris and London.  He had found several boxes of business cards; he was
apparently in the import/export business, although what he either imported
or exported wasn't clear.  He had also found a number of financial
documents that pertained to various French, British, and American bank
accounts.  He didn't know what the rates of exchange were or even what
money was worth in this time and place.  Q had said it was a different
dimension after all.  There could be any number of tiny, but important
differences from what he thought of as the past.  The most interesting
thing was that he apparently belonged here in this time and place;
therefore, he would be able not to break the Prime Directive.

There was a sound in the hallway.  "Hi honey, I'm hoome!!" Q called in a
mocking voice.  Picard, laughing, left the study to find his lover putting
a couple of bags on the kitchen counter.  The entity was dressed in a pair
of jeans and a gray sweatshirt that claimed to be from the UC Berkeley
Athletic Department.

"Well," Jean-Luc said, as he refilled his coffee cup.  "I must admit, when
I think of you, I think of athletics.  Did you go to Berkeley on a flogging
scholarship?"

"Would you like a demonstration of my flogging skills right now?" Q asked
as he opened one of the bags.  There was the smell of hot bread of some
kind, and Picard's mouth began watering. 

"Whatever my Master desires," he replied demurely.

"Bitch," Q drawled.  "What if I said I wanted to beat you and make you go
hungry for the rest of the day?"

"Your privilege, of course."  This time Jean-Luc's voice was serious.

"Yes it is.  But don't worry, I won't starve you.  And I'll beat you later,
but not for the athlete remark.  As it so happens, Q-for-Quincy Delaney,
was on the tennis team at Berkeley.  Class of  '58."  Picard raised a brow.
"I majored in Art History, if you must know."  Q pulled several bagels out
of the bag, followed by a small tub of cream cheese.  "Lox and chives."

"That sounds perfect," Picard said moving toward a cupboard to get plates.
"Are you going to have any?"  It was a commonplace question, sometimes Q
ate just to keep Picard company, sometimes he ate because he actually liked
what they were eating, and sometimes he didn't bother.  

"Yes, but *you* won't need a plate," Q said, coming up to stand right
behind Jean-Luc.  He gripped Picard's arms tightly, feeling his lover
shiver.  Jean-Luc made a soft sighing noise, and leaned back against Q.  Q
slid his hands down Picard's arms and then around his waist, untying the
dressing gown belt.  He then pulled the robe off and tossed it over a
chair.  Stepping backward, Q turned and headed out of the kitchen.  "Bring
two bagels, the cream cheese, a knife and a cup of coffee to the living
room."

"Yes Master."

End 3/4

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)

========
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated
Subject: NEW: ACT Chap 7, 4/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)
From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Date: Fri, 20 Mar 1998 06:08:05 GMT

From:
	ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford)
Subject:
	NEW: ACT Chap 7, 4/4 (TNG, P/Q, bdsm, NC-17)



At the Center of Things
Chapter Seven
4/4
disclaimer in 1/4



A short time later, Jean-Luc sat on the carpet at Q's feet, being fed
pieces of bagel.  Q had locked his color around his throat, and had put the
heavy sliver bracelet on his right wrist.

"I was tempted to put that on myself, Sir," Picard admitted.  "Is it
permitted?"

"Yes johnny, but if I'm here, *I'll* be the one to put it on you."

"Yes Master," Picard said, bowing his head.

"You're dying of curiosity aren't you?" Q asked after feeding Picard a few
more bites of bagel.

"Of course, Sir," Picard replied, looking up to smile at Q.

"As you already know," Q began, "your name here is the same as it is at
home.  I'm Quincy, but I hate the name and have gone by Q all of my life.
My family lives in Seattle; I have a married sister and both my parents are
alive.  They know that I'm gay, and they like you a lot.  They don't know
the complete nature of our relationship, but it probably wouldn't bother
them too much.  My sister has two children, both daughters; the younger one
is fifteen and has a serious crush on you, by the way."  

Picard chuckled, and then kissed Q's fingertips as the entity put another
piece of bagel in his mouth.  "I'm 45 years old and I'm an art buyer for an
auction house here in the City.  I travel a lot and I met you ten years ago
in Madrid.  A rather intense one night stand led to a week in Portugal and
then a month in London, and we've been together ever since then, although
we decided not to live together, because, if you can imagine this, we
quarrel. You've been spending more time in San Francisco lately and you got
this place about a month ago.  You were getting tired of staying with me
and you think my apartment is loud and tacky.  You're right of course, but
it's 1976, so I have an excuse."  He leaned down and bit at Jean-Luc's
shoulder, and Picard arched his head back, moaning under the familiar
pressure of Q's teeth.  When Q stopped and sat up again, Jean-Luc knew
better than to express any disappointment.

"Your story is far more interesting than mine," Q continued.  Picard leaned
his head against his lover's leg and listened.  "As you already know, you
have both French and English citizenship.  Your father was a lawyer, a
Frenchman named Rene Picard, and your mother was an Englishwoman named
Elizabeth FitzHugh.  She was your father's second wife; however you have no
siblings.  In 1936, your father died and your mother returned to England.
Her father was a London businessman, and when he died a year later, your
mother inherited his money, which along with your father's money left both
of you quite well-off.  You went to Eton (which may account for why you can
take a good caning without hopping all over the place)," Picard tried not
to snort at that, "and you were to go to Balliol at Oxford.  You intended
to study History and become a scholar, but The War came.  

"There have been a lot of wars, of course, but for anyone your age, The War
is World War Two. Your mother didn't want you to do anything rash, but in a
fit of teenaged enthusiasm, you talked your way into the British Navy in at
the age of 16 (which may be the other reason you respond so well to
discipline).  Granted, they weren't asking too many questions in recruiting
offices in 1940.  The fact that you were a native French speaker and that
you're as clever here as you are at home, got you noticed.  When your true
age was discovered, you ended up in Intelligence as an aide.  Although you
hadn't had any college, by the time the war ended, you were a Senior Grade
Leftenant.  You remained in Naval Intelligence, although you did your years
at Oxford and took a First in Modern History.  You were then . . . involved
in a certain amount of modern history, until 1962, when you resigned from
the Navy, due to a growing discontent over Britain's colonialism.  You left
with the rank of Captain, giving no reason to your superiors for your
resignation.  They assumed that your divorce probably had something to do
with it, and were glad you left, given the activities of your ex-wife.
Since then you've pursued business interests and you are an occasional
guest lecturer at various colleges."

Picard raised his head to look up at Q.  "A divorce?  An ex-wife?"  This
was a fascinating story, but it was so odd to hear it about himself. "I
don't have children here, do I?"

"Oh please, Jean-Luc.  Pamela was a 'beard.'"   Picard raised an eyebrow in
question.  "She was your nice, simple cover, and you were hers.  The two of
you never had sex, let alone children.  She was a girl you met in college,
where she was in danger of being labeled a lesbian.  This would have lost
her her inheritance, not to mention the tuition to go to Oxford.  The two
of you made a very cold deal, although you did become friends later.  We
see her in London now and then.  The two of you divorced when she fell in
love with a rather outspoken woman who wanted her to leave the comforts of
the closet behind.  Pamela's lover is a very respected leader in the Gay
Rights movement in Britain these days."  Q sniffed.  "They don't shave
their legs, and they're vegetarians."

"So I've always been gay here?"

"That's putting it mildly.  Your first lover was a fellow classmate at
Eton.  The first time a lover beat you was during the War.  The first night
you and I spent together, I gave you a rather extensive caning and decided
that you were far too good to be running around free.  Fortunately, you
agreed with me."  Q paused.  "I did it right in this time and place, even
if none of it really happened."  There was a note of bitterness to his
voice.

Picard turned his head and kissed Q's hand.  "But I'm not a closeted
British queen with a taste for the leather and a fag art buyer boyfriend.
I'm a middle aged French starship captain who is very much in love with the
omnipotent immortal who mastered him."  He paused.  "Did you say something
earlier about beating me, Sir?"

***

"Q?"

"Hmmm?"

"I usually don't ask, but is this real or not?"   They were back in bed, Q
having delivered the promised beating.  Picard had learned that there was a
locked trunk in the closet that held a rather impressive collection of
equipment, including an extremely nasty flogger made out of nylon rope.
He'd asked for it of course.  He was learning that there were times when he
could get away with changing the mood.  He wondered if he should be doing
that, knowing that if he was truly Q's slave, it was up to Q to decide
everything that occurred.  He shoved the thought down, deciding to think
about it later, when Q wasn't with him.  Now though, having taken a shower
and returning to bed, he was relaxed, if a bit confused. 

"Real . . ."  Q sighed.  

"I'm sorry," Picard replied.  "I hardly ever ask, because it really doesn't
matter, and I know that 'reality' is a far more nebulous concept that I
like to think, but these people . . . I have an ex-wife, you say you have
parents, a sister, and two nieces . . . did you just snap your fingers and
invent them out of whole cloth?  You told me earlier that this is a
different dimension, an alternate past . . ."  He shook his head.
"Sometimes it's . . . confusing."

"Obtuse piece of flotsam,"  Q said affectionately.  He couldn't blame
Jean-Luc for being confused, it was confusing.  "I . . . made some
adjustments.  When I found this alternate past, I . . . sort of eased us
into it.  Everything that you did while in the Navy had been done, but by
several different people.  You (or at least the you that exists here) are
a jigsaw puzzle, created out of bits and pieces of others.  So no one died
or wasn't born in order for us to exist here.  I just added some bit
players to an already crowded production."

"Oh," Picard said.  He wasn't quite sure how to respond.  This would take a
lot of thinking.  "Earlier you said you chose this place and time for a
good reason.   I know you told me not to ask why at the time; can I ask
now?"

"I'm *not* going to tell you everything, but part of it was . . . well, I
wanted to . . . give you the whole thing.  I know you fantasize about
appearing in public, but I also know there's no way that you'd be able to
do it in your own time.  And I . . . well . . . the fact is that you've
been so *good* in the last year.  I wanted to give you something as an
anniversary present."

"Thank you," Picard replied sincerely.  "Why do I love you so much?" he
asked in a reflective voice.

"My unique charm," Q replied airily.  Picard hurumphed and pushed Q onto
his back. Q went with it, lying back as Jean-Luc began to kiss him hard.
Picard slid his hands up Q's arms to his wrists and held him down as he
moved his mouth down to Q's neck and began biting at it.  Q began moaning
and Jean-Luc smiled to himself. 

Q could almost feel Jean-Luc's smile.  What was far more important, was the
feeling of his lover's teeth at his neck and the strength of Picard's hands
on his wrists.  Jean-Luc liked to bite, Q had discovered, and he liked to
tease.  Q had also learned that, aside from the biting, Jean-Luc wasn't
really a sadist; he occasionally liked to dominate Q but not to hurt him
very much.  That was fine with Q, who liked the sensation of mild pain, but
found that it was close to impossible to take anything really intense.  The
few times he had tried, his respect for Jean-Luc's strength had increased
immensely.

"I want your hands cuffed to the bed above your head," Picard said softly.
Q complied, feeling a little thrill of nervousness.  

With Q's wrists out of the way, Jean-Luc went back to his lover's neck,
biting at the point where neck joined shoulder.  Q's moans increased and
Picard began to slide his hands along Q's chest, stroking him gently and
slowly.  After a few moments he lifted his head and simply touched Q
gently, watching as Q twisted to bring more of himself in contact with
Jean-Luc's hands.  As always, Jean-Luc felt gratitude wash over him; here
was an omnipotent being submitting to him.  Picard knew how hard it was to
submit, and it had to be even harder for Q, as he had a cultural block to
overcome.  "I meant it," Jean-Luc said.  "I really do love you."  As Q
opened his mouth to reply, Picard bent down and kissed him again, bringing
his hands up to hold Q's head.  He twisted, ending up half on top of his
lover, and as the kiss intensified, he ran his hands roughly over what he
could reach of Q's body.  He just *had* to do this sometime, it was as if
he needed to convince himself that Q was real.

Picard's feelings spilled over into Q's mind and he opened himself up to
them.  His Human lover felt grateful and greedy at the same time; he really
did need to posses as well as be possessed, and Q was glad to have it this
way.  It meant a lot to him and he clung to the feeling as Picard's fingers
captured one of his nipples.  Jean-Luc moved to lower his head over the
other nipple and he began biting at it.  Heat washed across Q, radiating
toward his erection.  He tried to ignore it; it would be a long time before
he was allowed to come.

Picard could pick up a little of Q's resignation and suddenly he changed
his mind.  He didn't want to make either of them wait.  Raising his head,
he spoke.  "Get rid of the cuffs, Q."  He could see the surprise on Q's
face as the entity complied.  "I want you too much to play games," Picard
explained.  He fell on Q again, kissing and licking his way down to Q's
erection.  He lavished attention on it, enjoying the reaction he got from
Q, before he moved back up Q's body.  He reached over to the nightstand,
knowing that there had to be lubricant in one of the drawers.  There was of
course, and within  few seconds, he was sliding a pair of slippery fingers
inside his lover's ass.  "I love watching you react to sex, Q.  You just
love it so much, don't you?"

"Yesss . . .," Q hissed, bringing his knees up to allow Picard better
access.  "That feels . . . so . . . good . . . please. . .  Jean-Luc, don't
. . . don't make me . . . wait for it . . . ohhh . . ."

"Come on, love," Picard murmured, smiling at the look on Q's face.  "Let me
in."

"Yes," Q whispered as he pulled his legs even further back.

"Mmmm . . ."  Picard slowly slid his cock inside Q, moaning at the heat
that surrounded him.  As he began to move, Q wrapped his legs around
Jean-Luc's waist and instantly Picard moved to rest on his elbows, holding
Q as close as he could and still move.  It was awkward, but he didn't care
as the feeling of being surrounded built up.  They had found their rhythm
now and Jean-Luc wanted the moment to go on forever, even as the urgency of
his approaching orgasm overcame him.  "So good . . . god . . . it's so . .
. good . . ."

"Ohhh . . . mmmm . . . Jean-Luc . . . yes . . . so good . . . love you . .
. ohhh . . . need . . . this . . ."  

"Ahhh . . . mon . . . amour . . . yes . . . bon . . . tres . . . good . .
ahhh . . . Q . . . tu es . . .oh God . . . so . . . bon . . ."

Their words and moans tumbled over one another, as they each neared the
edge.  When Jean-Luc thrust just the slightest bit harder, Q matched the
movement and it was enough to send both of them over that edge.  

Picard smiled as, a moment later, he eased his weight off his lover.  "I
love this place.  It's just so perfect, and I feel so at home, both here
and in that bar last night."  He paused.  "We belong here, don't we?"

"Yes," Q replied quietly, "we do."  He propped himself up on one elbow and
grabbed Picard's wrist, the one that was encircled by the heavy bracelet.
"And we're going to have some interesting adventures here, johnny."


End Chapter Seven

Note:  That's all for a while, but I'm working on Chapters 8-10 (maybe 11),
in which we will discover that Something requiring "cowboy diplomacy" is
indeed up on Romulus, and we will learn how well johnny handles himself in
a public scene far more intense than having a few beers in a bar.  Stay
tuned, as I'm hoping to get the next batch done in less time than it took
me to write *these* three chapters.  As always, your feedback is a part of
the process and is warmly welcomed at: <ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com>.

Ruth

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"I see nothing wrong with writing sexually 
titillating scenes that have no socially redeeming
value."

Anne Rice to Dorothy Allison
(from "Anne Rice" by Bette Roberts)