======== Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica Subject: New Story: Between a Rock and a Hard Q (Q/P, sort of) From: Ruth Gifford Date: 25 May 1996 02:02:12 GMT OK, I had a tough time deciding if I should even post this. I'm sure a lot of people will find it a litttle disturbing (so did I; looking at the screen in surprise as I wrote it). but I couldn't *not* post it. I'll explain at more than even my usual length, but if you have a problem with stories that involve non consensual sex, read the rest of the intro. Several things came together to create the idea for this story. A while ago Mercutio mentioned the title in a letter. At the same time, Alara mentioned ripping off mythology for fanfic. The first thing that came to mind was the myth of Andromeda and Perseus. What does a grossly sexist Greek damsel in distress myth have to do with JLP and Q? Well it’s like this. Out on afq we’ve been discussing the whole Q as a sadist/dom/top (usually in relation to Picard as masochist/sub/bottom) thing, and we established fairly early on that none of us saw Q as a rapist. But Picard might disagree (go back and watch "Q Who;" the scene where Q has P trapped in a shuttle has rape written all over it in big neon letters) even if you posit that he’s interested in Q. From Picard’s POV, Q is terrifying (which is part of the appeal, natch) and I thought I should explore that fear/desire aspect. Actually I should have explored it in "My Fair Jeanne" (my P/Q story in which Q turns Picard into a woman on a whim) but I was in too much of a hurry to get the lovers in the sack. So here is a dream sequence that occurs somewhere in the middle of "My Fair Jeanne." You don't have to read that one to get this one (it’s on both the asce and the afq archive if you want it). When this dream takes place no one knows whether Q is responsible for the transformation or not (although Picard is pretty sure that he is). One note; in MFJ I have Picard thinking of himself as a he, regardless of the body. For the purposes of this story, I'm not sticking to that convention because the good captain's subconscious mind has dropped him into a classical myth (ah, the benefits of a well- rounded Academy education) in a female role. This is of necessity, a little darker than I usually write, and I want to make one thing perfectly clear here: **I’m not trying to imply that rape victims really enjoy what’s happening to them.** This is the *dream* of someone who is struggling with a very real fear. Although Picard really does want to be fucked and even controlled by Q (or so I posit), that desire has got to be terrifying to the poor man. His subconscious is simply trying to work that through here. Sorry to blather here, but rape is a touchy subject and this was hard to write. OK this intro. is almost longer than the piece itself, and I should just get on with it. Paramount owns the dreamer and his object of fear/desire; nobody has the rights to the Greek myths, and I claim the combination as my own. Atara, my lovely Professor, you said I should post this and so here it is. It’s for you even if we are nowhere to be seen in it. Between a Rock and a Hard Q (a dream sequence from "My Fair Jeanne") by Ruth Gifford © 1996 She was cold and wet. The wind whipped off the water, frequently bringing sea spray with it, and what little clothing she had was thin and clung to her body. She pulled once more at the metal cuffs attached to the chains that bound her to the rock, but they remained closed around her wrists. As if to make sure that she would remain here, the soldiers had wrapped chain around her waist as well; it held her close against the cold damp stone. She shivered again, wishing for the thousandth time that her mother had kept her mouth shut. (The dreamer began to guess the story--strange how the odd bits and pieces of a good education came back to haunt one.) What had possessed Cassiopeia to brag in a way that was sure to bring down the wrath of Poseidon? She tugged at the chains again. When would this be over? When would the monster rise up from the sea and devour her? How could her father have allowed this? Easily, a more analytical part of her mind replied. One less dowry to provide, one less daughter (however beautiful) to display to all the petty kings and princes of the Pelopenesus. He might miss her, but she doubted it. She tried not to cry; she was a princess and she had her pride, but she was also alone and afraid. A particularly large wave crashed nearby, drenching her with cold sea water. It was followed by another gust of wind, and she began to shiver uncontrollably. She was feeling pain now; pain in her arms from the angle at which they were bound to the rock, pain from a lump of rock that dug into her lower back, and pain from her nipples because it was so damn cold. In spite of her pride, she began to cry, shivering even more as the hot tears trickled down her face. (*I would like to wake up,* the dreamer thought.) As her sobs grew in intensity, she failed to notice the distant rumble that came off the sea. She finally noticed it when it grew loud enough to echo around the cove, and she gulped down her tears and tried to face her death as a king's daughter should. The monster was coming, one of the many creatures that prowled the deep and preyed on hapless mariners. In this case it would be content to eat her; in fact, it had been sent to eat her. She wanted to pray, but who could she turn to? The Olympians themselves were responsible for this, and she knew that none of them would lift a finger to save her. As she saw a ripple form out in the waters of the cove, she squared her jaw. "I will *not* scream,* she thought. Her resolve was tested when the blunt head of the creature lifted above the water. It was hideous, a great monstrous head covered with green and brown scales. "Gaia!" the girl cried out. Even as she spoke she knew that although the Goddess she evoked was far older than the Olympians, She had no power here. She was Mother Earth, and this creature was of the Sea. As the creature moved toward her, she could feel her nails breaking the skin of her palms. *I have to die with dignity,* she thought. (*That sounds familiar,* the dreamer thought.) It was as the creature lifted more of it's neck out of the water, curving sinuously toward her, that she first heard the horse. *A horse? Here?* She looked eagerly toward the shore, but there was no one in sight and she wondered if she was losing her mind out of fear. No, there it was again, the clear high whinny of a horse. She twisted as much as her chains allowed, looking for the source of the sound. A flash of white caught her eye, and she stared up at the sky, slack-jawed, as a beautiful white horse *flew* toward her rock. (*I didn't know Pegasus was an Arabian,* the dreamer mused.) The horse carried an armored rider, but his helm covered his features as he drew close. (*I have a bad feeling about this.*) With a screech of hooves on stone, the horse landed, and the rider leapt off his magical beast. He pulled his helmet off and came up to her in a hurry. (*I *knew* it! Can I wake up now?*) The girl was suddenly aware of her appearance as his eyes wandered over her, taking in the thin clinging linen of her dress. She wished it wasn't so cold, for he actually smiled as he looked at her breasts. (*I really want to wake up now.*) "Let me get you free," he said, and she suddenly wondered what the price of that freedom would be. Behind him, his horse neighed a warning. He turned and actually backed up a step at the sight of the monster as it scrutinized him. Rushing to the horse, he pulled out his shield, not bothering with the sword that was also strapped to his saddle. The girl frowned in curiosity, as he moved to uncover the shield. "Don't look at it!" the warrior yelled. "Keep your eyes closed!" He paused, and then continued in a gentler tone of voice. "You have to trust me, Andromeda." (That'll be the day,* the dreamer thought sarcastically.) She had no choice, she realized, and closed her eyes tight. She expected to hear the sound of the warrior being eaten alive, but instead there was a sudden hush, and then a loud cracking noise. In spite of herself, her eyes flew open and she stared in shock. The monster was *stone* and it was cracking into pieces and falling into the waters of the cove. Was the warrior a God then? Or did he have a God or Goddess as a patron? She snuck a glance at him; he had just finished covering up his shield. When he looked in her direction, he glared at her. "I told you not to look!" "I'm sorry," she said. "But it was quiet, and . . . I was afraid." She blushed at that, for he smiled condescendingly at her. "It's all right," he said. "You’ll have to learn to listen to what I say," he added as he secured the shield back to his saddle. He moved toward her again and she shivered, not from the cold, but from the look in his eyes. "Well, I was told I'd be rewarded, and it seems that I *am* rewarded. Well rewarded, at that." With that, he reached up and casually tore the thin fabric of her dress. It parted to the waist, where it was stopped by the chain. (*I can't believe this is happening.* The dreamer twisted, trying to wake up, but the hold of the dream was too strong.) "Please . . ." the girl murmured. She knew it would do no good. This was a Hero, and he had saved her life. He was entitled to her hand, a as well as the rest of her. But she was still chained to the rock and she was cold, and she didn't want to lose her virginity in this manner. "Can't you . . . can't you let me down first? Please?" He paid no attention and she shuddered as his hands roamed over her exposed breasts. He was surprisingly gentle, but still she began to cry. (*Oh God, I hate this.*) "Hush girl. Here, I'll let you down." He did so, how she never knew, but suddenly she was collapsing into his arms. He wrapped her in his cloak and carried her to a nearby dune. Lying her down, he began to touch her again. In spite of knowing that he had the right to do so, she twisted, trying to get away. "Stop that! I can chain you back to that rock and take you that way. You're going to be my wife, you better get used to this. You'll come to like it, soon enough." His hand moved to tear away the rest of her dress, and then he was touching her again. The truly terrible thing was that his hands knew the way around her body and he was finding all the places that she had found, the places that she touched in the dark before she slept. *I even wanted a Hero then,* she thought, her face flaming with shame. He bent to kiss her, forcing her mouth open, as his hands parted her legs. "See," he murmured, his voice rough with triumph and lust. "You do like it." He moved in between her legs, shoving his tunic out of the way, and she began to weep again as he . . . "NO!" the dreamer screamed, sitting up in bed. As always happened, the dream was fading, and when he tried to think about what had happened, it was gone. The *feeling* remained, however. A feeling of being helpless and ashamed. He sat up, hugging his knees to his chest, and waited for his heart to stop pounding. He felt dirty and small. The more he thought about it however, the more he lost any details of the dream. When he could move again, he headed hastily for the bathroom and the shower. Much later that day, he ran further than usual on the holodeck. What he was running from, he didn't know. The End ******************************** "Let's chronicle The dark side of the life Did you ever keep a date With the steel side of a knife?" "As Girls Go" Suzanne Vega