From ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com Sun Sep 29 11:16:10 1996 Path: europa.com!qiclab.scn.rain.com!nntp.iccom.com!news.cyberg8t.com!usenet From: ereshkgl@cyberg8t.com (Ruth Gifford) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q,alt.startrek.creative.erotica Subject: New: "Cantara" (short) (P/Q) Date: 29 Sep 1996 19:16:10 GMT Organization: GiffStein Lines: 231 Message-ID: <52mhtr$1o9@gate.cyberg8t.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: host40.cyberg8t.com Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: Text/Plain; charset=US-ASCII X-Newsreader: WinVN 0.99.7 Xref: europa.com alt.fan.q:4390 alt.startrek.creative.erotica:2375 OK, this could have easily been a chapter or scene in "At the Center of Things" (the ever lengthening sequel-in-progress to "His Beloved Pet") but I think it works fairly well as a vignette (and ACT is already *long* enough). It's very much along the lines of Atara's "P/Q Backrub Fantasy" and I certainly owe her thanks for that piece and for the inspiration. I also owe thanks to one of my queer kinky mailing lists, where the topic of music and sex has been a fairly popular thread of late. For those who are expecting rough BDSM, sorry. This one, while not vanilla per se, does not involve pain or any domination (although it's genuine Ruth product, in that it's way over-the-top and into the purple range, and it's full of ellipses). It fits in the general universe of "His Beloved Pet" but all you need to know is that Jean-Luc Picard and Q are lovers. For those who are interested, the song "Cantara" is indeed by The Dead Can Dance and is on both "A Passage In Time" and "Toward the Within" (and at least one other album whose name escapes me). Picard is listening to "A Passage in Time," although what he hears may be more like the live version from "Toward the Within." I have no idea what language the words are in, but it is one of the most (if not the absolute most) sensual pieces of music I've ever heard. Do yourself a favor and try to hear it sometime. TITLE: Cantara SERIES: TNG ROMANCE CODE: P/Q (surprise!!) SMMARY: Q drops in on Jean-Luc for a musical interlude. Please feel free to post any comments you may have, but I'd really appreciate it if you could also fling them at me via e-mail, as my news-server is a little iffy. If you want to repost this, download it to a BBS, send it to a mailing list (excluding Taffy's asce mailing list; she has my permission to distribute my stories), archive it to any archive other than the official one, print it for distribution, or run it with long underwear up a flagpole, write to me and ask for permission (I only bite one person these days). However if you want to print it to read, share with friends, or line the birdcage, feel free. So, if you can, do what I did while writing this; put your cd player on repeat (track four of "Passages in Time" or track ten of "Toward the Within") and really *listen.* Otherwise just think of the most sensual (not necessarily the sexiest) music you can think of, and read on. Characters by Paramount and the actors (thank you PS and JdL), music by Dead Can Dance (thank you Lisa Gerrard and Brendan Perry!!), choreography by Ruth Gifford. For atara, who has given me my own reason to smile when I hear this song. Cantara (a Picard/Q vignette) by Ruth Gifford (c) 1996 *Those damn Ferengi,* was Jean-Luc Picard's extremely incorrect thought as he fell back onto his bed after a shower. It was bad enough negotiating with the stubborn little capitalists, without the fact that it also tended to bring Picard's latent chivalry to the surface. *If Daimon Eltak doesn't stop staring at Deanna's chest, I'm going to rip his lobes off.* It was rather nice to lay here and think like that, and Picard indulged himself for a while. He knew that Deanna had a perfectly good idea of what the Ferengi would be thinking, even without being able to read their emotions. It had in fact been her suggestion that she be on the negotiating team. "It will distract them," she had said in the Staff meeting two days ago. Worf had growled, but it had been Crusher who had voiced what everyone else (except maybe Data) was thinking. "Well, it certainly will do that." Picard had been a little surprised at Beverly's remark, but he had leapt in and changed the subject. It hadn't helped that Deanna had insisted on wearing her low cut blue dress to the initial meeting with the Daimon and his staff. Picard was succeeding in getting a fair amount out of the Ferengi because of the distraction, but he felt more that a little dirty about the whole thing. Deanna kept reassuring him that she didn't mind and he was willing to let her call the shots on this one. But he had to wonder if it was backfiring. Eltak's people seemed to be going out of their way to be offensive and Picard had a feeling he was being manipulated. It didn't matter, he still thought Eltak would look good without his ears. "Oh God, I've *got* to relax," Jean-Luc muttered. He wondered where Q was, and sighed slightly. Maybe it was just as well that Q wasn't here tonight. After all, Picard knew that he personally was in *no* mood for anything but a quarrel. He had no desire to add the distraction of a fight with his lover and the pain that came with the ensuing separation to his already foul mood. And what if Q showed up and wanted to do any of the delightful but taxing things that usually made up their time together? No, that wouldn't be the right thing at all; Jean-Luc was in no mood for the riding crop or one the whips or those nasty tiny clamps that felt so good going on and hurt like hell coming off. Definitely not. Jean-Luc wouldn't be able to fully surrender tonight and he'd end up feeling like a failure; he hated letting Q (and himself) down. Nor did he really want to try to take out his frustration on Q either, even if Q felt up to it. Picard didn't like mixing sex with anger, and he was angry enough that if he tried it tonight, Q would end up having to resort to using his powers to keep from ending the scene. More failure. *God help me but I'm in a *mood*,* he thought. *Music . . . maybe music would help. But what music . . . the Mozart horn concertos? . . . the Brandenburgs? . . . definitely not opera . . . even Nozze di Figaro or one of the other comedies would be too much . . . Something modern maybe? No that won't work tonight . . . come on Johnny think . . . something Vulcan? . . . no too complicated. Wait, what was that group that Jack liked so much . . . he always said it put him in a better mood . . . Dead something . . . No not the Grateful Dead, although they might do in a pinch . . . no they wouldn't, I'd just think of Ari and nights in Bolinas and that was far too long ago . . . Dead . . . Dead . . . *that's* it! Dead Can Dance . . .* "Computer, play something by the Dead Can Dance." *Oh nice selection Jean-Luc,* the hovering invisible entity thought. He'd not been reading Picard's mind (he'd promised not to in a moment of seriousness that he sometimes regretted), and he had been very careful to shield himself. Jean-Luc was far to sensitive to Q's presence; it made it hard to sneak up and surprise him. But tonight, Johnny was too wrapped up in his funk. Q didn't like to see all those lines furrowing his lover's brow; he wanted to sweep in and take care of Jean-Luc. Guinan's mocking words of many years ago echoed in his head, "how the mighty have fallen." It still angered Q now and again, to *need* anything this much, to realize that as he discovered Jean-Luc's need for submission his own desire to be *with* Jean-Luc was so overwhelming, but he'd been without Jean-Luc too many times. Each time they quarreled, he envied Picard's habit of fighting off the pain of separation by working out in the ship's gym. Q had no such recourse and his fellow Q, particularly his student Amanda, learned to tiptoe around Q the way the Enterprise crew tiptoed around Picard at those times. *Even his mood affects me; now *I'm* grumpy.* But there it was, that music, so exquisitely crafted on Earth in the late 20th century. Although he didn't know it, Q echoed Picard's very thought, *Thank you Jack.* *Thank you Jack,* Picard thought as the first bars of music drifted out of the comm system. It was a sprightly version of an Italian Renaissance dance and it lifted his spirits immediately. It was followed by "The Song of Sophia" a lovely hymn to wisdom, and then by "Ulysses" which was confusing but still fascinating. And then . . . The delicate sounds of "Cantara" began to waft across the room. But there was much more that just the *sound* of those strings being plucked, Jean-Luc could *feel* the tension of the piece wrap itself around his nerves and his very brain. He should have been worried but he instantly recognized the feel of the Q-energy wrapped up in the music and as he had learned to do, he let go and trusted. The slow subtle build up of the music seemed to be much longer than it had last time he'd heard the piece, but as every nerve began to vibrate to each individual note, he didn't worry about time. The delicate notes of the guitar (or was it a dulcimer? maybe a bouzuki?) sounded like crystal and he could feel himself almost resonating like dilithium in a warp core. It went on forever and it slowly drained the tension of his bad temper away and replaced it with the much more welcome tension of desire. The occasional cymbals and zills felt like the gentle touch of lips on his skin, except that he could almost feel those lips *under* his skin, somehow kissing the very nerves. Slowly the tension built up higher, now touching the pleasure centers of his brain. When the drums kicked in he could feel each beat coiling around his penis, which throbbed in perfect rhythm to it. It was a simple three beat repetition and it was fast. He felt it not only echo in his groin, but all over his skin. Like steam in a sauna, it swirled around him except that this was a dry heat, the heat of nerves catching fire like so much dry kindling. He was moaning now, his voice somehow in time with the drums. It was powerfully overwhelming but not in a way he was used to, this was more internal than the touch of a whip across his skin, and it went on and on, more nerves coming to life until he felt the individual notes in his fingertips and toes. His skin was sensitized, each pore taking the music in and turning it into sensation. And then at the precise moment that the singer's clear amazing voice washed over the music like waves of silk, Jean-Luc was wrapped in light . . . or was it heat? . . . or was it energy? . . . sound maybe? . . .or rhythm? No it was Q; he was wrapped up in Q-energy as his lover somehow *became* the voice of the long dead singer and utterly surrounded Jean-Luc with that throbbing *feeling*. Rising and falling perfectly with the sound, Jean-Luc could see and feel and taste (like cinnamon . . . and honey . . .and sharp peppers) each word that was sung . . . and when the male singer's voice joined in, it was Q's voice and his own voice . . . balanced perfectly . . . twisting the sinuous sounds of the music around each of them . . . and he was nothing more than a string to be plucked . . . a drum to be struck . . . a speaker, a conduit for the swelling music . . . but no, that was wrong . . . this wasn't a solo . . . but a duet with an accompaniment . . . Jean-Luc could hear (see? feel? taste?) his own steady baritone intertwined with Q's clear tenor . . . and soaring above them both was the dark soprano of the singer . . . he was enveloped in it . . . the music and the energy . . . the heat and the light . . . reaching inward to touch the heart and soul and outward to touch the Universe . . . then building up to an even higher tension the beat harder and faster . . . each syllable drawn out and echoed over itself . . . the singers' voices and Q's voice and Jean-Luc's voice . . . and the strings and the drums . . . the pounding echo and the chime of the zills . . . all coiled in on each other like strands of interlace from the Book of Kells . . . there were colors . . . the singer's pure gold, Q's blinding purple, Jean-Luc's own flame shot white . . . all ravishing and beautiful to senses he didn't know he had . . . in a way no words could ever describe . . . one more increase in tempo . . . one more tightening of tension . . . one more flash of pure light . . . one more soprano wail . . . and then a burst like a fireball . . . like the white hot heart of a volcano . . . where the song and the minds and the bodies burned and blossemed in perfect tune . . . and fell out into the dazzling black velvet heart of the night . . . *** "So," Q said, two nights later after Picard had seen a very glum Ferengi negotiating team on their way. "What shall we listen to tonight?" The End -- ************************************************ * Ruth | FAQ Maintainer for * * Gifford | alt.startrek.creative.erotica * *----------------------------------------------* * Better living thru TrekSmut--ask me how! * ************************************************ "Her name was McGill and she called herself Lil But everyone knew her as Nancy" "Rocky Racoon" The Beatles