From robinl@s054.aone.net.au Sun Apr 19 00:00:11 1998 Path: news5.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!news.idt.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!206.251.127.50!newsfeed.gte.net!newsfeed1.earthlink.net!nntp.earthlink.net!alexas From: "Robin Lawrie" Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Subject: New: Night Clubbing, TNG,P/Q,[NC17],Costumes, 1/1 Date: Sun, 19 Apr 1998 00:00:11 -0700 Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Lines: 173 Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: 207.217.151.125 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=ISO-8859-1 Content-Transfer-Encoding: 8bit X-Newsreader: Yet Another NewsWatcher 2.4.0 Xref: news5.ispnews.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:6738 ============ Night Clubbing ============ by Robin Lawrie robinl@s054.aone.net.au April, 1998 TNG, P/Q, Costumes, A fantasy scene.[NC17] The beginning is a little unusual in that it started out to be a normal old post to ascem about what Picard and Q would look nice wearing. Then I got little carried away. So keep that in mind. Disclamer: Star Trek and the characters in this story are the property of Paramount. ============================================ Costume Sluts, heads up! I was watching Video Hits this morning, eating my high fibre meal, and enjoying the caffeine fix when a thought hit me. Picard in a white zoot suit. You know, those high waisted, baggy pants with braces, big coat a la David Byrne, fedora, and very pointy shoes. Long cashmere coat thrown over his shoulders. Doe skin gloves. Cigarette in a holder, and he's smelling of roses and mystery. Way hot. And accompanying him, Q, (natch) in baggy, black denims with a snug fitting waist, black sleeveless tight t shirt, big work boots, and a bit of black grease under his nails and in the cracks of his hands and a smudge on his cheek. And sweaty. And then they climb into the back of an old high fendered car and go off night clubbing somewhere. It's raining, and the streets are wet. When they arrive at the club, Q gets out first to open an umbrella for Picard. He's standing in the rain with water running down his face, making his t shirt cling and tug at his muscles, but he disregards this to hold the umbrella over the pristine, clean, dry, and completely oblivious Picard. The tuxedo-ed bouncer on the door gives Q a shifty look. Quick as a flash there's a flick knife pressing under the bouncer's chin. Picard rests a soft hand over Q's threat and presses a bunch of crisp new bank notes into the bouncer's top pocket. The front man grins toothlessly and allows them entrance. The hat check girl has perfect breasts pushed up and together by a red and black lace corset. To contrast, she wears a long flared black skirt with red lining that flashes through a long slit up the thigh exposing her garter and suspender belt. Picard shrugs his coat into Q's waiting hands and tucks more notes down the hat check girls cleavage as she giggles. Q gives her a scowl as he places Picard's soft coat, hat and gloves on the counter, and takes the check ticket. He follows Picard inside the darkened club. The large smokey room is filled with people. Several gaming tables are lined up against the far wall and have attracted the usual circle of dangerous men and high priced whores. Small tables lit by a dim, low watt, globe lamp cluster around the dance floor in front of the stage and orchestra. Waiters dodge and weave carrying trays of rebottled cheap champagne, and cocktail glasses. Q waits impatiently, hands shoved in pockets, as Picard talks quietly to the maitre'd. Money changes hands. With a snap of his fingers, the maitre'd summons the head waiter to escort Picard and his minder to his usual booth. The bottle of champagne the waiter delivers has a different label from the others. Q's eyes search the room for threats; real or otherwise. On reaching the booth, Picard snaps open his silver cigarette case and puts a new smoke in his holder, places the long thin tube between his lips, and sucks back contentedly as Q's lights him up. The zippo lighter flicks off and Q resumes slouching against the booth, studying the crowd, the thin curl of Picard's smoke wrapping past him. To the side of the stage, hidden by a large potted palm, an unmarked, darkened door, opens, closes, with quiet regularity. The men entering glance furtively around, hands tucked deep into their pockets, and on leaving, stroll out casually, smoking as often as not. Q places a hand on Picards shoulder, and tips a nod towards the door. Picard sucks a lungful of smoke and lets it out in a long, thin stream. 'I see it. Later.' Q grins, and rubs a greasy hand over his hair and adjusts the fit of his pants. The orchestra returns from their break and start an upbeat set. The sax player conducts and does the vocals. "..Outside in and inside out you're my meat. Oh you're fat and forty but Lordy you're my meat.. >From you're feet to your head you knock me dead you're my meat I got you covered but baby you're my meat..." Then it's "Five Guys Named 'Mo" and "How Long Must I Wait For You." After the applause dies down, the lights dim and a single spot picks out a place in the wings. The curtain parts as a slim, gloved hand pushes aside the red drapes and a beautiful curvaceous redhead emerges dressed in a shimmering green sequined evening gown with a very plunging neckline. The orchestra starts a slow intro, as the woman slinks down onto the dance floor and the microphone stand. Picard leans forward, flicking ash onto Q's booted foot. The singer's low voice cuts through the crowd's murmur and her gaze flicks over the tables, coming to rest on Picards booth. "I got a guy who's always late every time we got a date But I love him, I gotta have him..." She moves through the small tables as if they would part before her, trailing fingertips over the well dressed shoulders of men and women alike, pausing occasionally to stroke a cheek or light a cigarette. But always on course for Picards booth. "Is you is, or is you ain't my baby..." She reaches Picard and perches on his table, legs crossed, dress falling away revealing a smooth length of creamy white thigh. Q moves closer, putting out a hand as the singer leans in to Picard. She pouts, and plants a dangerously high heel in the centre of Q's chest and kicks him away, laughing as he retreats, cursing. Q reaches for his knife but Picard raises a firm hand. Q obeys, and sulks. Picard lowers his hand onto the exposed thigh, sliding it up and down, then squeezing hard. The singer's voice, already throaty, becomes thick and heavy. The sax player, seeing what the go was, winds up the number with an extended instrumental break. 'Johnny...you came back.' Picard leans back, and runs the mouth piece of his cigarette holder slowly down the ample cleavage, then rests it against the nipple of one breast. 'We have some unfinished business, Miss Beverly.' 'Ditch the moll, boss. She tried to kill you. You can't trust dames like her.' Q rumbled behind them. 'Shut up Q.' Picards voice murmurs calmly but with implied menace. Picard stands and pulls Miss Beverly to her feet. He slides a hand round her waist and pulls her close, leaning down for a deep kiss that goes on for minutes. 'Oh, Johnny. It's you and me, Johnny, always. There'll never be another.' Beverly whispers against his lips. Picard smiles, then pushes hard against her, sending her sprawling across the table. In one quick gesture, he grabs the front of her dress, and pulls down hard ripping the thin material, uncovering her breasts... and a small hidden revolver. Picard picks it out, and flicks it to a grinning Q. 'That's so true, Miss Beverly. There'll never be another. Q? Take care of it.' Picard walks slowly towards the back door, hearing the snick of a flick knife opening behind him. *************** *************** I have no idea where this one came from. I really just wanted to say about the outfits. The soundtrack for this little scene is from Joe Jackson's Jumping Jive album, which also has a song that's one of my faves; "What's the use of getting sober, If you're gonna get drunk again..." Ruth, does this mean the Short and Silly Dept at TSU now gets extra funding? Robin -- TSU If you build it, they will come Posting to ASCEM is easy--just send your messages to ascem@earthlink.net To subscribe or unsubscribe to the mirror list--and for all other list-related inquiries, write to asceml@aol.com