From robinl@s054.aone.net.au Mon Apr 27 01:21:30 1998 Path: news2.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!newshub.northeast.verio.net!news.idt.net!newsfeed1.earthlink.net!nntp.earthlink.net!alexas From: "Robin Lawrie" Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated Subject: NEW: Two P/Q Scenes, Treksmut Illustrated Moments, [nc17] Date: Mon, 27 Apr 1998 01:21:30 -0700 Organization: Better Living Thru TrekSmut Lines: 209 Approved: ascem@earthlink.net Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: 208.254.108.170 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: news2.ispnews.com alt.startrek.creative.erotica.moderated:7229 Subject: NEW: Two P/Q Scenes, Treksmut Illustrated Moments, [nc17] Date: Mon, 27 Apr 1998 11:20:41 +1000 From: "Robin Lawrie" To: "ascem" (I'm posting this for Jeanita who is experiencing technical difficulties) Quoth Jeanita: I just got a new computer which I can't really operate all that well yet. I read Night Clubbing, and started thinking about Picard, Q and clothes. My little brain came up with Picard in cutoffs, and I wondered why he'd be hanging out in a pair of ratty shorts. Well "Picard in Cutoffs" sketches a scenario. "Picard in a Monk's Costume" is the second one. I would have liked it a bit nastier, but somehow I couldn't seem to muster them anything but virtuous. I would have done Picard in a tux, but it was too easy. Picard in denim overalls, shitkickers and a beat-up straw hat? Picard in a fireman's costume? Biker Picard on a serious Harley with Q riding behind (heh heh). Guido Picard with a gold chain around his neck, thin, scoop-neck polyester t-shirt, with tight black pants and shoes with pointy toes. Gangsta Picard in a reggae nightclub... the mind boggles. Anyway, these two little bits. Enjoy. And thanks to Robin for her inspiration... You go girl! ------------------------ Picard in Cutoffs ------------------------ Picard in cut-offs and flipflops. He's got the top two buttons provocatively undone, and he's lying on a beach chair along the boardwalk, ostensibly working on his tan, but the faded shorts reveal a nice bulge. Everybody knows what the deal is. The boy hustlers watch in amazement from across the boardwalk. How could such an old guy take all the best trade? He just appeared one day in shorts so faded and worn that you could see his entire package hanging down his left thigh. That's what brought in the customers. Take this john. This is his third time in as many days. Scowling. Flashy. Dangerous. A drug-runner sneaking away to do what he shouldn't. He can't let anybody know what he really likes or he'll lose face in the ubermachismo underworld, but oh, how he wants it. This is a man who plays hard and plays for keeps. The bulge of his beretta is all too obvious underneath his raw silk jacket. And another bulge, lower down. Growing more obvious as he approaches. He mops dark hair off his forhead, already beginning to sweat even though the morning's still cool. The boys stare. The tall man makes a demand. Urgent. The bald hustler just smiles from behind his raybans. The tall man's body language becomes menacing. Aggressive. The boys shift on their perches remembering his gun. They're ready to dive if things get hot. The old guy stays cool. He opens his legs slightly, canting his hips so that his penis is even more sharply outlined against his upper thigh. He stares up at the drugrunner in lazy amusement and suddenly the guy deflates, all the fight taken out of him. He can't take his eyes off the muscular legs or the flat stomach. He leans forward slightly, supplicatingly, his mouth twisting down almost as if he's about to cry. Only now does the old guy move, lazily twisting off his deck chair to walk inside his ground floor apartment. The trick follows, reaching in his pocket to pull out a roll. Not counting, he hands it to the hustler who throws it behind him without bothering to look at how much is there. Before he closes the curtain the boys see him slide his hands into his pants and shimmy them off his hips. He takes his sun glasses off and gives a kindly smile to the drugrunner who's already on his knees. Waiting. ============ --------------------------------------- Picard in a Monk's Costume --------------------------------------- "Mortify the flesh," Brother John muttered to himself. The rough fabric of his brown monk's habit abraded his skin slightly as he pulled it over his head and dropped it on the ground. Slipping out of his sandals, he dove head first into the icy water of the newly thawed pond. John was entirely too well educated to think that cold water would have any permanent effect on his desire, but he was desperate enough to try anything. Brother Quentin, visiting from Saint Excelcius Priory had been in the monastery only three days, but the effect he had on Brother John was devastating. In fact John couldn't remember being so troubled by anything since learning, upon his father's death, that he shared the fate common to younger sons. Robert had not bothered to hide his gloating as he listened to the solicitor tell him he'd gotten everything, his younger brother, nothing. Turned out, Jean-Luc had joined a monastery, living comfortably with the privation and celibacy, until now. He'd been astonished at himself, but from the moment he'd seen brother Quentin it was as if he'd been struck by lightning. John was not very worldly, but he'd seen drawings of men with other men, and he'd heard, sometimes, late at night, the passionate moans of two brothers alone in the darkness. "But why him?" Brother John demanded of himself. Brother Quentin had been kind to him, listening patiently as John ran on, as he sometimes did, about his ideas for improving the aging process for the find brandy the monastery produced. Listening to John's ideas about the world, his idle thoughts and even more idle ambitions, he'd shown no sign of boredom, made no excuse to get away like the other monks sometimes did. "And this is how I repay him. By lusting after his flesh. Oh, God!" The very thought of Quentin's flesh sent quicksilver through his veins. Deliberately, he replaced the images in his mind with more sedate ones. Quentin in his long dark robe. Quentin's hairy feet in sandals. Quentin's smile. His long lean body. His full mouth. Quentin kneeling devoutly in prayer, John corrected himself. Quentin at the altar, receiving the host. His eyes alight with the dignity of the ceremony. His mouth opening. His mouth, oh, his mouth.... Disgusted with himself, Brother John dove into the deepest part of the pond. If only he could leave his disquieting thoughts down here under the water and emerge as pure as a newly baptized baby. He realized he was running out of air, and he fought his way upwards, almost enjoying the ringing in his ears and the lights that exploded behind his eyes. He broke the surface, gasping loudly in the still spring morning. Vaguely, he imagined a cry of dismay but thought it must have come from his own lips. John struck out blindly towards shore. When strong arms pulled him out of the water and wrapped his robe around his body he fell into them gratefully, shivering against the solid warmth of the person who held him. He caught his breath, and looked up to thank his savior, only to freeze again, colder than when he was in the water. Brother Quentin stared back at him, looking no less panicked than John felt. "Forgive me, Brother. I did not mean to cause you any alarm." "It is the will of God, Brother." Quentin sounded stunned. "At least. I believe it to be." John stared up at him doubtfully. What did he mean by such an odd response? "I'm afraid I don't understand." Brother Quentin seemed to have trouble speaking. Finally he turned his head, staring fixedly at the dogwood blossoms. "I came out here to clear my heart and my conscience. I have been troubled lately, and I asked the Lord for a sign as to what I should do." Here, Quentin blushed dark red, but continued determinedly. I have..." he hesitated, "looked at your wrists coming out of the sleeves of your habit. I have watched the hairs on your chest that peek out from beneath your collar. When we sit down to talk I look at your ear. I watch your hands. I listen for your voice when we sing." Quentin's own voice was becoming fainter. John had to strain towards it to hear what he was saying. "I came out here to walk by the pond and ask God whether I should leave before I disgraced myself and my House. I asked him for a sign." Quentin's voice grew even more hushed. "And the very moment I asked, I looked down on the ground and saw your robe." He forced his eyes to meet Brother John's, his expression beatific. "And then you burst out of the water. And you were naked." John stared. Could he truly be in the presence of a miracle? He could scarcely believe it, though Brother Quentin certainly seemed to think so. Was it the will of God that they should feel the identical passion for one another? It was hard to fathom that a humble brother such as himself could receive such divine benediction where he'd expected only censure. "I..." he stammered. "I came to the pond to scourge myself of my feelings for you." He noticed distantly that his voice was faint. "I didn't want to, but I had no hope that they would be returned. I..." He trailed off, overwhelmed by what he'd just learned. Quentin wanted him? Had prayed to God to know what do do about his feelings? John stared into Quentin's troubled brown eyes, wanting to negate their somber expression. "We should speak further of this." The brown eyes became amused. "Put your robe on. Or I cannot think." John smiled. He unwrapped the coarse garment from around his body and pulled it over his head, pretending to ignore Brother Quentin's shuddering gasp as he stretched his arms overhead. Now that he knew he had time, he could wait for what he wanted. Together, the two brothers turned and walked up the path to the monastery. ================= -- 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