Q looked up at the woman bending over him and felt a surge of primal fear.
She'd been in here many times before to supposedly give him backrubs, and
while he was used to that, there was something different about this,
something threatening, something sexual.

Naomi smiled slightly at him, sitting next to him, not quite touching him.
"All done.  How do you feel?"

Now was the perfect chance to get rid of her.  She'd performed her
meaningless little service, which admittedly was giving him some not
inconsiderable pleasure, and he could get rid of her, *had* to get rid of
her before what had been a massage turned into something more sordid, like
an actual conversation.

"Fine.  Go away."

"Very gracious," Naomi said, not yet moving.  "Always nice to feel appreciated."

"What do you want?  A medal?" Q asked in a surly tone.  "You're very good at
manipulating people, and I don't see why I need to engorge your already huge
ego with compliments on the subject."

"Thank you.  That was very sweet."

She didn't look the least bit offended.  In fact, she looked like she'd
liked what he'd said.  This wasn't working at all.  Q tried not to groan as
he looked at her.  There had been far too many late nights with her in his
quarters, close to him, and he couldn't stand it, couldn't stand the
feelings and sensations racing through him.  He couldn't do this, wouldn't
do this ever again with anyone else, particularly not someone like Naomi.
He'd had a disastrous relationship with Harry, and had consequently lost the
only friend he had on the starbase, possibly the only friend he had
anywhere.  Endangering his relationship with Naomi, who was something very
close to a friend, over a mere sensual impulse, would be stupid in the extreme.

Naomi started to get up.  "I guess I'll be going now."

Q reached out for her.  "No, don't go," then damned himself for that impulse.

She settled back down by his side.  "I won't go if you don't want me to."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Q muttered under his breath.

"And I am such a horribly scary person," Naomi said, smiling at him.  "Only
half your size, and female besides, not to mention only having a tenth of
your IQ."

"Not even that," Q said superciliously.  "I checked."

Naomi grinned.  "Good.  I've always been attracted to intelligent men."

The mention of attraction was enough to throw his mind back onto paths he
didn't want to travel.  Not that he had any choice.  "Does everything come
back down to sex with you?"

"Only the good things."  She looked knowingly at him.  "Like you."

"Somehow, I don't find that particularly reassuring."

He was lying back against the pillows, posture as open as it got, and
bantering with her.  Naomi didn't know what Q wanted from her, although she
knew what anyone else might have wanted in a similar setup.  You didn't just
invite people into your bedroom and ask them to stay for no purpose at all.
Especially not if you thought the person in question was a sex-crazed
nymphomaniac as Q had apparently tagged her.  But it looked like she'd have
to wait until the end of time itself for him to actually make a move.  She'd
waited, and she'd waited.  She didn't want to make an advance on someone who
didn't want her, didn't want to force him that way, because the situation
would be horribly awkward at that point.  But There was a certain point at
which the risk had to be run, at which you had to take a chance and let the
consequences be damned.

She leaned forward, half lying on the bed, face hovering close to his.  "If
I kissed you now, would that be bad?"

Q tried not to panic, but it was difficult.  The slow pounding of desire
inside him was making it even harder to do what he knew he needed to do and
get rid of her.  "If you have to ask obvious questions like that, you're
even stupider than I'd thought."

Naomi nodded, then leaned forward further, brushing against him, settling
against him, lips coming down to meet his.  He resisted for the briefest of
moments, then gave in, lips moving against hers hungrily, like he'd been
longing for this, needing this for an eternal time.  He held her,
unconscious of clutching onto her, keeping her close to him.

Her hand came up to his face, stroking his cheek, losing herself in this
kiss.  She'd wanted this ever since she'd met him, before then even most
likely.  Although there was something more to why she liked being with him,
the sensual reasons were too large to deny.  He was immensely attractive to
her, and she would cheerfully have dragged him off to her bed a long time
before this if it hadn't been perfectly clear that he didn't want her.
Obviously she'd been wrong.

After a long, searching time, Naomi broke away, to look down at him, seeking
something else in his eyes.  What she found wasn't agreement, however.

The fog of desire cleared quickly, as she moved away from him far enough for
him to restore some of his self-possession.  He was still holding her close
to him, although he was unconscious of it.  

"It was a rhetorical question!" Q said indignantly, recollecting himself.

"I figured that."

"The other way, though!"

Naomi peered down at him.  "Oh.  So you didn't want to do that."

"No.  Not at all."

"I'm sorry," Naomi said, sincerity written all over her.  "Was there
anything else you didn't want to do?"

"You're disgusting."

"I do try."

Q realized then that he was holding onto her, that he was in fact caressing
her, almost revelling in the feel of her under his hands.  With a groan, he
closed his eyes, trying to gain some control.  He wanted her.  There was no
question of that.  He knew what it was like, knew what his body was
demanding, and how it wanted this sacrifice it was demanding.  But he
couldn't, didn't dare give in.

Without opening his eyes, Q said brokenly, "Please.  Just... go away."

His hurt tone was immistakable, and Naomi reacted immediately to it.  "Is
everything all right?  What's wrong?"

Q looked at her, and found himself unable to tell her to go.  She was right
there above him, and she was everything that was attractive and beautiful.
His free hand came up, without any volition of his conscious mind, stroking
her hair, curling in that soft mass.  "You have entirely corrupted me, and
don't think I'm going to forget that over a matter of a few moment's
trifling pleasure."

She took a deep breath, relief flooding through her.  "I wouldn't expect you
to."

Q sniffed.  "I suppose I'll eventually recover from the embarrassment of it."

"Embarrassment?" Naomi asked, a little lost.

He would have gestured, but his hands were somewhat full at the moment.
"This ridiculous act you humans like to refer to as the grandest passion of
all."

"Eating?" Naomi grinned at him.  "Oh, you meant sex."

"Of course I did," Q said grumpily, feeling more and more out of sorts.
He'd exposed himself to the woman and here she was making fun of him.  HOw
ungrateful.

Her expression sobered.  "Well, if you're embarrassed, I do have a solution."

"Not that I ever admitted that I was afflicted by such a condition, but what
are you talking about?"

She disentangled herself gently from him, and Q felt a sense of loss as she
left the bed, moving away.  She didn't go very far though, only to the
replicator, coming back with a length of black cloth.

"Do I want to know what that is?"

Naomi cocked her head.  "I don't know.  But I'll tell you anyway."  She sat
down on the bed, reaching behind her head to tie the cloth around her eyes.
"It's a blindfold."

"Oh, how depraved," Q said sarcastically.  "I am completely overwhelmed by
your mastery of the kinkier parts of sexuality."

"And you haven't even slept with me yet.  How flattering."  Naomi looked in
his direction, face solemn.  "Now I can't see you, so there's absolutely
nothing for you to be embarrassed about.  You could be making silly faces at
me, and I'd have absolutely no idea."

Or he could be completely naked and she wouldn't have to see him like that.
The idea was more appealing that he'd first given it credit for.  That
wasn't the reason for the disintegration of his relationship with Harry, at
least, Q didn't think that it was.  He knew he wasn't particularly deft
physically, but he had been more attractive then than he was now.  The
reasons behind that had involved deeper issues, like his complete inability
to sustain a close relationship with anyone.  For some reason, with humans,
a close relationship had to involve sex.  It couldn't just stay on that
platonic level that he would have preferred.  Of course, the only reason he
preferred the lower level was because that was all he could handle, all he
could successfully manage to hold on to.  The wanting didn't stop, nor the
need for intimacy, for whatever Harry, and now Naomi, had been, was offering.

She leaned down to him, lips brushing his chin, then moving up to find his
lips again, and Q found all his protests stilled.  He didn't want this, but
he did, and somewhere under all the rational reasons to avoid this was the
forlorn hope that maybe this time things would be different.

Her hands moved inside the thin shirt he was wearing, something flimsy
enough to let her work on his back, and therefore quite insubstantial in a
situation like this.  He sighed when she touched him, the feeling like a
homecoming of sorts, a reminder of what he'd had with Harry and then given up.

She tugged his shirt apart, then moved down, lips brushing his chin again,
then down the line of his neck to his chest, kissing him, and playfully
nibbling on his skin.

The sensations were intense, almost painful, but not quite, and Q couldn't
have turned her away then under any circumstances.  But he needed more,
needed something else.

He sat up, surprising Naomi, whose first intimation of his was getting
smacked in the face by his rising chest.  She let herself sink against him,
biting him a little harder by way of retribution for that unannounced change
in position.

That hurt.  He let her drop back onto the bed and looked down at her,
outraged.  "You bit me!"

She couldn't see his face, and all she had to go on was the tone of his
voice.  It seemed likely that she had just made a critical mistake.
Swallowing on that fear, Naomi siad, "So?  You hit me."

"I did not."

"Fine.  So my head hurts for no apparent reason."

He was leaning over her now, exasperated and still wanting her.  The two
even seemed to go together, in some sort of perpetual torment.  "How would I
know?"

She reached up to him, hands brushing against his chest, soothing him.
"Does it still hurt?"

He stiffened under her touch, feeling a shock go through his body.  "Terribly."

"I suppose I'll just have to kiss it and make it better then."

She started to sit up, but he wouldn't let her.  "Oh, no, you don't."

"I don't?" Naomi asked quizzically.

Then tentative hands were untucking her blouse, skimming under the edge of
the cloth to touch her bare skin.  The feeling was unexpected, and sensuous.
Naomi sighed.  "Yes, that feels good."

"Did I ask for an opinion?" Q said acidly, complimented despite himself.

She smiled, and didn't comment.  Cool air moved over her, making her shiver.
He hadn't stopped, and that was wonderful.

Q watched her with an analytical eye, tracing the lines of her body, glad
all of a sudden that she was wearing that silly blindfold.  He'd feel
tremendously self-conscious if she could see him, admiring her like some
sort of lovesick cow.  But he couldn't help it, and he was grateful.  He
could stare all he liked and never have to admit he was doing it.  There was
a certain something about that thought that scared him.

"You can stop pretending now," Q said gruffly, forcing himself away from her.

"Pretending what?" Naomi asked, turning towards the sound of his voice.

She wasn't supposed to ask questions like that.  She was supposed to just
get offended and leave, so that he wouldn't have to deal with the problems
this raised, with what he wanted and couldn't ever have.  "Pretending that
you want me."

She reached up to him, unable to not try to reassure him.  Reluctantly, Q
allowed himself to be drawn down to her.  "I do want you."  Her fingers
brushed his cheek.  "I may even love you.  I'm definitely not pretending
anything."

"Love?" Q asked, voice disdainful.  He was about to deride the emotion when
it occurred to him that this weak feeling might actually work in his favor.
Naomi might be deluded, might think she loved him, but love was better than
just desire, was better than respect, was better than any of the other
motives he could think of for her wanting to come to him like this.  Why was
he resisting so hard?  What was there to be so afraid of?  He couldn't quite
remember.

"Maybe," Naomi said softly.  "I do care about you very much."  Her fingers
ran through his hair, trying to comfort a problem she couldn't even see.  "I
love you, and I want you.  You don't have to be afraid of me."

"I'm not afraid," Q said, almost automatically.

"Good.  Come here."  And she pulled him down, and this time, he didn't put
up any resistance at all.  If there were going to be any regrets, they'd
have to take a number and come back in the morning.