Q entered the room, feeling wary and on guard.  The pressure of his needs
was hitting at him, but even more so the feeling of utter panic and rage.
What was he doing here?  What had ever possessed him to think that this
might be a *good* idea?  And why hadn't Queria already picked up on what he
needed and offered?  Naomi seemed to read him easily enough, and Queria had
a very long history with him.  If anyone should be able to read his deepest
hidden fears, it would be her.

But no, she hadn't, and here he was.

Queria looked up at him from her seat on the couch.  "As always, you look
like hell, Ashke.  Have you considered surgery to correct the problem?"

"Have you ever actually been treated by one of these Stone Age witch
doctors?" Q asked, trying to match her bantering tone, and being miserably
aware that he was failing, and not even sure that he wanted to succeed.  "I
assure you, it's not something you want to do voluntarily."

"I prefer to maintain my appearance through more natural means," Queria said
drily.  "Although if I had gotten to the level you have with your inch thick
application of cosmetics, I'd consider surgery."

Q felt as if she'd struck him.  He was very sensitive about his appearance,
and very careful about how he adorned himself for public view.  No one was
supposed to be able to tell he wore the stuff, much less how much he had to
use to give himself any sort of decent appearance.  "You should consider it
anyway, my dear.  *Believe* me."

"I'm supposed to believe someone who looks like a Kabuki actor?"  Queria
changed tactics abruptly.  "C'mon, take a seat, tell me what's bothering you."

The invitation was at once everything he was hoping for, and the working out
of his fears.  He still had time to escape.  If he wanted to to.  Q sat next
to her, close, but not too close, uncomfortably aware of the all too
attractive shape she now wore.  

"Bothering me?" Q asked, hardly even aware of how he was letting his mask
slip, of how much open desperation played across his face in that moment, or
the look of need in his eyes.  "How could anything be bothering me?  I'm
being worshipped here, as I rightfully deserve."

"Worship gets to be damn boring after a while," Queria said with conviction.
She looked at Q, still able to read him as well as she ever had.  What his
words were saying wasn't nearly as important as what his body was, and at
the moment, his was saying something she couldn't quite believe, coming from
him, but couldn't doubt either.  It only stood to reason that Q would feel
sexual desire; she did, after all.  It was a natural consequence of being
mortal.  But he was such a prude now, that she hadn't considered it as a
possibility.

Q looked at her, knowing what he should say, but with the words stuck in his
throat.  Queria would ridicule him, but she was incredibly soft-hearted.  He
didn't believe she would turn him away.  He could trust her as much as he
trusted anyone, more even than he trusted Naomi.  But he didn't know that he
could face the scorn and ridicule that would inevitably come, first for
having debased human desires at all after having mocked so many other Q for
the same thing, and then finally, and worst of all, for being horrible in
bed.  Naomi was deluded enough to put up with his shortcomings, but Queria
would be merciless with his weaknesses.  He knew that, because he would have
done the same thing in her place.

This really wasn't a good idea.  He couldn't go through with this.

Before Q could flee, Queria placed a hand over his, holding him firmly in
place.  She reached up to him with her other hand, placing it on his cheek.

Q turned his face into that caress with a strangled moan.