Orthographic conventions: // //brackets around mindspeech * * either italics, or brackets around verbal communication in mindspeech < > brackets around the nonverbal portion of mindspeech *" "* conveys consciously composed and transmitted verbal mindspeech; basically, what you might have said with your voice, but instead chose to send mentally; opposed to * * around mindspeech that's in all lowercase, which represents verbal thought, not something you're consciously sending to your partner but something they hear nonetheless through an open link The water was icy cold around her legs and waist, and she moved closer to him instinctively, without conscious volition, seeking his warmth. Under the drenched silk shirt, his body was human-warm, almost hot in comparison to the cold around them. The clear, sweet scent of the water mingled with the scent of him, musk and iron and the oceans of Earth moving in dark red streams under his skin. T'Laren pressed herself up against him, slightly off-balance, leaning on him for warmth. Q looked down at her, his eyes particularly intense. "You look rather like a drowned rat," he informed her conversationally, a casualness in his voice that was entirely belied by the look in his eyes. "That comment is rude and unfair," T'Laren said solemnly. "It's hardly my fault that your enormous height allowed you to keep your head from getting wet. Besides, you should have thought of that before you pushed me in." "Oh, I did think of it," Q assured her. "The temptation to see you looking like a drowned rat was entirely too much for any being with a sense of humor to resist. And given the atrocious way you style your hair, even the drowned rat look is an improvement." "Justify your silliness all you desire," T'Laren replied. Her arms were still around his waist; she could not quite believe that he hadn't made her remove them. On the other hand, he *could* make her remove them if he chose; he still wasn't stronger than her, but she'd already seen that he'd programmed force fields into this simulation. He could hold her off if he felt threatened; he had all the power here. So she had to believe that he wanted her there, or at least didn't mind. She hadn't figured out how he managed the simulation yet. It had to have taken an enormous amount of programming effort, probably in direct code, since she couldn't imagine how the holodeck's expert systems could allow one to produce something like this. The scenario was deceptively simple-- a picnic spot on Earth someplace, shaded by trees, with a blue freshwater pond that was far too perfect to be real and far too detailed to be faked. The twist was that Q had set it up so that the computer would not respond to her commands, and while presumably it would respond to him if he verbalized his commands, that wasn't how he was doing it. He would make a gesture, and something would happen. So far, he'd used it to provide them with a picnic lunch, present her with an entire basket of fruit, and materialize a large rock for her to sun on. T'Laren had no idea how he was actually controlling the computer-- subvocal commands? were the gestures actually representing words? something entirely different? She didn't much care, either. It would spoil the fantasy to try to find out. Had this been anyone else, T'Laren would have been deeply annoyed at a holodeck scenario programmed to shut her out of control, and would have perceived the fantasy of omnipotence as childish and insecure. But this was Q, and the fantasy meant something entirely different to him. It was perfectly natural for a being who had been omnipotent to fantasize about it, like a cripple inventing holodeck scenarios in which he could walk. So the scenario didn't bother her-- far from it. It was extremely flattering to have someone create a little world for her-- Q had made it fairly clear that he'd programmed this to share it with her, and that his fantasy was less about being omnipotent than having the power to create lovely vacation spots at will for the sake of his mortal friend. And there was also an element in her that responded to the fact that he'd given himself all the power in this scenario, and therefore all the responsibility and all the control. She didn't have to do anything. She didn't have to worry about hurting him, or him fearing her hurting him-- here, his control over the holodeck more than equalized the strength difference between them. She could do anything she wanted, and if he let her do it, she would know he wanted her to. That was deceptive, of course; she still could hurt his feelings, she could still frighten him off. But she didn't want to think about that any more than she had to. She looked up at him, her arms tightening slightly, clinging to his warmth in the cold water. "This water is quite abysmally cold, you know." Q waved negligently. "I can warm it up to whatever temperature you like." "I had a somewhat different methodology in mind," she murmured, taking her courage in her hands. He had one arm draped over her shoulder and down her back, holding her more loosely than she wanted, but holding her nonetheless. Surely he wouldn't be doing that if he still despised her. Would he? Could he possibly still be that naive? "Did you, now," he said lazily, as if he had absolutely no interest in her different methodology, which sounded like it meant that he was very interested. "Shall I demonstrate?" She ran her hand up his back and up to his neck, playing with his hair. He shuddered slightly, and for the barest second the mask of lazy unconcern slipped, and she saw desire. At least, she thought she saw desire. Was she writing what she wished to see onto his face? For the thousandth time, she wished he wasn't shielding against her, wished he would let her know how he felt. "If you must." T'Laren stood on tiptoe, unbalancing herself further, and reached up to his face. Her hand twined in the hair at the back of his head, pushing his head downward slightly so she could reach. Lightly, tentatively, she kissed him. For a moment, his neck became stiff and unbending under her hand, and she feared the worst. But his posture softened then, and his arms tightened around her, one going around her waist and lifting her very slightly, one moving up from her shoulders to support her straining head. He did not move to resume the kiss, merely held himself and her there, as if waiting for her to try it again. She obliged. This time Q responded, holding her close, opening his mouth slightly as she ran her tongue across his lips. Humans in general tasted sweet to her, and she had just made Q eat a handful of the blackberries he'd made for her; the blackberry taste was strong on his lips and breath, a sweet addition to the pleasure of kissing him. His arms tightened again, convulsively, as she felt his shields collapsing. First there was a wave of pleasure, weakening resistance, then desperate need, terror and hunger all at once as the last of his shielding crumbled. For the first time, T'Laren understood why he'd been shielding. She hadn't been able to understand it, when she *knew* it was hurting him-- she had felt his headaches, the strain from the shields, as a low-grade annoyance across their link for weeks. The fact that it was straining him to shield meant that he didn't want to do it, that on some level he wanted the touch of her mind as badly as she wanted his, and yet he was doing it anyway. The only explanation she'd been able to think of was his fear of telepathy in general, and perhaps a horror of her, of what she'd done to him. She had wanted him so badly, she had never noticed that part of that desire was leakage from beneath his shields; she had never trusted herself enough to imagine for a moment that he was shielding because he didn't want her to know he wanted her. //*because you couldn't want me you can't want me you only wanted me because you needed someone and now that's over i must disgust you* //// Emotion poured from him, drowning her, washing over her in agonizingly wonderful waves. His desire for her, for the dual intimacies of mindtouch and of the physical realm, was overwhelming, to the point where she could not quite imagine how he'd managed to hold it back these weeks. She could have, but she'd trained for years. She felt his humiliation, his fear that she found him unattractive or that she didn't want him, his utter terror at being exposed now that she knew the truth, and also the enormous relief that she knew, he didn't have to hide anymore. It explained fully why he'd been shielding himself, and the explanation was better than she had dared to dream. Relief welled up inside her, mingling with her own need for this. //*i wanted you all this time and i thought *i* disgusted *you** //// They had both been so stupid, she thought, knees weakening in the flood of emotion, his desire, her relief that he wanted her after all. They had actually been mindlinked, and managed not to realize that the other one needed this as badly as they did, because they were both so convinced that the universe would never arrange matters to make them happy. How egotistical. She could understand Q believing the universe was out to get him, but what was her excuse? With her knees weakened, she couldn't stretch up to kiss him anymore. "You are entirely too tall," she murmured against his chest, undoing the archaic fastenings of his shirt. She kissed the side of his neck, feeling rather than hearing him moan in response. He was making no attempt to reciprocate, but he was holding her desperately, clinging. His arms were so warm, driving away the chill of the water. T'Laren pulled open the front of his shirt and kissed her way down from his neck to his nipple, taking it in her mouth and running her tongue around it, sucking it gently. The sensations she was receiving from him through their link were amazing; she remembered him being responsive from their last attempt to do this, but at that time she still hadn't recovered fully from the pon farr, and her memories were suspect. But this was incredible. She thought perhaps he was enjoying her mouth on his nipple more than she would have his, and T'Laren's breasts were one of the most sensitive places on her body. Men simply weren't supposed to enjoy this this much. Not that she was going to tell him that. Q was trying desperately to keep from moaning with abandon, and mostly failing, but it didn't matter anyway-- even if he'd been able to keep absolutely silent, she could feel what he felt, and it was sending shocks of pleasure through her entire body, warming her against the cold water. She released his nipple, and moved over to his breastbone, kissing it in preparation for an attack on the other nipple. Q had regained a modicum of control over himself, though, and apparently had decided that he didn't want to be so entirely vulnerable. His hand tangled in her hair, simultaneously tilting her head back and pushing it upward, and his other hand reached to her buttocks, supporting and lifting her. The fact that the water was making her lighter was probably the only reason he could manage that, and T'Laren thought perhaps she should make him stop before he strained his back, but couldn't seem to muster up any real desire to do so. The way he was holding her was pressing her up even further against his body, totally off balance, the pressure of his hand so close to where she needed it and his groin directly pressing against hers instead of against her pubic bone, where it had been previously. She loved the feeling of being off balance, out of control, relying on him to support her instead of having to be the pillar of strength. When he kissed her, she wrapped one arm around his neck, helping him support her, and ran the other hand under his shirt, prying it free from his back. Her admittedly somewhat vague memories of the last time were telling her that Q's back was exquisitely sensitive, something she could believe from his responses to backrubs, and she ran her fingertips lightly up the warm smooth skin, trying to find out if her memories were true. They were. Q moaned hoarsely against her mouth, letting her tongue probe his sweetness, utterly lost in sensation. He tried to pull her closer, higher, and lifted her further, pulling her legs all the way off the pond bed. Unfortunately, he was not braced well enough to have all of her weight resting on him, even in water. With a startled cry, Q fell backwards, T'Laren's weight toppling him, and they crashed into an undignified heap in the mud of the pond, Q's head going completely underwater. T'Laren rolled off him immediately, sitting in the mud, and reached down, helping him up. He was coughing and spluttering, completely soaked, mud matted in the hair at the back of his head and splattered all over his elegant clothes. He couldn't entirely seem to get his breath back. She pounded him on the back, once, helping him to cough up the water. Q's shields were back, firmly in place, the mood destroyed. He sat for a moment in the mud, the picture of utter dejection, his expression with the furious set to it he got when he was humiliated and his face flushed. "This is so unbelievably stupid," he muttered. "What *ever* possessed me to think this was a good idea?" "What was a good idea?" T'Laren asked. "This!" Q stood up, making a dramatic gesture that included the entire holodeck scenario. "All of this!" His face was closed with fury and humiliation. "What made me think it would be even vaguely amusing to play for a minute at being a god again? Computer, end program!" And she was left sitting in a puddle, next to the puddle Q was standing in, on a yellow grid in a black room. They were both still soaked-- water was one of the consumable molecules that the holodeck wouldn't remove if it were within the transport field of a living being, which was why a puddle remained when the program shut down. The room was stark and very ugly after the beauty of Q's program. T'Laren stood up as Q strode angrily toward the exit, and caught his arm. "Wait, please." "What for?" Q turned to face her. "I've been making an utter fool of myself. I'm sure you found it vastly amusing, but I have no desire to continue this travesty any longer than I have to." He yanked his arm away. "That's not true. I have not found you vastly amusing, I wouldn't have found you so if you *had* been making a fool of yourself, but the point is moot because you have not been." "Oh, very good, T'Laren. Cover *all* the bases. I don't need your patronizing solicitude!" "I'm not--" "This must be hysterically amusing. Look at me!" He gestured down at himself with a furious expression. "What a perfect metaphor this is for the pathos that is humanity. Here I am, covered with mud and slime, pretending to be a god. What's *wrong* with me? What made me think a *holodeck program* could give me back even the tiniest fraction of what I've lost?" "Is that what you were hoping it would do?" T'Laren asked gently. "I can't be sure, of course, but the impression I got was that you wanted, not to pretend you were a Q again, but to pretend you could give me what you might have given me if you had had your powers." "You are such an enormously egotistical creature," Q sneered. "What made you think for a moment this had anything to do with you?" "It was a fairly overwhelming impression," T'Laren said. She considered-- should she actually tell him why she thought so? There was so much potential for him to take her words wrong... but she had always thought honesty was the best policy with Q, since he tended to see through anything less. She sat down on the blank grid, trying to anchor Q there, since she doubted he'd walk out on her and it would be harder for him to drift toward the door if he knew she was sitting down and couldn't easily follow. "When you first showed me this program, you were... a little uncharacteristic, almost shy, even. Eager to have me see it, but a little apprehensive nonetheless." Q put a hand to his head, and she felt a flare of humiliation through the link. "Wonderful. I'm shy and eager now." Though he hadn't said so, T'Laren knew he was picking up on the childish connotations of those words. With a bit of the real exasperation she felt in her voice, she said, "Will you kindly let me talk without reading into my sentences? You're so locked into your own head, you seem to hardly ever *hear* me-- you put words in my mouth instead. Can you stop doing that, just once, and listen to what I am *actually* saying?" Q leaned against the nearest wall, arms folded and face closed. "I listen raptly." "The way you were behaving is perfectly natural for someone who's created something that he's proud of, and wants to show it to a friend, but fears that the friend might not like it. If this fantasy were solely for you, I can't imagine you'd have cared what I thought. That's part of it. Another part of it... I don't know how it felt to be able to create things with your mind, but surely it didn't feel anything at all like sending commands to the computer as you did here." "That's the *point!*" Q snapped. "It isn't anything* like* the same thing!" "Of course not. And that's what makes me think this could never have been a fantasy of being a Q again. It couldn't have felt the same, to you. It didn't even give you an approximation of your original senses, and I suspect your physical body felt much different to you when you were an omnipotent being in the guise of a human. In fact, the *only* thing this scenario gave you is the *appearance* of having power, and that wouldn't have mattered if there was no one else in the scenario. For some reason, you wanted to play a game where you were omnipotent to *me*. Why would you have wanted to do that?" "Because I'm a short-sighted fool." "Because you wanted to give me something. You sought my approval when you showed this to me; you pointed out that you tried to make it as much like the area I grew up in on Earth as possible; why would you have done that? I suspected at the time that perhaps you used to do this for mortals that intrigued you; I find it hard to believe that your relationships with mortals were *all* antagonistic. Perhaps you used to create planets, or at any rate little getaway spots, for mortal companions. And I think that was what you were trying to do, not to pretend you had your powers back." She stood up and went to him, putting a hand on his folded arms. "It was a beautiful program, Q, and I appreciated it greatly. I hate to see you dismissing it like this, when you put so much work into it, and quite selfishly I enjoyed it and would rather have it back. Won't you activate it again?" He glared at her. "You're just saying that to spare my feelings." "When have you *ever* known me to lie to spare your feelings, Q?" T'Laren asked dryly. She reached up to his face, pressing fingertips to temple, forehead and cheek, opening her mind to him. //*"You can see the truth, you know. You can see into my mind any time you choose. I cannot lie to you if you question."*// Q caught her hand, pulling it away from his temple, and then contradicting his action by twining his own fingers through hers. "I am a far more experienced telepath than you could possibly imagine. Don't try to tell *me* you can't lie in mindspeech." "Perhaps *you* can," T'Laren said evenly. "Not being a far more experienced telepath, I cannot. I can misdirect; I can try to hide the truth; but I cannot lie. Ordinary mortal telepaths are simply not that sophisticated." His shields lowered slightly, very slightly, and she felt him peering into her open mind through the cracks in his own. She left herself open, fearlessly naked, allowing him to seek out the source of his fears without attempting to read him in return. When he found her memories of today, saw himself through her eyes, she felt a chaotic swell of emotion from within him-- chagrin at parts of the image, but overall a disbelieving slow joy, her image of him a balm to his damaged self- esteem. //*you *don't* think i'm a hopeless fool you think you actually--*// He pulled away from her mentally and physically, throwing up shields to keep his thoughts from her, but not before she sensed him shaken by a joy too overwhelming for him to be able to handle. T'Laren wasn't exactly sure what he'd seen that evoked *that* response. Was he so desperate, so beaten down by the past three years or so, that seeing a positive image of himself in someone else's mind amazed him? It was almost as if he had seen something he'd never expected. But he *knew* her opinion of him, didn't he? They had mind-melded before. For several seconds there was an awkward silence. T'Laren didn't want to reach out to him physically; whatever he'd seen had shocked him enough that he seemed to need to be separate from her for the moment. But while she could have been comfortable with silence for hours, he was not. And his discomfort radiated, though she wasn't sure if it was telepathically, through his shields, or in the more mundane sense, through his body language. Regardless, she felt it. "Will you reactivate your program?" she asked softly, coaxing a response from him, any connection at all. Hesitantly Q shrugged. "Since you're so set on it." He stepped away from the wall. "Computer, reactivate program." The picnic spot reappeared, with the pond nearby, undisturbed. T'Laren took a deep breath, studying it for a moment, then turned back to face Q. He was dry and completely clean, as if he'd never fallen in the mud. She, however, was still sopping wet. T'Laren folded her arms. "I suppose I don't rate an act of godlike intervention, then?" Q's grin was oddly tentative, solid but as if it could vanish from his face in a second if she didn't respond the way he hoped. "Well, you haven't asked nicely." She was actually reassured by his behavior. Q being mischievous and immature was Q having fun. T'Laren would prefer to be wet and muddy and have Q participating in his own fantasy again than the other way around. "Please." "Please what?" She fought not to grin. "Pretty please with blueberries on top." Q laughed delightedly. "I'd forgotten about that one. Isn't it supposed to be 'sugar'?" "I am generally far more impressed by blueberries than pure sucrose," T'Laren said blandly. "Ah. Well, then, that's nicely indeed. I suppose I shall be magnanimous." He gestured, and she felt an odd sparkly sensation around her skin, almost like a transporter effect, except that the sensation of fading, dissolving, wasn't there. And then it stopped, and she felt clean and mostly dry. T'Laren raised an eyebrow. She wasn't positive it was safe to use the transporter that close in; that was what it had to have been, since if the material had been the usual immaterial holo-stuff, it would have vanished the moment the program ended. She wasn't sure why he'd programmed any solidity to the mud at all; it made sense with the water, since you could drink water, and it could hurt a person to drink holodeck water and then have it vanish from their body. Water on a holodeck was generally one of the "solid" substances, and when a holoprogram removed it in its ending cleanup, it would use transporters. Holodeck transporters were generally a bad idea to use on material in extremely close proximity to people, such as their clothes and hair; a person operating the transporter could usually do it safely, but automated systems were a poor idea. Q didn't have some way of actually operating a transporter remotely by gesture, did he? "Hmm," Q said musingly. "I'm not so sure that's an improvement." T'Laren walked over to him. "Why not? You yourself said I looked like a drowned rat. Could it be you actually prefer to see me with a wet tunic on?" "Well, aesthetically speaking, both the color and the style of that shapeless thing you have on were vastly improved by a bit of water." "Of course," T'Laren said, nodding solemnly. "Your reasons were solely aesthetic." "Of course they were." She reached him then, and put her hands on his arms. "I think we have some unfinished business." "What makes you think that?" His shirt was still mostly undone. T'Laren slipped her hand inside it, running over the warm skin underneath. She felt Q tremble slightly. "I have my reasons." She looked up at him, questioning. Would he be willing to pick up where they'd left off? Had the humiliation of his experience ruined the mood permanently? She wanted very much to recapture what they'd almost had; would he let her? Tentatively, slowly, his shields lowered. //*you want this? you truly want this (me)?*//// She still sensed disbelief from him, but it was less a disbelief in her than in Fate, as if the universe could not possibly be this kind to him. Something had to be done to distract him from his fears, convince him that all this would not simply melt away like a dream. Maybe he thought this *was* a dream. T'Laren peeled his shirt back further and bent her knees, lowering herself, kissing her way down his breastbone and down to the vulnerable abdomen. //*"Does this convince you that this is real?"*// He moaned. She felt him starting to lose his balance, his knees going weak. Her own position was precarious, and she didn't want to risk what had happened before-- the ground was probably not real here, and wouldn't remain on their clothes, but on the other hand it was a lot harder than the mud had been. T'Laren sat down, and tugged on Q's hand, drawing him down to her. They ended up lying on the ground, her more or less underneath him, tangled together. Q raised his head. An evil smile spread slowly across his face, the unholy light of mischief in his eyes. He'd blocked her from sensing exactly what he was planning, though. "What are you doing?" "Moi? Whatever could you mean?" He moved back, levering himself off her, into a position half- sitting, half-looming over her. T'Laren felt a tremor of simultaneous apprehension and anticipation, half-fearing what he might do, looking forward to it. Q made a gesture, and the sparkly sensation was back, enveloping her entire body. T'Laren closed her eyes against the sparkles, giving in, letting whatever Q had planned play out without attempting to control it or stop it or even watch what was happening. And then she felt curiously cold, and curiously light, a breeze sharp on her skin. She opened her eyes, and realized that she was completely naked. This was undoubtedly Q's way of taking back the initiative, after she had started to undress him. And in a typical, perverse Q fashion, it was probably a kind of revenge. "Where are my clothes?" she asked the smirking man above her. "Why? Do you want them back?" "At the moment, no. But I will need them eventually." Q shook his head. "So eminently practical," he sighed. "I can bring your clothes back whenever you want them. Does that reassure you?" She would feel a bit more reassurred if she saw them folded in a neat heap nearby, she thought, but didn't say it. She was cold, the air chilly on her skin-- the simulation was of a warm day on Earth, at a temperature comfortable for Q. Though T'Laren was used to Earthlike environments, she had used warm clothing all her life to help adapt to them, and now she was chilly. Fortunately there was a source of warmth nearby, hovering tantalizingly over her. T'Laren reached up to Q and yanked him down on top of her. For a moment, startled, Q struggled. T'Laren whispered in his ear, "Since you're the one who's dispensed with my clothes, I think it's only fair that you should keep me warm. Don't you think?" She ran her hands under his shirt and around to his back, holding him tightly and stroking the warm skin, and Q stopped resisting, pillowing his head on her shoulder. After a few moments, he lifted his head, gazing at her intently. His eyes would devour her, swallow her whole; she could fall into their depths and drown, and she wanted to. Her hands on his skin were not enough; she needed him to touch her, needed him to kiss her. One hand lazily stroked the length of her body, starting on the outside of her leg just above her knee and running up her side, lightly stroking a single finger around her breast, then away. The touch was too light, teasing. T'Laren tried to pull Q closer to her; he clasped his hands around her upper arms and slid up to her elbows, then tugged her arms free of his back. For a startled second, T'Laren resisted; Q's leverage was a lot better than hers, but he wasn't exerting enough of his strength to compensate for her greater strength. The moment T'Laren realized that Q couldn't do whatever he had in mind as long as she resisted him, she stopped, and he was able to pull her arms away from him, up and over her head. "Naughty Vulcan," he murmured. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to try to crush your partner?" She had forgotten that he was fragile, far more sensitive to pain and discomfort than the average human. She hadn't actually hurt him when she'd tried to pull him closer to her, but he'd been a little frightened at her strength. And she certainly didn't want to hurt him. "Forgive me," she said. "It *was* terribly rude. Mea maxima culpa." "And you think I'll forgive you just because you say you're sorry?" he whispered. "No, my dear, I think you need to be taught a lesson." Now this was a distinctly interesting development. T'Laren knew perfectly well Q wouldn't want to hurt her; he'd be able to sense her pain, for one thing, and for another he considered any sort of physical violence barbaric. T'Laren had no love for pain or humiliation... but she did enjoy submitting her will to another's, surrendering the control she imprisoned herself with. A sharp fiery line of pleasure radiated upward from her groin through her entire body as she anticipated what might happen next; Q was keeping his mind partially shielded, so she could sense his emotions but not his actual thoughts. "What sort of lesson did you have in mind?" "A lesson on what happens when bad Vulcans try to squash their partners, of course," Q said blandly. He was still grasping her arms by the lower part of the forearm. His hands now slid up to her wrists, and he stretched his arms out, leaning over her, using his greater height and arm length to extend her arms out as far as they'd go without pain. "Now. Can I trust you to keep them there?" To be completely honest, she would have rather he immobilized him than that he asked her to do it; T'Laren had had too many sexual encounters where she had had to restrain herself, keep a portion of her sexuality out of play, because she had vowed to mindmeld with no one but Soram, and voluntarily keeping her hands away from him would be unpleasantly like that. She much preferred to be totally abandoned, no element of self-control required. But she had a sneaking suspicion that Q would consider a request that he tie her up to be excessively kinky, and she had no desire to scare him off. Besides, perhaps this would reassure him that she really did have the self-control not to hurt him; she hadn't hurt him the last time, but the time before that she had been entirely out of her mind, and while she didn't remember it very well, she could remember all the bruises and bite marks she'd seen on Q afterwards. It was too much of a miracle that Q was willing to forgive her that; she wouldn't do anything to jeopardize that. "Very well." "Good." He smiled ferociously, then slid down her body somewhat. Again the light, teasing hand ran up and down the side of her, somehow missing all the places that really begged to be touched, or else brushing them lightly, almost tickling. T'Laren shuddered, and clutched the grass over her head. The position her arms were in, next to each other far above her head, was pushing her chest out, making her feel as if her breasts were horribly, wonderfully exposed. She needed him to touch her there, to put his mouth there. Instead he was tracing maddening light patterns on her hip. He was going to drive her insane. She loved it. He continued like that for some time, ruthlessly teasing. T'Laren was almost dizzy with wanting. Some small rational part was wondering how Q was managing to do this, if he could feel what she felt; she couldn't imagine that *he* had this much self-control. Perhaps he was mostly shielded; it was hard to tell, hard to concentrate with the maddening sensations coursing through her. She had a dim sense that what he wanted was for her to beg, but T'Laren was very bad at asking for things, and very very good at enduring. Finally his mouth fastened on one breast. A low moan broke from T'Laren's throat, a breakthrough of sorts. She had spent too many years being trained to silence in the face of sensation to be able to respond with her voice very much. With Melor, and later Tris and a string of human lovers after him, she had learned to compensate for the expectations of her partners by being all over them, telling them with her hands what her voice had been trained to deny. But Q wasn't allowing her to use her hands, and he seemed to be mostly shielded, which placed her in a bind-- she *had* to express the sensations, or her training would take over and try to keep her from feeling them. She had writhed and shifted, but it wasn't enough. Now it was as if the pleasure had finally melted a frozen block in her throat; she still could not cry out loudly or frequently, but being able to make any sound at all was a triumph. The sensation of his mouth suckling was almost enough to make her lose control, lift her hands from their self-imposed prison and touch him. She needed to run her fingers through his hair, needed to feel warm silken skin under her hands. With an effort of will, she kept her hands down-- if this was a contest, she didn't want to lose it. Or maybe she did, but losing wouldn't be any fun if she didn't strive to win. Then Q started stroking her inner thigh as he sucked her breast-- lightly, still horribly lightly. For the first time it occurred to her that perhaps it was less that he was teasing than that he was afraid of hurting her. In fact, it was very likely, given how few times they'd done this, that he didn't entirely know what he was doing, and that frightened her. A very light touch grazed her groin, stroking the sides, brushing her, and another moan escaped her. She needed him, needed his mind and body in hers, and she was going to go mad if she didn't get them *right now*. "I think I've learned my lesson," she said in a soft, hoarse voice. Deliberately she lifted her hands from where he'd first pinned them, and slid them down his sides, slipping under the waistband of his pants. //*"Time now to learn yours."*// T'Laren slid a single finger around his hips and to his front under the waistband, teasing him, making him gasp. The other hand reached over and between his legs and lightly stroked his inner thighs, as maddeningly as what he'd done to her. His mind opened under the onslaught, instinctively reaching out for her, and she sensed pleasure, a little disappointment that she was taking charge, a little apprehension, but mostly relief. Because he'd needed to block out most of her sensations when he teased her, Q had been terrified, certain he was doing something wrong. Now that she'd taken over, there was no more reason for him to fear, and no more reason to shield from her. Encouraged by his relief, T'Laren sat up partway, grasping his opened shirt where it still sat on his shoulders and pushing it down off his arms. She then wrapped her arms around him and rolled, flipping the two of them over and sliding down his body. She kissed his nipples, his breastbone, his stomach, descending lower, as her hands worked back into the waistband of his pants and tugged down. Q gasped, pleasure and anticipation of greater pleasure radiating from him as her mouth traveled lower still. She overshot her target by just a little to lick his inner thighs, making him cry out and clutch the grass under his hands. He seemed to be avoiding touching her-- some vague fear of hurting her, pulling her hair, she sensed. She reached one hand up and touched his, letting him twine his fingers through it and clutch her instead of the grass. After his teasing, her own need was far too great to tease him, but direct satisfaction now was dangerous, she feared-- she could lose control, she could hurt him. Indirect satisfaction, by satisfying Q this way, would take the edge off her need, and then she was fairly sure she could get him going again, to take his time with her. Her mouth finally reached the center of his pleasure, first kissing the tip, then licking it, and finally fastening on it and drawing most of it into her mouth, sucking, as Q thrashed and made incoherent cries. This was wonderful. His sensations were so intense, so exquisite, they were almost like she was feeling it herself, but at just enough of a remove that she could keep control. She savored the sweet human taste of him, the way he moaned and writhed under her touch, clutching at her hand, needing her desperately. Simply wonderful. And then he gasped, "...stop..." T'Laren stopped, startled. She hadn't been doing anything wrong, she was sure; Q had loved it, she had sensed his pleasure clearly. "All right, but what's wrong?" Q panted, seemingly unable to quite muster up enough coherent thought to answer the question. Finally he managed, "Not that way... it's disgusting." Disgusting? His emotional makeup right now was somewhat martyred; he wanted what she'd been doing, every fiber of him cried out for it, but he had to refuse on principle. A foolish principle, T'Laren thought. "Q, it doesn't disgust *me*." She tried to send him reassurance and comfort. She knew there were some human women who objected to the taste, thinking it bitter, but human and Vulcanoid biochemistries were sufficiently different that to T'Laren it tasted bland, almost sweet. Certainly not objectionable. And aside from the question of taste, she couldn't understand how her mouth differed enough from any other part of her body for it to make a difference. "Not that way," Q repeated, getting some of his focus back. There was a fairly clear image in his mind of what way he *did* want. He sat up, arms reaching for T'Laren. She went into them, a little frightened. Her need was so great that to satisfy it directly could break her, she thought, make her lose control, possibly hurt him. Again she wished he'd tie her up. There'd be no risk then. He did the next best thing, taking over, lying her down and lying on top of her. A bit of fumbling-- he wasn't used to the mechanics of this yet; she had to help guide him-- and then pleasure, redoubling between their minds, so enormous that she whimpered with it. The sensation of being opened, filled, was good enough by itself, and then there were the sensations from him, the warm tightness embracing him. It was almost as intense as the late stages of pon farr with Soram had been, the difference being that it had taken Q six weeks to come to this point, not seven years. If it could be like this every six weeks, she could be quite happy. Bonded humans must be wonderful lovers in general. Why weren't there more half-humans running around on Vulcan? If she'd known this twenty years ago, she never, ever would have left Earth. And Q's oversensitivity to pleasure, the intensity with which he felt everything, the three years of celibacy and several weeks of informed repression he was making up for, all drove the sensations from him beyond exquisite. T'Laren's own pleasure fed off that, his delight arousing her uncontrollably, the sweet sweet motions of his body insider her and on her satisfying that arousal. Feverishly she kissed his chest, twisted her head to lick his nipple, craned her neck up to kiss his neck. Q's cries drowned out the faint whimpers of pleasure she made. He moved faster, harder, devastating her with pleasure. Her whole body was tense, quivering, clinging to him, feeling him driving against the parts that would trigger meltdown, so soon now. She was able to retain only enough control not to crush him as she clung, her mind melting into his, swirling together like two flavors of ice cream, melted by the heat their bodies were producing and poured together. One mind with two bodies cried out in ecstacy as bodies finally melted as well, tension giving way to glorious, shattering release. The combined entity thrashed its bodies with the spasms of pleasure, the first wave of sweetness almost painful in its intensity, each after that washing away more tension in ebbs and flows, leaving behind sweet weakness, muscles limp and relaxed. As orgasm shuddered to completion, the minds drew apart again, once more two separate individuals, but still linked, twined around each other the way their bodies were tangled together. For minutes afterward neither of them spoke, holding one another, savoring the sweet warmth of the other, cool breeze blowing sweat away, warm sun beating down on them both. Slowly T'Laren grew aware of pain that was not her own. "Did I hurt you?" she whispered, stricken. "I'm writhing in agony," Q murmured in her ear. "Obviously you've crippled me for life." The words were heavily sarcastic, but the voice that spoke them was uncharacteristically tender. She sighed, reassured. The pain was probably no more than what he lived with on a regular basis, temporarily forgotten in the flood of sexual endorphins. Perhaps he would ache after this, but then, humans who were out of shape generally did. It didn't mean she'd hurt him. "Obviously." She snuggled closer, the breeze a little too cool on her skin. "Perhaps I'll have to make recompense." Human ears were not mobile; neverless, she could have sworn his pricked up. "That sounds intriguing. What sort of recompense did you have in mind? Perhaps I'm worse hurt than I thought." "I can tell you're in agony." "Oh, I am." "Would a backrub help to ease your pain?" He considered. "I'm sure it couldn't hurt." "Well, then, you'll have to make me a bottle of massage oil, O godlike creator of holodeck programs. Lightly heated, if you please." "I think I could deign to grant your request."