Rated NC-17 
E-mail:  astarte@uia.net 
Pairing:  Picard/Q 
Disclaimer:  The principal characters are the property of Paramount/Viacom. No 
copyright 
infringement is intended, and no financial profit is anticipated. 
Summary:  Picard and Q work out some power dynamics in their relationship. 
Warning:  Mild BDSM. 
Note:  Sequel to "She Moves in Mysterious Ways." 
Feedback encouraged and welcomed. 
  
  


With or Without You 
By atara 
Copyright (c) 1995 
  
  


My hands are tied 
My body bruised, (s)he's got me with 
Nothing left to win 
And nothing else to lose 
With or without you 
With or without you 
I can't live 
With or without you 
U2, The Joshua Tree (Island Records, 1987) 
  
  


Jean-Luc Picard strode through the corridors of his still-unfamiliar new ship, 
still feeling slightly 
disoriented, but pleased that ship and crew had acquitted themselves so well in 
the rescue mission on 
Otranto 3. Between tending to the wounded and repairing the massive damage the 
comet's glancing blow 
had caused, it had been a grueling mission, his diplomatic skills had been 
sorely tested by the 
intransigence of the very people they had been trying to help, and he was tired. 
The USS Enterprise, 
NCC-1701 E was now en route to Starbase 426 to repair some of the damage the 
planet's severely 
ionized atmosphere had done to some of her more delicate sensors, and he had a 
few days days to 
relax, more or less. 


As he walked toward his quarters, he brushed his fingers unthinkingly along the 
wall of the corridor, 
and his body tensed slightly as the smooth surface transmitted the sensation 
through his fingertips, 
along his nerves, and to his brain. For the past few months he had been 
hyperaware of his sense of 
touch in a way he hadn't been since his undergraduate days at Starfleet Academy 
when his active and 
varied sex life had kept him a state of what seemed like perpetual arousal. He 
couldn't help it now, 
though. As he perused his battered and singed Shakespeare volume, he found 
himself stroking the 
leather binding and the pages, feeling the varied textures as if they were new 
to him; sitting in his 
Captain's chair, he felt its shape caress his back; and although he had no 
sexual interest in any of his 
crewmembers, he was acutely aware of their physical presence when they were 
close to him and was 
grateful that he had been recently taught to shield himself, at least partially, 
from Deanna's concerned 
probing. In the shower, he stood for minutes at a time, feeling the hot water 
course over his body, 
closing his eyes to let it wash over his face or turning around to feel the hot 
splashes on his back and 
buttocks. Toweling himself off afterward and putting on pajamas or clothes, he 
was acutely aware of 
the sensation of the fabric sliding over his skin. Alone in his ready room, he 
found himself tracing 
figure eights on the smooth top of desk or alternately running his fingertips up 
and down the the fingers 
and palm of his other hand in an almost hypnotic rhythm. In bed at night he felt 
his hands straying down 
his body but almost always stopped himself before reaching his groin; he knew 
that he couldn't possibly 
provide himself with the sensations he craved--and his dreams, and what dreams 
they were!--would be 
much more satisfying. 


Picard's conscious mind suddenly became aware that he was trailing his fingers 
along the wall as a child 
would, and he tried to regain his more disciplined self-image with a sharp tug 
on the front of his 
uniform. He couldn't prevent the slight sigh that escaped him, however. Although 
he was pleased at the 
outcome of the mission, he realized that he felt both lonely and dissatisfied 
and felt that way ever since 
leaving Starfleet Academy and taking command of his new ship. He had been 
utterly spoiled during his 
last month and a half there, and he knew no one else could possibly take him to 
that peak of pure, 
exquisitely concentrated pleasure. His lover hadn't done him a favor, spoiling 
him in that fashion for 
anyone else, but he wouldn't have traded the experience for anything. Either 
sliding under his defenses 
or battering through them, his lover had alternately lured and coerced him into 
a delicious vulnerability 
and an exhilarating loss of his usual self-control. Picard had felt utterly 
naked--physically, 
emotionally, spiritually--he had had layers and layers of self-discipline, 
control, and repression 
stripped away, and raw, tingling, and reborn, he had exulted in a freedom to be 
utterly, completely, 
openly himself in a way he had never thought possible. How could he not miss 
that time? At the same 
time he couldn't help distrusting and fearing that very vulnerability that had 
so exalted him. In 
retrospect and as days passed, he began to wonder more and more just how he had 
allowed himself to 
slide so far out of his own control. Picard had too much invested in his self-
image of independence and 
self-sufficiency to open himself so completely up to *anyone* without a fight. 
His inevitable 
surrenders had brought him a joy he could have never imagined, but looking back, 
he was shocked at 
how much of himself he had exposed to another. 


He entered his quarters, trying to put his memories of San Francisco out of his 
mind. He peeled off his 
uniform, relaxing gratefully in a hot shower. Feeling too exhausted to bother 
with pajamas, he barely 
toweled himself off before collapsing on top of his bed. His eyes were beginning 
to drift closed when he 
felt a sensation he hadn't expected--a tongue lightly circling his penis, which, 
despite his fatigue, 
sprang instantly to life. The tongue travelled a line slowly along the underside 
of his penis, bottom to 
top, then traversed several slow circles around the tip. At this point Picard's 
mind registered the 
detail that both the tongue and the owner of it were invisible. He chuckled 
slightly to himself, then 
reached down with both hands toward his groin, trying to make contact with his 
presumptuous visitor. 
"Ah, ah, ah," rang a chiding voice inside his mind, and he felt both his hands 
being firmly pulled up 
above his head then pressed into the bed. Although he could see or feel nothing 
holding them down, held 
down they were. He then felt his legs being spread apart, then similarly 
immobilized. "Damn!" he 
thought to himself, not so much at his helplessness, but at how utterly aroused 
he was by it. Knowing 
that struggle was futile, he visibly relaxed the rest of his body, and he was 
rewarded for his surrender 
by the invisible tongue returning to his still-erect member and licking it more 
purposefully for a few 
moments before the entire mouth got into the act, sucking Picard's penis hard. 


He wasn't going to get off that easily, however. As he expected, as he felt 
himself close to climaxing, 
the mouth withdrew, paused, then returned to provide only the slightest flicks 
of the tongue. At the 
same time tiny pinpricks all over his body caused him to shiver uncontrollably; 
the more he shivered, 
the more the invisible prinpricks seemed to dart into his skin. Barely able to 
process this sensation, he 
then felt both his nipples being rolled between a finger and thumb in an 
infuriatingly slow rhythm. 
Picard growled in frustration, his head rolling furiously from side to side. The 
light wisps of a tongue 
across the tip of his penis in combination with the other sensations were 
utterly maddening, and he felt 
himself sliding into that now-familiar abyss of total, naked, aching surrender. 
"Do . . . you . . . want . . . 
me . . . to . . . beg?" he demanded breathlessly. No reply, as he expected. He 
was going to have to do 
this himself. He knew the routine. "Please . . . " he murmured, "please . . . 
now!" He writhed helplessly 
as the sensations continued, light enough to keep him in a state of excruciating 
arousal but too light to 
provide the release he craved. "You . . . win," he gasped, "please . . . love . 
. . please!" His tormentor 
was in a generous mood and soon complied, but Picard knew he would have to 
humiliate himself even 
further later. No matter, he would get his own as well. His lover had proved 
surprisingly susceptible to 
sexual pleasure. As the invisible mouth sucked his penis even harder than 
before, Picard felt as if all 
his blood was surging through his veins to that one point on his body. With a 
howl that made him grateful 
for the soundproof walls, he climaxed, his entire body rocked with the force of 
his orgasm. After what 
seemed like minutes of delicious release, he felt the mouth slowly and gently 
release his penis. 


His visitor then shimmered into visible form, remarking in a silky, mocking 
voice that seemed both to 
caress and tease every nerve he owned, "It's so flattering to see you *salute* 
me so readily, mon 
Capitaine" (here the speaker glanced pointedly at Picard's now resting member). 
"And you've been 
thinking about me quite a bit, haven't you? One might think you had a sneaking 
fondness for yours 
truly." 


"Did anyone ever tell you you talk too much, Q?" muttered Picard, having 
recovered some of his 
composure and pushing his bedmate onto his back. "Yes, of course I've missed 
you, damn it! Do you have 
to gloat about it?" 

"Of course I do, Jean-Luc. I wouldn't be *me* if I didn't." 


"True enough," returned Picard, "but I know how to stop your gloating." He 
straddled Q's body and 
began kissing his visitor's mouth, pressing it open, and feeling his own surge 
of pleasure at how readily 
Q responded to the energetic wrestling of their tongues. That Q could instantly 
drive him into a state of 
quivering, helpless, sexual ecstasy was not a surprise; Q was omnipotent after 
all, and between his 
powers and his mind-reading abilities, he knew exactly what was required to take 
Picard to the edge, 
suspend him on that edge as long as it suited him, then take him over the top in 
an explosive climax. The 
surprise was how much Q appeared to crave physical contact. Even though Picard 
knew he couldn't 
come close to matching what the entity did to *him* in bed, Q turned out to be a 
slave to his physical 
senses, much to his simultaneous delight and chagrin. As he had explained to 
Picard, when he was in 
human form, he could feel exactly what a human would in the same circumstances 
as long as he didn't 
screen out any sensations, and when he was with Picard, he wanted to experience 
the full range of 
sexual responses. Q couldn't quite get over the feeling that this was a form of 
slumming that really 
wasn't proper for a member of the Q Continuum, but since he didn't much care 
what his fellow Qs 
thought about him anyway, he decided to indulge himself in this unexpected 
pleasure. His prior sexual 
experiences with mortals had been mere diversions, a way of studying humans by 
imitating their 
activities, and while his mortal form had experienced a certain amount of 
pleasure, he could take it or 
leave it. But with Picard it was another matter altogether. For the first time 
in his infinitely long 
existence he had understood the intense interpenetration of emotion and physical 
sensation that made 
human sex much more fulfilling than the playful, emotionally detached form of 
sex he and his fellow Qs 
engaged in. This man, this human, this mortal had aroused a need in him that, 
against all his better 
judgment, he was forced to acknowledge. Q was swept up in a genuine passion that 
engaged his mind, his 
feelings, and his adopted human body in a way that was utterly new to him, and 
he had determined to 
indulge himself as much as his own and his partner's fierce independence would 
allow him. 


Both of Picard's hands tightly grasped Q's hair, as the lovers' mouths clung 
ferociously together in an 
extended and ravenous kiss. Picard only occasionally paused in his tongue's 
exploration of his partner's 
mouth to suck and close his teeth on the full lower lip that pressed between his 
own. His hands began to 
explore the well-muscled arms, firm buttocks, and taut legs of the body beneath 
him, and it wasn't long 
before he was again fully aroused. His fatigue had long since melted away. As 
his swelling penis pressed 
against his partner's thigh, Q teased, "Are you just glad to see me?" 


"What do you think?" muttered Picard, pushing himself up on his arms to look Q 
in the eyes. 


"You seemed pretty glad *not* to see me before," remarked Q casually. 


"Visible, invisible, male, female, it makes no difference," snapped Picard, "you 
know I want you. Do I 
have to tell you?" At his he lowered his head to worry one of Q's nipples 
between his teeth and was 
satisfied at the gasp this process elicited. 


"Yes, you have to tell me," returned Q, trying to maintain control. "I *love* to 
hear you tell me you 
want me." 


"Why don't I *show* you instead?" growled Picard. 


He moved off of Q's body and tried to flip him over, but Q decided to put up at 
least a show of 
resistance. After a spirited and breathless bout of wrestling, Picard succeeded 
in forcing his partner 
onto his knees, as he pulled his arms behind his back. They had a tacit 
agreement that Q would refrain 
from using his powers in such a situation. He had discovered that he enjoyed 
being mastered as much as 
he enjoyed being on top, and he was happy to throw the occasional wrestling 
match. Both he and Picard 
knew what was going on. "Now, hold *still*!" ordered Picard as he delivered a 
sharp slap to Q's 
buttocks. Q squirmed, laughing, and was rewarded with another, harder blow. 


"Do that again," he gasped and moaned at the stinging slap that sent little 
shocks into his groin. Really, 
there was a crude, visceral pleasure to these physical sensations that the 
etherial mingling of Q sex 
just didn't live up to. "What a slut to desire you are," he thought to himself, 
wonderingly, while arching 
his back like a cat. He then relaxed his body perceptibly and said aloud, "I'm 
at your service, Captain. 
Do with me what you will." Picard's hands pressed outward against his inner 
thighs, and he willingly 
spread his legs further apart. More so than any human, Q was capable of multiple 
perspectives, one 
part of his mind viewing another part of himself and his feelings with 
detachment, while he indulged 
those feelings at the same time. He marvelled at how eagerly he desired to be 
filled up, to feel Picard's 
penis pushing inside him. That was not yet to be. He felt Picard's fingers 
instead nimbly exploring his 
penis and testicles with nothing like the awkwardness of the first time they had 
done this. 


Q smiled to himself remembering, his mind able to concentrate on his current 
pleasures while recalling 
his memories at the same time. After their mutual admission of a wholly 
unexpected degree of desire 
and feeling for one another, Q had initially felt that he must reassert his 
dominant position. Using his 
powers he had worked Picard up into a frenzy of desire, creating the sensation 
of countless fingers, 
lips, and tongues arousing every bit of the surface of Picard's skin while 
simultaneously sending an 
electric ripple under the surface to stimulate every nerve ending. Picard had 
begged him to stop, then 
even more fervently begged him to continue. As much as Q had enjoyed letting 
Picard initiate him into 
his first experience of sex as a human female, he wanted break through all of 
the Captain's inhibitions 
and return the favor of a sexual initiation, for he knew Picard had limited his 
sexual experiences to 
women until now. An unexpected warmth and tenderness had overcome Q when he 
realized that Picard 
really did want *him*; it was not merely a game for either of them. So Q had 
decided, generously, to 
concentrate entirely on his partner's pleasure. He had resumed his telekinetic 
stimulation of Picard's 
every nerve, while taking his erect, quivering penis into his mouth. Picard 
moaned with the urgency of 
his need, amply rewarding Q's ministrations. 


At this point, Q had decided to find out exactly what was going on in his 
partner's mind, especially 
considering how much trouble he had gotten into by refraining from doing so 
before. He was gratified to 
discover that the overwhelming emotion in Picard's mind was desire, and that 
desire was emotional as 
well as physical. While Picard was experiencing a certain degree of discomfort 
at being with a "male" 
lover, it was not really a major concern. Picard was open-minded enough to learn 
from his recent 
experiences; between making love with Q in female form and realizing the extent 
of his feelings for his 
former adversary, he had rapidly concluded that his partner's fluctuating 
"gender" was utterly 
irrelevant. As Q had expected, a far greater cause of discomfort in Picard's 
mind was a rising shame at 
his total loss of self-control. He had never had his defenses quite so 
effectively stripped away, had 
never descended so entirely into that abyss of self-surrender. While his body 
and soul cried out for 
satisfaction, part of him was still struggling to regain some control, to 
interpose some walls, however 
thin, between himself and his partner so he wouldn't feel so utterly exposed. 
And that was something Q 
had no intention of allowing; via the prism of his desire for Q, his alter-ego, 
his soul's double, Picard 
was going to have to face himself. Q would see to that and would continue to see 
to that as the struggle 
resumed in almost every subsequent encounter. 


While Q's mind had continued to observe Picard spiralling down into an aching, 
exquisite, vulnerability, 
he had stroked, prodded, and licked his partner into a near frenzy. Part of 
Picard continued to resist, to 
hold back, and Q dug his fingers so hard into Picard's buttocks they left 
bruises while his teeth closed 
on his penis. The pain sent Picard over the edge of the abyss, and he howled his 
surrender: "All . . . 
right . . . damn . . . it . . . Q . . . do . . . whatever . . . you . . . want . 
. . with . . . me!" 


"No, Jean-Luc," said Q gently as he climbed off Picard's raw, trembling form. 
"*You* take *me*, he 
offered, while positioning himself on his hands and knees. There would be time 
for him to be on top, but 
he felt that Picard had earned this gift. Picard sprung to his knees behind his 
partner, his hands running 
over his buttocks with a growl. His acute desire for release had not entirely 
overcome his self-
consciousness, and he reached between Q's legs awkwardly to grasp his penis. He 
tentatively explored 
it with his hands, gaining confidence as Q groaned softly and sunk his teeth 
into the pillow. As his finger 
hesitantly moved up to explore between his partner's buttocks, Q remarked 
breathlessly, "You . . . 
know . . . one . . . advantage . . . of . . . omnipotence . . . is . . . the . . 
. instant . . . availability . . . of . . . 
lubricant." 


Picard laughed, "That hadn't occurred to me." 


"Now . . . Jean . . . Luc . . . I . . . want . . . you . . .," here he paused, 
"to . . . *fuck*. . . me." Picard had 
*felt* more than heard the word "fuck," in Q's now husky voice, jolt him into 
action. He pressed his 
suddenly slick and lubricated penis against the narrow entrance and closed his 
eyes as it pushed slowly 
inside. As he began to move he felt the tightness surround him, and he began 
moaning rhythmically, 
completely abandoned to this new form of ecstasy. Nothing else existed except 
that overwhelming 
sensation concentrated in his penis; he had ceased to be aware of his hands 
resting on Q's hips and the 
buttocks with which he was rhythmically colliding. After a deliriously intense 
buildup of tension, he felt 
his partner suddenly thrash beneath him; the movement spurred his own orgasm, 
and he felt a burst of 
liquid fire spurt out of him, then seemingly wash back through his whole body as 
he shuddered with the 
violence of his climax. As his body's trembling began to decrease, Q slowly 
straightened his knees and 
stretched out on his stomach, so that Picard was lying on top of him. He gripped 
Picard's hands snugly 
in his own and pressed his arms close to his side, and they remained in that 
position, wordlessly, for a 
long time. 


When Picard had slowly rolled off, Q gathered him tenderly into his arms, much 
more tenderly than 
Picard could have imagined. Picard reached up to stroke the line of Q's 
cheekbone and jaw with one 
finger, while smiling warmly and saying, "Well, mon ami, you seem to have robbed 
me of *my* virtue 
now--I suppose that makes us even." 


"I've been wanting to for years," Q had said softly, then, repeating Picard's 
earlier sarcastic rejoinder 
with a genuine warmth and only the slightest touch of gentle irony, added, "I'm 
flattered you saved 
yourself for me, darling." 


Q smiled at the memory as the major part of his attention returned to Picard now 
firmly grasping his 
hips and moving inside him. One of the advantages of omnipotence, *besides* the 
ready availability of 
lubrication, was that he could experience every thought, feeling, and sensation 
of his partner's at the 
same time as his own, and he couldn't resist eavesdropping, as it were, 
throughout Picard's second loss 
of virginity. There was something indescribably delicious, if hopelessly 
narcissistic, about revelling in 
his partner's pleasure at the same time as his own, while simultaneously 
glorying in being the author of 
that pleasure. Both entirely inside his partner's mind and and body and outside 
them, Q felt a triumphant 
satisfaction that even the most powerfully telepathic humanoid could not come 
close to attaining. While 
part of his mind was still reflecting on his memories of Picard's first time, 
another part was 
experiencing Picard's sensations, and yet another was becoming rapidly 
overwhelmed by his own. The 
burning twinges that shot through to his groin were beginning to make him 
quiver, and he felt that warm 
shuddering weakness in his legs that prefaced his own approaching peak. He 
shifted slightly, spreading 
his legs and buttocks slightly farther apart, and as Picard's penis pressed 
deeper inside, he yelped as 
he came, then moments later, Picard released a strangled howl, gave a final 
thrust with his hips, and 
pushed Q flat onto his stomach, sinking his teeth into his shoulder as he 
collapsed on top of him. 


"Have I ever mentioned that you're an animal, Picard?" remarked Q languidly, as 
he inspected his 
shoulder. 


"On more than one occasion, if not recently," returned Picard drily as he rolled 
off onto his side. "So 
where have you been, anyway?" he asked, trying to muster a casual tone. 


Q moved over so that he was lying on his side, immediately in front of Picard, 
and began idly tracing 
patterns on Picard's chest, back, and buttocks with one finger. "Where have I 
been? Oh, here and there, 
hither and yon. Why? Did you miss me, Johnny?" When Picard didn't answer, Q 
demanded in a harder 
tone, "Answer me, Jean-Luc. *Did you miss me?*" and pinched Picard sharply on 
the rear as a means 
of emphasis. 


God forbid he should have to go to sick bay for any reason, thought Picard to 
himself. Explaining that 
bruise to Beverly would not be pretty. Picard irritably knocked Q's arm away 
from himself and 
snapped, "Yes, I missed you! Constantly! Every free moment I have you appear in 
my mind. When I'm 
not on duty, I'm no good for anything or anyone else. Are you satisfied?" Then 
he sat up, almost huddled 
against the headboard, and his voice dropped to a whisper, "Q, tell me honestly, 
have you brainwashed 
me in some way?" 


There was a sudden flash, and Q reappeared across the room pacing furiously. He 
was twisting his 
hands together, desperately trying to stop himself from taking out his anger on 
Picard, and his voice 
shook with inarticulate rage. "Have . . . I . . . ? . . . How can you even ask 
me that?! . . . Brainwashed 
you?! . . . Can you trust me so little? . . . Are you still so out of touch with 
yourself? . . . Brainwashed 
you?! . . . Tell me, *Captain* where I got the idea that *you* had any potential 
whatsoever? . . . 
BRAINWASHED YOU?!" Q threw himself into a chair and lowered his head into his 
hands, his fingers 
running manically through his hair. "I can't stand it," he said aloud to 
himself. He leapt to his feet and 
disappeared in a blinding burst of light. 


Picard felt the ship lurch slightly, and, glancing out the window, he saw a 
massive explosion in the 
distance. "Q!" he demanded aloud; "we need to talk. I'm sorry! It was a stupid 
thing to say, but don't 
you understand I don't recognize myself these days? It's not *your* fault." His 
voice dropped to a 
whisper as he repeated, "I'm sorry." There was no reply. "MERDE!" exclaimed 
Picard, realizing he had 
seen the last of Q for that night. How he was expected to sleep he didn't know, 
but he didn't exactly 
want to try to explain the cause of his sleeplessness to Beverly either in 
return for some sleeping 
medication. As he had done for so many nights recently, but with more urgency 
now, he spent the night 
trying to figure out just what was going on between himself and Q anyway. Never 
having had an 
omnipotent lover before, he didn't have a lot of experience to go on, but he 
knew that he had made a 
huge mistake and hoped he would be given the opportunity to make up for it. He 
and Q had often 
squabbled before; it seemed inevitable, but Picard knew he had crossed a line. 
It had been years since 
he had seen Q so truly angry, and even so, he had never seen him so out of 
control. 


"That's really brilliant, Jean-Luc," he muttered, "provoke an omnipotent being, 
an omnipotent being 
you can't seem to live without." Berating himself for this melodramatic 
conception of his situation, 
Picard reminded himself of how much Q appeared to need *him*. Being seduced by a 
god was one thing; 
having that god confess how utterly you had transformed his existence was 
something else again. And 
he had confessed it. In the middle of those endless delirious nights, when 
Picard had lain curled up and 
trembling in Q's arms, half-exalted and half-ashamed by his overwhelming desire 
for this omnipotent 
being to ravish him, to rivet and transfix him body and soul, at those moments, 
he would hear a voice 
speak directly to his mind, confessing an achingly intense desire for *him*. And 
Q was just as 
disturbed by the intensity of his need for this mere human, Picard reflected, as 
*he* was of his 
vulnerability. Picard was disgusted with himself for letting a mindless but 
habitual distrust get the 
better of him, when he *knew* that Q would never harm him. It had been an 
especially offensive and 
stupid question--"have you brainwashed me in some way?"--because the very 
foundation of Q's power 
was forcing Picard to acknowledge his *own* hidden, repressed need and desire. 
Brainwashing would 
be an act of brute violence on the part of a Q; Q's mastery was far more 
effective and subtle because 
he was giving Picard precisely what he most wanted. 
  

* * * 
  
  
Far more shaken by Picard's distrustful question than he would have believed 
possible, Q had fled, 
feeling his anger building up beyond his ability to control it. Furious as he 
was, he didn't want to give 
Picard a *genuine* cause to distrust him. He blew up a convenient asteroid with 
all the pyrotechnics he 
could muster, then, some of his anger dissipated, he draped himself on top of 
the saucer section of the 
Enterprise, put his chin in his hands, and began to struggle with, for him, the 
extremely difficult task 
of seeing himself from Picard's point of view. He heard Picard calling him and 
apologizing, but decided 
to let him stew for the night. The suspense would be good for him. Q was slowly, 
painfully biting his 
own lower lip, trying to drive away the hurt of Picard's question with physical 
pain. Q had *never* 
been so open with another about his feelings; even in relationships with his 
fellow Q, he always made a 
point of locking the larger portion of his feelings under an impenetrable 
psychic shield. He had confessed 
types of feelings to Picard that he never imagined disclosing to anyone--and 
this was how that foolish 
human repaid him? 


He buried his head in his folded arms, still biting down so hard on his lip that 
he drew blood--obviously, 
he could repair the damage instantly, but he wasn't interested. "You're such an 
idiot," he berated 
himself; "what did you expect Jean-Luc to do? Get down on his knees and thank 
you for humiliating him 
time and again?" He reflected on what Picard had said--that he didn't recognize 
himself--and reminded 
himself that having forced a man of Picard's reserve and control to acknowledge 
and face his most 
repressed desires, he could hardly expect such a man to be unequivocally 
delighted about such a 
development. And after all, one of the reasons sex with Jean-Luc was so 
satisfying was the constant 
struggle. No matter how often and how thoroughly Q had demolished Picard's 
defenses, the next time 
they met, those defenses were all solidly back in place. Q smiled slightly, 
unconsciously licking the 
blood from his lip; perhaps entirely unintentionally Jean-Luc had found the way 
to keep him interested-
-by posing a perpetual challenge. Q thought for a moment of returning to 
Picard's quarters and forcing 
him to apologize, but decided that leaving Picard in uncertainty for a day, 
worried that he had offended 
Q beyond any hope of reconciliation, would make his apology that much more 
interesting. 


Q bided his time by mentally replaying his and Picard's second night together, 
recalling the experience 
from Picard's point of view; Q took a particular delight in viewing himself from 
the eyes of another. 
Picard had returned to his apartment as soon as he could, eating a sandwich 
while walking home instead 
of stopping for dinner. As soon as he entered his bedroom, Q had materialized 
directly behind him and 
wordlessly wrapped his arms around him from behind. Picard felt his clothes melt 
away, then trembled 
with desire as he felt a tongue drawing slow circles on the back of his neck and 
hands roaming over his 
stomach and chest. He exerted conscious control to keep his body still; this 
time he had no intention of 
leaving himself so completely open to Q. He *had* to hold back part of himself 
and try to restore 
something of his dignity and his sense of self. He also knew quite well what Q 
had planned for him--
another initiation into a new experience--and much as he wanted it, he didn't 
want to give Q the 
satisfaction of seeing him completely crumble as he had the night before. Q 
instantly sensed the slight 
stiffening of Picard's body and instantly understood the resistance it implied. 
"Excellent," he said; 
"you're so predictable, mon Capitaine. This is going to be as delightful as I 
anticipated." At this Q began 
to pull sharply on Picard's already stiff nipples while sinking his teeth into 
his victim's shoulder. Picard 
gasped, shocked at how readily he responded to Q's painful ministrations. He 
again forced himself to be 
still, but Q's tugging and twisting of his nipples had shot liquid bolts of 
lightening straight to his groin, 
and he was giving Q undeniable evidence of his arousal. He felt Q's strong hands 
turning him around then 
heard that infuriatingly seductive voice saying, "My, my, the good Captain is 
very responsive this 
evening, isn't he?" while he felt one finger trace its way lightly along the 
underside of his penis. 


"You seem to have risen to the occasion yourself!" retorted Picard. 


"Quite true, but I have more control over it than you do. I can keep it up as 
long as it takes for me to do 
*whatever* I want to do to you." 


Q's voice was one of the most *tangible* Picard had ever heard; the words flowed 
over him like honey 
laced with a pungent spice, stinging him while they caressed. "Don't bother to 
try to come up with one 
of your scathingly dry retorts, Jean-Luc; I have a better use for your mouth." Q 
pulled Picard into a 
long, slow kiss. Picard ached to suck Q's probing tongue with ferocious abandon, 
but restrained himself. 
Instead he twisted his own tongue around with Q's in a slow, deliberate dance, 
trying to ignore the 
sensation of Q's groin pressed against his erect penis and the corresponding 
sensation of Q's penis 
insistently pushing against him. His nerves were acutely sensitive, however, and 
he felt Q's four 
fingerips pressed together and running up and down his spine as if in slow 
motion, hyperaware of each 
finger tip as it traversed each vertebra. The hand then moved to a lower 
territory, tracing fluttering 
figure eights around Picard's buttocks while the lovers continued their extended 
kiss. Picard was 
beginning to think he could handle this; despite his hypersensitivity to touch, 
he remained firm and in 
control, kissing his partner with a ostentatiously languid nonchalance. But as a 
finger suddenly slipped 
between his buttocks, he almost lost it. The finger felt both slick and hot; as 
it probed his anus with a 
maddeningly slow circular motion, Picard felt his legs turn to jelly, and he 
practically inhaled Q's 
tongue deeply into his mouth with an involuntary growl. "Feels different, 
doesn't it, Johnny?" asked Q 
mockingly, having pulled his mouth away from Picard's. Since it appeared to be a 
rhetorical question, 
Picard hadn't bothered to answer; he felt strung as tight as a violin string and 
was using every bit of 
his resistance to force himself to relax, to restore as casual a demeanor as he 
could muster. Q's hot 
and insistent probing inside him had him teetering dangerously on the edge of 
utter abandon, but he was 
not self-disciplined for nothing. He looked directly into Q's eyes with a slight 
smile, his arms lightly 
draped around Q's waist, his manner projecting a calm confidence. 


Q laughed dangerously, his eyes glittering, and remarked, "I really do 
appreciate this show of 
resistance, Jean-Luc. It will make your eventual abject surrender all the more . 
. . *piquant*." There 
was a sudden flash, and Picard found himself lying on his back on the bed. Q 
walked slowly over to the 
bed, sat on the edge, then suddenly yanked Picard's arms over his head, wrists 
crossed, then 
immobilized them with a glance. Moving down to the foot of the bed, he pushed 
Picard's legs wide apart 
so that his bent knees were raised, and his feet were rolled outward so that 
only the outer edges 
touched the bed. Although Q was using his powers to keep Picard in this 
position, he could still feel the 
muscles beginning to strain in his calves and thighs. It was a humiliating and 
uncomfortable position, 
made all the more humiliating with the addition of the large pillow that 
materialized under his buttocks 
which tilted his hips up at an accessible angle. 


Q stood up, lightly brushing his hands together while admiring his handiwork, 
and observed, "You're so 
beautiful when you're helpless, Johnny." 


Picard's mouth was dry, and swallowing was increasingly difficult. He asked, in 
a strained whisper, 
"What if I asked you to stop?" 


Q was still standing, swaying slightly with his hands on his hips, as he perused 
Picard appraisingly. He 
answered casually, "I'd stop of course. I'm not the most ethical being in the 
universe, I'll admit, but I'm 
not a rapist. A willing and eager victim is so much more entertaining than an 
unwilling one; wouldn't 
you agree? *Do* you want me to stop?" 


All he had to say was "Yes," and he knew that Q would release him instantly. 
Picard swallowed again, 
then slowly shook his head no; he felt terribly ashamed, but at the same time, 
pinned down as he was, 
he felt remarkably free--free of responsibilities, free of his habitual reserve, 
free of the invisible wall 
his rank interposed between him and everyone he was close to--even Beverly. He 
was free to 
concentrate on his own pleasure, on all the sensations his body could muster, 
but, nonethelesss, abject 
surrender was not in his plans. He glared at Q defiantly as to say he would 
*not* break down. 


Q sat down near the head of the bed and ran his finger over Picard's dry lips. 
"A little nervous, are 
we?" teased Q, and Picard felt a cool gush of water swirl through his mouth and 
down his parched 
throat. He tried to look as relaxed as a man with his hands pulled above his 
head and his legs drawn up 
and spreadeagled *could* look. Q continued to run his finger around Picard's now 
moist lips, then 
slipped the finger in his mouth. With a show of cooperation, Picard sucked Q's 
finger avidly, but as soon 
as a slow, triumphant smile began to spread over Q's face, Picard bit down--not 
particularly hard, but 
hard enough to stand as a declaration of independence. Q lightly slapped 
Picard's cheek with his 
fingertips, laughed, then turned his attention to Picard's already-hard nipples, 
circling them with an 
initially light touch that grew increasingly rougher. Each rotation of Q's 
thumbs around his nipples 
seemed to send an electrical current straight to Picard's groin, and although he 
could not conceal the 
evidence of arousal that his prominent erection provided, he stifled his impulse 
to moan. He knew Q 
wanted him to plead with him to go on, to bring him release, but he had no 
intention of pleading . . . yet. 


After a few minutes of this stalemate, Q disappeared in a flash to reappear, 
sitting cross-legged, 
between Picard's feet. Picard was trying to ignore his now slightly trembling 
leg muscles, while Q sat 
quietly, not doing anything, but looking Picard up and down. After several 
moments, Q began stroking 
Picard's inner thighs with outstretched fingertips in a circular motion. Feeling 
Q's fingers so close to 
his quivering penis but not touching it was almost enough to elicit a groan of 
frustration, but Picard was 
not yet ready to admit defeat. The finger that now began lightly running up and 
down the underside of 
his penis provoked a sharp gasp. "I know what you want, Johnny, but I want you 
to *ask* for it," said 
Q, continuing his one-fingered teasing of his partner. Picard remained 
stubbornly silent. "All right, 
Captain, I'm just going to have to bring out the heavy artillery." Like the day 
before, Picard felt 
numerous invisible tongues licking and probing every part of his body, but these 
tongues were rough 
like a cat's and seemed to send an electric tingle directly into his nerve 
endings wherever they grazed 
his skin. The tongues drew circles on the back of his neck, behind his knees, 
and tightly around his 
nipples; they traced lines up his thighs, and along his sides, they criss-
crossed his chest and back, and 
they danced figure eights around his buttocks all at the same time. As soon as 
Picard processed this 
sensation, he began to feel multiple sets of teeth nipping his upper arms, 
shoulders, buttocks, and 
thighs. 


Q meanwhile made very clear he was not going to allow his victim any relief any 
time soon. With one 
finger he continued his light stroking of Picard's penis and with another finger 
he teased the entrance of 
his anus in a maddeningly casual fashion. The lubricated finger aimlessly 
circled, occasionally sliding in 
and out, but never with enough conviction to bring Picard to a climax. The 
confluence of sensations Q 
was inflicting on him simply made him feel more and more intensely and achingly 
aroused. His nerve 
endings began to smoulder, and he felt an exhilarating rush of pure desire. He 
was overwhelmed by Q's 
power as his shields buckled and defenses crumbled; stripped of his position, 
his authority, his 
reserve, and his control, he felt raw and exposed, his entire being concentrated 
on a trembling, burning 
need. He had reached a state of hyperwareness and lucidity, seemingly conscious 
of the response of 
each individual nerve in his body. Despite himself, he exulted in the depth of 
his humiliation; there was 
something enticingly thrilling in being so transfigured with need and desire. 
Wasn't this what he was 
looking for when he willingly allowed "Catherine" to seduce him in the first 
place, knowing it was Q all 
along? To be so consumed by sensation that nothing else mattered? 


With an air of playful nonchalance, Q began using his finger to moisten the tip 
of Picard's penis with the 
glistening drops of fluid that were leaking from it, and Picard let out a 
strangled growl of frustration, 
but immediately began struggling to regain control, fixing Q with a defiant 
glare. "You are the most 
impossibly stubborn human I have ever met!" exclaimed Q. "You must know that I'm 
not going to give 
you what you so *desperately* want until you satisfy *me* first. You know what I 
want to hear." 


"I . . . want . . . you!" hissed Picard. 


"Not good enough!" mocked Q in a singsong tone. 


"I . . . want . . . you . . . inside . . . me . . . , all . . . right?" 


"Still not good enough!" chanted Q. 


Picard growled again in frustration, as the buildup of tension really was 
becoming unbearable. In a 
delirium of agonizing pleasure, he managed to gasp one more challenge to his 
tormentor: "Has . . . 
anyone . . . ever . . . told . . . you . . . what . . . an . . . ASSHOLE . . . 
you . . . are??!!" 


Q laughed delightedly, then clucked reproachfully, "Tsk, tsk, such language from 
the Captain of the 
Starship Enterprise" while giving Picard a perfunctory slap on his raised 
behind. "I've been called that 
appellation on more occasions than even *I* can count and in more languages than 
you can imagine, 
Picard, so don't congratulate yourself on your originality. Come on, mon 
Capitaine, you can't hold out 
forever, and let me remind you that *I* can. You know what I want: total and 
abject surrender," he 
paused, then added as afterthought, "darling." 


Picard moaned in exquisite agony; he felt himself spinning, whirling out of 
control. The entire universe 
was concentrated in this bed, and no one else existed but himself and Q. He was 
slipping away from all 
that was familiar, from all he usually relied on. He stared straight into Q's 
eyes, and emphatically 
declared, "THEN . . . LET . . . ME . . . GO!" Much to his surprise, Q released 
him, while simultaneously 
ceasing his sensory assault on his partner's body. Picard immediately rolled 
over onto his hands and 
knees, looked back at Q, and slowly pronounced, "Q. . . I . . . want . . . you . 
. . to . . . FUCK . . . me . . . 
GOD . . . DAMN . . . IT!!" 


"Why Captain," exclaimed Q, springing to his knees immediately behind Picard, 
"Why didn't you say so 
earlier? My pleasure." He then added, "Fasten your seat belt, Johnny; I'm taking 
you for a *ride*." 


Despite ample lubrication it hurt more than Picard had expected when Q began 
slowly to push inside him. 
He felt the narrow entrance to his body seemingly being stretched beyond what it 
could possibly 
accomodate. Although Q was being as gentle as possible, much to Picard's 
surprise, the sensitive 
tissues were not used to being penetrated and didn't give way easily. Picard 
felt Q's hand tenderly 
running over his lower back and buttocks as if reassuring him. Picard 
consciously relaxed his muscles, 
and after several moments, he felt himself filled up. He gasped sharply as Q 
began very slowly moving 
in and out; he was already emotionally overwrought from his contest of wills 
with Q, and he had to 
bury his head in the pillow to conceal the tears that stung his eyes. Q, of 
course, had known anyway, 
but pretended not to notice. Picard had squeezed his eyes shut and was biting 
down on his lower lip, but 
gradually began to become aware of a spreading warmth inside him that mingled 
with the pain. Q's slow 
and deliberate thrusts gradually picked up in tempo, Picard felt a rush of 
elation and pleasure wash 
through him. He began to move in rhythm with his partner, and gasped out an 
involuntary "*Yes!*. . . 
*yes!*" when Q reached around to slide a slippery hand up and down his engorged 
penis in perfect 
timing with his thrusts from behind. The combined sensations sent Picard 
hurtling over the edge on 
which Q had suspended him for so long, and he cried out as waves and waves of 
ecstasy pulsed through 
him. His hips rocked in violent spasms, and he felt a sudden deep thrust and 
heard a long, drawn-out, 
gasping moan behind him. 


Picard's knees buckled, and he collapsed on his stomach, sobbing. Q gingerly 
moved off and to the side, 
when Picard suddenly lunged at him, flipped him over, and wrenched his arms 
behind his back, 
demanding breathlessly, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME?!" 


Q remained still, briefly considered blocking the shooting pains in his arms, 
then decided he was in for 
the whole thing and refrained from using his powers. He replied as calmly as he 
could, "What I've done 
to you is obvious, Jean-Luc; I've given you exactly what you wanted. A more 
telling question, perhaps, 
would be, what have you done to me?" 


"Don't play games with me!" snapped Picard, yanking up on Q's arms. Q emitted a 
soft groan, but it did 
not occur to Picard to wonder why Q was letting him get away with this. 


"I'm not playing games with you, Jean-Luc. I had no intention of letting you go. 
I was going to flip you 
over, keep you immobilized, and take you *that* way. Can't you see that I wanted 
to compel every 
nuance of your response, call every shot? . . . but I didn't. I released you." 


"Why?" whispered Picard, letting go of Q's wrists. 


Q sat up and exclaimed, "Because, you obtuse and dimwitted mortal, *I* wanted 
*you*! I couldn't 
draw out the game any more because I COULDN'T WAIT." His voice dropped to a 
whisper, "It suddenly 
became more important to me to," he paused, searching for the right words, "to 
be inside you, to . . . 
well . . . join *with* you, than to *win*. And if you can't figure out how rare 
it is for me to feel that 
way and what it means for me to have said that, then you truly are much more 
hopelessly simple-
minded than even *I* imagined!" 


Picard held out his hands helplessly, "Q . . . I . . ." 


"Don't say anything!" warned Q. "I've said all I have to say about *me*. The 
least you could do is 
acknowledge that I gave you precisely what you wanted!" 


Picard nodded, lifted Q's hand to his lips, and whispered, "yes, you gave me 
what I wanted, and I 
wanted it more than I wanted anything . . . I just don't understand why. I've 
been . . . " he winced at the 
memory, "helpless and immobile before, and believe me, I hated it." 


Q shook his head, ran his fingers through his hair, and sighed, "How the powers-
that-be in Starfleet can 
give positions of such responsibility to individuals with so little self-
knowledge and self-awareness is 
truly beyond my comprehension. Can't you acknowledge to yourself that what you 
wanted was *me*? 
Yes, me, Q, your nemesis and tormentor, who seizes your ship, and kidnaps your 
crew, and otherwise 
enlivens your dreary little mortal existence and, incidentally, saved *your* 
life and helped you 
preserve your useless species from extinction! You told me, yesterday, that you 
wanted to prove to 
me that this was more than a game--that that was why you let me seduce you. All 
right, Jean-Luc, I've 
*more* than acknowledged it! But when will you figure it out for yourself?" 


"I . . . I'm sorry, Q. I never even imagined being with you like this. It is 
extremely hard for me to 
acknowledge these feelings. But even so, why . . ." 


"Why the restraint, the helplessless, the humiliation? Is that what you're 
asking, Jean-Luc? Why am I 
doing it, or why do you enjoy it so much?" 


"Both," whispered Picard miserably. 


"*That* is for me to know and for *you* to find out. I think I've provided quite 
enough answers for one 
day. Get to know thyself, Jean-Luc Picard--you'll be fascinated with what you 
discover in there." Q 
then smiled half-mockingly, half-warmly and said softly "I know *I* am." Picard 
smiled ruefully in 
response, as Q stretched out on his side and patted the sheet invitingly in 
front of him. Picard began to 
speak, but Q reached up to press a finger against his lips. "Be quiet, Picard, 
and just come here." 
Picard curled up against Q spoon fashion, clutched his partner's encircling arms 
against his chest, and, 
utterly drained, fell into a profound and soothing slumber, the warm body of his 
lover pressed against 
him. 


Still stretched out on top of the saucer section of the Enterprise, Q kept his 
head buried in his arms as 
he mentally relived that night as vividly as if it had been the original 
experience. After he basked for 
several minutes in the memory of Picard sleeping in his arms, he sat up, sighed 
with a wry smile, and 
muttered, "Men . . . you can't live with them . . . and *you* apparently can't 
live without this 
particular one. Well, Jean-Luc, if I'm a fool for you, then that's something." 
  

* * * 


Picard spent most of the night awake after Q had furiously flashed out of his 
quarters. He looked 
hollow-eyed and worn as he emerged on the bridge, and Deanna's large eyes 
immediately fixed upon 
him. "Captain, may I speak with you alone?" 


"Now? Am I not to be allowed to start my shift?" 


"Later, if you prefer, Captain." 


"Now is fine!" snapped Picard. "Will, you have the bridge." As the doors to 
Picard's ready room slid 
open with a hiss, he flipped open his hand in a sarcastically exaggerated 
gesture of "After you!" 


Deanna walked in, waited for the doors to shut, then said, "Captain, you look 
utterly exhausted." 


"Why thank you, Counselor, you flatter me," muttered Picard. 


"*And* you're being uncharacteristically sarcastic and short-tempered," 
continued Deanna evenly and 
without missing a beat. "You haven't been yourself since you took command of 
this ship, and you look 
like you definitely need some rest. I'm sure Beverly would confirm that . . . " 
she added, and gestured 
as if to tap her communicator. 


"Very clever," muttered Picard. "All right, you win, Counselor, but leave 
Beverly out of it." 


Deanna repressed a slight smile and gestured toward Picard's sofa. After they 
sat down, she asked, 
"What happened to you in San Francisco?" 


Picard sighed and said hesitatingly, "I met . . . and became involved . . . with 
a person who is . . . in 
many ways very similar to myself. As you can undoubtedly imagine, this leads to 
a certain degree of 
complication and conflict. It is," he paused, "a very rewarding relationship for 
me, and you would 
undoubtedly be pleased with the self-searching it has generated in me, but it is 
also a very difficult 
relationship . . . for the same reasons it is so rewarding, actually." 


"This relationship is continuing?" asked Deanna. 


"Yes, and that's all I'm going to tell you, Counselor. I will grant you that I 
have not seemed "myself" 
recently, but I do not think that I have indicated in any way that I am unable 
to perform my duties. I 
appreciate your concern, Counselor, but unless you have good cause to declare me 
unfit for duty, there 
is no need to continue this conversation." 


"I see no reason, at this point, to declare you unfit for duty," said Deanna 
evenly, "but if you appear on 
the bridge looking as tired tomorrow I will refer you to the Chief Medical 
Officer for an evaluation of 
your health." 


Picard smiled, "Understood, Counselor." He reached over and took Deanna's hand, 
"Deanna, you're my 
friend, and I trust you, but I simply cannot tell you any more than I already 
have. Please trust me that 
my reasons are good ones." 


"I do, Captain," said Deanna, gently squeezing his hand. "You've been through a 
lot, Captain, as have all 
of us, and it's my business to keep an eye on you and the rest of the crew. You 
have to expect that I'm 
going to check up on you once in a while." 


Picard nodded with a smile as they returned to the bridge. 
  

* * * 


After an uneventful and seemingly interminable day, Picard hurried to his 
quarters. As he entered, he 
did not see anyone, but he sensed Q's presence, sat down, and began to speak, 
"Q, I'm going to 
apologize, but I'm not going to grovel for you. I'm sorry for what I said; it 
was unfair and unjustified. I 
was just trying to find some *reason*--a reason *outside* myself for the way 
I've been feeling. I'm 
preoccupied during all my free moments, and I find myself more and more 
distanced from my crew . . . 
" 


"Yes, and undoubtedly a certain red-haired Chief Medical Officer, in 
particular!" interrupted a 
disembodied voice in a snarling tone. 


This time Picard lost his temper: "Q, GOD DAMN IT! You leave Beverly out of it! 
Isn't it sufficient for 
your infernal self-absorption that I'm utterly obsessed with you? Do you have to 
gloat over having 
wrenched my attention away from everyone who meant anything to me? This I 
*don't* need!" He 
sighed miserably and muttered, "Couldn't you have found some other species to 
torment over the past 
several years? What the devil am I doing with you anyway?" 


Q suddenly materialized, kneeling at Picard's feet and noticing for the first 
time how drawn and worn 
out he looked. He spoke hurriedly, in a low tone, "Jean-Luc, forgive me, I'm so, 
so sorry! I'm selfish 
and thoughtless, I know. I like having my way with you, it's true, but I don't 
want to hurt you. I just . . . 
I have a horrible habit, ingrained over centuries and centuries, of . . . taking 
advantage of every 
opening. If you think you and I engage in power struggles, well, you can't 
imagine what it's like among 
the Q. If your opponent, even if that opponent is a lover, shows a weak spot, 
you *have* to twist the 
knife in--if not, you risk being eviscerated yourself. It's a state of continual 
competition; the best 
analogy for it would be the most ferocious sibling rivalry you can imagine, with 
the addition of 
extremely developed telepathic powers. It's an inevitable, necessary, but ugly 
game, Jean-Luc. I should 
have known better than to play with you." He lifted Picard's hand to his lips, 
kissed it, saying, "I'm 
sorry. I will leave if you ask me to, but I'd rather you didn't." 


Picard sighed, shook his head, then said, "I think I understand. I have to 
remind myself that we're all 
products of our environment, yourself included. But, please, Q, try to 
understand that my alienation 
from my friends, including Beverly, is very painful to me. It's not easy to get 
used to having an 
immortal and omnipotent entity as one's lover." He smiled gently, then 
continued, "I haven't been able 
to find a balance, but you have enough ways to triumph over me without reminding 
me how remiss I've 
been to people I care about." 


Q nodded, "I am truly sorry. I'll try to behave, at least in *that* respect. May 
I stay?" 


Picard said, "Yes, I want you to stay, but you owe me!" 


Q raised his eyes to Picard's, as a teasing smile began to emerge on his lips. 
"I'm at your service, mon 
Capitaine. Do with me what you will." 


Picard roughly grasped a handful of Q's hair, pulled his head toward him, and 
began kissing him hard. As 
their mouths met, he felt his fatigue wash away. With renewed energy pulsing 
through his body, he felt 
ready for anything . . . even Q, who was letting himself *be* kissed with an 
uncharacteristic passivity. 
When they came up for air, Q murmured, "I can think of a way to make up for my 
misbehavior, Jean-
Luc. Would you like that?" Picard felt a large knot tightening in his chest at 
the sight the 
overwhelmingly powerful being kneeling before *him*. He felt both awed and 
humbled, and swallowing 
hard, just nodded. 


A moment later, his clothes had vanished, and he felt his buttocks sliding down 
to the edge of the chair 
and his legs being gently pulled apart. He leaned back and closed his eyes, as Q 
slipped a finger inside 
him and took his erect penis into his mouth. That wasn't all he felt, however, 
for Q could rarely resist 
the impulse to use his powers. Picard could feel an invisible finger tracing its 
way up and down his 
spine, more invisible fingers toying with his nipples, and two sets of invisible 
fingernails scraping the 
inside of his thighs. Q's finger and tongue meanwhile were giving off small 
electrical charges, making 
the sensation inside Picard's anus and on his penis almost unendurably intense. 
Picard began to groan 
more and more loudly as the finger slid in and out of him while that impossibly 
electrifying tongue 
merely circled the tip of his penis, occasionally probing the opening. "I . . . 
really . . . can't . . . take . . . 
any . . . more . . . Q!" he gasped in a choked voice, and Q, much to his 
surprise, immediately began 
sucking hard, while sliding the probing finger in and out even faster, and 
Picard quickly came with an 
explosive, liquid, burning rush. As his shuddering began to slow, he found 
himself transported to the 
bed, where Q pulled him into his arms. Their mouths locked together, and they 
kissed fiercely and 
urgently, as if unable to get enough of each other. 


* * * 


While the Enterprise was approaching Starbase 232, Picard received a message 
from Commander 
Sylvia Guttierez inviting him and his officers to a reception in his honor. 
Gutierrez was an old friend of 
his from the academy, and, as Picard recalled with a wry smile, would use any 
occasion to throw a 
party. He knew it would be a good one. 


After the Enterprise docked, and repairs were proceeding, Picard insisted that 
his senior staff join him 
at the reception. He didn't need Deanna to tell him that they would welcome a 
diversion. When they 
walked into the room, Picard was impressed, but not surprised. There was a 
seemingly endless dance 
floor with spectacular lighting effects, and a live band. The buffet table 
groaned under delicacies from 
all over the galaxy, and the bar sparkled with multi-colored bottles of every 
description. "I've heard of 
Commander Gutierrez's parties," remarked Riker to Picard; "apparently the 
reports did not 
exaggerate." 


"Indeed," replied Picard abstractedly, looking around for his hostess, "Sylvia's 
parties are legend . . . " 
He broke off abruptly having spotted her. He walked over to her with Riker in 
tow. "Sylvia!" he 
exclaimed, reaching for her hand, "How are you?" 


"Muy bien, Juanito, y tu?" she replied, disdaining Picard's proffered hand and 
giving him an 
enthusiastic hug. 


"Good, very well, thank-you." 


"I'm so sorry about your ship, Jean-Luc," she continued. 


He nodded gently, then said, "Well, it's generous of you to help us celebrate 
our new one." 


"Generous, hell! I just wanted to throw a party." 


Picard laughed. "I'm not surprised. Allow me to present my first officer, Will 
Riker." 


Sylvia shook Riker's hand with a firm grip, then turned to Picard. "Oh, I have a 
surprise for you, 
Juanito. An old friend of yours happens to be here, and I invited her to the 
party." 


"Old friend?" responded Picard dubiously, and his suspicions were immediately 
confirmed, when the 
doors slid open, and Dr. Catherine Vye glided into the room, making a dramatic 
entrance in a dazzling 
ballgown resplendent in wine-colored velvet and gold trim. Picard couldn't 
decide whether to sigh in 
exasperation or grin, but he was distracted by the infinitely entertaining 
spectacle of Will Riker's jaw 
dropping to the floor. While Catherine approached, Picard whispered to his 
gaping companion, "I'm not 
an expert on these matters, Will, but I believe one makes a better impression on 
women when one 
greets them with one's mouth *closed*." 


"Yes, sir!" exclaimed Riker, but his eyes never left Catherine. 


"Jean-Luc!" she said, "I've missed you *terribly*!" then proceeded to pull 
Picard into her arms and 
bestow upon him a long, passionate kiss. As her tongue probed his mouth, he 
managed surreptitiously to 
pinch her waist hard, but she just laughed, her eyes glittering. She then turned 
to Sylvia, giving her a 
quick kiss on the cheek, saying, "So nice to see you again, my dear. I do so 
appreciate your inviting 
me." Before Sylvia could reply, Catherine had swiveled her attention onto Riker, 
asking, "And *who* 
is this?" 


Riker's eyes were as wide as Picard had ever seen them, and his grin spread over 
his entire face. 
Picard had to bite his lower lip hard to prevent himself from doubling over in 
laughter. If Riker had 
known just who he was gaping at . . . With a sharp tug on the front of his 
uniform, Picard managed to 
compose himself enough to say, "This is my first officer, Will Riker. Will, this 
is Catherine Vye. We 
met while I was teaching at the Academy." 


"To meet you is the pleasure of a lifetime," pronounced Riker gallantly. 


"Are you sure we haven't met somewhere before? I certainly don't remember such 
an enthusiastic 
greeting, however," mused Catherine. 


"I doubt that we've met before," answered Riker, "I can't imagine forgetting 
*you*." 


"You're really too kind," noted Catherine, before turning back to Picard and 
asking, "Shall we dance, 
Captain?" 


Riker and Gutierrez both watched in amazement, as Picard whirled Catherine out 
onto the dance floor. 
As soon as they were out of earshot, he demanded, "What the hell do you think 
you're doing?" 


"Amusing myself," replied Catherine languidly. "What *else* am I supposed to do 
with my time? And, 
incidentally, I'm also amusing *you*. I saw how close you came to losing it over 
there. Come on, mon 
Capitaine, let's give them a show." 


Picard pulled Catherine closer, and their lips closed together. He could feel 
the eyes of his officers and 
friends on him, but he didn't care. His companion was irresistably compelling, 
and both of them knew it. 
He kissed her deeply, then whispered in her ear, while his hand roamed lightly 
over her buttocks, "You 
are in *severe* trouble, young lady." 


"Oh *am* I now?" returned Catherine, "just don't forget that *I* am omnipotent, 
and *you* are not." 


Picard lightly brushed his fingertips along the side of Catherine's breast, and 
when she took in her 
breath sharply, he remarked, "For an omnipotent entity, you're pretty 
susceptible, my love. What 
would your fellow Q think of you now?" 


Catherine laughed. "Fuck 'em. Who cares? I'm having more fun than they ever 
did." She pulled Picard's 
mouth to hers for another kiss as they moved across the dance floor. When Picard 
eventually lifted his 
head, he noticed that Beverly and Deanna were standing next to Will, and they 
were all staring openly. 
He felt a sharp pang of guilt, which Catherine immediately noticed, and she 
murmured, "Would you like 
her to have a good time tonight?" 


"What do you mean?" 


"Look." Catherine nodded her head slightly in the direction of a man in his 
early 40's who had recently 
entered the room. Picard guessed that he was Gutierrez' second-in-command and 
noticed that his eyes 
were fixed on Beverly. "I can just give them a little nudge toward each other," 
continued Catherine. 
"He's a good dancer and a gentleman to boot, if my mind-reading serves me well, 
and I know your CMO 
is dying to get out on that dance floor." Picard nodded. Catherine pulled him 
over to the bar and ordered 
drinks, while Picard watched Beverly notice the man who was watching her. He 
couldn't tell if their 
prolonged eye contact was natural or due to Catherine's intervention, but soon 
the couple was whirling 
about the dance floor, having a splendid time showing off their skills. 


It *was* a fine party, but Picard found himself impatient for it to be over. 
While he was dancing with 
Catherine, he kept feeling a tantalizing electric tingle all over his body, and 
when he was doing his duty 
by conversing with Gutierrez and her staff, he would be distracted by the 
sensation of an invisible 
finger firmly drawing its way down his spine or tracing figure eights on his 
buttocks. It was a massive 
relief when they were finally able to depart. As soon as the doors shut, 
Catherine pulled him around a 
corner and teleported them instantly back into his quarters. 


"Don't think I've forgotten your misbehavior all evening, young lady," said 
Picard with a grin. 


"You'll have to catch me first!" declared Catherine, disappearing and 
reappearing all around the room in 
bursts of light. 


"Since I *can't* there's not much point in my trying, is there?" said Picard 
calmly. "I can wait." He 
sat down on the couch and picked up a book. 


A moment later the book went flying out of his hands and sailed across the room, 
without, however, 
breaking anything. A voice hissed in his ear, "You're good, Picard, you're 
really good. You win this 
round," and Catherine suddenly appeared draped naked over his lap. She had her 
head turned to look at 
him and was smiling that dangerously seductive smile he found so alluring 
regardless of the gender of 
its owner. "I'm all yours, Captain," she offered in a sultry voice, "have your 
way with me." 


Picard murmured wistfully, "Ah, no, you're not mine, you don't belong to anyone, 
but I will have my 
way with you nonetheless," and more quietly he whispered, "and don't think I'm 
not grateful for the 
extraordinary gift you've granted me." 


"I know," whispered Catherine quietly, "but you'll never understand, Jean-Luc, 
just how much 
*you*'ve given *me*." She began to wriggle on his lap, the seductive smile 
returned to her lips, and 
she said, "But meanwhile, discipline must be maintained, musn't it, mon 
Capitaine?" 


"Indeed," returned Picard, "now hold still!" He pulled Catherine's arms behind 
her back, holding her 
wrists in one hand while he began slowly and lightly stroking her buttocks with 
the other, using his 
fingertips only. He was still in awe that she allowed this, that she would 
submit to him like this, but she 
began to moan softly, and he realized again just how susceptible to touch, to 
*his* touch, she was. Her 
moans diverted him from his musings, and he allowed his fingers to stray between 
her legs, just barely 
grazing the tight curls, before he suddenly smacked her bottom hard. He saw her 
close her eyes, 
focusing all her attention on the sensation, as she awaited the next blow. 
Picard obliged her, but as he 
did images began to flash through his mind, and he saw himself sitting in a 
shuttlecraft, hearing a 
mocking voice at his ear, saying "Petulance does not become you. We have 
business, Picard." He saw 
himself standing before a robed and sadistic judge who was dismissing him as an 
"obtuse piece of 
flotsam." He saw a white-robed figure offering him another chance at life, 
followed by the image of a 
man in a Starfleet Captain's uniform, declaring in exasperation, "Spare me your 
egotistical musings 
about your pivotal role in history. Nothing you do here today will cause the 
Federation to collapse or 
galaxies to explode. To be blunt, *you're not that important*." Another image 
appeared; it was himself 
wearing not very much actually, short pajamas, and feeling the uncomfortable 
sensation of a taller and 
infinitely more powerful man immediately behind him, speaking in his ear: "She's 
found a vulnerability 
in you, a vulnerability I've been looking for for years. If I'd known sooner, I 
would have appeared as a 
female." All the varied humiliations he'd suffered at Q's hands came back to 
him, and it was several 
minutes before he opened his eyes and saw his hand coming down hard on 
Catherine's extremely red 
buttocks and realized what he'd been doing. 


He stopped, shocked, and Catherine murmured "Feel better, Captain?" A final 
image crossed his mind, 
that of a powerless and vulnerable being, terrified, but trying to maintain a 
show of bravado, 
exclaiming, "My superiors have decided to punish me!" and Picard heard his own 
unsympathetic 
response, "And punish us as well, it would seem." And he realized that he *had* 
been aware of each 
blow he had delivered, even as the memories spooled through his mind, and he 
could feel undeniable 
evidence of his own arousal pressing up against Catherine's body as she remained 
lying across his lap. 
"May I get up now, Captain?" she asked. 


"Yes, of course," answered Picard miserably. Catherine immediately straddled his 
lap, kneeling. "I . . . 
didn't . . . I . . . *don't* . . . understand you," said Picard. 


"And you never will," replied Catherine calmly and briskly. "I didn't understand 
you, either, but I'm 
beginning to now--that's one advantage I *won't* be conceding." 


"I'm so sor . . ." 


"Don't get sentimental on me, Jean-Luc," interrupted Catherine. "You enjoyed it, 
quite a bit 
apparently," she noted, while grasping his erect penis in her hand. "And so did 
I," she continued, taking 
his hand and pressing it against her wet curls. He opened his mouth to speak, 
and she pressed her finger 
against it to shush him, then leaned in and kissed him. He responded instantly, 
and closed his eyes in 
ecstasy as Catherine raised herself up only to lower herself onto his penis, her 
mouth still glued to his. 
As he slid inside her, he felt what seemed like tiny tongues of liquid fire 
swirling around his erection, 
and he knew she hadn't been able to resist using her powers. She removed his 
hands from her arms and 
placed them on her behind. He obligingly cupped her buttocks in his hands, and 
overcome with a flood of 
confusing emotions and an overwhelming lust at the same time, began thrusting 
upward into her warmth 
and wetness and the dancing flames with a passionate intensity while ferociously 
exploring her mouth 
with his tongue. Catherine's hands on his shoulders gripped tighter and tighter, 
and she cried out 
suddenly, while he felt the shuddering spasms take possession of him and trigger 
his own climax. 


Catherine remained on his lap for some time, while they wordlessly held each 
other. Finally he patted 
the couch beside him and said, "Sit here." 


"Yes, Captain," replied Catherine, obliging. 


"Don't 'Yes, Captain' me," laughed Picard, as he got off the couch and knelt in 
front of his companion. 
"*I*'m offering you *my* services." 


"I accept," said Catherine with a smile, spreading her legs. Picard bent his 
head, and pressing 
Catherine's legs apart with his hands, slid his tongue inside her for a moment, 
before proceeding to 
trace a path with it from her vagina, up and around her clitoris, and back down 
and inside again. He took 
his time, slowly and deliberately tracing the same path over and over again with 
his tongue. He could 
feel her body tense, and he noted out of the corner of his eye that she was 
rapidly clenching and 
unclenching her hands in an increasingly faster rhythm. Catherine suddenly 
declared in a strained voice 
that retained only a hint of its usual mocking tone, "Picard, if I don't come 
VERY soon, I'm going to turn 
you into some extinct species of toad or better yet a bowl of Klingon gagh!" 


Picard paused in his ministrations, lifted his head, and said mildly, "You could 
say 'please.'" 


"I'm omnipotent! I don't have to fucking say 'please' to anyone!" snapped 
Catherine, but her voice 
instantly shifted in tone, and she implored, "But for you I will . . . Please, 
Jean-Luc." 


Picard allowed the slightest of smiles to flit across his mouth and eyes, said, 
"Why didn't you say so 
the first time?" and returned to his uncompleted task. He slid his thumbs inside 
Catherine's slick 
opening, and began moving them while strenuously tonguing her clitoris until her 
legs thrashed violently 
and she gasped and moaned in unabashed delight. 


Picard got up, picked Catherine up and carried her into the bedroom, and they 
lay in bed kissing, 
touching, and tasting each other until the exhausted Captain fell asleep, his 
head pillowed on Catherine's 
breasts, where he dreamed of dancing with her while she slowly melted into Q's 
usual form, much to 
his officers' astonishment. 
  

* * * 


After a day devoted to adminstrative tasks and fending off questions about his 
strikingly beautiful 
dance partner from the night before, Picard walked slowly to his quarters. He 
knew this would be the 
last night he would be spending with his omnipotent lover for a while--the 
Enterprise was departing 
tomorrow for a mission, and Q's nightly presence was much too distracting when 
Picard had serious 
business to attend to. He *had* to regain his focus. He had never imagined that 
*any* relationship 
would prove more compelling to him than being a starship captain, but then he 
had never imagined being 
involved with a quasi-deity either--a thought that was simply too mind-boggling, 
too overwhelming, if 
he looked at it too closely. Q was so human in his behavior, that even when he 
was showing off his 
abilities, it was easy to make oneself forget just how overwhelmingly and 
unfathomably powerful he 
was. And it wasn't just Q's power that Picard couldn't really grasp--it was his 
immortality and 
knowledge and the multi-dimensionality of his existence. Even the pronoun "he" 
or "his" was ridiculous. 
Picard could never tell how many of Q's more human characteristics were assumed 
and artificial like 
his form, and how many of them were part of his personality, if an omnipotent 
energy being could be 
said to have a personality. Picard rather thought that somehow Q really was as 
human as he acted, or 
at least Picard *hoped* that was the case. 


Picard entered his quarters warily and with all his senses alert. There was a 
compelling impulse in 
Picard's mind, something he had to do to make the most of this night, for there 
was no telling when Q 
might return again. Almost as soon as the doors slid shut, he felt invisible 
hands grasp his waist from 
behind. One invisible arm slid around him, while an invisible hand began 
teasingly stroking his buttocks 
through his uniform. The hand in front moved down toward Picard's groin, and 
Picard almost 
immediately felt himself hurtling downward into that chasm of absolute 
surrender, but he remembered 
that impulse and pulled himself together. He suddenly grabbed the invisible 
wrist near his groin, and 
declared with all the force his voice could muster, "Q!!! Listen to me! I want 
you to listen to me, now!" 


Surprised, the entity paused in his explorations, and said, "I'm listening, 
Jean-Luc." 


"Not good enough. I want to see you." Q appeared, shrugged his shoulders 
casually, and folded his arms 
across his chest, standing immediately in front of Picard. More softly but with 
a strained intensity in 
his voice, Picard said, "Q, I will do anything you want, anything you say, I 
will surrender absolutely, 
but I'm going to make one demand for tonight. This is extremely important to 
me." 


"What is it?" 


"You don't use your powers. At all. Hold me down, do whatever you like, but no 
powers, understand? 
You've adopted this human form to be with me, and I want you, for once, to limit 
yourself to it." 


Q nodded thoughtfully with pursed lips, then said, "What a novel idea, mon 
Capitaine. Why not? I'll try 
*anything* once." He reached out, yanked Picard by the wrist, pulled him close, 
then pinned both his 
wrists behind his back while kissing him hard, pushing his mouth open with an 
insistent tongue. In 
between kisses, Q murmured, "It's times like these that make me glad I selected 
a body both taller and 
stronger than yours." 


Picard parted his lips, submitting to another fierce kiss, then added, "And you 
have more hair." 


"Yes, I take every advantage I can get," replied Q, before turning Picard around 
and marching him 
toward the bedroom, while saying, in his most sultry voice, "Come to bed, 
darling." They impatiently 
pulled at their own and each other's clothes, while Q remarked, "This would be a 
good deal easier *my* 
way." 


"You'll live," said Picard drily, as he finished stripping. 


"You know, I can do something about that attitude of yours even without my 
powers," threatened Q. 


"I'm sure you and will, Q, but do me a favor and use this," responded Picard, 
casually tossing Q a jar of 
lubricant that had been ready on the bedside table. 


"Now I know why they made you a captain, Captain. You prepare for *every* 
eventuality. But I may 
have a surprise or two for you. Now come here and sit in front of me." Q sat at 
the head of the bed and 
gestured between his legs. Picard sat in front of Q, his back to him. Q placed 
his hands on the insides of 
Picard's thighs, pulling them apart, knees bent, then placed his own longer legs 
over Picard's, keeping 
them that way, his feet pressing outward against Picard's calves. He then opened 
the jar of lubricant, 
scooping some up with the fingertips of both hands, then began to tease Picard's 
nipples with his 
lubricated fingers. Picard gasped and leaned back, his eyes closed, as Q nimbly 
massaged his nipples in 
rapid circles with his fingertips, then tugged on them insistently until they 
slid out of his slippery grip. 


Picard's penis was erect and quivering, and he urgently desired those hands to 
grasp it. "Tell me what 
you want, Captain, and make it explicit," said a seductive voice in his ear. 


Picard sighed, then gasped, "I want you to take my . . . penis . . . in your 
hand and bring me off! Explicit 
enough for you?" 


"Quite," laughed Q. He amply lubricated both hands, then cupped Picard's balls 
with one hand, lightly 
massaging them, while sliding the other up and down Picard's erection. Picard 
groaned involuntarily--it 
really was remarkably better when someone else was doing it, he thought wryly to 
himself. Q's hand 
started out moving slowly up and down in a tormenting rhythm, but as Picard's 
breathing got faster and 
faster, Q obligingly moved faster and harder, until Picard nearly exploded, his 
back arching, and his 
legs shooting out in front of him, while Q grasped the tip of his penis with one 
hand, allowing the semen 
to ooze out between his fingers. 


As soon as Picard's breathing slowed slightly, Q ordered "Lie down on your back, 
now, Jean-Luc," and 
moved out of the way, so Picard could slide down in the bed. Q rubbed his own 
erect penis with his wet 
hand, then sat between Picard's legs, reaching for the lubricant, and rubbing 
Picard's opening in slow 
circles, occasionally sliding a finger inside. "Brace yourself, Johnny," he 
said, repositioning himself 
immediately between Picard's legs, and pushing them back so that one was draped 
on Q's shoulders, the 
other wapping around Q's back. Augmenting the slickness of his penis with one 
final dab of lubricant, he 
pressed it against Picard's anus, and began pushing slowly inside. Picard moaned 
loudly, and reached 
behind him to grasp the bottom of the headboard with his hands. 


"Oh . . . that's . . . amazing . . . Q," he gasped as Q began to move inside 
him, "That's . . . incredible." 


"What's incredible is how you look, Jean-Luc," replied Q. "I wanted to *see* 
your face while I was 
inside you, and I will literally carry that look on your face and this sensation 
in my mind forever." 


"Kiss me, please." 


Q lowered his head to Picard's while Picard reached up and parted his lips to 
admit Q's insistent tongue, 
while each thrust sent shock waves through Picard's body. His room seemed to 
fall away, and his entire 
universe consisted of the sensation of Q's penis driving into him, Q's tongue in 
his mouth, and an 
inexplicably comfortable feeling of both total freedom and utter belonging. As 
Q's breathing began to 
quicken, Picard pulled his legs slightly higher, allowing his partner to 
penetrate slightly deeper, and Q 
groaned loudly as the climax roared through him. Picard shivered involuntarily 
as Q slipped out of him, 
immediately moving down to take Picard's penis in his mouth. Picard was still 
gripping the headboard 
behind him as Q's vigorous sucking brought him to an explosive release. 


As he slowly unclenched his fingers and tentatively stretched out his legs, 
Picard began hesitantly, "Q, 
I don't know what to say . . . I'll miss you terribly, but . . . " 


"I know, Jean-Luc, you think you can't live with me, you can't live without me. 
It's the story of my 
life. But you *can* live without me; you have a job to do here, and you'll do it 
as you always have--in 
an exemplary fashion, at least for a mere mortal such as yourself." Picard 
nodded, and opened his 
mouth to speak, but Q placed a finger over it to stop him. "I know. I know. You 
don't have to say it. And 
when you think you can handle the distraction, I'll be back. You're not going to 
be able to get rid of me, 
mon Capitaine, because if the truth be told, *I* can't live without *you*." 



The End