The Promised Land, Book TwoPart FourQ felt better. There was dancing, and more champagne, and there were tiny bits of cake for everyone. Melinda tossed her bouquet. Later, describing it, Very-Very Crosis laughed with his friends about Jean-Luc tossing Melinda's garter into a crowd of gay men, but it was tradition, so they did it. Bareil caught it and stared at it in shock while everybody laughed at his expression. There was more dancing. Eventually, however, the bride and groom stood at the steps of their hotel and watched their guests leave. They were already in Hawaii, so there was no point in honeymooning anywhere else. They waved adieu to their guests. Melinda kissed each boy as they filed past her. Jean-Luc shook each guest's hand. He hugged all the Boys. Polite, sincere hugs, even to Q who whispered, "Good luck, Johnny." The bags had already been loaded onto the busses. The guests climbed on and settled in for the ride back to their waiting plane. On the bus, they loosened their ties and cummerbunds. It was over. Melinda was a genuinely mythic courtesan, as wise as she was beautiful. She knew that, when Jean-Luc finally turned to her, his eyes would have a tiny lost light in them. He had shut a door on his Boys and he was wondering what he had done. But she'd change his mood or be damned. "Did you know I got you a wedding present?" She put her arms around him; he rested his head against her shoulder. "Rub my tits for good luck." He did. "It's waiting in our suite." He moved his head back. "Does it have to do with Aloe?" Aloe Secondwind had been hired by the Boys to take the wedding photos, but Jean-Luc wanted Aloe to take pictures of all aspects of the wedding. He loved pictures of Melinda like that. "Are you kidding? She only shoots in natural light. She's going to make us restage things tomorrow. I told her that was okay because it meant we get some rehearsal time. Time to practice our own little scenarios." Melinda's present was named Belanna. She was Hispanic, darker than Melinda, small and muscular. She had already stripped down to a lei and a grass skirt. The grass skirt was pleasingly loose and threadbare. "Belanna's the best whore in Honolulu. She's so good she's never fucked a sailor. You ever hear of that in whoring?" "That IS a first," said Jean-Luc. "How are you tonight, Belanna?" "Quite ready, Johnny, Melinda," she had a beautiful throaty voice. "She's your present, Boy. What would you like to see?" "Oh, just do some warm-ups, girls. Til I get inspired." And Jean-Luc sat on the bed to watch. Melinda and Belanna used the chairs to put on a little show. Belanna knew all men liked a little peekaboo in their fuck sessions, and Jean-Luc was no different. Using her fingers, she showed him various aspects of her body. Melinda sat by, getting a little breathier with each passing minute. Jean-Luc took off his shirt and pants, leaving his underwear on (its tightness against his dick, against the crack of his ass was a pleasant sensation). Then Belanna got a bottle of something liquid and slick and showed it to Melinda -- Melinda was not fully naked either; she had kept on a blue satin bra that exposed her nipples and her high-heels (of course) and from somewhere she'd gotten a little hot pink boa for her neck. Both girls looked most enticing. Belanna was on her knees; she single-mindedly began to slick Melinda down, particularly between those long legs, those slender thighs. Melinda sighed. "Stand up," Belanna ordered her. She began to really concentrate on Melinda's pussy, on her ass; Melinda began to sway to meet her touch. Then Belanna stood up and they rubbed their slick breasts together. Jean-Luc was quite gratified. Melinda leaned in and whispered something to Belanna. "Are you ready?" Belanna whispered back. "Ready for what?" Jean-Luc asked. Melinda was enigmatic. "What's a wedding night without a cherry?" she asked. She and Belanna began to neck. Then Melinda sat back down, but this time she sat backwards on the simple chair, her round satin ass hanging over the edge. Belanna crouched behind her, sitting on the floor. She kept lubricating Melinda's body. Then she began her assault. One finger in Melinda's tight asshole. Melinda rocked back and forth in her chair. Belanna was sweating; her long black hair hung in damp strands around her face. Jean-Luc liked dark-skinned women; he loved Belanna's dark dark nipples, and the gleam of her tan thighs. Her warm skin against Melinda's pink flesh was most enticing. And as Belanna worked harder, her silly grass skirt hung lower on her ass, revealing more of her. Every now and then Jean-Luc could see the glistening dark hairs of her cunt. He was spellbound. Belanna was up to three fingers; Melinda was groaning softly. "You're not going to hurt me," she said in a thick sleepy voice, "your hands are tiny. Come on. Get that whole thing in there and fuck me please." Belanna said nothing; she was twisting her slick fingers around more and more. Melinda was stroking herself in the front, stroking her swollen clit; every now and then she would grab her nipples and rub them fiercely. Four fingers. Then Belanna put her fingers in a damp slick wedge. "Now?" she asked. "Now. Now." Melinda hissed. Jean-Luc brought himself out. His cock was harder than ever. He put one hand on his balls -- thrusting himself out. Belanna's hand was all the way in; she was slowly flexing it. Melinda was rubbing herself furiously and making inhuman sounds deep in her throat. Every now and then she said some fragment, "I didn't . . . oh God . . . please please." Belanna looked directly at Jean-Luc; she was pumping her hips back and forth too -- wanting her turn. She looked at Jean-Luc's stiff dick and smiled. The way Melinda's plump buttocks hung over the edge of the chair with Belanna's hand in them was an intoxicating sight, and Melinda moved against Belanna to get the hand deeper in and starting saying "come on come on come on" and now she had two of her own fingers in her pussy but her high round ass was going back and forth on Belanna's damp wrist and Belanna was sweating now with her eyes half-closed. The yellow electric lights threw their vibrating shadows against the walls -- and Melinda said some wordless sound and was coming, still pushing, still sobbing wordlessly, still coming. And she collapsed against the chair. "You okay, baby?" Jean-Luc asked. Melinda was breathing softly, softly as a sleeping child. She was obviously okay. "It's our turn," he said to Belanna then. "Can I fuck you in the ass?' he said in a gentlemanly fashion. "That's why it's here," she replied generously. And he lapped her pussy for a few minutes and then stuck it in her willing asshole and they came almost as hard as Melinda had. Meanwhile, Melinda slowly came to and, turning around in her chair, lazily watched them with her legs far apart. They slept quite soundly. Melinda had tipped Belanna handsomely (the Hawaiian tourist board wished the Boys would visit more often) and Belanna had dressed in normal clothing and left the honeymooners. "Thanks very much for the present. It was . . . wonderful." "I had a hunch you hankered for dark-skinned gals." "They are very attractive." "My Boy changed his luck!" "Baby, she wasn't that dark." "But you do like it in colors?" she said and snuggled next to him. He shrugged. "Tell me about a black piece you've had. It'll be a bed time story." He smiled to himself. How'd she know? Jean-Luc did like all of it, no matter what hue, but sometimes he craved brown-skinned women. Not too long before, there had been one girl in Jessup, Georgia, with skin the color of cinnamon. She had been fat, with huge tits, a big round stomach. A big, wide ass. He had held her with his arms far apart. Big legs, strong as an ox. It had been like riding a bull. Or a powerful wide-footed mare. "I like you the best. Let's hit the hay." The girl in Jessup had soft skin and melting brown eyes and a face like a plump little elf. Jean-Luc had liked her turned-up chin, and the rimples and corruscations of her broad-beamed hips and ass. Fucking that abundantly sensual piece of brown woman-flesh had been like fucking sex itself. He'd loved it, and so had she. She called him Little Man the whole three days he was in her town, and he'd allowed her to learn how to suck cock by practicing on him. Where had Q been during all that? He tried to remember. Oh, yeah, Q was driving around with Data and Geordi. Looking at peanut farms. Investments. Peanut farms. Q loved shit like that. "Tell. I know what you're thinking." "Fuck it. I can't hide anything from you. Okay, a chubby little black girl in Georgia. I taught her how to suck cock. She was a quick study. But I like all sorts of pussy. Now let's go to sleep." Aloe Secondwind was taking both sets of wedding pictures--the public set with all the posing guests, and a boudoir set for their private enjoyment. Aloe's colorless personality made her a good photographer. She could photograph any scene with equanimity because all she cared about was the play of light and color. A fierce storm was blowing in from across the seas and the light bouncing off the clouds was soft and silvery, a beautiful light that would give this particular set of pictures the muted, dreamlike quality that such pictures should have. "This will be a good shoot," she said. Jean-Luc looked at her. "You're not afraid of doing what you want," she observed dispassionately. She turned her camera over and over in her hands, looking closely at its many indicators. "That is true." Jean-Luc agreed. "We are not afraid." Melinda and Jean-Luc did what they wanted without fear or self-consciousness. Aloe took pictures of Melinda's beautiful wedding body, and then of Jean-Luc watching, and then of Melinda stretched out over the white satin sheets. She got Jean-Luc unselfconsciously taking off his wedding finery, and then Jean-Luc and Melinda making love. It was plain sex, nothing special, except for Aloe's presence and her gently ticking camera. They made love under Aloe's direction as she encouraged them gently, asking them to pose, to shift position, to hold various angles as she took advantage of Jean Luc's great staying power and their willingness to cooperate with her as fully as possible. "Kiss her like that again, Jean-Luc," and he would do so, burying his face in Melinda's peach-soft skin, letting himself drift through sensation on Aloe's softly murmured instructions. "Look at her face," Aloe would say. Or, "Shut your eyes. Feel every bit of her skin beneath your hand." It seemed that as if Aloe were making love to both of them through her camera. And Jean-Luc found himself making love back to her through Melinda's lovely body. It was surprising, but he could do it easily, and so could Melinda. "Jean-Luc, do you like it when she kisses you there? Good. Melinda, do it again. You two are swimming in light. His other nipple. Open your thighs against him. Good! You read my mind." Afterwards, they rested and chatted for a bit, and Aloe sat on the side of the bed with them to share a pot of lukewarm tea. Eventually she drained her cup, picked up her camera and stood over them again. "Now this time," she ordered gently, "I don't want you to make love." They looked at her; she looked back diffidently. "I want you to fuck. Do you know what I mean?" They did. And they went all out. Aloe snapped away, capturing the power and the wild energy, and the tenderness and passion. This time she gave no instruction, no direction. Instead of moving them, she moved herself, sometimes getting so close that the camera became part of their lovemaking, snapping away frantically, as if it, too, felt their urgency and was aroused by it. Jean-Luc and Melinda drove each other, but the camera drove Aloe, pushing her to dive and squat and lunge around them almost as frantic in her passion as the newlyweds were. She was sweating by the time they were done, and, after Jean-Luc cried out for that last time, all the humans in the room had to pause for a long time while they caught their breaths and came down from their various highs. (The next day she brought some proof sheets by. Even in that tiny peephole format, they all could tell she'd shot beautiful, powerfully loving pictures. Jean-Luc was overwhelmed by the love and trust on Melinda's face. The fact that his naked butt and hard dick were captured on film bothered him not at all. They told the truth, and because of that, he was a bit in awe of them, and a bit in awe of the process that had taken place. One frame showed Jean-Luc diving to hold Melinda's legs, leaning over her, inside her, his pelvis thrust forward, his features transformed into something fierce and feral. Melinda caught her breath. "Oooh, Boy," she crooned, "that makes me so hot." She bit at his neck. Aloe turned to watch Melinda's beauty contort, her hands automatically moving to her camera. She had been especially curious about the look on Jean- Luc's face when he was naked and aroused for the camera. It was very strange to her how invisible and shuttered his famous face became when he was completely unclothed. She felt she'd discovered something new about the camera.) Back home in LA, everyone stepped lightly around Q for several days. They went out of their way to be attentive to him. He appreciated their concern, but he really didn't need it. "It's not like I won't ever see him again," he told Worf. "In fact, we've got that video in a few weeks." Worf silently nodded. A few days later in the kitchen, Will whispered: "Things are sure quiet now, aren't they?" He seemed grateful. In fact, Jean-Luc's absence gave them the space to see the past as something that wouldn't turn on them. Now they could see it as an escapade, a lived adventure, a wilderness trek. They were satisfied veterans -- they'd been through combat and survived to tell the tale. "Remember that warden? In that park?" Geordi said, "Remember Memphis? Playing on that street corner for what seemed like weeks. It was so hot." "And remember the time we stopped at that fast food joint and the guy came on to Data and Worf chased him away?" "Remember the Blind Museum?" "Remember those pasties we ate in London?" "Remember India?" "The clothes!" "The food!" "The spices!" "Remember that grocery store? That time we bought that kiwi fruit?" Q had cut it into six careful sections, and they'd all sat around the table to sample it, sober as judges at a wine tasting. No one had quite known what to think or what to say until Worf muttered that it needed sugar. Q hadn't known from a ripe one at the time, though he did now. It was odd to sit here and have these little reunions. Odder still to sit here without Jean-Luc. They laughed and laughed and remembered. Sometimes they laughed til they cried. At night, however, Q looked at an empty bed. It took some getting used to. He woke up sometimes, waiting, only to realize that Jean-Luc was not going to come sliding in beside him. And this was how it would be. For eternity. Q alone in the chilled sheets. The world sounding outside his door. A child's delighted shriek. Men's laughter. The scolding voices of women black and white. Once he prayed, "Bless them Lord." It seemed years since he'd last prayed. So strange. In the months that led up to Melinda, Q had allowed himself to dream of marrying Johnny. Maybe they could have gone to Europe or Red China or somewhere and have it done it there. But he had watched Jean-Luc become more unhappy as they'd become more settled. Melinda's wildness was alluring to Jean-Luc because it spoke to his own restless nature. She matched him in a way Q had never been able to do. Q wanted a home and Jean-Luc wanted the road. Jean-Luc had felt the burden of all their newfound domesticity -- women, children, established routines -- it was simply not his style. Jean-Luc was a rolling stone. But Q couldn't shake the conviction that they'd had something good together. It felt so right between the two of them. His tears overflowed. He remembered one of the first nights Data was with them and Data had asked if Q and Jean-Luc were homosexual lovers and Jean-Luc had said "we certainly are". How happy Q had been! By now he was completely awake, tossing under the expensive sheets he'd bought because he thought Johnny might like them. Had he simply invented a life that never really existed? It didn't feel like it, but Q couldn't be sure. He'd always been a good one for that, dreaming, imagining, creating whole universes out of shreds and vague wishes. He loved Jean-Luc, and desired him, and wanted desperately to please him, and he knew that Jean-Luc accepted the offerings he made in the name of love, and knew them for the adoration they were meant to convey. And Q had always felt that deep down Jean-Luc loved Q. Even that fortuneteller had said so all those years ago. But for Jean-Luc, love was not as important as freedom. So here Q was, staring into the darkness, coming to terms with the absurdity of his desperate longings. He wished he didn't feel so alone. Geordi was still laughing with Data out on the patio. And, downstairs, Chris and Penda had finished taking Will and Worf to task for whatever transgression they'd committed. The house was falling silent. Q shivered. Without Jean-Luc, he always became invisible. He got out of bed; his heart was racing. He was invisible now, he knew it. He went downstairs. No one was around; without Jean-Luc, everything had disappeared. He shook his head. He wouldn't cry, he wouldn't. There was a light on in the kitchen. He timidly went to the kitchen and stood in the door. Will was in there. He had on an apron and was mixing something. "Shhh," he said and smiled. "I'm making some Riker's Surprise brownies for Worf. For my sweetie." Then he looked at Q's flushed distressed face. "Come over here and give me a hug." Q did. Will saw him. He wasn't completely invisible. "Q, we both know it'll take time. But everything will be all right." Q leaned back and looked at Will's big open boy's blue eyes. He felt like never speaking again; that was the easiest way to go through life. But it wasn't fair to Will. People like Will loved him. "I know," he said. "Why don't you take advantage of this freedom? Why don't you go visit your kids?" At one time, Q -- and everyone else -- would have been suspicious of this suggestion from Will. But they'd spent so much with Patsy he knew Will's remark was innocent. He would make a phone call tomorrow. Luckily, Beverly's mother picked up. "Mrs. Crusher? It's Q. Fine. Fine. And you? Good. Listen, I've been thinking. I know school starts in a week or two. Let me come out there and get them ready for school. And listen, why don't we talk about having the boys come out here for Christmas!" She thought it was a wonderful idea. She would put them on a plane any time he said the word. Q said the word and then his heart leapt. At Christmas he would get to show his sons all around California. He hung up the phone, thrilled at how simple this was. A day later (he deputized Will to stand in for him if they ran out of eggs and milk) Q was in Kentucky. He reveled in the fact of his sturdy boys, shopping until they were all stuporous, loving their delight in his presence even when he wasn't buying stuff for them. He went down to Cooter's Hideout with them and walked along the railroad tracks and showed them the secret cave where Old Cooter hid his corn liquor. He proudly pointed out his old piano teacher's house and the boarded-up store where he used to work. To his utter pleasure, his boys would not let go of him, even for a second, especially the youngest. Roger had to wrap his stubby little arms around Diddy's long leg while they stood in line at the department store, or worm his way into Diddy's lap when they ate in a restaurant, or demand that he be allowed to sit in the front seat next to Diddy in the shiny rental car while the other two sat in back. His oldest two were almost as bad, crowding in on him, taking any excuse to be near him. "I miss you boys, you know that?" "We miss you too, Diddy." "Well, you all are coming out to see me, you know. Did they tell you?" Their eyes were round with amazement. California was not a real place if you were a little boy from a Kentucky coal town. "When, Diddy, when!" "Christmas. You all will just have to wait until then." No, they protested. They wanted to go now. Q was adamant. "Do what your Mamma and Nanny and Meemaw tell you, and I'll see you in December." He waggled his eyebrows mysteriously. "You'll get to fly on a plane by yourselves." "No way!" All three looked scared and thrilled in equal measure. "You think you'd like that? Come on," he was suddenly struck with a good idea. Shopping could wait. "I'll take you to the airport and show you around." "Yay!" They were in the car before he could say, 'Roger go to the bathroom right now because we're not stopping.' It was so easy to make children happy. The boys begged him not to leave. He bought them a calendar and marked the date that they would get on the plane to come see him. Beverly and her brothers stayed away the whole time he was there. And when he came back to California, he came back home to utter calm. No one was angry with him for being gone. No one was yelling. No one was nervous or frightened. There were no crises for him to resolve one way or another. He showed pictures and everyone gathered around to stare and comment. He informed them that his boys would be coming for the holidays. Everyone thought that was nice. To his surprise, he discovered that he could make an arrangement with the phone company so that the boys could have a direct line to him any time they wanted, day or night. The company would bill him for the calls. After that they had long, luxurious, idle conversations about sheep or monsters or basketball; anything that came to their minds. The best part was, he didn't have to look over his shoulder every few minutes to see if he'd exhausted Jean-Luc's precious store of patience. He talked to them all they wanted. He didn't want to say it. He didn't want to think it. But their lives were quiet and pleasant now that Jean-Luc wasn't here anymore. Very-Very Crosis was as good as his word. "Now, Q, I know you're very very sad and you're sitting there all alone and you're brooding and it's just very very Miss Joan Crawford, am I right?" "Very-Very, I'm okay. I really am." "Then come have lunch. I want you to meet the Girls." The Girls were a group of men who were lovers with rich and powerful Hollywood mogul types; they met regularly by Very-Very's pretty little backyard pool. It was cozy and luxurious, and Very Very added to the ambiance with a variety of muscular, scantily-clad houseboys who brought all the food. "Ladies, I'd like to introduce a very very good friend. Q. Q, meet the gang." Everyone nodded as they ransacked Q with their eyes. Then everyone smiled all at once. "These Girls know me from my clone days!" Very-Very said. Q looked at him. What were . . . "Oh, Q, back when I had THAT look. The tan. The shirt off. The very very tight cutoffs. The workboots." "The blonde hair!" said one of the girls. "The mustache!" said another. "Oh, yes, I had that whole Dirk Benedict thing going on. But now. . . " Very-Very sighed at time's strange passage. "Sit down, Q," he smiled. "So what we were talking about?" One of the men picked up where he'd just left off. "Okay, now, Bret? Big fight with Gary because Gary agreed to go to therapy sessions with his wife. Again. To try to 'work things out.' Bret hits the roof, and frankly, I don't blame him. Gary likes sucking cock." "Don't we all, don't we all," murmured Very-Very. "Bret points out that Gary knew his wife didn't have a dick when he married her. In fact," the gossiper leaned in triumphantly, "Gary was dating Bret when he met Cami. She knew she was protective cover from the start. So tell me what is this bullshit about counseling? I mean, face it, sweetheart, your husband's gay!" His tone became even more smug. "So anyway. Big fight. Gary kicks him out. Bret disappears. A week goes by. Two weeks go by. I get a call from Gary. Frantic. He hasn't heard from Bret. Sobsobsob! Have I heard from him? I tell him I'll call when I hear anything. Gary calls again. He's afraid Bret's hurt himself. He gives me another number. Call him any time of the day or night. Well, by this time, I'm worried. Finally Bret calls. I was so pissed I almost hung up. Frightening everybody! I thought he was dead! I told him wherever you are, get your ass back here right now. He says he can't. LA holds too many bad memories. Sobsobsob. Well. Miss Diva can totally get over that because he knew what he was in for the moment Gary decided that getting married was a good career move. Can we say 'grand self delusion,' on both their parts? I think so." Mister Gossip drew a deep breath and sat back in his chair, evidently quite overcome by this recitation. Q nodded delightedly. He remembered Horatio and his circle. "This is just like when I was in prison." "Excuse me?" From one little bitch. "In prison," Q hugged himself and dimpled, "you knew I was in jail? Well, I was. That's where I met Johnny. Anyway, in prison all the wives sat together and talked and it was just... nice. That's what this reminds me of." "Well!" said the little bitch to his date. "I myself have always had a little prison fantasy going on," Very-Very said smoothly. "Johnny's the one I was telling you girls about. Jean-Luc, the new Duke of Fish. What is his deal, Q? Give us the latest scoop!" Q shrugged helplessly. "There's nothing to tell. Johnny always did what he wanted." The storyteller chimed in again. "See, life is perfect until a woman gets in the way. It's just like Bret and Gary." The others nodded. He turned to Q to explain all about their mission to rescue Bret. "Gary has all the money. Bret does not have DIME ONE to his name. You know he's tending bar in Cincinnati." The other wives' mouths dropped open. No. "Yes. Very-Very and I were on the phone with him for an hour..." "Two hours!" Very-Very interjected. "Trying to get him to Come Back. I offered im my pool house and he said he wasn't going to be reduced to living on charity. I told him he'd better take what he gets! Can you imagine? What in God's name does he think he's going to do in Cincinnati?" "Tell him this Gary has a new boyfriend." Q offered softly. "He'll come back. He won't be able to resist. Then when he gets out here, you can help him get back on his feet." Very-Very laughed, "Looks like someone has had experience with this kind of thing." The other wives glanced at one another. Q was in. Gay America was incensed at Jean-Luc's treason. Some gay men wrote him letters telling him what a low-down dirty dog he was. Some of them wrote Melinda and said, "Honey, I don't know if this is all for show, but I hope for your sake that it is because if it isn't you're fooling yourself." Papers editorialized. Christians didn't know what to think; it was what they wanted, but still . . . Jean-Luc had lost none of his illicit allure. A week later, Q read an article about pick-your-own berry farms, and he decided that Patsy might like a little expedition. He over-prepared to a ridiculous extreme, buying a wicker picnic basket with a lovely gourmet lunch for four, and more small wicker baskets to put the berries in, and a little cap to keep the sun out of Patsy's eyes; then he, Will, and the baby rode out to the charming little pseudo-working farm and picked enough strawberries to last a lifetime. Will loved Patsy's innocent pleasure. She got berries all over her face and her shirt, and they snapped a picture of her in her pretty disarray. Worf, Data and Geordi were amazed at the three big flats of strawberries that scented the kitchen and the TV room. That week they had a strawberry orgy, eating and eating because it seemed impossible that they should ever run out of the succulent fruit. By week's end, when every single strawberry was gone, they felt bereft. They decided to go again. In their casual jeans and t-shirts, no one recognized them. They caused something of a stir with their seventeen pounds of strawberries, but they swore they would probably eat them all. On the ride back, Worf gently teased Geordi about the way he sampled each one he picked to see whether it was ripe or not. "Oh, yeah?" Geordi shot back with amusement. "You wait until the next time you need help buying another banjo. I'm going to remember this." "We will establish a truce then," Worf declared. The Boys burst into laughter. Patsy fell asleep. They munched strawberries in silence, so as not to wake her. Jean-Luc was waiting for them when they got back. "Where have you been?" he demanded. The calmly cheerful mood evaporated instantly. The Boys looked at one another, frozen in his glare. The only possible answer, 'We went strawberry picking,' sounded ridiculous in the face of his annoyance. Q told him what they'd done, but he sounded subdued, even a little afraid. "Look what we got." He showed Jean-Luc their bounty. "I see." Jean-Luc was surprised, and not quite sure what to say. "Do you think you picked enough?" "Taste one," Q flirted. He held one out to Jean-Luc who rolled his eyes but took a bite nonetheless. "Mm." "I'll show you what else I can do with a strawberry," Q promised, but it sounded wrong. This day was about being together as a family. Sex talk felt awkward and artificial. Everyone sensed it and made mumbled excuses as to why they should put their berries down and leave. Jean Luc sensed it too, but he didn't know what to make of it so he ignored it. There were no problems here. The Boys were doing fine.] The rest of that weekend the Boys hovered around that balance point between the calm of his absence and the tension of his presence, but no one said anything. He was Jean-Luc. Without him, they had nothing. "So nothing's changed," Jean-Luc said. He'd come over early to have breakfast with them before getting to work again. He was curiously cranky this morning, maybe because Melinda was gone again. Everyone stared at him. Then Will coughed. "Patsy said her first word." Jean-Luc looked over at Patsy. "She can say,*Doe-idd.*" "What does that mean?" Jean-Luc poured himself another cup of coffee. "It's somebody on TV," Will murmured. His voice faltered a bit. Jean-Luc's attention always made him a bit nervous. "Who?" "Uh, Floyd. He's a . . . character on a show." "He's that big lizard, remember." Data offered helpfully. "He's blue." "He was on the tee shirt Patsy wore yesterday." Jean-Luc said nothing. When they were through discussing their plans for their next video, he drove back to Melinda's. Without her, the home was empty, but somehow emptiness was easier to take than other things. Success was a good deal harder for Jean-Luc to deal with than failure ever could be. He could handle the hard parts. Hell, he was good at it, but, now that he could take it easy, he didn't trust life enough to shift gears and relax. The Boys said it. Melinda said it. Everything said it. 'This is it! We've arrived! We've reached Xanadu! The streets really are paved with gold! This is easy street! Fat city!' But how do you act on easy street? If you're there for the first time. Somehow it was easier with Melinda. Nothing about her reminded him of his hardscrabble existence before success had changed his life. She was so casual about enjoying every part of her life that she made him feel casual too. He watched her. He did what she did. She did not have to call upon strength and grit just to meet the requirements of her day-to-day life. She never needed anger. In fact, she had no use for it. Eating, acting, fucking, shopping, exercising;, she approached everything with a joyous intensity that was wholly admirable. Melinda was like light on water. But Q was like depths and shadows. He made everything difficult, and he always had. Jean-Luc walked through her house deliberately thinking of it as home. He liked it here. The only thing about Q, though, was that being around him made Jean-Luc feel horny. But Melinda's house was a good place to be if you were horny. Aloe's wedding pictures were upstairs; there were also some rude outtakes from Melinda's Playboy spread. He sat down and idly leafed through them. Melinda always had a good time. He took off his clothes and put them on a chair. Aloe had some nice photos of Melinda sucking his dick. It looked so big in the photos, sticking out from his lean body. Jean-Luc stood up and went into the bathroom. He wanted a simple lube like soap. He looked at himself in the full length mirror and then he looked just at his hard-on. He leaned against the cool tiles and closed his eyes. Melinda, Q eating Melinda out, Melinda touching her nipples; he held his balls in his hand. He thought of himself lying down, Q, Melinda, Data, the delightfully scrawny Tranh, each nipping his dick with their ass, and he began to come. After he came, he looked in the mirror again; there was a red place on his forehead where he leaned so intently against the tiles. Everybody who said Jean-Luc was in fat city was full of horseshit. He looked in the mirror. Well, he knew one cure for blues. "Look at this idea," Q said to him the next morning. Q looked beautiful in the morning, his skin always clear and shining. "Why don't we do a video on the Alaska pipeline?" "Why there?" "Well, Jean-Luc, isn't it kind of sexy? The pipeline I mean." Jean-Luc looked at Q. "Why would you say that?" "It's just so . . . big." "Ah." They had a good day at rehearsal. After supper, Jean-Luc stood up and said, "Q?" It sounded like an order. "Excuse me," Q murmured to the other Boys; he looked very sober. Out in the hall, Jean-Luc turned to him. "Isn't it time you were in bed? It's very late." "Jean-Luc," Q said grimly. "What is it?" Jean-Luc answered evenly. "I've been thinking. Much as I want to, this isn't right." "What? What's not right?" "You know what." "No, what? Tell me what's not right." "I can't do anything with you. You're married now." Jean-Luc put his hand on Q's tit. Sweet. Q pushed his hand away. "No!" Jean-Luc backed away. "No," Q said again and moved against the wall, every thing about his body saying yes. Jean-Luc's face softened. "We won't do anything. I'll respect your wishes. I just want to make sure you get some sleep tonight." "Well, you better." Q said and lowered his eyes. They went upstairs to Q's bedroom; Jean-Luc kept his hand on the small of Q's back. In the bedroom, Jean-Luc said, "Put your pajamas on, girl." "Not til you leave." "I'm already gone. No, really. You won't even notice me." "No. And that's that." Jean-Luc sat on Q's bed. "No, Jean-Luc!" "What harm can I do just talking to you? We used to talk all the time, Q." Q just stared yearningly at Jean-Luc. "Tell you what. Come downstairs to the living room and we'll sit and talk." "Okay." Q looked relieved. "Just let me change and I'll be right down." Q's new pajamas made Jean-Luc more determined than ever to have him that night. They were shiny and silky, and they rippled over Q's body when he moved. Jean-Luc felt his breathing go high and shallow, but he knew exactly what to say. "Those looks nice. Where'd you get them?" All of Q's defenses were lowered. He blithered on about the store where he and Will went, and the nice sales lady who got them XL and XXL sizes, and all the different colors, and did Johnny want one too because Q could go back and get another one, it wouldn't be a problem. "I might want you to do that. Let me see how it feels." He rubbed his hand up Q's silk-covered thigh. "Does that feel good, that silk?" "The silk feels nice and soft, Johnny." "Mm. How about there?" Jean-Luc's hand moved up to cup Q's penis, rubbing his lover's silk-clad groin. "Well that feels really good too, but..." There was a catch to Q's voice. "I don't know if it's a good idea..." "Q, it won't hurt Melinda if we do this, and it won't hurt you. But it will hurt me if we don't. You'll make me think you don't care." "Oh, Johnny, no!" Q opened his legs wider, trying to show that he was still Jean Luc's. "Of course I care. It's just that I don't think this is such a good idea..." But even as he spoke he let Jean-Luc move closer. Jean-Luc began to nuzzle Q's neck. Q's mouth dropped open a little and he sat stock still, letting the sensations wash over him. "When it's wet..." "What?" Q was having trouble concentrating. "The silk. When it's wet what does it feel like?" "Um... I don't know." "Time to find out, don't you think?" Jean-Luc found Q's nipple with pinpoint accuracy through the pajama top. Q said nothing, but he was beginning to breathe more heavily. By the time his sighs turned into moans, he had his big legs open as wide as they could be, and the scent of him was killing Jean-Luc. "You're the finest bitch a man ever met," he murmured. "Thank you, Johnny." Q tried to change the subject. "You know I would never do anything to hurt you, but we don't have to have sex to prove that I love you. You know I meant that about us not ... doing anything ... because of you being married now." "I know you did." Jean-Luc soothed. "You would never do anything wrong. But Q, you've got to let me know that you're still mine." "Oh, Johnny that's never in question, but..." "Here," Jean-Luc's voice was husky and soothing. "Just let me feel this silk against you, just to find out what it's like." "Oh... sure..." Q did not object when Jean-Luc climbed on top of him, rubbing their bodies together. The old sofa was perfect for fucking on, something Jean-Luc had done many times. Even Q's long body fit comfortably. "Lie down. So I can feel the silk," Jean-Luc coaxed. He pressed his lips to Q's, and in a moment Q kissed back, full Q kisses, everything in his body straining towards Jean-Luc. A moment later, however, Q stopped, his eyes troubled. "I just don't feel right about this." "Q," Jean-Luc murmured, "we were made for each other. How could this not be okay?" He was thoroughly enjoying this new conquest of Q, and he would be in Q's ass in the next five minutes or his name wasn't Jean-Luc Picard. In actuality it took ten. Jean-Luc was hard as a rock, but he wanted to make sure Q was more urgent, more desperate, begging for it. He sucked on Q's cock and stuck one finger up Q's asshole. Q was writhing, that helpless expression on his face that Jean-Luc so loved, begging for it in all but words. Jean-Luc couldn't help teasing both of them. He pulled away from Q, frowning. "I don't know, Q, maybe you're right. Maybe we shouldn't do this." "If that's how you feel Jean-Luc." Q's voice was shaking. "You know damned well that's not how I feel. Upstairs with you, and on the bed." They were upstairs in seconds flat and Q was naked and on the bed with his ass up in the air and his knees as wide apart as they could go, and Jean-Luc was in him, groaning at the feel of Q's tight ass around him, groaning at the feel of Q's surging body and the sound of his begging voice. Let the bitch beg. Jean-Luc fucked his lover for a long time, knocking his hand away when Q reached underneath his body. "You ... wait ... for me ... motherfucker. You wait ... until I say ... you can." He pulled out and turned Q over on his back. Jesus, he loved pussy. He pulled those long legs over his shoulders and dived between them. Q gave it up, fucking back with frenzied vigor, working his ass around Jean-Luc's dick, making sure Jean-Luc would not forget this night for a long time. Goddamn, girl!" Jean-Luc was sweating, pumping his hips like a madman. "You're about to kill me!" Even after he came and collapsed across the bed, Jean-Luc did not stop playing with Q: "See, Q, I told you we were made for each other." "I know, Johnny." Q was glad Jean-Luc had fucked him, but he still had to know one thing. "Did you really feel like I stopped caring for you or did you just say that so I'd shut up and let you fuck me?" "What do you think?" "I feel like the baby sitter you seduced when you drove her home." "Oh fuck," Jean-Luc groaned and pulled Q's legs up, instantly ready for round two. In no time he was back inside Q's round wet ass, his perfect ass, moving back and forth and back and forth. Q was completely into it, moving against him and groaning and sighing, enjoying himself completely. Jean-Luc was getting jolts to his heart like something electric. "Oh, fuck fuck fuck fuck," and Q was wet against him, he could feel Q's wet heart beating and he himself had only to be a little harder on Q and he would come. He thought of that babysitter and fucking her in the backseat of the car and Q was the unwitting baby-sitter that he could still fool into thinking that they hadn't gone too far and he began to drive into Q and Q screamed softly and then Jean-Luc was over, triumphant once again. "See, that wasn't bad." "You're so awful." Jean-Luc smiled at him. "Now that you've learned that, when I drive you home next time, I'll show you how to kiss it and all the boys will love that." Then he fell asleep. Q held him; it took forever for Q to fall asleep because he was so aroused. And, when he awoke the next morning, he was even more aroused. He stood up. "Where are you going?" Jean-Luc was instantly awake. "Nowhere," Q murmured. Jean-Luc could see what was going on with him. They looked at each other for a moment. "Jean-Luc, you said last night you'd teach me how to kiss it." Jean-Luc's cock jolted into life. "And so I will." If loving Jean-Luc was wrong, then Q didn't want to be right. Kira met them to discuss the Alaska video shoot. She was thinner and paler than before. And sharper tongued, too. "Where's Bareil?" Q asked. He liked couples. "And Modyed?" Will added. "Modyed is home with some of the guys, but Bareil's been sick since we got back from Hawaii. He's undergoing tests. He doesn't know why he feels the way he does." She lowered her head and looked up at them. Q felt a shiver go down his spine. "How's married life treating you, Jean-Luc?" she said in a hard tone. "I like it fine," he said smoothly. "Yes, I figured it would harder on Jadzia than it would on you." "Indeed," Jean-Luc said. Kira didn't say anything else about Bareil, but Q couldn't let it go. He called Bareil. His friend's smile was audible through the phone. He was really pleased to hear from Q. "No," he answered Q's inquiry, no one knew what it was yet. They were still running tests. He sounded very tired. Q let him go after a few minutes. |
