The Promised Land, Book TwoPart NineWill stared apprehensively as Worf, still silent, crossed the room to the toy drawer. Then Worf got out the handcuffs and turned to Will with a cold, expectant expression. Will slid off the bed and knelt in handcuff posture, his wrists together, hugging the metal bedpost. This position usually meant an evening of fun, but now Will trembled in fear of what was to come. All that happened, however, was that Worf cuffed him to the bed and left the room. At first Will was relieved, but, as time ticked past, he began to see just how awful a punishment this was. Immobilized, he had nothing to do but think about how he'd betrayed their relationship by not telling Worf what had transpired between him and Ducatti. Even worse, he'd confided in someone else. A total stranger. A man who hadn't even fucked him for Christ sake! Tears of remorse welled up. He wished Q would come in and make him feel better. He wished Worf would come back and give him the beating he deserved. But when Worf did come, it was only to let him go to the bathroom and feed him dinner from a carry-out box. Will wore the handcuffs while he ate from Worf's chilled hands. He stayed on his knees; his shame was so overpowering he couldn't even meet Worf's eye. And Worf wasn't even mistreating him. He was simply refusing to engage, and his withdrawal punished Will more fiercely than any physical violence. Worf didn't say a word. He gestured to the kneeling post again, and Will took his place, tears streaming. Outside their bedroom-turned-punishment-box, the rest of the evening went on normally. The room darkened as the sun went down. He heard the other Boys getting dinner, going about their usual activities. He felt very sorry for himself. Eventually he heard Worf give Patsy her bath, read her a bedtime story, and kiss her goodnight. Worf did all of it with the bathroom doors open so that Will could hear every bit of their precious night-time routine. It was agony not being able to participate. 'This is what I did to Worf,' he admitted to himself. 'Cut him off, tuned him out. How could I have been so horrible?' Will could have screamed his remorse, but he knew better than to make noise. Finally Worf came in from his shower, took a fresh pair of briefs out of his drawer and pulled on a t-shirt. 'I can't even pick up his dirty underwear,' Will realized. 'I couldn't pick up Patsy's clothes, didn't help with dinner...' "Worf? He heard his own muffled voice speaking into the covers. "Worf, I'm sorry." Worf didn't answer him. He got under the covers and turned off the lights. Will teared up again, crying softly so he wouldn't disturb his husband. The following morning he opened his eyes. He was still in the same position, cramped and cold. Then he felt his hands being uncuffed. "Now do you understand?" Will buried his face against Worf's thigh, clutching, crying. "I won't ever do it again. I'm sorry, please forgive me. I'll never do that again." Worf took Will's bearded face in his hand and turned it up so they were looking eye to eye. "I will hold you to that." Will took a deep, shuddering breath, sobered by what he was hearing. Worf was asking him to make a claim of honor. This was more important than life and death. Will straightened up. He held Worf's eye, and, even though his voice shook, his words were perfectly clear. "Never again. I swear it." ************************* Kirk was as good as Spock claimed. A few days later, all of Ducatti's best clients suddenly started using other delivery companies. The Snakes's threats did not move them at all. So he sent some of his boys around to talk sense into those fucking hillbilies. The boys disappeared. That made Ducatti nervous. He needed relief bad. He called Will and put a hard bite on him. Jim took the call. "I want you to leave my friend alone. Leave his daughter alone." "Or else what?" "There is no 'or else.' I will never threaten you, though I will always do what I say I'm going to do. Your men, in case you're concerned, are being treated very well. When you see them again they will be... different from the way the were before. It won't be their fault. I just thought you'd like to know." Indeed his men were different. Several of them came wandering up to various of Ducatti's businesses. They'd been on their way to do a job when something happened. They didn't remember what, exactly, but they remembered going someplace nice. Enjoyable. They wanted to go back. Meanwhile they didn't feel like hitting people anymore. Did Mr. Ducatti want his lawn mowed? Or a nice meal, or a trip to the opera? Ducatti was confounded. His best henchmen didn't want to be henchmen anymore. They had no loyalty to him whatsoever. Some of his young up-and-comers offered to kill them. Ducatti said no, but there was someone else who could stand a good pasting. None of Ducatti's boys had heard of Gowron, but that didn't matter. They dumped him off at his own front gate just barely alive, his mouth blackened with dried blood. "Have you called Picard yet?" Kirk asked. At Q's affirmative, he gave a satisfied nod. "We'll wait until he gets out here. Meanwhile, I have a few things to do yet." Data helped Kirk set up a blocker that would prevent Ducatti, or anyone, from tracing the call. Then he watched as Kirk dialed Ducatti's private number. "Edward, that wasn't very nice." His voice was suave, even bland, but there was an undertone of mischief in it, and in his expression, as he tapped the broadcast button. Ducatti was blustering, "You're next, you cock fuck!" "I don't think so." Kirk sounded more suave than ever. "I could be standing beside you and you'd never see me. In fact, I was standing beside you last night when I heard you tell your boys that you were tired and you were turning in. About one-thirty, outside Tugio's. You never had the slightest idea. Oh, and by the way, that white flower delivery van that none of you ever seems to notice? It's a government surveillance van. Send one of your boys over to open the back door. I've fixed it so you can. Nothing but cameras, trained on you." "Fuck you." Ducatti was trying to get his own back. Kirk chuckled. "You sound like you're afraid, Eddie. I wonder what you're friends would say if they've seen some of the pictures I've seen." He hung up and turned to Spock and Data, his expression smug. "I see we have not modified our flamboyant style." The words were disapproving, but Spock's voice had the faintest purr to it. Data looked from one man to the other. They seemed to be sharing some moment. ************************* Jean-Luc went to the hospital even before he went to the house. Gowron was in rough shape, but he had gained a great deal of status for taking such a rough beating for the Boys. He was a hero. Worf had been sitting next to Gowron ever since he had gotten out of surgery. It was a prisoner thing. If someone to whom you felt loyalty got sick or incapacitated, you stood guard over him. That was all there was to it. And, when Jean-Luc came in, that was the changing of the guard. "No need for that shit," Gowron said in a rough whisper. Jean-Luc didn't answer. He would be replaced in five or six hours by one of the other ex-cons. That was that. And Jean-Luc was paying for everything, the hospital, the physical therapy, the dental reconstruction, for everything. It was Q who spelled Jean-Luc at Gowron's side; he insisted on kissing Jean-Luc good bye as they traded places. What an asshole. Still, Q always had the sweetest kisses. Q had driven Will's jeep over so Jean-Luc got to drive it home; oh, the jeep was a perfect kitty-cat. Something about sitting exhausted by the fierce roadie's bedside agreed with Jean-Luc; he only wished he could have faced Ducatti down with Gowron. Even the intervention of those two types Data seemed to have dragged in was agreeable. In fighting Ducatti, everybody was working together again. Just like when they'd battled poverty and obscurity and the Kentucky parole board. Jean-Luc gave a dark smile. ************************* That evening, everyone gathered around the pool, as always. Kirk and Spock were there when Jean-Luc joined them. Kirk was telling a story, a battle story. Upenda was correcting his memory of certain events. Christine was nodding along. Spock sat perfectly still. "The most important thing in a situation like that is knowing you can trust the people around you to do their jobs. But we had this guy..." "Chekov," Upenda murmured. She wore an expression of distaste. Will squinted at them. "That's the name of a writer, right?" "Yes, but it's also the name of a..." "Jim," Upenda admonished softly. "Be nice." "...of a person whose... enthusiasm did not always match his talent. But he was on loan. He was supposed to be the best, so we had to use him. But the guy couldn't aim for beans. We used to bribe Bones into detailing him into sickbay duty whenever we had a critical mission so Spock could substitute at his post. Pen would take Spock's post. Chris would take Pen's post, and then we could get the job done." Kirk shook his head and shrugged. "You did what you had to, to complete the mission, but sometimes I couldn't believe what I was stuck with." Jean-Luc found himself nodding along. He understood that. He wondered what kind of missions Kirk had been on. "You were in the Marines?" "We were detailed to the CIA at the time." Kirk launched into another story, engaging, fascinating. All the others were glued to his every word. Jean-Luc found Kirk and Spock an interesting pair. Kirk's emotions never seemed far from the surface; despite his obvious heroism, and his complete lack of fear, there still was a neediness about him -- most particularly when he looked at Spock -- that was absurdly sexy. Spock was the exact opposite; he was quiet and still, his emotions buried deep inside him. What would it take to make them flame up? Jean-Luc thought he knew. Spock's eyes rarely left Kirk, although one eyebrow occasionally shot up in punctuation of some of Kirk's more hair-raising tales. It was clear to Jean-Luc that Spock loved Kirk with a love that would never die. Jean-Luc gazed at Spock and inexplicably thought of Q. There were parallels that he wasn't entirely comfortable with. On one hand, Jean-Luc was glad to see that handsome lasted longer than pretty did. At one time, clearly, Kirk had been the beauty, with his slanted eyes and boy's nose and wide beautiful mouth. But now that Kirk was older and heavier, that beauty, while still visible (after all, Kirk was to Jean-Luc an extremely appealing piece of ass), had cracked and faded. Spock was harder-featured, all bones and nose and ears, but in the fullness of his maturity he was the one who pleased the eye. Perhaps the same would happen with himself and Q. Young beauty and old beauty were two completely different things. Q might stay pretty, but Jean-Luc was aware of how he himself was growing into his own features, and the effect was not displeasing. Perhaps, like Spock, he might one day get a chance to glow. On the other hand, it was unnerving to see where Kirk's strength and bravery and bravado came from. He was secure in the love of Spock; Spock sat there with his love unwavering for his captain. Was the same true of him? When that asshole Fajo had stolen Q, Jean-Luc felt himself lose strength. To this day he couldn't acknowledge how bereft he'd been without Q's presence. Of course Q had come back on his hands and knees. Jean-Luc smiled. Old Spock the rock. Wonder what Spock would look like on his hands and knees? Spock's eyebrow shot up. He glanced over at Jean-Luc and their eyes met. His smile was amused, knowing. What the . . .? The smile disappeared but not the amusement. Jean-Luc felt his face grow very warm. That hot-skinned bastard was sitting there reading his mind. Just like Q did. Jean-Luc scowled, and his dark brows came together. Okay, motherfucker, read this thought. Spock's brows lifted and his head moved back slightly. Spock was laughing at him. Jean-Luc was seething. "Spock, what are you doing?" Kirk's voice was pleasantly smooth. "Are you torturing our host?" "Merely re-acquainting myself with the foliage in this very fine gazebo." ************************* "The next time copies of the pictures go to all your little business partners. Would you like that?" Kirk's voice was as suave as ever. "Maybe the one of the little boy sucking your dick. Maybe the one of you riding that little boy like you were in a rodeo." "You like talking dirty, don't you? Anonymous little cocksucker. Just who the hell are you?" "Eddie, the only thing you need to know is that I can get to you any time I want and you can't even see me." "So what the fuck do you want?" "I think you know." There was a chuckle in Kirk's voice as he hung up the phone. "Why didn't you tell him?" Data demanded. "It appears you have him in an optimal position to force him to accede to our demands." Kirk smiled fondly at Data. "Right now he's only scared. I want him desperate." "A desperate man may be most unpredictable," Spock warned gently. "I think I've accounted for that." Kirk had a way of glancing at Spock out of the corner of his eye that made him look like a flirtatious young girl. Surprisingly, it wasn't even remotely at odds with his ability to strategize a campaign of terror. "We can see him. He can't see us. He has no resources we can't account for." His gaze swept the rest of the boys. "Can anyone think of anything I've missed?" "You've bugged his cars, his phones and all his usual places of business," Will pointed out. Kirk smiled and shook his head. "Just goes to show, you should never fall into predictable patterns. What else?" "You've got his businesses rigged with plastique. Upenda says it can be set off from anywhere within a twelve-mile radius." "All his customers are frightened," Worf said. "They've all taken their business elsewhere." Kirk nodded. "We'll let him stew for a week or two; then we'll call him back with our ultimatum. Agreed?" Heads around the table nodded. It sounded like a good plan. "Jean-Luc?" Jean-Luc sat up in his straight backed chair. He was extremely pleased that Kirk sought his final approval. It was the perfect touch to acknowledge his position in all their lives. He wondered if it was a calculated move on Kirk's part, but in that very same moment of wondering, decided that he didn't care. He frowned with his thumb across his lips. Thinking. Finally he nodded at Kirk. "This is good. Thank you for helping us." Kirk's smile was truly charming. "Thank *you*. Old retired guys like me jump at the chance to get back to work." Jean-Luc nodded and stood up. The meeting was over. Then, underneath the general sounds of people moving about, he heard Spock say: "You are not old." Kirk looked up into Spock's face and smiled, boyish, coquettish. 'Gotcha,' the smile said. Jean-Luc felt his head go light. He looked down at Kirk's ass. Wide, but still firm. He would fuck Kirk, absolutely, if not for the fact that it would complicate things more than they were already. Kirk suddenly turned around to face him. "Hey, Jean-Luc, an old acquaintance of yours has hired on to work for Ducatti. You know him from Kentucky." Jean-Luc lifted his eyebrows. "Miles O'Brien. We learned he told Ducatti that the penal system *no longer fulfilled his need to contribute to society in a wholesome, productive fashion.*" Despite a certain superciliousness of Kirk's, Jean-Luc was intrigued. "He got fired?" "Now he works for the other side. It happens." Kirk kept smiling. Jean-Luc found the smile half alluring, half irritating. It sure would be pleasant to fuck that smile right off Kirk's face. But he remembered Data and Geordi's fights in London and decided to take no chances. Besides, he had an inkling Spock was a good deal more possessive than he let on. ************************* Beverly's little cafe, 'Country Cooking Cafe,' took off. They take a picture of her and put it in the local paper. The boys sent a copy to their father. Q was so proud. Not that Beverly cared. She and De-Anne were busy looking for a sweet little house together. ************************* September slipped by. The cat-and-mouse game with Eddie started to become routine. Every time Kirk called Ducatti to taunt him, Ducatti sounded more and more crazed. Q observed that what Kirk was doing to Ducatti was the same as torture. Kirk shrugged. "When I broke into his house, I found pictures of him with other children. Recent pictures. Very recent." Around the table everyone was quiet. After that, no one raised another objection. ************************* Beverly called; she was nervous and that made Q nervous and he began to twist his hands together. She said, "I don't know how you're gonna take this." "What is it, Bev? Is the restaurant okay?" "Oh, yeah, it'd doing real good." "Did you buy that house?" "Yeah." "It's not the boys, is it? Bev, tell me what's happened!" She sighed. "I couldn't help it. I just wanted to take advantage of this situation." "What is it, Bev?" Q cried. "I put the boys in a Catholic school. They can walk to it from the house and it's near the restaurant. It's called Saint Ann's. Is that okay?" Q bit down a smile: that ancient hillbilly aversion to Catholics, those fearful people who worshiped a Pope. "Q, The boys wear the cutest little uniforms." Q melted. "Send me pictures of them in their uniforms. Do you all need money?" "No," she said proudly. ************************** Breakfast time: everyone was around the shiny dining table and Q and Will were bringing in hotcakes and muffins and kasha when Kirk walked in. "Ducatti's in the hospital. He's suffering from some sort of psychosomatic blindness. Very odd." "Ooooh," Data breathed out. "Heard it on my spy phone," Kirk purred. "How about that, Spock?" ************************** It was settled. Jean-Luc could go back to Tennessee; Melinda had a week off and he could meet her there. He only had one thing left to do. The night before he went to Tennessee, Jean-Luc went to Gowron's room in the carriage house. "How are you now, man?" Gowron was limping, but in great shape. He had gotten out of the hospital with new smart-looking dentures and many ruggedly attractive scars. And he was more loyal than ever; clearly, he was on a winning team. "You want some pain-killers?" Jean-Luc said. "Is it moonshine, boss?" That was the only pain-killer Gowron associated with Jean-Luc. "Nope, it's Q." Gowron liked fucking Q more than anything on earth. He liked a soft ass he could brutalize; at first he did it with Q lying on his stomach, soft as a pillow, and then he turned Q on his back so he could see Q's big dick jerking with his; then he put Q on his knees to suck him. That wide wet red mouth. The matted wet eyelashes. And when Gowron had to lie down (he was not fully recovered from the beating Ducatti's goons gave him), he made Q put on a stimulating little show with the super-willing Klag. And Jean-Luc came in and made Q sit on the reclining recuperating Gowron and jerked off while he watched them. And then he went back to Tennessee. ************************* "Let me see it, Sebastiana," Melinda said teasingly. "No, Miss Melinda," Sebastiana said softly, holding it behind her back. "But Joe said you made an A on it." "Yes, Miss Melinda," Sebastiana's eyes were soft and proud. "How about if I ask to see it?" Jean-Luc asked tenderly. They were very pleased with Sebastiana. Sebastiana wore white socks and tennis shoes with her little uniforms, but on her days off she went out and bought the latest American fashions. She was very clean and neat. She ironed all their blue jeans until Jean-Luc finally ordered her not to. Her main job was to keep the house clean. Still, Jean-Luc was extraordinarily uncomfortable telling her what to do. Before, Q was the one who talked to Mrs. Palomas about what needed to be done. Well, fortunately, Melinda was on good terms with her help and was casual about orders. "I assume you know what to do... dust, vacuum, bring the mail, wash the dishes. I do my own clothes or I send them out. You'll wash Johnny's things." Jean-Luc wanted to object. It had been Q's job before, and it never bothered him to have Q see his dirty drawers and smelly t-shirts. But this was like exposing himself to a stranger, and he felt unexpectedly awkward. He was glad Melinda was there, glad they could tease the flushed and blushing girl about her English paper. "No, Mister Johnny!" she whispered. "Just for a minute," he said. He held his big hand out to her. "It's too silly. My teacher was just bein' sweet." But she handed it to him. He smiled fondly as he took it from her. He won! "Let's see here," he said. "‘Symbolism in Nathaniel Hawthorne's *The Scarlet Letter.* That sounds very professional, Sebastiana. They'll probably ask you to teach the course next semester." "Oh, Mister Johnny!" Melinda kicked him under the table. "Johnny, you remember that big computer with the word processing unit we bought and were having delivered." He said nothing; Melinda was improvising something. This was the first he had heard about a computer. "Sebastiana can use it also when you aren't writing your songs on it." She gave him a steely look. He better play along with this. "Sure," he said agreeably. "Learning computer stuff will change that child's life. You deserve some sugar," Melinda said that night. "What haven't we done that you always wanted to do?" Jean-Luc tried to think, but, when he was that sexed up, it was hard to remember. And now Melinda was placing her wide beautiful mouth right above his dick and looking at him; he could feel her gentle breath on him and it made him hard, it made him leak. "Would you like to stick it in my ass while we stand out on the balcony?" Jean-Luc breathed out. "I really like to be buttfucked, Jean-Luc. An Anal Entanglement." "Let's do that," he said. "Get naked, motherfucker," she whispered. But first he watched her take off her clothes; she handled her own nipples, she touched herself gently between her legs. Then a little less gently. Out on the balcony, he had her lean over its wide stone balustrades, and then he entered her; oh, he saw stars when he fucked her that way. He did it slowly, enjoying the sight of his dark pink flesh against her, and she kept adjusting her position to get the most of him in her, using her hands, stretching her legs. "Oh, God," she said. "I wish I could pull myself open for you." "Let me come and I'll lick you til you come. Lick you out here on the balcony. You're my queen." "This is good," she kept insistently backing into him. "I wish I could keep you in my butthole all night long." And suddenly Jean-Luc thought of the fetching and caramel Oralee – how Q had kept that plastic dick inside her with his own massive number – and he began to pant and come and batter himself against her. Then, true to his word, he satisfied her under the stars. ************************* Spock had on a lightly padded kimono, so Data wore one too, and he bought one for Geordi, enlisting Q's help to find the perfect color for Geordi's skin. The silks whispered against their skin as Data parted Spock's robe and began, gently and slowly, to push his knees apart and caress his lean thighs. Spock sighed. Data's eager soft mouth reminded him of something. Once in Angola, Jim had done that. After the rickety plane was finally off the ground and off to a base in North Africa, and Uhura was getting some much-needed sleep, he and Jim had dived at each other in the plane's cargo hold. They'd been urgent, crazed, but when their clothes were finally off and Spock was ready to go out of his mind with need, Jim slowed down, evading Spock's frantic, clutching grasp. "Let me do this slowly, Spock. If we get shot down, I want them to find us with you in my mouth." Spock shuddered. "What are you thinking about?" Geordi's voice interrupted his reverie. ************************* October was beautiful that year. The bluest skies possible. Q had seen skies that blue only on Fajo's island. He was about to have a birthday. 42 in October. Well, that wasn't much of an age. Data said, "many sevens make up 42. I think it's a very nice number." Will said, "Elvis died when he was 42." Then he said, "Ooops." Very-Very said, "Let's party." Even Jean-Luc was coming back from Tennessee for this one. Very-Very designed the party; that was his gift to Q. The floral arrangements were amazing -- Very-Very was very fond of anthuriums (for obvious reasons) and they were everywhere in big beautiful pots around the pool (it was going to be a pool party). There were also twinkle lights in all the trees. "You know who gave me the dough for all these pretties, don't you, Q?" "Jean-Luc," Q smiled. Very-Very was taken aback. "Darling baby Q. Sweet pretty cutie Q." He smiled sadly. "No. It wasn't Jean-Luc. It was Casey. He couldn't be here, but he wanted you to know he was celebrating with you." Q looked down. "I'll write him a thank-you note." "He might want more than that." Q looked back at Very-Very. "I'd love to see him." "He wants to see you on his terms." But Q's cowed look made it clear this was not a happy topic for Q, and, more than anything, Very-Very wanted Q to be happy. "Just wait til you open the other presents, girlfriend," he whispered and then Q dimpled. Everyone was there wearing everything (after Patsy got put to bed many would switch to wearing nothing). There was even a live band playing fifties music – a salute to Q's decade. There was magnificent food and an open bar and goldfish bowls filled with condoms and lube all placed around the pool and the house. It was a great October party, very friendly, very naughty. All the Girls brought their husbands and boyfriends and somehow all sorts of random generic major booty turned up to stroll around all night. Chris and Penda were there for Patsy, but they managed to grab a few slow dances together. Chris was her usual rangy self, all Marlboros and capris, but Penda was an autumn beauty – even the queerest of the queer couldn't keep their eyes off her. And Data was very pleased – he had persuaded both Spock and Kirk to come!! (despite demurrals from each that they didn't go to parties and they wouldn't know anyone at all and anyway they were too old for this kind of thing.) And Jean-Luc gratified many by wearing a tiny black Speedo and nothing but a tiny black Speedo. The Girls lifted their collective eyebrows at this. (Perhaps Q wasn't totally crazy for loving that wicked Jean-Luc.) "The night was clear Jean-Luc smiled; he and Worf were talking to some of the more sedate husbands when the band started in with"Stagger-Lee". Jean-Luc loved "Stagger Lee." It was just . . . so . . . manly. Suddenly there was a warmth beside him. Kirk was saying, "Let's dance." Jean-Luc said, "I don't dance." Kirk said, "Sure you do," and he pulled Jean-Luc into his arms and they began to dance and Kirk's smile was knowing and amused, and he murmured, "See, I knew you were good at it." Jean-Luc tried to glare at him, but suddenly he began to blush. Q stared at them. They looked great, but he didn't want them together. They were like powerful magnets; if they got together, they might never be able to pull away. The Girls exchanged significant glances and one of them broke away from the group and came over and pulled Q into his arms. "You're dancing with me," she said. Q was a good dancer. By the time they got to the break, he was showing himself off quite naturally, charging the dance with his own sense of intimacy. Very-Very smiled. Everyone was starting to watch Q, especially Jean-Luc. Kirk still held Jean-Luc in his arms, watching his expression change, watching the lust move across his features. He liked looking at Jean-Luc and Jean-Luc seemed to like being looked at. Kirk licked his wide lips. Jean-Luc stared at Q and let his body move closer to Kirk's. He was pleased that Kirk was not leaving, standing with him in one spot, not even thinking about looking around to see if Spock was watching them, not even remotely interested in staring at Q. Many eyes moved back and forth between Q's smoothly gyrating body and Jean-Luc's powerful stillness. "Those Speedos are too much," Very-very said. "The man is perfect." The song ended and another started. "I'm going to get a drink," Kirk said. "Join me." Jean-Luc nodded. They walked together to the bar. "October's really kicking in, isn't it?" he remarked. For whatever reason, Jean-Luc wanted to keep Kirk at hand. Kirk stood still for a moment. He himself was wearing tight faded jeans and a yellow tee shirt with a nice big flowered Hawaiian shirt over it. The corners of his mouth went down in an ironic smile and he peeled off his Hawaiian shirt. Then, knowing Jean-Luc was transfixed, he pulled off his tee shirt. "Here." He tossed the undershirt at Jean-Luc who caught it easily. "I wouldn't want you to take a chill." The insinuation in his voice vibrated all the way down. Jean-Luc breathed lightly, staying in control, but it was a near thing. He didn't quite trust himself to speak. Covering, he breathed in the scent of Kirk's cologne and let himself take in the sight of Kirk's naked torso. Kirk was solidly built, like a Big-Ten Southern football coach or a Texan oil millionaire. Solid. Prosperous. His muscles had not run slack and they probably never would, but they were padded over just enough to take the angles off his once-sharp physique. He looked strong. Jean-Luc solemnly eyed Kirk's prominent nipples. He could never get enough of looking at tits. He looked down at the tee shirt in his hands. It had a little emblem on it that had gone over Kirk's left breast. J.C. Penney's or something. Suddenly he smelled something. "Do you like my scent?" There was a special tone was back in Kirk's voice. "Spock gave it to me, synthesized it for me actually," said the smiling Kirk -- and he put his outer shirt back on. Jean-Luc took a deep, deep breath. The band took a break and put some recorded music on. The first recorded song was the Platters' "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes," which began the way it always began, with Tony Williams sounding out the most beautiful syllable in American history, the extended "they" on "they asked me how I knew." And Jean-Luc looked to the dance floor and then back to Kirk, but Kirk was gone. However, Q was standing near him, near the pool, a soft Q smile on his face. "Come on, Q," he said and took Q in his arms. It was irritating how pleased Q was to be dancing with him. "Is this my present, Johnny?" "You could say that," Jean-Luc said and continued their slow dancing. Thank God. At last. Patsy was wearing out. It was great that she was there at Uncle Q's birthday party and eating cake and ice cream and hopping in and out of the pool, but it was late, and the adults wanted to party like adults. Will was holding her but she was very fussy, and he was about to hand her over to Penda when Kirk came up. "No, no, let me. That's right, Will, I have talents you don't know about – I can hold a child in my arms without killing her." Everyone looked surprised, even Patsy. "Let me take Miss Patsy down to the end of the pool – – I want to show her something." Will grinned; he actually couldn't wait til they got Patsy to sleep. He had some ideas for fun. And Jean-Luc and Q kept dancing together, their bodies closer than close, and the Platters kept singing, and Kirk carried Patsy down to the end of the pool where nobody else was and began pointing to the stars and she pointed too with her little round hands and he was clearly telling her about the vast other worlds out there and her head kept nodding and he kept gently rocking her and then her head fell on his shoulder and he walked back and handed the completely sleeping Patsy to Penda. "Thank you. I was afraid we were going to have give her a martini to get her to knock off." And Chris and Penda went to put Patsy in bed and stay with her, and the second part of the party began. When the band started again, everybody wanted to dance with Q and Jean-Luc watched, as usual getting off on the attention his honey always got. And men began to go off in twos and threes and come back flushed, satisfied, smiling in silly ways. Timmy got Q then and they danced really beautifully. By now, everyone was watching them. Spock idly walked over to Jean-Luc. "They have a great deal of expertise at this, do they not?" Jean-Luc gave a small smile and nodded. Suddenly Spock sniffed. He looked more closely at Jean-Luc and lifted an eyebrow. The tee shirt. Will came out of the bushes shirtless; he was with Worf and a small blond man. "This is the best party ever," he breathed. "It is so hot." Jean-Luc wasn't about to argue with that. He was just tired of waiting. When the music ended, he went to the dance floor and grabbed Q's hand. "Don't we have a date?" he murmured. Q beamed. (He was walking off the dance floor with Jean-Luc, and Jean-Luc was holding hands with him! In public! Everyone was watching! And Jean-Luc showed no sign of wanting to move his hand away! Q tried to put all his love into the hand Jean-Luc was holding. He took his thumb and stroked the sensitive palm and then he squeezed it gently. Jean-Luc squeezed back! Q then gently rubbed his palm against Jean-Luc's. Jean-Luc breathed out audibly!) "In the bushes now, Q. I want something quick. You can just suck my cock." "My pleasure," Q breathed. But the first nook they went to was already occupied by two of Very-Very's invited guests. Jean-Luc put his finger to his lips. It was a white guy and a black guy and the black guy was in the white guy who was underneath, writhing, "Simon, oo-ee, Simon!" and Jean-Luc silently hugged Q and they quietly went to another secluded place and Jean-Luc pulled his Speedo to the top of his thighs and Q sucked him gently and so thoroughly that they were hardly missed anything of the party. "I love you, Johnny," Q said deliriously as they walked back. Jean-Luc wasn't holding his hand now, but, when Q said that, he put his hand around Q's waist and gave him a quick hug. It was a wonderful birthday. It was a wonderful party. And everybody, not just the birthday boy, got a lot of what they wanted. And it went on til six in the morning. ************************* It took forty-eight hour for everyone to calm down. Jean-Luc restored his equilibrium by swimming laps. Once when he looked up, Kirk was standing by the french doors watching him. Jean-Luc smiled. At Monday's breakfast, Q came out of the kitchen from helping Senora Palomas prepare the food and sat down. He had a large white envelope with him; Jean-Luc and Worf were the only ones there. They watched him open it. It was a birthday card from his sons: there was a brightly colored kangaroo on the cover saying "Hoppy Birthday." Some photographs were enclosed. Q gave a tender smile, and his eyes softened. "Look, here's my boys in their school uniforms." Jean-Luc and Worf looked the pictures over. "They certainly have red hair," Worf said. Then one of those emotional looks crossed Q's eyes; he leaned his head down. "I'm so scared. Now that Beverly's left Kentucky, her brothers . . . I bet they think they've lost their meal ticket. Which they have kind of. It wouldn't surprise me a bit if they didn't have something planned. Someway to get at us." "We can handle those assholes." Jean-Luc said; Q could tell he was looking forward to it. Then Jean-Luc turned to Worf. "Where's your woman?" Worf breathed in. "Late last night, Kirk came to me. He wanted my permission to fuck Will. Of course, I granted it. That is the proper thing to do." He shrugged. "Kirk is a great leader. One always shares one's women with the leader." He nodded to Jean-Luc, who nodded back. And then he said: "Worf, are you lonesome tonight?" They all smiled. "Q, when do we go back to work on the new album?" "The producers are flying in from Muscle Shoals at the end of the week." "Then, let's have fun til then. If you're not doing anything tonight, Worf . . .?" "My pleasure, Jean-Luc." Worf was lying on his back with his beautiful hard dick in the breeze. Q climbed on top of him, facing him. He guided Worf's dick into his ass and rocked himself slowly. Jean-Luc watched Q work himself up and down on the big cock and he was suddenly struck with a brilliant idea. "Sit still," he ordered. "Now lean forward." Q did as he was told, and Jean-Luc climbed on too, squatting over Worf's thighs. Jean-Luc pushed Q forward a bit more and then started to force his dick into Q's hot asshole, right up there next to Worf's. Q moaned, which made Jean-Luc push in even harder. When Q finally caught his breath, he could feel all of Jean-Luc and Worf, fighting for room up inside him. He could feel their dicks rubbing against each other. It was as if they were fucking each other inside his ass, and they were going crazy. He felt like the great whore of the galaxy. Worf was roaring and clutching at him; Jean-Luc was grunting and heaving like a boxer in a prize fight. Worf thrust into him hard and Jean-Luc cried out, "Not too soon, Worf, make it last." "I... can't," Worf gasped. He pushed Q down against his dick and Jean-Luc was draped over Q's back, riding Q's ass, and Q took it all, calling out to them to fuck him so hard Daddy please fuck him in his asshole please, him and Worf fuck him so good please, and Worf and Jean-Luc bellowed and came at the same time, and he felt them shoot, both inside him, coming, filling him up with all of them, and he was so proud of himself he could barely see straight. Jean-Luc pulled Q off of Worf and pressed his wet dick against Q's thigh, the better to stain him all over with come. He felt stunned. He could barely think straight. "Buy a video camera," he finally said. He couldn't force his voice above a murmur as he burrowed himself next to the damp and satisfied Q. "We're doing that again and recording it." On Q's other side Worf growled, "We already have one. Will bought it for just such occasions. Well, for Patsy's ballet recitals too." Kirk claimed Will the next night as well. "Can you imagine that flesh next to that flesh?" Jean-Luc shook his head. Worf got out the videocam and some accessories. "Stick something in him, Jean-Luc." There was a ten-inch bright pink dildo handy so Worf got to film that. When they played it back, it was mostly just Q's ass with the dildo going in and out of it, and the sound of Q moaning and Jean-Luc adding more lube and occasionally whispering "Motherfucker!" "Turn that thing off." Q was suddenly embarrassed. "I don't think so," said Jean-Luc. "Q's being very disobedient. Q might have to be restrained," Worf said smiling. They ended up handcuffing Q on his stomach at the foot of the bed so he had to watch the video over and over again. In the video, Q made soft squealing noises, and they had a great view of Q's balls and his long hard dick hanging down. It made Worf and Jean-Luc very hot, so they went crazy on Q, climbing all over him and fucking, fucking, fucking him anywhere they could reach. Then they uncuffed him and made a Q sandwich; Worf on Q's back, biting and chewing on any part of Q's body he could reach -- his shoulders, his neck, his arms -- Jean-Luc in front, doing the same thing to Q's titties, chewing on them, licking them, sucking them. Q was covered all over with hickeys and bite marks. He was cooing and sighing, his eyes glazed, his breath now shallow, now deep and gasping, and he was writhing, trying to feel everything, trying to give every bit of himself to these two men he loved so much. After all, a submissive piece of pussy like himself couldn't really do otherwise. Jean-Luc lifted his head. "You're the best whore there ever was," he declared. Q smiled beatifically, his response completely heartfelt and tender. "Oh, thank you, Johnny!" Worf propped pillows against the headboard and leaned back against them. He pulled Q so that he lay with his back against Worf's chest; then Worf stuffed his dick up Q's ass again. Jean-Luc crawled up between their open legs. He took Q's thighs over his arms, leaned forward and ordered Q to guide his dick home. Q whimpered a bit because the angle was a little different this time and it hurt, but Jean-Luc was merciless, forcing himself in regardless of Q's cries of pain. Worf came to their rescue, reaching around to pinch Q's titties and so take his mind off the battering ram moving up inside him. It worked. Q started moaning in pleasure as Worf worked his tits, and all the pain must have started to feel good because now Q was gasping and shuddering again, working it instead of fighting it. "That's my baby!" Jean-Luc hissed. Now they could get to work. Worf, propped against the pillows, had to take a lot of weight, but in exchange he had to make almost no effort. Q, with his back against Worf's chest and with Worf's big beautiful black dick up his ass, was bunched up between his two men, helpless, while Jean-Luc held his legs in the air and drove between them. Worf kept his hold on Q's tits, and he and Jean-Luc proceeded to fold, spindle and mutilate Q until there was nothing left of him. Even so, their fever remained unabated. Even after they'd both come, they didn't let Q off the hook because it was a universal constant, like gravity, that something had to always be inside Q's ass fucking him. Jean-Luc got the big dildo back out and stuck it up Q's ass and then lay with his pelvis pressed up against Q's ass, just as Q had done with Oralee all those years ago. Jean-Luc ground against him so the dildo moved in and out and Q felt very comfortable and sleepy and he thought he'd like to come but there was no hurry and Jean-Luc began to doze a little, but he didn't want to let the dildo fall out. "You keep that in you, motherfucker. I'm serious." "Make me come, Daddy, make me come." "You keep fucking him that way, Jean-Luc, and I'll suck him off." "Oh, yes." Q just lay there and let it happen and then he came. Even then Jean-Luc didn't want to pull to the dildo out, but Q said sleepily, "Let me sleep now and I'll wear a buttplug for you all tomorrow," so Jean-Luc let Q push it out, and they all fell sound asleep. Jean-Luc dreamed that he was fucking Q and Q was screaming with pleasure. The next day Worf pulled Jean-Luc aside. "Captain Kirk has asked for my woman again tonight. I told him yes." He sounded as he were enormously pleased by the whole thing. Jean-Luc smiled at him, pleased for him. "She was a good call, Worf." "Of course, it also means I am free again tonight." The video they made that night was the hottest one yet. Worf was used to being taped, so he was very comfortable as he placed himself in the big easy chair completely aroused and naked. "Sit on it, Q," and on the tape Q's face was beautiful, big bruised lips always swallowing, his jet black eyes large and wondering, his flesh pink and smooth, and he faced Worf and positioned himself on Worf's cock. Worf grunted with pleasure. Q lay like a baby with his beautiful head against Worf's shoulder, his hands against Worf's tits. "Stay there," Jean-Luc's voice said. "Let me fix the tripod so I get it all." On the tape, Worf was pulsing his body against the sighing Q. Then Jean-Luc could be seen pulling a hassock up to the easy chair and getting on his knees and contemplating Q's stuffed and extended asshole and suddenly moving himself and his big dick up against Q's ass and, then as Q moaned, and his dark eyes bulged and his dark, dark lips moved as if praying, Jean-Luc moved into Q too. The camera was fixed on Q's ass and everything in it. It picked up sighs, moans, groans, and the mysterious creak of flesh against flesh. And, when Q would occasionally lift away from Worf, the camera caught his big stiff cock pressed against Worf's stomach. Jean-Luc tightened his hands on Q's shoulders and forced himself again and again into Q. Q let his head fall back and the camera caught the angelic look on the pinioned Q's pretty face and the pink satin of his thighs against Worf's darkness and the white easy chair. And Jean-Luc's pulsating ass looked great too, drumming again and again into Q. "What's it feel like, girl?" Jean-Luc suddenly demanded. "Tell Daddy. Tell him how good it is." "Oh, it's so good. Getting fucked like this is so nice, Daddy. My ass was made for this, my asshole can't get enough," and Q pressed against Jean-Luc and Worf and his big dick was visible again as he moved back. "Come on, motherfucker," Worf whispered and he grabbed Q's dick and Q reared back against Jean-Luc who managed to stay fully inside Q and Q took over, beating his ass against both of them as Worf jerked him off. Then Jean-Luc grabbed Q's tits. "Daddy's pussy," he hissed. And Q started coming; the tape clearly showed Q's rolling eyes, his gasping mouth, the white clots coming from his jerking cock. Worf looked down at his stomach and rubbed Q's come with his hand. Jean-Luc disengaged himself from Q with a groan. "On your knees, cunt," he said. Q, his face pink as a rose, pulled himself off Worf and knelt on the floor, and the tape showed Jean-Luc and Worf jerking off in a practiced way on Q as he caressed their balls and rubbed his face against their thighs, and then they were coming on his face and shoulders and in his hair, and the tape caught every bit of it. ************************* Spock's face had not changed when Kirk wandered off again arm-in-arm with Will, but Data had seen his chin lift in a way that spoke volumes. "We would welcome your company tonight, Rhemuel," he had said and Geordi passionately agreed. Like the noble ladies of ancient Rome, Spock always kept at least one garment on, even in the most intimate of moments; tonight he was wearing that kimono-like robe which draped very enticingly about him as he lay in the big bed of Data and Geordi. "Is it troublesome to you that Kirk is sleeping with Will Riker?" Data did not quite know now to approach Rhemuel on this particular topic, but he was curious. "They have much in common," Spock said distantly. "They are perpetual . . . boys in a way. When Jim is seventy, I expect him to still retain a child's enthusiasm at life." "Yeah, that's right about Will," Geordi nodded. "He sure likes playing around." "Rhemuel, can I ask you how long your relationship has been maintained? Or is that rather rude?" "Although our relationship is not well served by trying to fit it into the parameters of mere words, I do not find you in the least bit rude, and it still pleasures me to contemplate it." He gave a small nod when Geordi and Data, both naked, curled up by him. Data loved to learn and Geordi loved to listen, so the three of them had a nice synergy. "As you know, we were in black ops together, along with a number of others. At our first briefing, Jim immediately caught my eye. He was so young, so vibrant, so handsome. His face was quite as lovely as a girl's. And he was always teasing the rest of us. ‘C'mon, Spock, let's go mind the store!' he would say when we were issued orders. ‘You better watch out, Spock! McCoy's gaining on you in the doctoring department.'" Spock shook his head. "And he loved women. Every night he left the officer's quarters headed for some new assignation. And, after a while, it wasn't just women. You recall Hiroko Sulu of whom Jim has spoken so highly." Data and Geordi nodded. "On the other hand, I always returned to my quarters every night and studied. The scholarly world had -- and has -- much of interest for me. I had never felt the need for that sort of relationship with another person. But I cannot tell you that Jim did not . . . catch my eye." After their training, Kirk and Spock had been assigned to an operation in the woods of Washington State, living in a rustic cabin right below the timberline for eight weeks while they tested some radically non-traditional survival techniques. No one else was around for a hundred miles. "The first couple of weeks were spent fixing up the cabin, building water reservoirs and firebreaks, and all the other survival things one generally does. Jim was a hard worker, and I admired him for that. It was also quite obvious that he loved adventure, which I found equally admirable. I was less sure about other things, our compatibility factor for one. Jim was – and is – a very emotionally . . . noisy man. I am not." Geordi and Data's eyes were shining. "He had no sense of traditional modesty." They had rigged up a primitive outdoor shower out of a large metal canister. The canister was filled with water in the morning and permitted to warm; then one stood beneath it and pulled a rope and that was his shower. "Because Jim has such a strong sense of cleanliness, he showered several times a day." And Spock could not help observing Kirk on these occasions. As Kirk put his hands to his face and scoured it, Spock could see his flat stomach, his small nipples, his plump buttocks. His manhood. "It became an addiction with me to see Jim in all his wet beauty in the shower. After three weeks, I felt as if I were suffering from some sort of fever. At night, in my sleeping bag, I would retire with a book by lantern light, fully intending to read it as he slept. But I found that all I could do was watch his sleep-calmed features. He always slept naked and I drove myself mad imagining what it would be like to slip into his sleeping bad and just hold his warmth against me." As Spock spoke, Geordi was lying in back of Data and now he put his arm around Data's neck. "I wanted to touch Jim. I wanted him to touch me." But most of all, Spock had wanted inside Kirk. He could imagine Kirk bent over holding himself open. Or Spock lying down and Kirk placing himself in all his roseate beauty on Spock's erection and then moving together until they both were satiated. "I was so distracted by these visions my work began to suffer. I could get nothing done. One night there was a serious thunder storm, and we heard an unusual noise. We both leapt out of our sleeping bags, but, because it was so dark, we couldn't see one another. Then Kirk brushed up against me. He was so warm – and I could feel his strength, I could smell him, he smelled warm and aroused. Then he laughed a little and we moved on. But I remembered it, how he felt and how he smelled. What had been an obsession now became a kind of madness. "I would shower after dark so I could . . . satisfy myself without Jim knowing. But those satisfactions, while the most profound ones I had ever had, only fed my madness. "A few nights later, Kirk did not drop off to sleep as usual. Instead, he sat up and with the lantern on. He said he wished to speak to me. I said, perhaps we should light a hearth fire. I was looking for a way to hide my feelings through work. After we built our fire, Kirk sat there looking at me. He was wearing only his white underpants and a plaid shirt open all the way. Watching him, I got a – to me absurd – vision of my bending between those powerful thighs and rolling his underwear down to the top of his highs and taking him in my mouth. Then letting him come inside me. I was so consumed by this vision that I could barely speak. "‘Spock, you're not yourself,' he said to me. ‘I am entertaining situations' I told him. It was a nonsense statement, and Jim seemed taken aback. Oh, what I wouldn't have given to slip my arms under his plaid shirt and around his chest. ‘Can I do anything to help?' he said. ‘Just be my friend, I suppose,' I said, cursing myself for the timorousness of my response. "He yawned and stretched. I saw his legs part. He was always slightly aroused. ‘Hearth fires make me . . . sleepy,' he said. And he lay down on his side in front of the fire, facing it. And I could take it no longer and lay down right behind him, my body straining against my robe, almost touching the white cotton of his backside. ‘Welcome, Spock,' he said. ‘I'm glad you like a fire like this too.' I touched my lips to the short hair at the nape of his neck, hoping he wouldn't pull away. But he backed against me. Quite emphatically. I let my hand go around to the front of his underwear. I caressed him there. ‘Let me facilitate things, Spock,' he whispered and began to undress. I could not believe it – all of his body was now available to me. I was frantic – the madness was fully upon me. ‘On your stomach,' I whispered roughly, and he complied. Then I took off my undergarments. ‘I'll need something to ease the way,' I said. And without a word, Kirk rolled over and, holding my hips in his hands, and – I could scarcely believe it - he took me into his mouth." And then it had happened; Spock was lying on his back and extended fully into the air and Kirk pulled back and he straddled him and, because he had made Spock so wet with his soft girl's mouth, he was able to take Spock with ease. "In Kirk, I found a kind of paradise I had never thought possible. Soon I came and he came, but the madness hardly let up. Over the next few weeks we found every way possible to entertain each other's bodies. But nothing alleviated my madness. I wanted to be inside him forever. He would stand in our primitive shower and I entered him there. We would be out working on our special assignment and there would be a convenient tree stump or big boulder and soon he would be lying across it as I pinioned him again and again. We would sit down at our primitive picnic table to eat and the next thing I knew I was standing beside him and he was kneeling in front of me." Data was gently stroking the sighing Geordi. "But quite clearly a separation had to come. You were apart when we met you." "Time and life both bring numerous separations," Spock said. His eyes did not leave Geordi and Data's exertions. "When we were called back to the CID camp in Virginia, we knew we might have to part, but he told me he would always find me again. And on and off for the last twenty five years, we have always found each other. I admit that I have spent many nights watching Jim wander off to another's arms. In a way, that part of our relationship has provided an intriguing friction. Perhaps I would prefer it to be otherwise, but Jim Kirk is Jim Kirk. We have bonded." Data pushed Geordi on his back. "Watch us, Spock," he said and he took the willing Geordi into his mouth. And Spock, an intent look playing on his face, readjusted his robe and watched. ************************* Will's ass was positioned at the very edge of the bed, and Kirk was holding his big legs up and moving back and forth. "Who's your daddy? Who's your daddy?" he kept saying; it was almost a scream. "You are, captain, you are." Kirk had one of the nicest dicks Will had ever seen and he had seen a lot of dick. ************************* But when Kirk was through with him, Will was happy to be reunited with Worf. (The nights with Q and Jean-Luc were hot and stark, but for everyday Worf liked the soft glow and warmth of Will much better.) Will and Worf and Patsy watched the new release "Floyd Goes to Peking" on the VCR and then she was bathed and put to bed and, when Will came back in the room and said "she's sound asleep," Worf slipped his newest video in the machine. He ended up with his fist up Will's butt because they both were that hot. And Will loved it. ************************* Jean-Luc relaxed by the pool as Q put on his headphones and conferred with Data and Geordi on arranging some of the songs he had written. He liked the fact that they were using his songs. About time, fuckers. Kirk came out on the patio. "Beautiful evening," he said in his warm voice. (What did that constant little smile mean?) Jean-Luc said nothing in return, but he knew Kirk could see the returned smile in his eyes. Kirk sat down in the chair beside him. His eyes never left Jean-Luc's face. They could both feel it coming, this thing between them. There was no need to rush it. "Data, Q and Geordi are working on the arrangements for your next album," Kirk said. He stared at the sky as he spoke, and it would have taken a fool to miss the yearning on his features. Then he turned back to Jean-Luc. His eyes were gold-brown in the soft afternoon light. "Ducatti's been pretty well neutralized. Every one of his traditional business associates has seen compromising photographs of him with underage boys." He did not say how the copies had gotten sent around. That Kirk must have more connections than a spider. But there was a finality to Kirk's tone, as if he were summing things up, getting ready to say goodbye. Sure enough. "I'm beginning to think vacation's over." Kirk's eyes ranged skyward again. "Spock and I have things to do." Jean-Luc stared at him, waiting. "We'll be shoving off tomorrow." So he was taking Spock with him. Jean-Luc said nothing, opting to simply watch Kirk's face. The thing between them was stronger now, oscillating, building. Jean-Luc could hear it buried in Kirk's smooth voice, and feel it in the air around them. "I'm sorry you're leaving," he said finally, and he truly meant it. For a moment Kirk's eyes were sad, but then he smiled. "Me too. But you know," he purred, "I don't have to go anywhere right this minute." Their gazes locked. The thing was in Jean-Luc's throat, in his abdomen, everywhere. "Are you sure?" Kirk's voice was low and smooth. "Uh-uh." The thing, whatever it was, pushed them closer. "Come on then." He stood up, reached for Kirk's hand and pulled him out of his chair. "I want you to see the piano room." "I've already seen it," Kirk teased. "But not with me." He led the way into the piano room and shut the door. Kirk moved so that their bodies were very close, as when they'd been dancing. Then his hand moved down to Jean-Luc's trunks, rubbing his penis through the fabric. "Nice," Kirk murmured. His eyes were starting to look a little glazed. "Yours is clearly the dick to reckon with around here." An arousing remark. "Indeed? What makes you say that?" "Baby, even Jose Feliciano could see that." Jean-Luc reared back, teased by a memory he couldn't place. Then he let go of it instantly. The thing was pulling at him, making him forget everything else but the allure of the man in front of him. "We've had this date from the beginning, Picard," Kirk said and set his mouth against Jean-Luc's and drew him in for a deep long wet hot kiss. Oh his breath was sweet, oh his mouth was like sugar. And he was folding Jean-Luc's trunks off him and Jean-Luc was suddenly naked. "Take off that shirt," Jean-Luc told him, "and get those pants off." Kirk smiled the smile of a man who is supremely confident of his own attractiveness, and he did as he was told. In no time at all, he was naked, stiff and solid, with beautiful muscular legs, and Jean-Luc had all he could do to get enough oxygen in his lungs. Then, when Kirk draped himself over the piano, Jean-Luc felt the tiniest bit of tension relax. He would have bent over for Kirk, no question, but he wanted to be top dog here. It was who he was. Kirk turned around to challenge his hesitation. "Well, come on," he mocked gently. "Nobody's going to die from this." He stuck his lovely pink ass out enticingly. "Lord," Jean-Luc murmured. The thing was surging now; building and twisting and buckling around them, and Kirk's flirting was goading him into madness, but still he controlled. He wanted Kirk satisfied. He wanted Kirk screaming and shaking and trembling through the ride of a lifetime. He wanted his mouth in Kirk, so he bent over and took what he wanted while Kirk's breathing came in tight little knots. Then Jean-Luc leaned back and sucked on his fingers and stuck them up Kirk's sweet little bowl of jelly ass and asked if he could and Kirk said, "God yes," and Jean-Luc said, "Get me wet," and Kirk was on his knees instantly, but only for the five seconds it took for his tongue to lube up Jean-Luc's leaking dick and then he was spread out over the piano like Christmas dinner and Jean-Luc was in him, fucking him and grimacing against the surge of power that opened up a vortex beneath them. It was the thing. He didn't know what to call it, but he could feel it strong like mountains, hard as granite, and good, so fucking good, and he was making it good for Kirk, and he drew his cock in and out against the perfect pink circles of Kirk's meaty ass, and then he slowed down to make it last, but Kirk was having none of it because this was Kirk's ride and he was going to drag it out of Jean-Luc as hard and fast and rough as Jean-Luc could take it, and so Kirk went faster and faster, fucking Jean-Luc's big dick with his hot, sweet ass and letting Jean-Luc fuck him back with that strong iron dick, and they made the most of it, giving themselves up to the thing that was happening and to each other. Jean-Luc felt like John Henry with his hammer, killing himself but by God making sure no one would forget this for a long time to come. He saw little lights behind his eyes. His breath rippled out of his lungs and steamed up the room as he gave Kirk a long, spectacular, time-consuming fuck that was going to have sparks flying off Kirk's body and catching the house on fire any second now. And the captain was shaking and trembling just as Jean-Luc wanted him to; he grabbed the edge of the piano and wailed his pleasure into the soundproofed, acoustically perfect room, and Jean-Luc was inspired, fucking maniacally, and the thing, whatever it called itself, claimed both of them and they entered a zone where there was nothing but fucking and power and fucking for all eternity. A place where Jean-Luc was always pounding into Kirk's ass and Kirk was always sucking air into his lungs in mighty, heaving wails, and even the piano itself seemed to be shaking, and then a lamp fell off a little end table and, with this proof that their fucking was truly unearthly, Jean-Luc finally began to come and come and come. When the beating in his ears died down a little, he lifted himself up to find he had fallen over Kirk's body. Kirk was still moaning, still fully erect, and Jean-Luc fell to his knees and took the lovely dick into his mouth. Right then there was a knock at the door. Jean-Luc couldn't believe it. He glanced up at Kirk who was still looking dazed from the fucking he'd just received, but Kirk shook his head. The door opened the merest crack, and they heard Data's voice. "Is everyone all right in there?" Jean-Luc just growled. "Oh," said Data, and they could hear him patter down the hall. Jean-Luc went back to what he was doing, taking one of Kirk's balls in his mouth and caressing it, and then doing the same for the other. Kirk's dick was not gigantic, but it was ideally shaped, ideally proportioned. A genuine pleasure for the eyes. Kirk reached down and put his strong hands around Jean-Luc's head and pumped into Jean-Luc and Jean-Luc took it all in even though he wasn't even aware he had that skill, and then Kirk was finally coming. Jean-Luc savored the bitter taste on his tongue because he wanted as much of this strange charismatic man as he could get. And then Kirk pulled him up and did a strange thing, holding their sweaty bodies together tightly and laying his cheek against Jean-Luc's face -- his jaw, his cheekbone, his eyebrow. He wondered what man in what strange culture had taught Kirk to do this, and he leaned against him in return for a moment, willing to lower his guard that much because there was something about Kirk he had learned to trust very deeply. Finally Kirk pulled away and smiled at him. "Let's get dressed," Jean-Luc whispered. Even though very little time had passed, he felt as if he had lived an entire lifetime since shutting the piano room door. They stepped into the hallway and met flutter and panic. Q was coming down the hall with Spock and Data following him. "Oh, thank Christ, you're okay, Jean-Luc." "Give it up, Q," Jean-Luc was quite surly. He had done what he had done, okay? "It was a big one!" said the wide-eyed Data. What the... Spock stepped up to Kirk, frowning. "I will grant that random factors perpetually favor you, but that is no excuse to tempt the odds." A guilty expression crossed Kirk's face. "It happened again," Spock continued. "4.5 on the Richter scale." Kirk opened his mouth and then thought better of what he was going to say. He glanced over at Jean-Luc and his gaze became wicked for a tiny second; then he wiped the smirk off his face and meekly faced his scolding. "I take it," Spock murmured, "that your attention was. . . otherwise engaged when the quake occurred. Did you even notice?" Kirk could look amazingly boyish at times, all the more when he was being bad. "Spock ... I ... don't know what to say." "I wonder when you will stop doing that," Spock said and lifted an eyebrow. Q caught on. "Oh, Jean-Luc," he said reproachfully. |
