The Promised LandPart TwelvePart III. Money Changes Everything. Jean-Luc pressed on Q's shoulders, pushing him down to the floor. His expression didn't change. "You haven't forgotten, have you?" Q stared up at him. That face. It was like staring at the sun. But everything was starting again. He hadn't been in the house one minute and already he was letting Jean-Luc teach him his place again. So be it. He knew it would be like this. He bent to the task of pleasing his lover. Memorizing the inches of him. Jean-Luc pulled away. "You've gotten better at this." It was an accusation. Q couldn't deny it. He was better because he'd been pleasuring the fussy Kivas for six months. Jean-Luc didn't say anything more. He thrust to the back of Q's throat, forcing his lover to keep sucking around his gags, holding his shoulders and head in a punishing grip. And, when he was finished, Jean-Luc buttoned himself up and walked away without another word. Q stayed where he was on the floor. He wouldn't start crying. He wouldn't. He wouldn't. The others were clustered around the front door, nervous and horny. They knew what Jean-Luc was doing. They waited in limbo until Q opened the door, his eyes downcast, and let them in again. Q's first night back made everyone nervous. Worf silently went back to Will's room, and, out of pure nerves, began fucking Will as if by rote. There was a knock at the door. "Let me in," Jean-Luc said. Worf got out of bed, naked, and opened the door. Jean-Luc walked in followed by a pale Q. "I've decided the auditions aren't over yet." He lowered his head. "Will, you get to be Jean-Luc tonight. Worf, you're with me." They left. "What's this?" said a frightened Will. "It's what Jean-Luc wants." Q answered. He looked around Will's room. His shoulders slumped. They were silent for a bit. Finally Will said, "Isn't this a great room! Do you like all my centerfolds?" "My goodness. And you have so many of them." "This is nothing! I get more all the time." What was there to say or do? Suddenly Will threw his arms around Q. Q embraced him back and they held each other silently, loving brothers back together after being sold into slavery. Q finally stepped back. "So, what's been happening all this time?" Will misunderstood. "I've got a lot of pictures since you left." Will answered. He went to a huge drawer in his wall-sized bureau and drew out a green folder. These were not casual snaps of the Boys on picnics and riding bicycles and posing in front of Christmas trees. Will's photos were like the centerfolds, only more so. Will getting a blowjob from a fresh-faced blond boy. Will fucking a young Asian. Will fucking a red-headed college boy. Will and a young black man naked and aroused in front of the Polaroid camera. Sometimes one could see Worf or Geordi or Data in the background, naked or partially clothed. Will always smiling, proud of what he had. Numberless ones of Will smiling at the photographer as he masturbated. Numberless more of anonymous young men doing the same. A few women blowing Will, their arms or breasts tattooed with other men's names, their pubic hair cut in ornate patterns. Will's enthusiasm was getting the most of him. "I love this life!" Q was gentle, "Do you always use a rubber?" Will nodded. "Always. Jean-Luc said he would get hold of me if I didn't. I'm scared not to. And Worf makes me too." He scooted closer to Q. "You know what was going on when you came in?" Q gave a small smile. "Worf was fucking you in the ass." "I think Jean-Luc wants us to get busy." Q sighed. "I'd like to suck your sweet dick, Will. Can I?" "Oh," Will breathed. "The rubbers are over there." And Q was back on his knees disinterestedly yet devotedly sucking Will's cock. "I love you," he said before he took Will in his mouth. Will moved more closely against him: "You are so good. I wish had a photo of this." Q ran his teeth gently over the head of Will's cock. And Will began to squirm and spread his legs further and murmur things. "Cocksucker I always think about you sucking Jean-Luc's dick and stripping for him and I get... he likes to look at your dick and maybe you don't even know he's looking at you and then he surprises you and sucks your big dick and you're all stripped and waiting and he fucks you and fucks you," and Will was becoming quite undone by his own erotic vision and then he was very still and Q felt the moment of crisis and Will came. Then he lay his head back. "God!" But in a moment he was sitting back up: "What can I do for you?" "Nothing." Will's face went still. And Q saw he had hurt him. Whores. "I don't want you to do nothing but suck me with that big old mouth of yours." And Will bent and sucked him off. Q had to concentrate against getting soft. Perhaps, indeed he might be back with Jean-Luc tomorrow and they would sleep together and Jean-Luc would take him and that warmth would be there that he had missed for so long and that thought made him go into his final spasm. "Wow, that's what Jean-Luc was missing, huh." "I doubt he missed it much." Will shook his head. "He missed you. He never slept a night in his own room. He would come get Worf, or go get Data and sleep in their beds." Then he leaned closer, telling a secret on the boss. "Sometimes we had to be quiet at breakfast because he had slept on the couch all night. And sometimes," Will's eyebrows lifted up, "he would bring these boys in. Cute boys," Will smiled at the memories, "with pretty mouths. I think he was searching for someone who looked like you." The next morning, there was kiwi fruit and granola and fresh milk. Jean-Luc sat at the head of the table. When he saw Will and Q come in, he said in a terrible still voice, "What did you two do last night?" Q could tell Jean-Luc hadn't slept well; there was a certain softness under his eyes. He looked at Will and then he said. "We looked at dirty pictures and sucked each other off." Will nodded. Jean-Luc looked away. "I made Worf fuck a groupie named Christian. Tonight, Q, you go with Data. More auditioning. I get Geordi." He looked at Q daring him to say something. The night hung over their heads. The Boys showed Q their new house. They showed him their rooms, the way they'd decorated. Each room looked like the Boy who occupied it. Jean-Luc's room was the subject of intense study. It was sparely, almost severely decorated. Not one picture on the wall, not even a pillow on the bed. Jean-Luc lived like a pauper, and Q knew why. His lover would give nothing of himself away, not even in private. Q made a mental note to put pictures in this room, something bland and misleading that Jean-Luc would be indifferent to. Boats, maybe. Q's room was bare and echoed when he walked around. He pretended to be impressed by the picture window that overlooked their pool. He pretended to think about how he wanted to decorate it, but mostly he wondered how long Jean-Luc would be angry enough to hand him from man to man. The door to Data's room closed. Data said, "What do you want to do?" Q felt small, overwhelmed. They talked long into the night before they got around to having sex. Data also wanted to fill Q in on the events of the entire six months he'd been gone. Like Will, he tattled on Jean-Luc. "We finally got Worf to buy a bed for him and put it in his room. He still doesn't sleep in it much." Then he tattled on Will, telling Q the story of the Christmas cookies that were hard as rocks. "Jean-Luc was very angry that you weren't there at Christmas," Data said. "I believe he missed you very much. I observed several drastic modifications in his eating and sleeping patterns, and temperament. Especially his temperament." Data paused. He seemed to be struggling with something. "Q, I am sorry for my part in this. I feel I . . . complicated things. I will do anything to make it up." Q looked at him. Then he took Data's smooth pale hand. Jean-Luc sat at the head of the table, waiting. "Okay, Boys, I made Geordi jerk off while I watched. Very gratifying for both of us. What did you do?" "I fisted Q," Data said. Jean-Luc was very quiet and then he whispered, "Come with me, Q." The word 'Q' left his mouth like a curse. Or a gasp. After Jean-Luc had pulled Q out of the room, Will turned to Data. "You fisted him?" "Yes." "What was that like?" Data looked down. "It was a very . . .potent experience." His emotions seemed to be going in and out of focus. "Actually I want to fist . . . I want to do that again. I have never . . .," he lifted his head; his eyes stared at nothing, "the experience was extremely potent." Upstairs, Jean-Luc forced Q into his bedroom, threw him face down on the bed and tore his pants off him. "Did Fajo teach you that?" he wrestled Q underneath him. "Yes," Q cried. Finally Jean-Luc moved his own pants to his knees -- a bit of lubrication and he was fucking Q -- Q's face was buried in a pillow, and Jean-Luc was holding Q's neck down with his forearm. Q. No ass was like Q's, small and firm, not overly muscled. So high on those long legs. So smooth. Jean-Luc loved pinching Q's ass with his huge hands, seeing the bruises appear. Seeing the faded bruises and renewing them. He was slamming into Q. Paying Q back. He wanted Q's blood on the sheets. Finally he finished. He was strangely unsatisfied, and he hated the smell of his own sweat rising from his body. He pulled out. "Turn over, asshole." Q turned over – his dick was hard. Jean-Luc looked at Q. "I know all about Kivas. He has small hands. And Data has small hands. But you need to consider these." He held up his huge hands, flat and broad as two Bibles, and then turned them so Q could see both sides. Then he stalked off to the shower. Q made a quick decision to feel elated. He had made Jean-Luc fuck him. Jean-Luc turned the water on as hot as he could stand it and just stood there and let it run down his body. He hated Q. He wanted to go back out there and beat him until the image of Fajo with his fist up his ass had been excised from his memory. He wanted to slide his hand inside Q's body and fuck him until he came screaming. Six months of wondering and Q just walks in as if nothing's happened. Six months of holding on so tight Jean-Luc thought his entire body would turn to rock. Not one fucking letter, not one post card. Q's shoulder had a scar on it now. Jean-Luc hated that scar, because it was a permanent reminder of a time when Q had not been his. It was a sneer from Fajo. Jean-Luc wrapped a towel around himself and went out into the bedroom. Q had pulled up his pants, but he was lying across the bed waiting for him. He smiled when Jean-Luc came in. Jean-Luc ignored him and went to stand out on the balcony. Sure enough, Q got off the bed and came up behind him. "I missed you, Johnny." Jean-Luc felt Q's dick soft against him. Had Q been out there fucking Fajo with that big dick? Had he thought of Jean-Luc when he spread his legs and told Fajo to go inside? Jean-Luc turned around and shoved Q as hard as he could. Q staggered and fell, rolling out of range of Jean-Luc's fists and feet. "What?" His eyes had gone wide and frightened. "Johnny, what's wrong? What did I do?" "What did you do?" Jean-Luc imitated him. "What did you do? What do you think you did?" He shadowed Q while Q tried to keep out of his way. Jean-Luc's bedroom was much bigger than the prison cell, but eventually he was able to trap Q against the wall, pinning him while one large hand wrapped bruisingly around his bicep. "You tell me what you did." Q's stared back at him, fear written all over him. He was breathing in shuddering gasps, trembling, trying to resist his natural urge to pull away because that would only make Jean-Luc angrier. "But you told me to sleep with Data," he protested. And this piece of idiocy made Jean-Luc too angry to even think straight. His hand was slamming across Q's cheek before he even knew it. Q collapsed, covering his head with his arms. Jean-Luc dragged him up by the hair, punching and slapping, pushing him around the room. Q was heavy, but Jean-Luc's rage gave him strength. And Q was crying, begging and babbling. "Oh,GodohGodJohnnyI'msorrypleasewhateveritwasIwon'tdoitagainpleaseIswear." He even tried to hide, which Jean-Luc somehow found endearing, even through his blinding rage. Finally Jean-Luc shoved Q backwards across the bed, and Q curled against the headboard, crying. Jean-Luc watched him for several moments. If he'd been a smoker, he would have enjoyed a cigarette as he surveyed his handiwork, the rage gone out of him as suddenly as it had come. Downstairs the boys looked at each other helplessly . Data was especially distressed. Q sounded so broken and sad and Jean-Luc's fury was terrifying, even from upstairs behind the bedroom door. It was impossible to imagine what Q felt having to experience it up close. Q was crying, pleading for Jean-Luc to please stop, promising not to do it again, apologizing for whatever imaginary transgression Jean-Luc was angry about. He and the rest of the boys had been hopeful when Jean-Luc had taken Q upstairs just now. They knew how much Jean-Luc missed Q. But, as they finished their breakfasts and were washing up, they heard the sound of Q getting a beating. The Boys stared at one another disbelievingly, but the cries of pain and fear were unmistakable. Worf cried out his name in warning as Data ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs. He wanted to beg Jean-Luc to stop, but Jean-Luc owned Q, and he could do what he liked. The rage and cruelty confounded Data. If his fisting Q had caused such a backlash, then it was his fault. He should make amends, but how? He listened to Q begging God for help, but he did not dare intervene. Finally he went down the hall. He knew now that Q would never use his empty bedroom. Jean-Luc would keep Q all to himself again, just as he always had. The echo of his footsteps against the bare walls seemed to confirm this fact. Data wished he'd at least bought a bed for Q. That way Q could hide in this bedroom whenever Jean-Luc was too much to handle. Next door the beating reached a crescendo; then suddenly all was silent. Data caught his breath. Jean-Luc would never . . . Data was terrified; with absolute stealth, he entered Jean-Luc's bathroom, the better to eavesdrop on what was happening. Q's crying was clearly audible, and Data sighed in relief. Jean-Luc said something angry -- clearly an order of some sort; then Data heard the bedroom door slam. Q was alone, but Data still hesitated before entering. If Jean-Luc came back and found him, he might be angry. Then he saw his own reflection in the bathroom mirror: pale and childish. 'You're a coward, Dave Soong,' he told himself. He opened the door to Jean-Luc's room and looked in. Q was curled by the headboard, his face in his arms. Data went to him and put his hand on Q's shoulder. Q flinched, terror on his features, and tried to scramble away until he saw who it was. "Shhh." Data wrapped his arms around Q, taking in as much as the broad shoulders as he could hold. "I won't hurt you." He sat there patiently while Q sobbed in his arms. Q was badly hurt -- a black eye, a swollen lip, bruises all over his arms and shoulders. He looked horrible. "If only he'd tell me what I did wrong." Q hadn't done anything wrong. Jean-Luc hit him because something was wrong with Jean-Luc. "I didn't like to hear it when he hit you." Q drew a shuddering breath. "Sorry." "You did nothing wrong, Q." "Johnny..." "Jean-Luc isn't angry at you. He . . ." Data could not quite bring himself to blame Jean-Luc, but he wanted to, which was amazing in its way. He tried to make an excuse. "He missed you a great deal. He tossed and turned all night. I used to wait until he fell asleep and then go sleep with Geordi because it was very uncomfortable to be with him. He called your name all night long. I would wake him and tell him you were gone, and he would finally wake up and tell me to shut up and go to sleep." Q closed his eyes. "He must have loved that." "In fact he did not... Oh. You are teasing." Data considered. "He was most annoyed." Q smiled through his swollen lip, and Data smiled back. Both smiles were little. "Let's just lie here together," Data suggested. "I'm a mess," Q demurred. "I can run you a bath." "That would be nice." Data was not willing for Q to be alone. He led him into the bathroom while he filled the tub with hot water and bath salts until the water was nice and foamy. Then he helped Q undress and then put him in the tub and bathed him as if he were a child. He was gentle with the cut lip and the bruises. To his immense satisfaction, Q calmed down a great deal. "We're going back to my room," he said, and Q followed, compliant as a three-year-old. Data left Q's blood-stained shirt on Jean-Luc's bed, hoping Jean-Luc would see it and feel ashamed. An hour later, there was a knock on the door. It was Will. "Jean-Luc says to tell Q to come on downstairs." "Q's sleeping." Data looked significantly at Will. He was obviously lying because Q sat up in bed the moment he heard the knock on the door, and now he was staring at Will fearfully. Will nodded. He looked straight at Q. "Sleeping hard. I saw it." It might work. Even Jean-Luc was hesitant to enter another man's bedroom if the door was closed. "You all are so nice to me." Q's voice was shaky. "We love you, Q. Try to rest." In fact, Q did doze a little, worn out from the beating and the tears. When he woke, Data had food and clothes for him. "Will wants to take you for a ride in his new jeep," Data told him as he dressed. "Where's Jean-Luc?" Q asked, quite expectedly. Data hesitated. He didn't want to admit that they were hiding Q from Jean-Luc as long as they possibly could. He said, "I'm not sure." Q sighed. "I guess he doesn't want me." "He thinks you're still asleep." Q thought about that for a long time. "You're trying to protect me from him, aren't you?" "Are you not patently in need of protecting?" Q would have liked to be able to pretend to some dignity, denying that he needed to be protected from the man who loved him, but his body ached and throbbed all over from the beating. "He might get angry if I'm gone." "That is true." Will and Q met Jean-Luc on the way to the garage. All three were shocked into stillness. Then, "We're going for a ride," Will said in a high strangled voice. Jean-Luc gave them a dark look. "Be back for supper, or else. I have plans tonight." Will backed his new car out of their garage and rode Q around all afternoon to show him the sights. There was the restaurant that sent them food almost every night. There was a special love hotel though nobody was supposed to know it existed. Worf had promised to take Will there sometime. And here was the grocery store where they shopped, another place Q might like. "Let's stop," Will said. "No, everyone will see . . . my eye," Q whispered. "What exactly did you do to piss him off so bad?" Will handled the jeep very well. "Data said it wasn't your fault. He said you were pretty much kidnaped." Data said. Data said. Abruptly Q felt a moderate sense of well being wash over him. Things were the same as they ever were -- don't tell one Boy anything you didn't want the other four to know. "I don't think it matters. Let's not talk about it?" "Sorry. Let me show you this great burger joint I found." They got back home around seven, just in time for dinner. No one ate very much. After supper, Jean-Luc told Geordi it was his turn to take Q upstairs. When Geordi objected, Jean-Luc's voice hardened. "Whores need to be treated like whores or they forget their place. Isn't that right, Q?" Q put his hand on Geordi's arm. "Show me your room again, Geordi." Since Geordi was with Q, Jean-Luc thought he might amuse Data. He gave Data what he thought of as a simple girlish fuck. And actually it was, except for Jean-Luc's driving relentlessness. And his hissed obscenities. And Data's terror. Geordi was always the most centered Boy. The worst had already happened to him, happened at birth, and having nothing more serious to lose had been quite liberating. He always got a little anxious when helpless, virginal Data was fucked by other people and then had no more dignity than to gab about it, but a good part of Geordi was also amused by his dizzy dame who was so smart and attentive. Data learned quickly, and he liked pleasing Geordi. He was detail-oriented and persistent, and, unlike Will, once you taught him something you never had to repeat it. Of course, he was often a bit too literal-minded, but he made Geordi laugh so that was okay. And Data clearly preferred Geordi's company over all the others. Occasionally Jean-Luc and Worf made Data fuck them or someone else for fun, but Geordi had learned to put up with that. Data always brought his immaculate presence, his tight ass, his slender frame back to Geordi. Data cheated only when he had to. Q, on the other hand, was a bit of an enigma. He was a whore, Geordi knew, and a slave, but without him, they wouldn't have any of the things they had now. Jean-Luc was too impatient, too volatile, to administer the thousand and one details of running a band. Geordi didn't even know how much Q meant to the band until he was absent and nobody could do anything right. But for all that, he didn't know Q. They'd never spent much time together. Geordi would have preferred that Q come to him on his own, but there was no circumventing Jean-Luc. "We've never been together before." "One time," Q corrected. "On the bus, remember?" Geordi smiled. He could hear Q wandering around his room. "Not alone though." "No, but I'm looking forward to it." Q's voice had been professionally alluring. Geordi could hear it. "Q? Come here?" Geordi reached out for him, and Q came to him and took his hand. Geordi put both hands on Q's chest and then reached up to touch his face. "I missed you." "I missed you too. I missed all of you. Sometimes I would have a song in my head, and I'd wonder about the fingering, and I'd think, 'Well, Geordi will tell me.' Then I'd realize you weren't there, and I'd feel..." "Lonely." Geordi supplied. "Lonely," Q confirmed. He leaned down and kissed Geordi's mouth, and there was nothing of professionalism in it. This was heartfelt, and now he stared down into Geordi's face, and his own fingers gently explored him. "Your skin," he murmured. "You're so beautiful, Geordi." "Tell me." Q thought. "It's hard to say exactly how brown feels, but did you ever taste chocolate pudding? Did you ever taste black coffee? Well, if I took a sip of black coffee, then a spoon full of pudding and mixed the tastes together in my mouth, that's what you look like." Geordi smiled. "I like that." "Me too." Q kissed him again and his body relaxed. This had somehow been transmuted from a performance for Jean-Luc's benefit to a true reunion and, even though he didn't know how it occurred, he was grateful to Geordi for making it happen. "Let me make you feel good." "We'll make each other feel good." Geordi gently took over; his voice was wonderfully calming.. "Be like me, Q. Shut your eyes." Geordi reached out to find the buttons on Q's shirt and Q fumbled with all the fastenings of Geordi's clothes. "Now follow me, and don't open your eyes yet. I can tell if you're cheating." Q couldn't help a shiver as he followed Geordi's exacting directions out to his little hot tub. He gasped when his foot touched the churning water, gasped again as his naked bottom touched the ledge. "What are you doing?" "Now we have to pick scents. It's something Data and I always do." Geordi put a vial in his hand and Q felt its shape before opening it and inhaling the contents. "That one's nice." Geordi handed him another one, and then another one after that. With his eyes closed each different scent was clear and sharp. Distinctively lovely. "This one." He upended the bottle and in moments the steaming air was redolent with the scent of blossoms. It made the experience more lush, more sensual. Q wished Geordi could see, because he would have liked to smile at him and have Geordi smile back. Well, there were other ways to accomplish that. Q began a slow massage of Geordi's shoulders "Geordi, I want to open my eyes. I want to see you." "Sure." Geordi was giving himself over to the strong sensations. Q was kissing him now, biting his shoulder where he rubbed. Now he turned Geordi around and licked at his nipple and then blew on it. Geordi shuddered. Now the other one, now back, now forth. Again and again until Geordi groaned and began to thrust his hips. Q reached down. Geordi was fully erect now. "Do me, Geordi. My ass needs taking care of. It needs fucking." Geordi's pretty open face smiled. "I could sit on you, Geordi. Let you hit my sweet spot with that incredible cock of yours. Hit my sweet spot, Geordi." And Q was getting worked up; Geordi's long thick dick did promised all sorts of exciting sensations. And the warm water . . . and the stars above . . . "Grab me right here, Geordi," Q pulled Geordi's hands to his hips. "Pull me down on you, use me, just use me, and I'll play with myself while you do that." And Geordi did. He was astonished anew at what Q was. Data approached fucking as the logical end product of wanting some. And so he got it in the ass and therefore was pleased. Until his next time he felt . . . erotically stimulated. But Q's pleasures were about pleasing his partners; if you screamed with pleasure, if you panted and said "fuckfuckfuck", if your hands formed subconscious fists and held Q's ribcage that way, then Q rubbed himself against you all the more, Q was more breathless, more excited, and he gripped that huge cock all the more feverishly. Like a virgin, his sex was all about you. "Geordi," he was saying now. The water helped counterbalance Q's weight; he could easily lift his legs and have Geordi use him as some sort of fucking device, but his beautiful ass still lapped against Geordi's body like the tide. Then he ground himself against Geordi, wanting more. Spreading his legs. And Geordi thrust against him: "Come on, Q, come, come for me," and he felt a tension in Q collapse and Q was coming and moaning and he grabbed Q's unresisting hips and forced himself in as far as he could go, and then he was coming with Q. They sat back, Geordi softening inside of Q. Q said, "I'm going to be lonely without your dick." "There's more stuff where that came from," Geordi smiled and withdrew, laying back against the side of the hot tub. Then they were silent. It was a bit awkward, Jean-Luc intruding again; after all, their climaxes were as much his objective as theirs. Q took Geordi's wet hand and kissed it. Geordi touched his face again, questioningly. "I guess we can tell Jean-Luc we did it." "In the hot tub." Another silence. Geordi's face was beautiful, pensive. Q felt the weight of Geordi's world. "Q, Jean-Luc is making you do this to all of us so you can be a part of us again, isn't he?" "I never thought about it. Jean-Luc does things because he wants to, and I do things because Jean-Luc wants me to." Nothing to say to that. Geordi moved the conversation to a more pragmatic turn. "It's good that you still write songs. We're going to need some help. Tommy's riding our asses to get the new CD done. But we haven't put one tune in the can. It's pitiful." He heard Q breathe in. Very excited. "Yes, I've got a million songs in my head. Things I've been thinking for some time. I'd take old songs and put new lyrics to them in my head." He paused, and his voice grew sad, dark. "I haven't sung any, though," he sounded apologetic. "I went mute after . . ." There was a pause. "It was awful." "What happened?" Geordi was very alert; Q's voice was not casual. Q hesitated. "After I... after my shoulder got shot..." He paused. Geordi waited. "I couldn't talk. For a long, long time. Finally I... got better. Maybe ten days ago. I knew I had to come home while I still had the courage to make my voice work. The . . . man I was staying with was getting tired of me anyway." He gave Geordi a weak smile. Geordi didn't see it, but he heard it in Q's tone of voice. "My voice sounds strange to me sometimes." "It's sounds fine," Geordi reassured him. "Are you sure?" "I have good ears," Geordi said gently. "Tell you what, we'll make some 'before and after' tapes. You can hear for yourself that your voice still works." Geordi couldn't see Q dimple: "I'm being a silly bitch, aren't I?" This discussion, for some reason, was as interesting as fucking to them. "Q, sing for me." "Sing what?" "Any old song." So Q began to sing, beating time with his fingers on the side of the tub. "You wouldn't read my letter if I wrote you;Q looked away; Geordi would never understand what this song meant to him. Geordi had never whored, never thought about whoring, never been backed up against Fate's wall and whored his heart out. "The glamor of the gay night life has lured youGeordi's expression was pleasant, appreciative. To him, the song meant an artful arrangement of notes sung in very specific temporal intervals, but to Q it was a portent, justifying Jean-Luc's fury. Q lounging on Fajo's elegant rugs, Q with Fajo in his ass daily, Q the shameless whore. "I didn't know God made honkytonk angels.It was embarrassing to both of them when Q began to sob uncontrollably, but the ironies of the simple song were corroding every piece of control Q had mustered. The control that kept him upright when he was sucking Will and being fucked by Jean-Luc and fisted by Data and when he was facing down the Crushers in Kentucky with his head held high. And all of this he had done to get back from Kivas so he could make sure his world was still ticking, his sons happy and healthy, the Boys together and productive, and . . . he couldn't quit crying. Geordi began to whisper hesitantly, "It's okay, let's just go to sleep for a while, we're nice and clean, it'll be okay." He led the weeping Q out of the tub and to the bathroom to dry off and then to the bed. "Q, please, Q, calm down," Geordi said, "we'll protect you, I promise." From something. They spent the night in each other's fragrant arms. When Q and Geordi came down the next morning, Jean-Luc wouldn't even look at them. "Back to my room, motherfucker," he said in a soft voice. In the bedroom, Jean-Luc still wouldn't look at Q. "Where did you and Will go yesterday?" "He took me around. We thought it might be okay with you." "It will be if I can take it out of your whoring hide." And he pushed Q to the floor and then methodically began to slap Q, hard slaps, all over his body, on his face again, and Q wept again and said, "I love you" a hundred times. Jean-Luc was too moved to speak. He sat back. The door to the bedroom was open. Worf was standing there. Jean-Luc stood up, furious. Q scuttled to a corner. "Beat me now," Worf said. Jean-Luc stared at Worf. "I know you're mad, and I know you got the right," the big man tilted his head towards the corner where Q cowered, "but I'd as soon spare him this one time." Jean-Luc glowered. He was being unfair and he knew it, but he was not about to acknowledge it. He gave Worf a hard look. "I guess I'd as soon you turned around and shut that door behind you." He looked at Worf. Worf looked back and then backed away. Jean-Luc lifted his chin and then turned his hard look on Q. Who dropped his eyes and tried to shrink even more deeply into the corner where he cowered. Jean-Luc didn't beat Q any more that day. And that night he silently let Worf have Q. From his point of view, this was the final test of Q's love; the strongest emotions were among them, the first three, the original jailhouse boys -- and he knew Worf loved Q and Q loved Worf. Jean-Luc was so angry and upset he was nearly paralyzed; he wanted to fuck over the world. Worf had waited his turn patiently, but now he was staring at this piece of prime rib in his bed, wondering what it would be like to beat him like Jean-Luc beat him. There were bruises on Q's face and arms, and more bruises on his back and ribs, and Worf felt sorry for him. Q had always been kinda helpless and he probably shouldn't have made Jean-Luc angry, but still... But still Q's helplessness was his main attractiveness, along with his beauty and grace and tenderheartedness. Worf would have bitten into him and swallowed him whole if he could have, but what they were doing now was just fine. His whole hand was inside Q's ass and Q was moaning wildly. His head was thrown back and his arms and legs were splayed out, and he looked like pussy so bad Worf could hardly stand it. "I don't see. How Jean-Luc. Can ever. Do anything. But fuck you," he muttered. "Not sing. Not eat. Just fuck you. Up that. Pretty ass. Of yours. I'm going to. Wake you up. Again tonight. And fuck you again. And every time you see me." His hand moved more forcefully. "You're going to think of me inside you. Every time." He punctuated every sentence with another thrust of his fist, and Q undulated against him, looking totally undone. He had his head turned to one side, as he always did, moaning and sighing, suffering so sweetly that it was hard not to want to make him moan forever. "Fuck that pussy. All kinds of ways," Worf mumbled. To his amazement he was getting erect again. It couldn't be, could it? His third time in one night? But he himself had just said so. With a Q in your bed, all you could do was fuck him. It was like squinting at the sun. Or holding your breath under water. You didn't have to think about it. It just happened automatically. "I love you," Q whispered with his eyes closed. "It's okay. That you're thinking. Of Johnny." "I love you, Worf." The tone was completely different this time. They were good friends. While Worf had Q, Jean-Luc had gone with Will. "Let's go to your room," he had said, grabbing Will's neck. Will was shocked. "When I took Q, you gave Worf some blond chicken named Christian. How come I don't get any blond chicken?" Jean-Luc couldn't believe it. "You useless fat piece of pussy. Are you disputing me? You will do what I say." Of course. "You want to go back to Big Daddy Riker? You think I can't arrange that, motherfucker? You can leave tonight." Will fell to his knees. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I'm just ... I didn't ... I thought ... I didn't think you would want me ... I thought maybe ... with one of the groupies ..." He cringed at Jean-Luc's anger. Jean-Luc kicked him; Will fell over. "Crawl to your bedroom, you piece of shit." The halls were haunted with men's tears. "Get out those pictures you showed Q. I want to see what made you two so fucking hot." "No!" Will cried. Jean-Luc slapped him. "Do it! I'm not going to tear them up if that's what you're scared of. Just hand them over." Will got a couple of handfuls of Polaroids out. "Pull your pants down to your knees and bend over by the bed," Jean-Luc instructed him. "What drawer has your fuck toys?" Will pointed, sobbing. Jean-Luc opened it and rummaged around. He took out a velvet bag. Handcuffs. He came over and grabbed Will's hands and handcuffed him to the bottom bed rail. Will's head was practically touching the floor. He sobbed harder. Jean-Luc ignored him, looking through the photos. Then he unzipped himself and spit on his hand and, using that as lubrication, plunged into Will's big pale womanish ass. Will groaned in pain, but Jean-Luc ignored him. He kept on looking at the photos as he fucked him, letting the pictures fall on Will's back like autumn leaves. Q wished he could hide until the bruising went down, but there would have been no point. Everyone knew Jean-Luc beat him. Everyone could see the purple-yellow swelling around his eye. Will and Worf took him out for long rides in the jeep. Data and Geordi hid Q in their room as much as they could. They said they wanted him to record his new songs for them so they could transcribe them. Jean-Luc continued his dark testing, his black mourning. He made Q spent another night with Data. With Geordi. With Worf. The house itself seemed to walk on pins and needles around him. He knew what he was doing to his little band, but he also knew this purging would not stop until it was done. He could see nothing, feel nothing, except the rage that twisted inside him. Then he began to hear the music. Gruesome and beautiful. He barged into the family room. "Where'd you get that piece?" "Q wrote it." Geordi obediently handed over the music. Jean-Luc took the sheets and looked over the words. Tommy Quark had deliberately stayed away. All those big incomprehensible homosexual emotions were hard for a regular straight guy like him to take. But when he saw Q, he was shocked. "So he mopes around for six months, missing you. Six months in the music business is a lifetime! And, when you finally get back, what does he do but pop you a good one." Q shrugged. "Johnny has a temper." "A temper? So that is what you call it?" Jean-Luc walked into the room. "Jean-Luc," Quark said, "why don't you just kill him and get it over with?" Jean-Luc didn't look at anyone. "Why don't you fuck off and get it over with?" Quark turned to Q. "How's your arm?" The other Boys looked at each other. He'd been back for almost two weeks, playing and singing, and not one of them had thought to ask how his shoulder felt. Q flexed his fingers. "I'm fine. I can play." "Good. All of you get your asses back into the studio yesterday. I'm in negotiations for your-third-CD major concert tour." Tommy looked at Q. It was obvious he wanted to say something sympathetic, and just as obvious that Jean-Luc's glare was preventing it. "Sooo, you take care, Q." He shot a look, both mean and apprehensive, in Jean-Luc's direction and disappeared. Jean-Luc decided to rape Q. This turned out to be an awful decision. Rape meant resistance, fighting, scratching, tears. Cries of 'no' and 'stop,' Jean-Luc's will imposed on Q's. But Q had no will when it came to Jean-Luc; he worshiped him too dearly. Jean-Luc came for Q when he was singing with Data and Geordi. He was gratified when Q paled at his expression. He took Q to the bedroom and punched him and pushed him around a little and then tore his clothes off. But when he forced himself inside Q, Q's body relaxed. Jean-Luc pretended to ignore it until he saw his reflection in the dresser mirror -- redfaced, sweating and grimacing. Jean-Luc closed his eyes. He looked too much like his father when he stared up at him from the bottom of that ravine. Beneath him, Q was crying, but he was moaning a little too, being helpful, moving his hips so Jean-Luc had better access. Jean-Luc quit fucking him. He fell across Q's sweaty back and lay against him, panting. "I love you, Jean-Luc," Q whispered. Jean-Luc withdrew. He laid a quick kiss against Q's beautifully muscled back. Q had it coming and worse, disappearing like that. Then he rolled away from Q and lay on the bed with his arms over his eyes. "Get your clothes back on and go back to what you were doing. That song might be useful." Geordi and Data were still waiting, frightened, when Q came back in. Data silently noted that Q did not appear to have received any new bruises, but Geordi could hear that his breathing was just a bit faster and shakier than usual. He reached out to Q and when Q came to him, Geordi ran gentle hands over his face and torso. Sure enough, when he got to Q's arms and shoulders, Q winced with a quickly indrawn breath. "Again?" Geordi asked resignedly. "He..." There was no excuse Q could give. He shut his mouth. "Q, why is Jean-Luc doing this? It does not really . . . compute." Q looked at Data, but it was Geordi who answered. "I know why. I can taste it on Jean-Luc. He's relieved Q's home." Q said nothing. He would have to endure this until Jean-Luc might begin to trust him again. He just wished it didn't leave so many bruises. Each man quietly tuned his instruments. "The record company gave Jean-Luc a car," Geordi finally said. He had clearly been studying something over. "Ask Jean-Luc if he'll let you see it." The television was on in the den. Jean-Luc sat alone, withdrawn, half-watching it. He'd left the supper table early, his dinner mostly unfinished. The others drifted in slowly and sat down to watch too, ill at ease, but they could knew they could never leave Jean-Luc alone. Jean-Luc didn't look up. Reverend Garak was peering out of the televison screen. Reverend Garak smiled. He leered. He said, "Let's have some frank talk about sodomy." And he licked his lips. "Get her," Worf said. "Don't talk the talk if you can't walk the walk," Geordi said, hoping Jean-Luc would smile. Jean-Luc's pain was palpable: his regret and his memories and his love and his fury warred, leaving this withdrawn, bitter husk sitting in their midst. "Jean-Luc, show me your new car," Q said softly. Jean-Luc stood up and walked out of the room. Q followed him. Jean-Luc drove Q to a place on the beach. The water beat against the packed sand, and seabirds cried far off. They both got out of the convertible and leaned against the grill. Jean-Luc had said nothing the entire drive; now he was standing there with his arms folded in front of him. Q's job was to stay by him. Q still liked that job more than anything. Finally, Jean-Luc took a deep breath. "I'm not going to change, Q." "Good," Q was smiling. He eased closer, hoping he would be allowed to wrap his arms around Jean-Luc's body as he loved to do. Jean-Luc frowned and jerked away from him. Q was patient. This would take a little time. They came home. Jean-Luc was ragged with fatigue, but he managed to knock on Worf's door. "It's open," Worf said. Jean-Luc leaned in: "Let's get a lot of little things squared away tomorrow, and then after supper go back to the studio. Spread the word." DCA Records was much relieved to hear from Q; their international markets wanted bright shiny new curious American product. After supper, they all trooped into Data's bedroom/studio. Fortunately, so much studio work was getting sound levels and headphones adjusted and moving mikes and speakers around and figuring out places to stand so that, if a person was really shy about what he had to say, no one knew immediately. Q had on big space-age headphones, and so did Jean-Luc. "Jean-Luc, would you like to try this song? It doesn't have a name because I figured we would end up throwing it away. But it might be good to warm up with. I'll play the piano for you." The others worked, keeping half an ear open. The slow simple tune was like a folk tune, heard a million times before. Come into these arms of mine(Q started to sing with him, spiking Jean-Luc's burly demanding voice with something softer.) Cruel time split us in twoJean-Luc looked at Q; when he wanted to, Jean-Luc could be as clear-eyed, direct and tender as a woman. Why be loyal to him otherwise? The song sped up. In this cave let us love tonightBy this time everyone had stopped to listen. Jean-Luc looked at Q – "Bluegrass songs generally have a little more rime." His voice was as gentle as possible; Q's song was gorgeous. "Thunder and rain don't rime, but you still listen. Our fans need to get over it." |
