From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:36:26 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!news-dc.gip.net!news-peer.gip.net!news.gsl.net!gip.net!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams (TNG, P/m, NC-17) 1/10 Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:36:26 GMT Lines: 307 Message-ID: <19980312143601.JAA09028@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1252 Hi. Just posting this for friends. Please send feedback to the newsgroup or the Anon Sisters. Title: Escher Dreams Author: The Anon Sisters Series: TNG Rating: NC-17 Codes: P/m Summary: Picard begins having dreams of a mysterious lover at the same time the Enterprise begins study of an unusually beautiful anomaly. Is the anomaly responsible for the dreams, or is something more complicated going on? Well, here we are again, undoubtedly encouraged by the results of the Golden Orgasm vote. Our usual thanks go out to our Editrix, and to the people who have indicated they want more of our brand of Treksmut. We are using Paramount's characters for non-profit entertainment purposes. This story contains m/m sex and some very mild bondage. Feedback is welcome at: anonsisters@yahoo.com, or on the newsgroup. Please request missing sections from us at: anonsisters@yahoo.com. OK to archive at the ASCEM archive and the Star Trek Slash Archive, but please ask before archiving anywhere else. *Escher Dreams* Part One by the Anon Sisters For Jean-Luc Picard, it started on an archeological dig. In reality, he was in his bed on the USS Enterprise 1701-E, and a small part of his mind knew that. Most of him, however, thought he was in Egypt, in the 1920s, leading a team of archeologists who were investigating the Valley of the Kings. It was late at night, and Picard had wandered a small way into the desert to look at the stars. "You just don't see them this way anywhere but in the desert." Picard knew the voice, and he turned. "Trouble sleeping?" he asked the other man. The response was a chuckle. "I'm a little too excited about tomorrow to sleep, Dr. Picard." "Don't get too excited; we could open it up and find it empty." "If you believed that," the rich voice said, wrapping itself around Jean-Luc's nerves, "you'd be in your tent, sound asleep." Picard smiled. "You would think that after a lifetime of doing this, I'd know better than to get this anxious." He laughed and shook his head, then looked back to the stars. "Sleep seems to be beyond my reach." Picard could feel the movement behind him, and his companion's warm breath tickled his ear as the man leaned over his shoulder to murmur in that ear. "I can think of a way to help us relax." Then a tongue was tracing the contours of Jean-Luc's ear and a pair of arms was wrapping around him. He leaned back against that strong, warm body, and sighed. "Just what did you have in mind?" he teased. He knew what the other man wanted to do and was more than willing to do it with him. *Beep, beep, beep, beep...* "Off!" Picard sat up and sighed. As usual, his dream was fading as he woke up, but the result of the dream was very much in evidence. He thought for a quick moment and decided that he had enough time to deal with the erection that was making a nuisance of itself, and he quickly reached for the lube that he kept in his nightstand for just this purpose. As he touched himself, slowly at first, he tried to remember something about the dream other than the feeling of warmth and strength and, of course, being really aroused. There. It was something about Egypt, but that was all. He couldn't remember the woman from the dream, not even a little bit. Had it been Beverly? Or Phillipa? No, he was suddenly sure her hair had been dark. Kamala. Yes, just at the thought of her he was getting harder. So beautiful, so intelligent and strong, almost magical, the way she became what he wanted. As much as it had hurt to know that he couldn't be with her, it had been wonderful simply to see her, to be with her, to know that she existed, at least until the next man came along. And then she had bonded herself to him and become that permanently... She had two children now. He'd learned that much just from keeping his ears open. The marriage and the alliance were quite a success. Picard shook himself and concentrated more on what he was doing. It had been so long since he'd had someone warm in his bed, someone who somehow made it through all the criteria he had as the Captain of the Enterprise, someone who wanted him even though he kept himself distant and protected. Kamala had wanted him, he thought, envisioning that night, how she had touched his face, how she had admired his voice, how she had asked him, how she had smiled, how her incredible body had looked in that see-through dress... "Ohhhh," he breathed, feeling himself getting close. "Riker to Captain Picard." *Damnit!* "Picard here." "Sir, the Kes-Prytt ambassador is insisting that he speak with you...and you know how he is." Even as his cock's painful frustration fought to make its way into his voice, Picard couldn't help smiling slightly at the note in Riker's voice. He didn't understand why Kes-Prytt was still pretending paranoia-tinged diplomatic relations with the Federation could get anywhere. After that charade with them and him and Beverly, he'd thought they'd either learn their lesson or stay away. However, it was part of his job to oblige them and their paranoid ambassador. "I'll be right there, Commander. Picard out." He sighed, got a firm hold of himself and stroked hard. When he came, the pleasure was mostly just relief, and it was only a moment before he was standing to strip the sheets from the bed and pile them into the processor. A quick shower and a cup of coffee, and he'd be there with a smile on his face to assure Ambassador Arlic that his quarters weren't bugged, his food wasn't poisoned, and no monsters were hiding in his closet. By the end of the day, Picard's smile was still in place, but his jaw hurt from keeping it there. Why on Earth had Starfleet, in its infinite wisdom, sent the Enterprise to deal with Kes-Prytt? The fact that they had compounded the matter by insisting that Picard deal with the Prytt first was merely a minor annoyance piled upon the major annoyance. Of course, as a diplomat, he knew that any advantage was to be used, and he'd used the ambassador's discomfort at seeing him to keep the man on edge. But it was a hollow victory at best, as the ambassador had made it clear that he assumed that Picard was harboring ill-will toward him as a result of his prior capture by the Prytt. "On the contrary," Picard had said to Riker as they both went off duty at the end of a long irritable day. "I harbor ill-will toward the Prytt because they're just so damned irritating." Riker had laughed appreciatively at hearing a rare burst of annoyance from his captain. "You think Ambassador Arlic is bad? He has nothing on Ambassador Mauric." The first officer shuddered reminiscently. "Number One, as long as no one ends up sticking any telepathic devices in the back of my skull, I'll be all right." They had reached the door to Picard's quarters and Riker grinned. "I'll remind you of that statement in a few days time, sir." "Good night, Will." "'Night, Captain." Picard sighed as he walked into his quarters. He had a headache from gritting his teeth, and he was hungry because it was hard to eat while gritting one's teeth. He had absolutely no idea what he wanted for dinner, but he wanted something soon. Stepping up to the replicator, he ordered a random meal. It was a new feature; users could put in a series of parameters, and then every time they wanted to be surprised (but not too surprised) they just requested a random selection. The minute the food materialized, Picard could feel his mouth watering. When he pulled the tray out of the machine, he found himself looking at a large dish of paella. There was a simple salad on the side, and Jean-Luc realized that this was *exactly* what he wanted for dinner. In fact, the food smelled so good that he decided to have a glass of real wine with it and eat at his table as opposed to his desk. Pushing his luck, he even requested random classical music from the computer. Again he was rewarded as the opening notes Bizet's *Carmen Suite* as arranged for guitar poured out of the com system. Jean-Luc smiled and, grabbing his copy of the Vulcan novel *Firewinds,* settled down to a thoroughly enjoyable dinner. He had been worried that he would have trouble sleeping, but after a stress-reducing hot shower, sleep came quickly. And so did the dream. The little part of Picard that knew he was dreaming assumed that reading a Pre-Enlightenment Vulcan novel before bed had a great deal to do with his dream. He was standing in on a high cliff, looking down over the burning village of his enemies. The high calls of his fellow soldiers were carried on the same wind that whipped his battle robes against his body. The smell of blood and victory filled his lungs, and his hands were raw from holding the spear and club he had used against those who deserved no better than the brutal death he had given them. Someone hailed him, calling his name into the wind as though his heart could be coaxed back into his breast. He turned, and saw his friend striding towards him, a club grasped still in his right hand, his whole body shining with the glory of their day's work. His blood boiled as it rushed to his cock, and he was hard and growling as his friend approached. Stepping to meet him, he grabbed the thickly muscled arms and thrust himself against the body he wanted so fiercely that his sight darkened. "Victory is ours," his friend growled just before their lips met hungrily, devouring the taste of each other. His hands went to the buckles of his friend's robes, baring that skin he must touch even as he ground himself into the bulging hardness he felt beneath them. Soon, very soon, he would throw this body to the ground and thrust inside the tight heat awaiting him. At the thought, he laughed and bit his friend's neck, breathing in the concentrated musk of battle while strong hands grabbed his buttocks and held him close. He laughed again, his whole body aflame with proud joy... And woke up. *This,* Picard thought, as the details of his dream faded, *is absurd.* Absurd or not, however, he was lying in bed with a very insistent erection. A glance at the time told him that it was the middle of the "night" and that he didn't have to get up for another five hours. He vaguely wondered why this was the second night in a row that he'd dreamed this kind of dream, but most of his attention was on the urgent throbbing of his cock. Because the alarm wasn't going to go off anytime soon, he allowed himself the luxury of time. As he began to run his hands slowly over the silk of his pajama top, he tried to figure out who had been in the dream with him. Whoever she was, they'd been on Vulcan; Jean-Luc could vaguely remember that much. He moaned softly as his fingers glided over his tight nipples, trying to imagine someone else's fingers touching him there. Maybe he'd been dreaming about one of the heroines from the novel. That made sense, and he let himself fall into a fantasy involving wild sex with the warrior woman, Tevela. He didn't know, as the movements of his hands grew more focused, that he was being watched, that, as he stroked his cock through the thin silk that covered it, someone was watching it all and feeling an urgent need of their own. Jean-Luc was totally caught up in his fantasy now, a fantasy of sex that was half combat, as both participants wrestled for both dominance and pleasure. He was so close now, so close to the edge, as one hand tightened on his cock and the other clutched at a fistful of sheet, and his body writhed on the bed. He imagined the strength of a firm, hot body pressed against him, and how it would feel when he finally slid into the center of all that heat and strength. When he came, he came hard, arching off the bed into his own hand and yelling harshly as he rode out the pleasure he had become. He lay on the bed for a long time as he came down and his breathing and heart rate returned to normal. Finally, as his body cooled he became aware that his pajamas were soaked, he got out of bed and headed for the bathroom. A few moments later, as the hot water beat down on him, he wondered at this sudden upsurge of his libido. Normally, reading a book about the rise to power by two very different women would not have brought on a dream like that. For that matter, he'd dreamed like that the night before. *What's going on with me?* It really shouldn't bother him that much, of course. In spite of the fact that he'd only had a few hours of sleep tonight, he felt wonderful and had no doubt that tomorrow he'd be able to deal calmly with the ambassador and his ridiculous demands. If this were merely a matter of his stress seeking a form of release, he should be glad that it had chosen this form as opposed to burying him in nightmares or inflicting a bout of insomnia on him. When, clean, dry, and naked, he climbed back into bed, his skin seemed to be unusually aware of the crispness of the sheets and the weight of the blankets. He didn't normally sleep naked, but for some reason it had seemed like a good idea, and, as sleep again claimed him, he felt oddly decedent. He was surrounded by textures this time. Sprawled naked on his stomach on a pile of cushions, he reveled in the feeling of silk against his chest and the velvet that seemed almost to caress his thighs. He was being stroked; determined hands were running along his back. It wasn't exactly a massage, it was too gentle for that. It fit the languorous, luxuriant feeling of this place, and he surrendered easily to the touch of those hands. They glided over him, aided by some sort of warm oil, and he was soon moaning and pressing himself deeper into the pile of cushions. His only purpose in this place was to give and receive pleasure, and, as the hands slid down over his buttocks and started touching his thighs, he spread his legs in a gesture that seemed almost automatic. His moans increased in intensity and frequency, because he wanted to let the man who was touching him know how good it felt. And he *did* feel good, pampered and pleasured and... END 1/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:37:09 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams 2/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:37:09 GMT Lines: 365 Message-ID: <19980312143701.JAA09585@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1253 *Escher Dreams* Part Two by The Anon Sisters 2/10 disclaimers in 1/1 *Beep, beep, beep, beep...* "Off!" Picard groaned. What the hell was going on? He was hard *again,* achingly so. Someone in his dreams, doubtlessly yet another woman, had been touching him all over, and he had an image of pillows. He laughed, though it was shaky. What would Troi say? *She'd tell me to enjoy this latest manifestation of my psyche and explore what it means to me to masturbate,* he thought with a somewhat irritated smirk, though more than half-serious. For some reason, he suddenly thought of Ardra, the way the woman had come into his quarters that night with her garish negligee and her off-putting sexuality. She'd made herself look like Troi at one point, and he'd thought then how truly lacking in insight she'd been. The counselor wasn't a beautiful "out of reach" woman to him, though she was certainly physically quite lovely. No, Deanna Troi was his confessor, his helper, his whatever-he-needed to do his job despite the horrors the universe sometimes threw his way. She cajoled him, analyzed him, even expertly tormented him if that were what he needed to face himself. Only because of her incredible talents had he come so cleanly through his Borg and Cardassian tortures, only because of her devotion to her job did the rest of the crew function so well, survive so admirably the forces which tugged at them and which would, unchecked, pull them all to pieces. But the price for that sort of help was high. In return for it Troi demanded unfailing honesty. Nothing could be kept from her for long, nothing white-washed or allowed to fester. No pain could go unremarked upon, no joy unsung. It was exhausting and annoying and incredibly priceless. And as a consequence Picard couldn't imagine thinking of her as an object of desire. She was his mother, sister, angel, enemy, conscience, friend, and colleague all presented in a pretty but ultimately inconsequential package. And so there Ardra had been: a woman who didn't attract him for one set of reasons pretending to be a woman who didn't attract him for a different set of reasons. He'd never been less tempted in his life. Picard chuckled. He knew why he was thinking of that moment now, concentrating on it fiercely, in fact. He wanted the heaviness between his legs to go away. He had meetings and negotiations to think about, and no time to stay in his room playing with himself like a teenager. He thought of Ardra's come-ons, of the way she beamed him to the planet in his pajamas, of the way she tried to embarrass him in front of his crew, and very soon he wasn't all that hard anymore. A shower would finish the job, he thought, rising from bed and walking naked into the bathroom. He looked himself over in the mirror as he passed, noting with a wry smile that his eyes seemed bright and his face relaxed. Even though he couldn't remember them, they really had been lovely dreams. "Shower," Picard told them computer, and stepped inside the cubicle to enjoy the warm spray. "Ohhhh," he breathed as that deluge caressed him. The water felt wonderful against his skin. He turned so that the spray hit his chest, stimulating sensitive nipples, before it trickled deliciously down to his groin, rippling through the gray-black curls there and running off the sides of his cock. Quickly, he was again fully erect, and he found he was repositioning his legs to enjoy even more the sensation of the hot water cascading down his skin. The heat was filling him now, moving around him in steamy swirls which made up the embracing arms of a ghost lover. He got some soap in his hands from the wall dispenser, rubbed them together to start up a warm lather, and then covered his chest, his arms, his shoulders, his head, neck and face in the creamy white suds. He stepped into the spray and felt the cleansing rinse tumble over him, stimulating him further. More soap, and he was now eagerly, urgently dropping his hands to his cock, enjoying the feel of himself in his own hands, loving and groaning over the feel of his hands around himself. "Ohhh, yes," he said, just for his own ears. And yes, there was no harm in this, no need to hold back, no need to worry or feel guilty, just himself giving himself pleasure...somehow, more pleasure right this moment than he'd felt on a few occasions with a lover. *Good thing it isn't usually this good,* he couldn't help thinking, *or I'd never have made anything out of my life.* The water seemed to pelt him even harder, and the steam was moving all around him, into and out of his lungs, lightly caressing him and yet enfolding him in a white shroud of privacy in which anything was permitted, so long as it felt good. And then, as everything became heat and slippery sensation, he *came* into his hands with a small scream, legs almost giving out, hips bucking, sight going just slightly dark. He steadied himself with his hands on the shower wall, waiting a long, long minute until his breathing got under control, then roughly shook himself, finished the shower and got out. It was difficult, however, to force himself to the quick efficiency he needed. He wanted to loll about on his bed and eat a huge breakfast, not jump into his uniform and slurp down a cup of coffee. He glanced at himself in the mirror -- acceptable -- and then all but shoved himself out his own door. He did have reason for the rush, after all. The computer told him he now had seventy minutes on the bridge before he would have to join the ambassador in his quarters. Those seventy minutes would be the highlight of his day -- minus the incredible jerk-off session in the shower, that is -- because yesterday the Enterprise had discovered a spatial anomaly previously unknown in Federation history. It was unique and fascinating enough to warrant investigation even in the middle of their diplomatic mission with the Prytt, and now Picard had over an hour to help in the investigation. Picard loved mysteries, and just the thought of what the anomaly might reveal was enough to make it easy -- or at least, possible -- to put the strange but highly pleasurable night and morning from his thoughts and concentrate on his duties. With a steadying breath, he centered himself in the turbo-lift and began to map out the details of his day. Captain Picard was ready once again to take the bridge. He headed briskly across the bridge toward the command chair, his eyes taking everything in almost automatically: everyone at their stations and doing their jobs, Data rising from the command chair to turn over the watch, that incredible view on the viewscreen...Picard almost stumbled to a halt, and would have felt self-conscious about his moment of clumsiness, if all of his attention weren't caught up in what he was looking at. The anomaly almost looked like lace, although Picard had never seen lace made out of copper thread before. Picard instantly thought of the old Tholian Web incident, and then thought of Q's forcefield at Farpoint, but this was like neither of those two occurrences. He stood for a moment longer, simply looking at and appreciating the beauty displayed before him. He then turned to Data, resolving to have a copy made of the visual recording. "What do you have on the phenomenon, Mr. Data?" "It is most curious, sir," the android replied as he called up the information. "I should hope so," Picard said, smiling. Picard spent an interesting hour going over the findings of the astrophysics department. They really didn't have much to report; the anomaly was made up of some kind of energy which they couldn't define, it was only visible from one angle for reasons that they didn't know, and they had no idea how it had come so suddenly into being. By the time Picard reluctantly dragged himself away from the investigation, all he knew was that it seemed to pose no danger to the ship. A probe had been sent out and had flown through the "lace" several times. The data collected had been fascinating; it seemed as if there were some sort of energy contained in the glowing network, but the probe had been undamaged. It was just the sort of puzzle Picard liked, and he realized that he was smiling as he headed for his meeting with the ambassador. After a grueling round of negotiations, during which Ambassador Arlic seemed to take Picard's good mood as a personal insult, the captain headed back toward the bridge and the anomaly. He was still in a good mood, and he had to admit that -- aside from the Prytt ambassador -- life was surprisingly good right now. "Captain," Data said as Picard walked onto the bridge. "If you had not been on your way here, I would have called you to the bridge." "What do you have for me?" Picard looked at the viewscreen and noticed that the copper lace-like pattern seemed to be fracturing. "The sensors indicate that the anomaly is opening up in some way." Data looked distressed to use such imprecise terminology, and Picard shook his head. "Opening up? To what, or should I say, 'where?'" As they watched, both on the screen and in the display of the sensor data, the whole net seemed to expand and fold back on itself, looking like nothing so much as a flower blooming at high speed. And then they were staring at what looked like a ball of greenish-yellow gas that seemed to be contained in copper lattice work. "Most unusual," Data said, sounding utterly surprised. "This defies several known laws of physics." Picard turned to look back at the sensor data and frowned. "Am I reading this correctly, Mr. Data?" "Yes, sir. This is a separate object, contained within the first object, which is roughly one fourth again as large as the first anomaly." "Correct me if I'm wrong," Riker said, "but isn't that impossible?" The first officer looked at the sensors, the viewscreen, and then Picard. "Of course," he added, "that's why it's classified as an anomaly." Picard laughed and turned to Data. "Well, run it through the full spectrum of scans again, and we'll wait and see what it does next." He turned and walked toward the lift and then turned back. "Has it got a name yet?" "Starfleet has designated it: Spatial Anomaly #732K, Captain." "That will never do, Mr. Data. Add 'commonly known as the Escher Anomaly' to the official designation." Data nodded, and both the android and Riker seemed a little surprised. "Commander," Data said, after the lift doors had closed behind Picard, "Captain Picard seems to be in an excellent mood." "Well, something like this," and Riker gestured to the viewscreen, "makes up for dealing with cranky Prytt ambassadors." Once in his quarters, Picard found that he was more interested in going to bed than in anything else. He ate dinner quickly and decided that, if he were going to have another night of...interesting dreams, he might as well get started. After making a mental note to ask Deanna, as circumspectly as possible, if anyone else were experiencing unusual dreams, he climbed into bed. It *had* been a long day, and he was tired, and so he soon drifted off to sleep. This time he was floating, weightless and relaxed. He was in the Academy Zero Gee Simulator, he realized, and he was wearing a skinsuit and holding a phaser. The thin yet tough fabric clung to him with a tension that was just this side of uncomfortable. Instinctively, he looked around, trying to memorize his surroundings. It was a good idea, as suddenly, the lights went out and the stars appeared. Grinning, he looked down at his chest, finding a bright red patch of glowing color there. *If I'm red, my opponent must be green.* Remembering that there had been a support strut right above and to the left of his head, he twisted until he had grasped the strut. Secure now, he quickly looked around, trying to remember the positioning of the other struts and lines throughout the chamber. A flash of green caught his eye and he turned and fired. The flash moved and his shot went wide, but he was too busy ducking his opponent's fire to guess where the other had gone. Over the next several breathless moments, he and his opponent played tag among the three-dimensional maze of the simulator. Finally, Picard had lined up the perfect shot, and it was only as he fired that he realized he'd set himself up as well. The light on his chest flared green at the exact same moment his opponent's chest flared red, and then their phasers went dead. "A tie," the other man called out, and Picard moved toward the splotch of red. "That was well-played," Picard said, catching a strut a meter away from the man. "I haven't done that in years. Thank you." "Any time, Jean-Luc," the rich voice replied. There was something familiar about the voice, but then Picard could see the other's shape against the false stars of the simulator. "I was going to demand a forfeit, but since we tied, perhaps I'll have to ask instead." A hand brushed across Picard's chest, almost delicately. The skinsuit transmitted the touch and Picard moaned as his own hand reached out to return the gesture. Instead of a skinsuit, his fingers met skin: a cheek, he realized. He leaned his own face forward and they were suddenly kissing, hands running slowly over each other's bodies as they floated amidst the stars. The other man hooked one of his legs around Picard's legs, and suddenly they were pressed up tightly against each other. Every movement of his partner was transmitted through the tight fabric Picard wore and the only sound in the room was the sound of their harsh breathing. And Picard woke up. Feeling cheated, he closed his eyes and rolled over on his stomach, wishing that he could get back into the fantasy, step somehow back inside the dream he could only remember for its sense of floating and something else that had felt really, really good. But after a few minutes he knew that he was truly awake. He was aroused, of course, but it wasn't anything he couldn't get rid of with a few well-chosen thoughts. The computer told him it was one in the morning, and he knew from experience that having gone to bed early and woken up this completely meant it would be a while before he was able to sleep again. Rising, he threw on his uniform and walked out of his quarters. He'd been captain of this ship almost two years now, but he still enjoyed "exploring" it. She was the best that Starfleet had, even so long after her commission, due to LaForge's constant insistence for upgrades. During the gamma shift, she took on a slightly mysterious quality he enjoyed. Mysterious... With a smile he realized where his feet were taking him, and relaxed into pleasure as he finished the journey to the dorsal observation lounge. It was completely deserted, as usual, let alone in the middle of the night, but for some reason he engaged the privacy lock. He supposed he just wanted some time alone to commune with this "thing" outside his ship. It was so beautiful. The copper lace was almost completely gone, and only the flowering of the green -- actually, it was aqua now -- gas remained. He sat down on the soft couch and stared at the swirling mass a long while, admiring the unseen forces which could create something so lovely. "You think it's nice?" the man beside him asked. "Exquisite," he pronounced, relaxing utterly with the warmth he felt. Easily, he reached over and took one long-fingered hand into his own, doing nothing more than that, for now. They watched the spectacle together quietly, enjoying that the other was there to see it. After that long time, which suddenly took on the feeling of a patient wait, the body near him scooted a bit closer to him on the couch, and his other hand rested gently on the inside of Jean-Luc's thigh. Picard sighed with pleasure and would have turned to smile into the expressive face of his companion, except that his voice urged him: "No, it's all right. By all means, keep enjoying the view." Jean-Luc chuckled and rested his head back against the sofa, feeling that with the anomaly before him and that hand now stroking his thigh the entire universe had gotten involved in a plan to pleasure him. "Yesss," he hissed as that hand went to his groin and applied light pressure. "You always make it so good." "You're easy to please," the man responded, stroking him now, getting him to sigh and moan as the pressure increased. "I just have to move the earth." "What?" Picard said, his attention somewhat overwhelmed with the feel of all his blood rushing to his cock. Oh, he needed this. It felt wonderful, and somehow as he stared into the spatial anomaly outside his ship and felt that hand work on his body, it were as if the two things were connected, and the anomaly were making love to him. "I said you seem like sex given form and voice," his lover said now. "How about I drag down your pants and jerk you off?" "Yes!" Picard shouted. He was afraid suddenly of making too much noise, of being too active or something... but then his lover fulfilled his plan, releasing his painfully aroused cock from his tight uniform into the warm air of the room. Then a gentle series of touches coaxed feeling from him, tracing that vein underneath, dancing around the swollen head, then simply wrapping around him and stroking lightly, then harder, then harder still, until he came, joyously, into that grasp. He laughed with delight and turned to kiss his lover with an offer to pleasure him next. And woke up. End 2/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:39:48 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: Escher Dreams 3/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:39:48 GMT Lines: 318 Message-ID: <19980312143900.JAA09871@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1255 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 3/10 disclaimers in 1/10 "Damn!" he shouted into the empty room. His dream had vanished completely, the gases outside had swirled into a new pattern, it might well be past time for him to get up, and he had a dark, wet stain in the crotch of his uniform. "Computer, what is the time?" "06:38 hours." Well, then, he had a little time, and he recalled that he had at least managed to lock the door on his way in. This observation lounge sometimes served as a banquet hall, and there was a small galley to the port side. There he found a replicator and keyed in a confidential request for a new uniform. It appeared, and he stripped, disposed of the one he was wearing -- after using it to clean himself off -- and then dressed. It wasn't his uniform which most concerned him, however. There was definitely something strange going on here. Perhaps the anomaly was affecting him in some fashion. Perhaps he should be concerned for his crew. It was true that he felt absolutely wonderful, but they'd had dangerous problems with anomalies and dreams before. He resolved to speak to Beverly about any signs of unusual crew behavior and set off for his cabin and a long sonic shower. "Unusual signs of behavior?" Beverly asked when Picard questioned her in the morning staff meeting. "Not that I can think of." She called up some information on the display in front of her. "No, we haven't had anyone complain about anything out of the ordinary. In fact..." She frowned and called up more data. "There has been a slight drop, about 4%, in the number of unscheduled visits." Picard looked at Deanna. "Have people been coming to you about their dreams?" "No," the empath replied and she looked at him curiously. "Have *you* been having unusual dreams, Captain?" Picard had known she was going to ask. "Nothing that I can remember, Counselor." He paused and decided that he could, at least partially describe what was happening to him. "I know that I'm having a large number of pleasant dreams, but I don't remember them much." He looked around the table curiously. "Well, Captain," LaForge said. "I haven't noticed a change in my dreaming, but I seem to be in a good mood a lot lately." Further conversation revealed that everyone at the meeting felt as though they were in better moods that usual. Finally, Picard shrugged. "I don't think there's anything wrong with it, but, Counselor, I'd like you to keep watch on the emotional levels on the ship." When Picard had dismissed everyone, Troi lingered behind, much as he'd expected her to. "It could just be that *you* are in an unusually good mood these days." Picard raised an eyebrow at her. "The crew does take its cue from you, as much as you like to pretend they don't." Her eyes twinkled. "For instance, I would never have teased you like that if you weren't in a good mood." Picard smiled. "Counselor, about the dreams..." "Does it bother you that you can't remember them?" She looked at him shrewdly. "Or is it the nature of those dreams that worries you?" "Why do I even *try* to hide anything from you?" He really should have guessed that she would figure out the nature of his dreams. "Would you believe that that was only a lucky guess?" She paused and then went on. "Does it bother you?" "Only because," Picard replied, choosing his words carefully, "at my age, one likes to think that one is no longer quite such a slave to one's hormones." "Provided one isn't a Betazoid," she said with a faint smile. "Captain, is there anyone...right now?" "No," he replied distractedly. He had the sudden image of a full, expressive mouth, but then it was gone. "If you'd like to learn how to remember your dreams, I can teach you some techniques." "Thank you, Counselor, I don't think I want to try that now, but I'll keep it in mind." It was only after Troi left that Picard admitted to himself that he didn't know if he *wanted* to know who his dream lover was. He was beginning to think that all the dreams were about the same person, but he was rather enjoying guessing who that person was. He was also more than a little concerned that if he guessed the identity of his dream love, whatever was going on in his unconscious might be settled, and the dreams would stop. With a small wince, Picard recognized that under his desire for the dreams to continue was a simple wish not to be left alone, again, even by someone from his own mind. He was abruptly torn between wanting to shove the reaction aside as self-pitying, and feeling that he had a duty to explore the meaning of such an uncharacteristic thought. *Later,* he finally pronounced. When Picard left the conference room and came onto the bridge, Data called him over to one of the science consoles. "This is most curious, Captain," he said, gesturing to a screen. "This is the display of the anomaly's radio emissions." Picard stared at the screen in surprise. "This is the current anomaly?" he asked. "The one that is inside the first anomaly?" "Astrophysics is referring to them as Escher One and Escher Two, Captain." The pattern of radio emissions looked almost exactly like the lace-like visual pattern of the original anomaly. "Mr. Data," Picard asked, "what are the odds of something like that happening?" "Do you really want to know, sir?" Data asked. Picard laughed. "No, I suppose I don't. Well, I have to meet with Ambassador Arlic. Keep me posted on this." Even a full day of wrangling with Arlic didn't succeed in dulling Picard's enthusiasm for the day. And after the day's round of negotiations, Picard inspected the flight decks. It was such a successful inspection that the senior flight deck officer, Lt. Galabria, invited him to dine with herself and the off-duty pilots. It turned out to be an enjoyable evening as he, Galabria, and a couple of the other senior pilots traded "no shit, there I was" stories, while the junior pilots looked at them with wide eyes, when they weren't laughing. If he'd had the ability (as a certain observer did) to listen to the conversation in Mess Hall C after he left, he would have been simultaneously gratified and embarrassed. "I've never seen the Old Man in such a good mood," one of the older flight controllers said to Galabria as the doors closed behind the captain. "I've been with him since right after the Battle of Wolf 359," Galabria replied. "Sometimes he'll loosen up like that, but you better appreciate it, because it sure doesn't happen often." She paused and thought for a moment. "Scuttlebutt says he's up to his ears in negotiations with that loony ambassador; maybe he just wanted to hang out with some fun people for a while." Just as Picard rounded the last turn in the corridor before his quarters, Data summoned him to the bridge, informing him the anomaly was going through another change. When he arrived on the bridge, he eagerly looked at the viewscreen, absently noting that most of the bridge crew were keeping tabs on the sight as well. "Are we dealing with the appearance of Escher Three, yet?" he asked Data. Almost as soon as he spoke, Escher Two expanded and folded back exactly the same way Escher One had. In its center was an oval form that looked almost as if it were made of liquid mercury. Picard glanced over Data's shoulder, and sure enough, the new anomaly, still resting within the second which still rested within the first, was larger than either of the other two anomalies. "Curiouser and curiouser," Data murmured. "Lewis Carroll, Mr. Data?" "A fascinating author, Captain, and that phase seems to fit a good number of the situations we have found ourselves in." "I've always thought so, Data," Picard replied, resting a hand on Data's shoulder for a moment. "What do the radio emissions from Escher Three look like?" he asked after they had watched the new anomaly for a time. Data called up the information and Picard felt almost disappointed that he didn't see the lace pattern. *Oh well,* he thought, *I'm in no position to complain.* He backed off for a while, retreating to his ready room to write reports and give Data a chance to work without his commanding officer hanging over his shoulder. Finally, after checking up on the anomaly again, and finding himself almost hypnotized by its dull silver surface, he headed for his quarters and bed. As he picked up his book and prepared to read before falling asleep, he realized that he was taking it for granted that he would have another erotic dream tonight. In fact, he was looking forward to it. *This would be what it would be like to be involved with someone,* he mused. How strange it was to anticipate something like this. He applauded enthusiastically as the baritone led the mezzo-soprano off stage and the strains of "Non piu andrai" faded as the curtain came down on the first act. It was really amazing that the Viennese hadn't like this work. Then again, Vienna's loss was Prague's gain, and the opera-loving people of Prague had taken *Le Nozze di Figaro* to heart. This was the third time he'd attended this opera, and each time it seemed to get better. He turned to his companion. "Shall we risk the crush, or send my man?" "Send the man, by all means," was the reply, and Jean-Luc turned to give orders for refreshments to his footman. "Really, Jean-Luc, calling such a pretty boy a 'man,'" his companion said after the servant bowed and headed out of the box. "Is he pretty? I hadn't noticed. I don't notice anyone anymore, just you." "Flattery, my love, will get you far." "Really?" Picard moved into the seat behind the broad-shouldered man who shared the box with him. Brushing aside the queue of dark hair, he began kissing the other man's neck, breathing in deeply the smell of cologne. "How far?" he whispered into his lover's ear. As Jean-Luc's hands traveled down the plum velvet-covered sides of the man in front of him, and then along his outer thighs, he heard a soft moan. "My bed, my salon, my carriage..." He paused and groaned softly as Jean-Luc's hands slid upward and inward to caress the velvet-covered bulge in his lap. "If you keep...oh...doing that...ahhhh...you won't get any further...than the floor of...oh yes...this box..." He fell silent except for soft gasps and moans, all of which were obviously stifled as much as possible. "I never...expected this...of you..." Picard woke up. He was too wound up even to try to figure out who the dream lover was, and he was far too wound up for any sort of finesse in dealing with himself. Clinging to the memory of a velvet-covered body and the scent of spicy perfume, he briskly stroked his heavy, aching cock. When he came, it was a short, sharp, explosive release, and he heard himself yell in French as he climaxed. *Should I be more worried about this?* he wondered as he took a quick sonic shower before heading back to bed. *It's not interfering with my command any, and it's making me a better diplomat.* He thought about his dinner with the pilots and flight control staff. *And maybe even a better captain.* He wondered if the anomaly had anything to do with it. It seemed unlikely, but a lifetime spent dealing with the unlikely made it difficult to dismiss the notion. *Oh, Jean-Luc,* he thought as he headed back to bed. "Why is it so hard to suppose that you're having a streak of good luck?* He chuckled into the silence of his room as he settled back into bed. *If nothing else, I'll come out of this with a stronger right forearm.* In the morning, he returned to the bridge as quickly as possible, wanting to spend as much time with the anomaly as he could before Arlic had his turn. The shape and color had not changed, though somehow it seemed only more beautiful. "Any changes in the radio emissions?" he asked Data, who sat tapping the controls at the conn with a little more enthusiasm even than usual. "Yes, sir," he responded, relaying the information to Picard's chair console. He discovered that again the lace pattern had appeared. "Damnedest thing I ever saw," Riker said at his side, making Troi smile. "I've finalized our initial report to Command, sir, if you're interested in looking it over." "Yes, certainly, Number One." Picard called up the report on his console, not wanting to retreat to his ready room and miss gazing at the anomaly. "I can't tell you how pleased I am at how much you like it," a warm voice said in his ear. "What are you doing here?" Picard demanded in surprise, turning to the tall body now crouched beside his chair and meeting a pair of dark brown eyes. "You don't sound pleased to see *me,* though," he said in mock hurt, those full lips the captain so clearly remembered now pouting a bit. "Of course I'm pleased," Picard rumbled, swooping forward for a light kiss that sent old-fashioned tingles throughout his body. "I'm just surprised...pleasantly so." "You'll have to prove it better than that," the man challenged before placing his hands on his shoulders and pulling him in for a proper kiss: long and hard and deep. Vaguely he heard Riker chuckle and go back to his own duties. The captain necking with his lover was hardly an unusual or interesting sight next to the anomaly outside. *Oh, I love this,* Picard thought as he grew slightly dizzy from excitement. He was exploring this generous mouth fully now, searching for all the spaces he remembered and cherished, looking for anything new his lover might like. Such perfect pressure on his lips, such a skilled tongue exploring his own mouth, and he moaned slightly, shifting in his seat to accommodate his lover's body as he suddenly straddled him in his chair. He moaned again at the pressure of that body against him, hard now and pulling his uniform tight. Somehow they would have to get themselves into his ready room before even his excellent crew's patience was strained too far. End 3/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:41:51 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!ionews.ionet.net!nntp.abs.net!news-out.internetmci.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams 4/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:41:51 GMT Lines: 333 Message-ID: <19980312144100.JAA10122@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1256 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 4/10 disclaimers in 1/10 "Good lord," Picard moaned into his room as he woke up. Oh, he was nothing but an erection and a prostrate body to support it. Thank God he'd gone to bed naked. Feeling so decadent his face flushed bright red, he pushed the sheets away and lay there on his back, hard as a rock, as a mountain, and simply *felt* his own arousal, seeing clearly in his mind the image he made. The watcher saw that image clearly as well: hand-crafted muscles, pale, smooth skin, except where he was pink and dark, dark red; everything in trim proportion; strength and sweetness. The man was perfection, beauty given a face and body, and sexual excitement given a cock covered in dripping velvet. Unable to help himself, even though the room did not have the air eddies of the shower, he brushed his consciousness just lightly past that straining organ and shuddered (non-corporeally) in pleasure when the man moaned. Slowly, Picard simply pumped the air one time, wondering if the stray current from the ventilation system would return. Then, sighing, he brought his hands to his stomach and lightly trailed his fingertips over his own flushed skin. He felt a stab of loneliness. His body was crying out for touches his own hands couldn't fully satisfy, and his hands were wishing fiercely for the soft skin of another. There. He remembered it clearly from the dream: soft skin, very warm and very... Picard grunted and moved his hands to his nipples, pressing hard, enjoying the sensation as he rarely did. He could not remember anything more than soft skin that seemed a little warmer than he would have expected, though perhaps it was simply the heat of sex he was thinking about. In any event, he knew that as soon as he touched his own cock he would come, so he played awhile longer with his nipples before his hands lightly trailed down the rest of the way. "Ohhhh," he breathed as his own hands covered him, caressed him. "So good." And it was. He came quickly, his whole body convulsing with the pleasure of it, and then he lay there a long time, ignoring the semen drying on his body, pleasantly sated, the lonely feeling gone as everything oozed contentment. *Beep, beep, beep, beep...* "Off!" With a sigh, he got out of bed, stripped the sheets, re-made the bed, showered, dressed, ate, and went to the bridge. He actually had to restrain the depth of his smile and an urge to tell everyone how pleased he was to see them. "Any changes in the radio emissions?" he asked Data, who was standing at a science station at the rear of the bridge. "Yes, sir," the android responded, and for a moment Picard felt a sense of unease. But when he looked over Data's shoulder, he saw not the return of the lace pattern, but a series of interwoven sine waves that had no repeating pattern at all. "Extraordinary," he breathed. Riker walked up from his chair and looked at the read-out as well, then nodded and told him, "I've finalized our initial report to Command, sir, and sent it to your ready room for when you're interested in looking it over." "Yes, thank you, Number One." Picard nodded, frowning just slightly and about to say something further when Ambassador Arlic burst into the bridge. "I demand to know what..." the ambassador began, then trailed off as his attention was caught by the viewscreen. Everyone simply waited for him to continue. It was something of a long wait. "Oh," he said finally. "How extraordinary." Picard knew the universal translator had actually picked that word for whatever the Prytt ambassador had actually said, but he still smiled in fellow-feeling. "My thoughts exactly, Ambassador. I and my crew have been quite caught up in the study of it." "I...I knew something was going on, but..." He turned to look now at the captain, and faintly Picard could see on his face something besides the paranoid ambassador. He wondered if he were not talking to a scientist here. The idea surprised him. He wouldn't have thought the ambassador knew about the science of anything but eavesdropping devices. "Would you be interested in looking at our findings?" Picard asked the ambassador politely. "Interested?" Arlic breathed. "I'd be delighted." He almost seemed to be trying to force himself into his usual mode of suspicion when he added: "In return for what?" Picard shook his head. "The Federation tries to share as much of its non-military research as possible with as many people as possible. There are no strings attached." The normally mulish ambassador looked like a child on his birthday, and Picard found himself re-evaluating the man. Anyone who could see and appreciate the beauty spread out on the viewscreen before them was someone he could understand. "We'd welcome you views on our research," he said, and for once, his voice was not carefully polite. "Captain Picard, may I speak to you alone?" Arlic asked. Picard nodded and gestured toward the observation lounge. As they walked past the science station he quietly asked Data to make their research available to the ambassador, and to load a summary onto a padd. "Ambassador?" Picard asked once he was alone with Arlic. "Captain Picard, I have been trying to conduct these negotiations the way my government wishes. I'm an astronomer, actually, not a diplomat, but they wouldn't send a government official, or Prytt forbid, a military officer to deal with you." He looked down at his hands. "We have our reasons for being as cautious as we are, but that's neither here nor there at the moment." "And it was the anomaly that made you decide to tell me this?" Picard let his mild skepticism color his voice and Arlic shrugged sheepishly. "Not exactly; to tell the truth, I was getting tired of this whole thing. I probably would have given up on this idiotic charade eventually." He sighed. "But I must admit that when I knew what was keeping you occupied..." "It's one of the most fascinating anomalies I've ever seen," Picard said, smiling. He seemed to be smiling a lot lately, but he couldn't help it. "This side of Starfleet, the exploratory side you keep talking about, it's not just talk, is it?" Arlic sounded almost wistful. "No," Picard replied sincerely. Arlic nodded. He seemed to be lost in thought for a while. "Captain Picard, perhaps we need to take a bit of a break from our sessions. I would like to look at the research your people have done, and maybe after that..." "There's a Human expression," Picard said, "about clearing the air." Arlic nodded, and they decided to take up their negotiations the next afternoon. Picard, left with a large chunk of time on his hands and not wanting to bother Data and the Astrophysics Department too much, decided that he could do with some exercise. He made his way to a holosuite and called up his Golden Gate Park program. He wasn't at all surprised when he realized that the random weather program had given him a lovely, sunny day. Replicating shorts and shoes, he stripped off most of his uniform and changed. After carefully stretching out, he picked a path that would eventually take him down to Ocean Beach and began to run. It felt good, he reflected as he found his stride. He hadn't had much opportunity to push himself physically lately, between the negotiations and the anomaly. *Well, you've been pushing one part of yourself physically,* he thought wryly. *Or is that pulling, Johnny?* He laughed out loud and sped up, determined to make as much out of this sudden startling period of good luck as possible. An hour later, he was lying on his stomach on one of the reinforcing walls, watching the activity on the beach. People were walking their dogs, or flying kites, or surfing, or playing with children. Just a sunny day at the beach, he thought, enjoying the view. Four cadets in Academy sweats showed up and produced a Frisbee. When a wild throw on the part of one of them sent the plastic disc flying in his direction, he started to sit up to try to catch it. "I've got it," a familiar voice said, and Jean-Luc relaxed as his lover caught the Frisbee and then threw it in a perfect arc toward the cadet who had thrown it wild. "Thanks," she yelled. "Sorry I'm late," Jean-Luc's lover said to him as he waved at the young woman. "Mea culpa, mea maxima culpa. Name my punishment." "Never mind that," Picard chuckled, sitting up. Their lips met in a perfect kiss, and Picard could feel his nerves catch fire as they always did. "Well, I already had my punishment. I missed seeing you run." As Picard blushed faintly, the other man went on. "You're so compact and graceful, so powerful. I could watch you for hours." He paused to run an appreciative hand along the inside of one of Picard's thighs. "You have incredible legs. Can I tell you what I want to do to you someday?" Picard nodded, shivering at the feel of those large hands gliding over his skin. "I want to put you up on the model stand, naked, and cover you with oil until every centimeter of your skin gleams." "Mmmmm..." "I'd do it slowly too," his lover said, letting his hands roam over Picard's bare arms. "And then, when you're all oiled up and shining, I'll flood the studio with light...gold-filtered light." He paused to smooth Jean-Luc's tank top over his chest, slowing down as his hands brushed across Picard's already hard nipples. "You'll probably already be worked up, but just to make sure, I'll take that extraordinary cock in my mouth and run my tongue over every last bit of it until you're hanging on the edge." Picard moaned at the thought, and his lover smiled. "And then I'll start taking pictures." "Of me? Like that?" "Why not?" The dark eyes in that expressive face looked a little hurt, and Picard hastened to explain: "Well, you usually don't go for stationary objects. Your best works are stills of bodies in motion, like that snow leopard sequence." Picard smiled wickedly. "I'm not *that* fast, but I could manage something." "Like maybe touching yourself?" "Great minds..." "Ohhh, Jean-Luc. Just the thought..." There was a loud squawk from a gull, and Picard suddenly sat up. He was on the wall overlooking the beach, awake and desperately aroused. "Computer, time." "The time is 14:50," the computer replied. "Computer, replace this sector of the program with Sector 47." In a blink, Picard was sitting on a small bench looking over one of the smaller ponds in the park. There was no one nearby, and it was with great relief that he reached down and began to stroke his erection through his shorts. All he could remember of the dream was a smooth, rich voice saying something erotic. It was enough: at the thought of that voice (deep for a woman, he remembered) and the way it had fired his nerves, he came with a low groan. "I don't see anything wrong with you," Beverly noted, looking over the extremely detailed results of her final scans. "You sound disappointed." The doctor smiled and pushed a lock of blond hair from her face. "I'm just trying to find something to explain why you've actually come in *early* for your checkup. I was expecting the Telurian Plague at the very least." A cloud shadowed Picard's face, though it was obvious he was trying to maintain the teasing note of the conversation. "Irumodic Syndrome not good enough for you?" But Beverly actually smiled at him, though she felt a little guilty for not simply announcing this the second she was sure: "Actually, that lesion I found in your parietal lobe is gone. I'd say that Irumodic Syndrome is another part of Q's possible future that doesn't seem to be working out." A relief greater than Picard had realized he would feel washed through him, and he was suddenly wishing that he could go straight to bed. It disturbed him, though it did nothing to diminish his relief, but he wanted to share the news with his dream lover. He shook the thought off. Now was not the time to be worrying. He smiled as happily as he felt and watched his old friend blink at him. And then they hugged, most unprofessionally, and kissed each other on the cheek. "Dinner?" he asked. "I think I have a bottle of wine that goes admirably with celebration and good company." She smiled and looked at him somewhat admonishingly. "I don't think I should be that selfish, Jean-Luc." "What do you mean?" "Do you honestly think I'm not going to tell everyone about this? Do you really believe they aren't going to need to spend a little time with you?" The captain warmed at the thought of what she was saying, and his smile, though embarrassed, deepened. "The command staff has a late afternoon conference," he said, and she nodded back. In fact, it was quickly time for the conference, and Picard was soon listening to Data's detailed analysis of the latest readings on the anomaly. "From these, I predict that we will witness the appearance of Escher Four sometime tomorrow morning," the android finished. "See that the ambassador gets a personal invitation to join us on the bridge for that," Picard told Riker, who nodded. "There have been no signs of navigation hazard produced by the anomaly so far," Riker put in, "but I want to continue to keep the ship at a safe distance, and running engine diagnostics on a double schedule." Data and LaForge nodded. "I'm keeping a close watch on the crew as well, Captain," Troi reported, privately wondering what made him and Beverly feel so pleasantly expectant, "but I've still sensed nothing to indicate a hazard there either." Picard nodded. End 4/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:44:04 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!news-peer-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher dreams 5/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:44:04 GMT Lines: 314 Message-ID: <19980312144400.JAA10378@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1257 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 5/10 disclaimers in 1/10 "If that's it, then..." Riker started. "Actually," the captain began, sitting up a little straighter with a breath, "I have some news from my physical today that I and Beverly thought you should hear." That announcement might have produced dread in his officers, except for the smile which accompanied it. Troi felt a stab of hope so sharp she almost gasped. "It seems that what might have been the sign of early Irumodic Syndrome has cleared up, and there's no trace of any potential disorder at this time." Picard could not possibly have been more flattered or felt more valued by the reaction around the table. They all laughed with relief, congratulated him and Beverly more than once, then talked excitedly about that alternate future and the worries it caused them. Data looked ready to fly, Riker slapped him on the back and didn't even think to apologize, LaForge kept laughing, Troi cried. "I'll have to tell Worf about this," Picard overhead Will tell Beverly. "He'll probably tell us all about some brutal Klingon ceremony to honor good fortune," Troi groaned, wiping tears away. "As long as I don't have to be jabbed with painsticks," Picard told them, "I suppose I could endure it." In the end, the conference wound up in Riker's room with a spontaneous stand-up buffet (courtesy of the replicator) and some wine Picard liberated from his stores. It was odd, the captain thought more than once, how much he'd underestimated what his possible disease had meant to his crew. But then he thought of how he would feel if he knew of such a thing with one of them. In fact, he could do better than simply imagine such a thing. He had not told them the details of Deanna's early death. Indeed, he didn't remember them very well himself. But he knew enough, he believed, to prevent it, and he'd sworn to himself he would. When the date for the tragedy was behind him without incident, he would open up a bottle all on his own, and know a relief as great as the one he felt today. Eventually, the party ran down. They all had early shifts and Escher Four to face tomorrow, and with a kiss on the cheek from Beverly and Troi, a lengthy discussion of his emotion chip from Data, a joke about a Ferengi and a Dabo girl from LaForge, and yet another firm press of his hand on his shoulder from Riker, Picard made his contented way back to his cabin, stripped, showered, and got into bed naked. "Oh, I'm addicted to you," his lover said as they snuggled closer together in their joined sleeping bag. The camp was set up for the night, and their climbing equipment was packed safely away from the cold. It might freeze in the night, and they had set up their tent far from any possible avalanche paths. Indeed, they'd been fortunate to find a good spot under a peak of solid rock and surrounded by the last of the trees. Tomorrow they would reach the summit. Mount Kah'pah wasn't a difficult climb, really, only a beautiful one. Picard felt his pleasantly sore muscles relax as his lover's hands moved over his body, finding their way inside his thermal suit. The air in the tent was warming quickly, and, as Picard reciprocated with his own touches, his lover's body was warmer still. "I thought you were only addicted to climbing," he teased, "and that I was just a fringe benefit." "You know you're my most important thing to mount," the man in his arms leered. Outside, a timber wolf's howl could be faintly heard. "Or would you rather do me?" "I don't care," Picard groaned, feeling cheated that he wasn't kissing his lover right now. "As long as we do it together, I don't care what it is." And then they did kiss, and he was amazed, always so amazed at the heat which completely flooded him as those full lips pressed to his own. He was made for this, and his lover was made for it as well, fitting together with him so perfectly, their bodies, their interests, their characters. Their love seemed inevitable and correct, as though a scientific proof could demonstrate that they belonged together. Skilled hands were moving urgently over his body now, leaving trails of luminescent warmth. Somehow they would have to maneuver around their clothes and the bag and... "Ooohhh," he breathed as his cock pressed forward through the parting of all that cloth to find his partner's bare hip. They both squirmed, laughing, until they were pressed together, and all thoughts of more complex choreography melted away to leave only that basic and yet perfect thrusting, stimulating them, getting them ready to go right over the edge. His lover nibbled on his ear, and he thought he would simply explode. "Ugh," he said, waking up and automatically rolling over into his own hand, stroking only a few times, still half-asleep, and then coming in a hot rush. Still mostly asleep, and foggily assuming that he'd have one more dream before morning, Picard simply moved to the other side of the bed. He'd clean up in the morning. He tested the cuffs on his wrists and ankles, smiling when he realized that he was unable to escape. He relaxed then, knowing that he couldn't do anything about his situation, because he didn't want to do anything about his situation. The door to the room opened and he heard a sharp gasp. "Jean-Luc, what...?" "All for you," he said. "You can do anything you want with me." "Anything? Should we have some sort of...signal...a word or something?" "We don't need one. I *trust* you. If it gets to be too much for either of us, it ends." Picard's lover smiled and slowly nodded. "Oh, the things I can do to you." He came over to sit on the edge of the bed, and Jean-Luc was suddenly aware of the contrast between his own nakedness and his lover's clothes. He shivered with anticipation. His lover laid a hand, ever so gently, on Jean-Luc's face. He stroked Jean-Luc's cheek for a moment and then slipped two fingers inside Picard's mouth. "Get them wet," he murmured, and Jean-Luc licked and sucked at the fingers, wishing he had a different part of his lover's anatomy to do this to. *I gave up my control,* he reminded himself. *I left it up to him.* The thought, which should have been terrifying, made Picard blink slightly, fighting back tears. It was overwhelming to love someone this much, to trust another like this. It was so infinitely precious, and he couldn't believe the luck he'd had in finding his amazingly perfect lover. He was startled out of his thoughts when his lover pulled dripping fingers out of his mouth and replaced them with the fingers of his other hand. As soon as they were wet too, he reached down and began to play with Jean-Luc's nipples, tugging at them until they slid out of his slippery grasp, and then doing it again, and again, and again. Jean-Luc was beginning to writhe with pleasure, when his lover stopped and bent over his chest. He blew on the wet, sensitive nubs and Jean-Luc moaned and twisted as the air made him even more sensitive. He'd assumed that his lover would move elsewhere, but he didn't. Instead he continued playing with Jean-Luc's nipples, until the man was sure that he was going to come from that stimulation alone. He didn't, but he got more and more aroused, and it didn't bother him when he began to whimper almost helplessly. It was so liberating to lie here and let his lover make the decisions. Jean-Luc knew that this torment would lead to an explosive release and, given the way his lover seemed almost transfixed by what he was doing, the other man seemed to be enjoying it as well. Finally, Jean-Luc's lover moved down the bed. He bent his head, and Jean-Luc groaned as he anticipated the touch of that talented, lovely mouth on his cock. The groan turned to one of frustration, as his lover settled for kissing the sensitive skin of Jean-Luc's inner thighs. Picard tried to let go, tried to hold out, but soon he was twisting in a desperate attempt to get some of those kisses to land on his erection. Finally, with a relief that startled him even as it washed over him, he opened his mouth. "Please..." "You want something?" "Please, my cock...oh please..." The second "please" was hardly past his lips when that hot tongue delicately flicked at the taut skin of Jean-Luc's cock. "Yessss..." Jean-Luc hissed, arching his hips hungrily. His lover chuckled, and Jean-Luc felt that warm breath envelop him. Surely he was harder than he ever had been, and he wasn't certain if he'd be able to hold out against too much more teasing. His worries were silenced by a sudden pressure against the base of his cock, and he realized that his lover had snapped a cock ring about him. Jean-Luc relaxed then and gave himself over to the sensations that rippled through his body as his lover began to tease his cock in earnest. He started incredibly softly, placing gentle kisses along the entire length of Jean-Luc's aching erection, while his hands clamped down on Jean-Luc's hips, holding him still. Then he carefully nipped at that tender skin, keeping his lips over his teeth so that the effect was more like a gentle pinch. Jean-Luc was moaning almost continuously now, sure that there was nothing in the world but his cock and his lover's mouth. He was overwhelmed by his simultaneous need to come and his need to have this go on forever, until there was nothing in his universe but the sensation his lover was giving him. He was so caught up in the slow burn of his nerves and the careful tease that he almost passed out when that mouth slid down over his cock in a rush of wet heat. Straining against the cuffs and his lover's hands, Jean-Luc cried out, his voice almost a scream. He moaned at the sharp need he felt when that dark head moved up again, letting Jean-Luc's erection almost free before sliding down again. And it kept happening, over and over, that mouth plunging down over him and then pulling away until Jean-Luc was sure he was going to go insane. He was dimly aware that he was babbling, pleading for an orgasm with one breath, crying out words of love with the next, and always begging for the pleasure to go on forever. Finally, when time no longer had any meaning and Jean-Luc was aware of nothing but his own cock, his lover paused and that incredible voice told him: "You're going to come in my mouth." A second later, the pressure at the base of his cock disappeared, and the mouth moved back down over Jean-Luc, sucking hard. Jean-Luc screamed and came, thrashing violently on his bed, almost arching clear of the mattress. When he opened his eyes, he was amazed that there wasn't a dark head buried between his legs and for a moment he remained spread out, sure he wasn't going to be able to move. Then he was waking up and the remnants of the dream were fading back to wherever it was that dreams went when he woke up. He lay on the bed for a long time, shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm, and when he moved, it was to rub at his wrists. He'd been restrained, he suddenly remembered, and it had been incredible, nothing like he'd ever imagined bondage to be when he'd read about it. As he finally sat up and prepared to shower and meet the day, he felt a pang of sorrow when he realized that the only place he'd found a lover that he trusted that much was in his dreams. An hour later, he was on the bridge, looking over Data's shoulder as the android pointed to a monitor. The lace pattern was back, this time the result of a Berthold radiation scan. "If I couldn't see it," Picard said, "I wouldn't believe it. How much do the patterns match?" Data manipulated his monitor and the visual record of Escher One appeared. He then superimposed the radio emission reading and the Berthold radiation reading on top of the copper lace. "They are exact," he said, his own voice amazed. "That's impossible!" a voice snapped from behind Picard. "And yet, Ambassador, it exists," Data replied. "Are you sure that this is not some sort of elaborate simulation, Picard?" Picard sighed. Reasonable or not, apparently the Prytt scientist couldn't let go of his acculturated suspicion all that easily. "Ambassador," he replied, letting his incredible mood, color his voice with humor, "a simulation like that would require a huge drain on a number of key sections aboard the Enterprise. Would you like to see our current systems status reports?" Arlic looked at the monitor and then at the viewscreen before he looked back at Picard. "No, Captain. It's just that something like this is almost unimaginable." "'The universe is not only stranger than we imagine,'" Picard quoted, "'it's stranger than we *can* imagine.'" "What an interesting thing to say," Arlic said. "Hardly original, I'm afraid," Picard replied. "It was said on Earth 300 years ago by man named Arthur C. Clarke, a scientist who also wrote science-fiction. I served briefly aboard a starship named after him and that quote was on her dedication plaque." "Captain!" Troi's voice pulled Picard from his conversation with the ambassador. He looked at the viewscreen. "Escher Four," he said softly. "Right on schedule," Data noted. The silver bauble of the anomaly crackled like ice, and from each crevice shimmered out a broken prism. A hundred million tiny spectra -- each perhaps a hundred kilometers long -- spread out slowly across the backdrop of the cosmos and transmuted the lights of a billion stars. Even Data gasped. For several long minutes the monitoring systems of the Enterprise worked without direction from their users, automatically measuring the depth and breadth and frequency of the various aspects of the anomaly. Everyone on the bridge, and many of the rest of the crew who had positioned themselves near either a viewscreen or a window, simply stared, trying to see it all before the kaleidoscope changed. But when it did change, it only became more beautiful. The prisms began to refract each other, until the entire panoply was multiplied into a dazzling pallet of every color imaginable, glowing and shimmering with the swirling gases which gave it form. Picard stared until his eyes dried, blinked hard, and stared some more. It was a thing of incalculable beauty, and, as he watched it grow and form, he found himself wishing his dream lover were real so that he could share it with her. End 5/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:46:18 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!news-peer-east.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams 6/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:46:18 GMT Lines: 347 Message-ID: <19980312144600.JAA10201@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1258 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 6/10 disclaimers in 1/10 Slowly, and a little self-consciously, they all came back into themselves and began to work on analyzing Escher Four, which, although it was indeed even bigger than Escher Three, was still contained in the remains of the prior anomaly. Data set to work on seeing if he could find a new version of the lace pattern, and two hours and forty-seven minutes later thought to run a multi-level, interphasic graviton scan. "Captain. Ambassador," he called quietly. The two men, currently engaged in a discussion of the possible sources of the gamma radiation they were reading inside the anomaly, hurried to ops, where Data's read-out of his last scan clearly showed the lace pattern. Once again, he super-imposed the lace pattern from the first read-out and again got an identical match. "There must be an intelligence at work here," Arlic said, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and wincing. "It's as if that pattern were hidden from you, a challenge for you to find." Picard thought about that one. It had occurred to him before this that there might be a mind creating such an incredibly rare phenomenon, but there was at least one problem with the hypothesis: "There are no signs of any planets capable of this level of technology within four parsecs of this location," Data said. Indeed, the Prytt had chosen this location for the talks precisely because it was so deserted. "Well, anyone with the power to create and manipulate something like this anomaly would surely be able to hide themselves from us," Arlic reasoned. "You may be right," Picard said with a smile. Why not? "It would certainly be worthwhile to attempt to contact them. Mr. Data, have the ship put out a repeating hail, all frequencies and languages. Let's see if we can get anyone to respond." Arlic turned to him with wide eyes. "You're going to send out a message...just like that? What if they're hostile?" Picard smiled. "Anyone with the power to create and manipulate something like this anomaly would surely be able to do us a great deal of harm whether we're friendly or not. Federation ships look to make contact. That's why we're out here." The ambassador frowned, but said nothing further as Data set up the message. Picard realized he was really hungry. "Would you join me for lunch, Ambassador?" The man had yet to agree to invitations to eat with him yet, but Picard saw no harm in continuing to try. "No," Arlic said, almost regretfully this time. "No...I will eat in my quarters. We are still 'on' for this afternoon, correct?" "I look forward to it," Picard said smoothly. Arlic nodded and left the bridge. Riker wryly met his captain's eyes, and then went back to his own tactical examination of the anomaly. Powerful or not, if there were sentient aliens attached to this anomaly, he was going to be ready for whatever they had in mind. Picard sighed in very quiet satisfaction -- exchanging a small look with Troi, of course -- as he turned for his ready room. There was really no substitute for a staff like his, and he thought in a rare moment of affection that he wouldn't trade them for a hundred anomalies. After getting a sandwich and a cup of Earl Grey from the replicator, he headed for his desk and, sitting there, plowed his way through a satisfactory amount of paperwork. Right on schedule, he met Arlic in the conference room and they talked some of negotiations, but mostly of the anomaly. Jean-Luc was finding out quite a bit he had in common with the man, when it came to appreciating the lights of cosmos, anyway. After that, he spent another three hours on the bridge, almost hypnotized by the beauty of the prisms, and listened to Data's predictions of the arrival of Escher Five the following day. "How many Eschers will there be?" "I have no idea, sir," the android admitted. "Energy readings indicate an almost unlimited supply of power, though the source is unknown." "Do we know anything certain about the anomaly at all, Data?" "Only that it exists in at least fourteen separate dimensions, sir." "Fourteen?" Picard shook his head and realized he was tired. A light dinner, and then...his body grew very slightly warm at the thought of "and then." Thank God Troi wasn't on the bridge, or she might wonder why he'd suddenly developed an attraction for Data. Keeping the smile off his face only because he knew it would confuse his second officer, Picard wished Data a pleasant evening, told him to contact him at any sign of change in the anomaly, and headed for his quarters. There, he practically ate standing up over the replicator, then stripped and slid naked into bed. *By all rights I shouldn't have anything happen in my dreams at all,* he thought, a little exasperated with himself over the whole affair. Dream lovers and jerking off twice a night were not part of his selected idiom. He should get up right now and put on his sleeping attire. The blue racquetball *smacked!* off the racquet in his hand and hit the wall only an inch from the corner. His partner dived for it, but it was an impossible return. "Game!" he shouted, not bothering to hide how pleased he was with himself. "A good one, Jean-Luc," the tall man he adored agreed, picking himself off the floor and dusting himself off with a grin. They were well-matched players, well-matched lovers: equal and yet so different, a constant challenge, a constant reassurance. "I know what you're thinking of." "It's what I'm always thinking of when I look at you," Picard admitted. The man made a mock-grimace of distaste. "But I'm all sweaty." With something more than a mock-growl, Picard strode over the court and didn't stop until he had his lover pressed back against the blue grid of the black wall. Yes, he could smell the man's sweat, salty and strong, just the way it tasted on his tongue as he licked along his jaw, nibbled on his chin, and then plundered the full lips of that perfect, skilled mouth. "Ohhhh," his lover said. "If you do that to me here we'll never make it to the showers." "There's more privacy here than in the showers," Picard groaned, letting his knees buckle so they both started sliding to the floor. "Besides, I've reserved the court for another half-hour." "What are we waiting for, then?" his lover groaned back, pushing slightly so that Jean-Luc wound up beneath him as they stretched out over the floor. Strong hands began to peel off his bodysuit even as he was practically ripping his lover's body bare. He had this sudden feeling that it had been forever since he'd been naked with him, and he wanted to continue licking and nibbling him all over his long, strong body. "So good to touch you," he murmured. "So good to hold you, to taste you and feel you and be with you." Damn. He was in bed alone now with another incredible hard-on, and his hands were empty of all but the sheets. He knew he'd bring himself off in a minute, but right now he felt bereft. If only he could return to...wherever he had been, he wished as he rolled over to press his erection into the sheets. "So good to be here with you," his lover whispered as his lips trailed lightly over Picard's stomach. "I would do *anything* for you, do you know that?" Picard couldn't take it anymore. With a shudder, he rolled them over so that he was lying between his lover's legs, and then he simply thrust down, rubbing them together, as he sucked and nibbled on two perfect rose-gray nipples. "If I raised my legs," the body beneath him panted out, "you'd be inside me. Would you like that?" Picard thought about that, and came with a roar. In the middle of it, as hot and powerful as the climax was, he was able to stare into his lover's eyes, trying to commit every detail of that expressive face to memory, reveling in the pleasure and triumph he saw there, astonished at the love for him so openly on display. "I love you," he said. "I love you, Jean-Luc. I always have." There, that was better. He woke up surrounded by wet, sticky sheets, and he felt wonderful: loved and sated and happy. Feeling foolish, and still happy, he got out of bed and took a quick shower. He had another four hours of sleep left, and he didn't want to miss out on whatever his subconscious was going to come up with next. He was still resisting the thought of going to Troi and having her teach him how to remember his dreams. He wanted to figure this out on his own and he wanted to revel in the mystery for a while longer. He changed his sheets, and slid back into bed. They had been chased for blocks, until he remembered a little-used out building just off a tiny alley. Careful to leave no trace of their passage, they slipped into the building and listened for their pursuers. Feet in hobnailed sandals ran down the alley, but no one thought to check the shed. He turned and grinned at his partner and knew that his grin was returned, even though neither of them could see each other. "I can't believe we did it!" he whispered. "I hope it's enough for Cicero to bring Catalina down," his partner replied. "You were good, you sneaky Gallic bastard; I've never seen anyone scale a wall so quickly." "Roman git," he replied, warmly. "But you do have a way with your fists." He began to laugh, trying to muffle it in case Catalina's thugs were better than they seemed to be. "What?" "I'm just thinking of the way that one lowlife went over the wall when you punched him." He went to clap his hands over his mouth to stifle the laughter that kept threatening at the memory of the ex-gladiator's face as he fell backwards over the wall. Before he could use his hands, his partner's mouth came down hard on his own. It was a shock, a delightful, delicious, unanticipated shock. He'd been so sure that he'd kept his interest in the other man to himself. These Romans could be so conservative when it came to certain matters, and he hadn't wanted to risk such a good working relationship with an advance of an inappropriate nature. But now he was being kissed with expertise and passion, and kissing back with the strength of two years of pent-up longing. His hands moved quickly to the hem of the other's tunic and he slid his fingers over the hard, muscled thighs he'd seen so many times in the gymnasium and the baths after. Then his hands moved inward, discovering a hard, straining cock, which, even as he touched it, began to leak. Still kissing the other man, he began to stroke that cock, knowing that finesse could wait for more favorable circumstances. He tore his mouth away from his new lover's lips and murmured. "I hope you don't think I'm always this quick, or that this is all you'll get from me." "I doubt it..." his partner gasped, "given the...yesss....way...you...ahhh...kiss...a mouth like...that...must be...oh Gods...good for...other things...ohhh!" "Just you wait," he promised in a low whisper. He increased the strength and pressure of his stroking, and, just in time, kissed the other man again. His lover screamed into his mouth and came into his grasp, the hot cum almost burning his hands. Jean-Luc was already stroking his cock as he woke up, and in a second, he'd come. He lay in a daze trying to figure out what he'd been doing to his dream lover, besides kissing her, but he couldn't remember. Not that it mattered; he had a new anomaly to face. The glowing prisms split and seemed to spin until they were so dazzling that everyone had to look away. When they looked back, they were looking at a white patch of space dotted with black stars. A quick glance at the navigation plot told Picard that he was seeing space as he'd normally see it if the anomaly weren't there, only he was seeing it as if through a photographic negative. "Data?" Picard asked after looking at the new anomaly for a few moments. "How exact a reversal is this? Are the spectra of the various stars we're seeing here exact opposites of their counterparts?" "One moment, Captain." Data bent over his console for a moment and then looked up at Picard and the ambassador who was hovering behind the captain. "Yes, sir, they are exact opposites." "Oh," groaned Arlic. "What is it Ambassador?" Picard asked, torn away from the fascination of Escher Five for the moment. "No one at home is going to believe this," Arlic said, sadly. "I suppose offering you a complete recording of everything won't help." "No, probably not..." the Prytt's voice trailed off. "Well, Dr. Leral might believe me," he said, almost to himself. "A friend?" Picard asked. "No!" Arlic replied and then changed the subject, asking Data about the gamma radiation signatures. Picard let the matter drop for now, resolving to ask Arlic about it later. "Leral" was a Kes name and Picard wondered if there were scientists on the divided planet that tried to work around their restrictive governments. It had happened between scientists during the US-USSR Cold War and on Vulcan in the early days of the Reformation. If it were happening here, it was an encouraging sign. The anomaly continued to fascinate. Riker told him that no one aboard was talking about anything else. "In their off-duty time, of course," the first officer added, as he gave Picard his informal weekly status report. Picard smiled. "I hate to suggest it, Number One, but..." "Time for a surprise battle drill?" "All right, out with it," Picard replied with affection. "What have you come up with this time, Will?" Riker's initial scheme was moderately diabolical, and he and the captain spent three hours making it extremely diabolical. The Romulans were going to attack during the emergence of Escher Six, and the ship was going to be boarded during the attack. Picard and Riker were going to be killed in the first wave and then they'd direct the Aggressors from the Observation Lounge. "What about the ambassador?" Riker asked, once plans for the first wave of the attack were firmed up and they were calling up the Beta watch security teams and telling them that they'd be Romulans the next morning. "Merde!" Picard muttered, then he grinned. "We'll tell him what's going on, that we have to be busy, and we'll set up one of the holodecks as a lab for him. I'll tell him that since I can't observe Escher Six... "...I'd very much appreciate any assistance you can give us." "I understand, Captain." Arlic said gravely as they sat together over tea and lem-juk in the conference room. "Thank you for telling me; we don't always get warnings like this at home." End 6/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:48:15 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams 7/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:48:15 GMT Lines: 389 Message-ID: <19980312144800.JAA10899@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1259 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 7/10 disclaimers in 1/10 Picard knew better than to pursue that line, and he tactfully changed the subject. The lace pattern had appeared way down in the theta band radiation given off by the anomaly, and Picard used that to lead the discussion to some of the anomalies he encountered while captain of the Stargazer. Arlic hesitantly countered with some tales of his first astronomical survey, mentioning that it was this event which had led him to meet his first wife. "She was highly skilled," the ambassador said, and there was more than a touch of sorrow in his eyes. "And very beautiful. We had thought to have children, and raise them to be scientists as well." Picard restrained himself from asking what happened to her, and this seemed to spur Arlic on to an extraordinary confidence: "Her work came under scrutiny, and there was talk of a sedition charge. She could not stand the disgrace and...exited this life for the security of Prytt." "I'm very sorry." Arlic frowned. "She acted with the good of the people in her heart. Nor is my current wife any less devoted to Prytt...though she is not a scientist." "What does she do?" Arlic looked uncomfortable, and Picard was about to suggest a change in topic when he replied, "She is a children's artist. She works with the government." *She makes government-approved propaganda pictures for children's books,* Picard translated. *You can't get much safer than that.* And then Picard berated himself for any arrogance he felt. Look at him: currently intimately engaged with a dream lover whose face he couldn't remember, and not so much as a steady girlfriend in more years than he wanted to count. It was amazing that Arlic had managed to recover enough to have any sort of relationship after his first wife's suicide. "I would like to see them sometime," he said politely, not surprised when Arlic looked uncomfortable instead of pleased. "Perhaps," he said, looking down at his empty lem-juk mug. "But first we must agree on the exact nature of the security protocols for non-emergency, non- military, generally classified transmissions between Prytt and Starfleet." The captain sighed very quietly before saying politely but clearly once *again* that Starfleet did not have security protocols for such transmissions and wasn't about to initiate them in order to please the Prytt's level of paranoia. He and Riker had an evening meeting scheduled to go over the last of the battle drill plans, so Picard ate an early supper in his cabin and then sat down for forty minutes with a Klingon translation of *Anthony and Cleopatra* that he had read about in an article in the latest issue of the TDR. Evidently, the interpretation was more than a little amusing. Picard smiled to himself. He still had no idea what he'd dreamed about last night, other than really hot sex, but somehow as he started in on the conspiracy scenes, he felt something tickle his memory. He tried to pull it closer to him. Something about long legs under a short skirt. "Bring the slave forward." Not bothering to raise his head from the chaise lounge pillow, the Pharaoh watched the people below him draw back slightly from his platform. The palm-fronds moved gently above him, stirring the warm air and settling over him a suitably divine atmosphere of luxuriant calm to counter his own anticipation. He really enjoyed it when visiting ambassadors presented him with new slaves. He had pleasure in determining their skills and selecting which of his many power-and-status-hungry minions he would select to receive the slave as a gift. As the Pharaoh, he already had enough slaves to last this lifetime and well into the next, and he considered himself quite the connoisseur. One of his best slaves, a girl from the Hobryn village not far from the papyrus fields of the northern Nile, leaned over him then to offer him a sip of wine, not moving until he raised a hand to decline. Her lean body was beginning to soften, the jutting curves of her fresh young breasts straining against the white robes he had all his household slaves wear. Languidly, he moved his raised hand to pull the top of her robe down and expose the soft globes. Taking the nipple of the left one between his fingertips, he listened to her gasp, eyes kept lowered, while the small tip of her tongue ran along her full lower lip. "You are very beautiful," he said absently, cupping her breast now. He toyed with the idea of having her do something more, but couldn't decide what it might be. "Thank you, Pharaoh," she whispered, and he could see that she was trembling. Well, after all, they both knew what an honor it would be for her to be fucked by a god. Perhaps her sturdy body might bear him a son. Suddenly, he grew bored with the whole thing, and left her alone. "Sweeter wine," he told her, keeping the order gentle. "Today is a day for sweeter wine." "Yes, Pharaoh," she replied quietly, rising just enough to walk off the platform. A male slave came forward to meet her, and together they set off for the wine room. He turned back to the ambassador now and saw that the new slave had arrived. A tall man, with the dark hair and full lips of a Northerner and the defiant eyes of a freeborn. A war captive, perhaps, or a tribute offering. His body was not overtly muscled, though he looked well enough in his loincloth. His skin, however, was quite amazing: paler than one would expect outside of royalty, olive- colored and smooth and nearly flawless. No whip had ever been laid to that back, he thought, as the ambassador signaled for the slave to turn. The man did make the requisite circle, his ankle chains rattling slightly, but there was arrogance even in his obedience. When he settled back into place, his eyes seemed merely to be looking at the floor, rather than downcast, and he sighed slightly, as though bored. "Come closer," the Pharaoh ordered. The expression on that haughty face looked almost annoyed as he moved forward, chains rattling again, until he was standing right at the base of the platform. The slave had his large, long-fingered hands clasped before him, a familiar pose for those unused to being on display, and yet apart from that, he could be standing anywhere, before anyone. "He is a brilliant basket-maker," the ambassador said proudly. "I have many examples of his fine work, and before we burned his village, he was the pride of it." *Baskets?* the Pharaoh thought. *Gods, what a waste of talent.* "Look at me, slave," he ordered, enjoying the surprise this caused around the throne room. Brown eyes raised easily to his, and he was struck instantly by the intelligence and warmth there. His own eyes wandered away from that calmly defiant gaze, and he saw clearly now the delicate rose-pink nipples, more interesting and inviting than those of the young slave girl he had sent to fetch the wine. His gaze went lower, enjoying the curve of his stomach, and the softness of the light hair which began below the navel. But then -- he frowned. "Remove that," he ordered, flicking his fingers at the offending material. The slave did not respond right away, and peripherally the Pharaoh noted that the ambassador looked tense. It served him well -- what business did he have bringing an untrained slave to the Pharaoh? He looked into those brown eyes again, expecting fear and seeing instead a sort of resignation combined with...something else. And then those long fingers were undoing the ties at his hip, and the cloth fell from his body to reveal more smooth, olive-colored skin and a long, thick cock framed in dark brown hair. The Pharaoh looked it over slowly, comparing it favorably to all the cocks he had seen before in his life. When he looked back to the slave's face, he saw now that the odd expression in his eyes was appraisal. "Do you like what you see?" he asked the slave with a satisfied smile. The slave shrugged. "You're very attractive, even beautiful, Pharaoh...and I was about to ask you the same question." The ambassador gasped, and one of the slaves currently cowering at the foot of the Pharaoh's lounge quivered, as though he wanted to leap up and strangle the slave for such impudence, but the Pharaoh only laughed, feeling quite intrigued, before he asked, "Have you bent over for a man yet?" A look of disdain passed over the slave's face. "I made my living as a basket-maker, not a whore, Pharaoh." The Pharaoh smiled and sighed with pleasure. "Oh, I'm not giving you away to anyone." He looked at the ambassador. "You have done well. I am pleased." The ambassador looked ready to melt with relief, bowed very low, and stayed there. "Come here," he told the slave now, simply tuning out the existence of the others in the cavernous chamber. There was nothing worth noticing now but this captive he would...not break, no. Just train a little. With the edges smoothed, he was a gift fit indeed for a god in this world. Perhaps that would be a good place to start. The slave frowned slightly, fumbling just a bit as he climbed the steps of the platform with his ankles shackled and chained. He made it eventually, however, and stood at the foot of the lounge patiently, again looking resigned to his fate. The Pharaoh snapped his fingers, and the slave who had quivered earlier stood. In a smooth motion that had intimidated many supplicants in these chambers, he drew his curved sword and, at the Pharaoh's nod, placed it at the slave's neck. The slave swallowed, but didn't cower, and pleasure washed through the ruler's body as he sat up on his lounge. "If you come before I give permission," he said, meaning it, "my first slave will slice your throat. Do you understand?" The slave looked at him with wide eyes, then nodded slightly. "Yes, Pharaoh." The Pharaoh smiled. Yes, he was perfect. Slowly, he reached over to that large cock and trailed a light touch over it. The flesh responded instantly, and he chuckled. "Yes, think of it, slave. The Pharaoh is going to pleasure you in front of his kingdom. What do you think of it?" The slave made a small noise, half-arousal and half- confusion, as the touches continued. The Pharaoh treated the cock before him as though it were his own, stroking it softly, looking for places that felt good -- guided now by the noises the slave was making, and the light shudders which ran though his long body. When the moment was right, he leaned forward and ran a tongue over the long, semi-hard shaft. The slave moaned now, and abruptly became quite hard indeed. Chuckling again, surprised at how soft that skin was against his tongue, he licked again and again, and though he knew he had done this hundreds of times, there was a strangely novel sensation about it all. "Do you like that?" he murmured. "Yes," the slave moaned. "So good, Pharaoh." "Of course it's good," he replied, almost laughing himself out of the whole thing. "I'm a god." Despite the blade at his throat, the slave chuckled as well, and a wash of desire ran through the Pharaoh. Without stopping to think about it, he opened his mouth wide and took that now leaking cock inside. It felt like having a mouth full of hot, wet velvet, and he sucked hard, breathing in the smell of cum and sweat. "Ohhhhh," the slave said, the noise traveling through his body and vibrating the cock between the Pharaoh's lips. "Pharaoh. Oh, I didn't know you would...so good...so *good*...who would have thought...oh, I love this. I *love* this!" The Pharaoh loved it too, and he felt he could continue this forever. Dimly, he thought his jaw should be hurting by now, or that he should have more trouble breathing, but he ignored all that and concentrated only on making his lovely slave feel as good as he could, sucking him off in front of everyone. And then, ruthlessly, he let go, leaning back and staring up into his slave's face as the man groaned and shuddered, almost cutting himself on the sword, before he looked down imploringly. "Pharaoh?" "Have you bent over for a man yet?" The slave obviously thought as hard as he could in his present circumstances, the intelligence of those eyes sparkling fiercely. Then, urgently, he responded, "No. I've been saving myself for you, Pharaoh." "I could take you right now, little slave. Would you like that?" "Yes!" The Pharaoh chuckled. "Then you may come now in your Pharaoh's mouth." He moved forward even as he was speaking and slid his lips all the way down the long, thick, throbbing cock which spurted cum almost immediately down his throat. *Bree-brop!* Oh, God. Strange Egyptian images flashed through his head and disappeared, but the erection straining against and leaking into the crotch of his uniform wouldn't be so obliging. *Bree-brop!* "Computer, simulate the sound of the sonic shower." The computer complied. "Picard to Riker. You've caught me in the shower, Will. I'll be out in a minute." "No hurry, sir," Riker's voice assured him. "I haven't eaten. If you'd like, I could come back in twenty minutes." "Sounds good. Picard out." The captain ordered the computer to be quiet and assessed things as best he could. Then, shrugging, he undid his uniform and stroked himself to climax. There was no need for lubricant. The watcher simply took in the picture: Jean-Luc Picard sprawled out on his sofa, uniform undone and his cock sticking out, deep red and leaking, hand moving up and down, that disciplined body straining, that usually oh-so-controlled face displaying clearly all the desire and excitement his dream had given him. He really should take those photographs of him, or just immortalize him in bronze. The watcher chuckled silently. Perhaps he could leave the statue in the ready room, as a gift. Picard came with a shout, and realized he had a vague memory from the dream: caressing the breast of a young woman in white robes while she held a clay jug. But, somehow, he had the feeling she wasn't his dream lover. Shaking and sighing afterwards, he forced himself up and into the shower, and was sitting at his desk with padd in hand when Riker came in. He felt eager to make this the most twisted battle drill in the history of the ship. Something about getting it regularly, even with himself, he thought very privately, had really gotten him in the mood for shaking up his crew a bit. End 7/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:50:22 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!WCG!feeder.qis.net!feed2.news.erols.com!erols!news-peer.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!Sprint!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams 8/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:50:22 GMT Lines: 407 Message-ID: <19980312145000.JAA11128@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1260 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 8/10 disclaimers in 1/10 Riker responded to Picard's mood with enthusiasm, and the session went well. When Riker went off to brief the "Romulans," Picard felt good enough about the evening to indulge himself in some dessert. Normally he didn't bother with sweets all that much, but tonight the idea of something sweet appealed. He chose strawberry shortcake, something Will had introduced him to on Picard's first birthday after taking command of the Enterprise. For some reason, probably his incredibly good mood, tonight's shortcake tasted like something made fresh. Replicators didn't always do the best job when it came to fruit, but the berries were perfect and the whipped cream was just the way he liked it, not too sweet and with just enough vanilla. As he'd found himself wishing at various times over the last few days, he wished his dream lover were real; it would be nice to eat dessert with her and then go to bed and make love and then fall asleep with a warm loving body next to him. "All of this? For me?" Jean-Luc's lover laughed and shook his dark head. "What is it with the French and food?" "Don't try to stereotype me; for all you know, I'd have liked good food if I'd been born Finnish," Picard said. "And anyway, this is nothing. Just a intimate little supper for two." "Well, it is intimate; I like the candlelight. But little?" "Well, if you don't *want* your soufflé, you don't have to eat it." "Jean-Luc you can have this soufflé if you can pry it from my cold, dead fingers. It smells heavenly." Picard chuckled and they started in on the meal. Picard did everything he could to make the whole meal as sensual as he could. None of the food was too heavy, and he kept leaning across the small table to feed his companion bites of this or that. Soon, his lover was returning the favor, and they quickly abandoned their forks in order to feed each other with their fingers. By the time the meal was over, Picard was rather aroused, and he knew that his companion was as well. "No dessert?" the other man asked. "Of course there's dessert," Jean-Luc replied, laughing. "I know *all* about your sweet-tooth." He rose to his feet and reached for the other's hand. "In here." "In the bedroom? *This* ought to be interesting." His lover's surprised gasp made the logistical effort Picard had put into dessert worth every second. "What have we here?" that sensuous voice asked. "Just a few little things," Picard replied. "Sponge cake, strawberries, whipped cream, Grand Marnier, chocolate fondue...nothing much." He walked up to his lover and began unbuttoning his shirt. "Of course, to truly enjoy a dessert like this, both parties should be naked." He was deliberately slow at his self-appointed task, pausing often to touch and kiss the exposed skin. By the time he tugged the black silk briefs off the other man, he was looking at the ample evidence of his lover's arousal. Although he wanted to drop to his knees, take that lovely cock in his mouth, and drive its owner crazy, Jean-Luc controlled himself and only bent to kiss the head ever-so-slightly. He backed off then and stripped off his own clothes with careless haste, aware that he was being watched by a pair of hungry dark brown eyes. Moving carefully so as not to disturb the contents of the two bed trays, he sat down on the bed and patted it. "Jean-Luc, you are amazing. This is...perfect." "Anywhere you are is perfect," Picard replied seriously. He'd always shied away from extravagant statements like that, but this relationship was like none he'd ever had. When he said things like that to this person, he meant every word of them. "Now, come over here and tell me what you want to start with. There's only one rule." "And what is that?" "Neither of us can feed ourselves." And so they didn't. At first they were fairly sedate, contenting themselves with lightly nibbling or licking each other's fingers clean. Then Jean-Luc's lover pushed him back against the pile of pillows and picked the bowl of Grand Marnier and a piece of sponge cake. Picard opened his mouth in anticipation, but his lover shook his head as he dipped the sponge cake into the bowl. He then began to use the cake to sponge the liqueur onto Jean-Luc's skin. He was patient and thorough about it, and soon Jean-Luc's chest was covered with the liqueur (and sponge cake crumbs), and the sweet smell of oranges began to fill the room. Then that dark head bent, and his lover's talented tongue began to lick at Jean-Luc's skin, talking in- between licks. "Mmm...you taste...so good with...this stuff..." Jean-Luc was quickly moaning in pleasure, and when that tongue reached his nipples, his moans grew louder and more frequent. He couldn't believe the contrast between the coolness of the drying liqueur and the heat of his lover's tongue, and he was soon lost in the heady pleasure of having this much attention paid to him. It went on and on, and he was surprised to discover that he was hovering on the edge of an orgasm, even though no attention had yet been paid to his aching erection. "Please," he moaned. "The best part of dessert," that silky voice murmured. The dark head bent lower and suddenly there was a warm mouth enveloping his cock. Jean-Luc cried out and...woke up. He brought himself off almost automatically, wondering, as the dream faded, why he was thinking that he should smell oranges. A sleepy glance at the clock told him that he had three hours of sleep left and he rolled over, hoping to return to the same dream. It felt unfinished, as if there were something he'd intended to do but hadn't yet. "Now that you've had *your* dessert," he said, as his breathing returned to normal, "it's time for me to have *mine.*" "Like *I'm* going to stop you?" Jean-Luc chuckled and touched a few controls on the small fondue pot. He then ignored it for a while and picked up the bowl of whipped cream. Scooping out a generous handful, he began to cover his lover's chest. After another handful had been smoothed on to those firm muscles, he picked up the bowl of berries and began dragging them through the whipped cream. He was slow and deliberate about it, pausing several times to lick cream off a strawberry before eating it. At one point, he dragged a finger through the cream, lightly teasing an erect nipple, before holding it to the sensual mouth that had so recently been wrapped around his cock. "Mmmm," his lover said after thoroughly cleaning Jean- Luc's finger of whipped cream. "Nice, although I think *you* taste better." "Flatterer," Jean-Luc chuckled as he bent his head to lick the last of the whipped cream off that firm chest. He nipped lightly at the now exposed nipples, but didn't linger there long. Smiling at the thought of his next move, he reached for the fondue pot. "Don't you dare!" "Relax, I turned it down; it'll be warm, not hot." "Oh, well then...carry on." Picard, after testing the chocolate with a finger, tipped the pot slightly and watched as a thick stream of dark chocolate fondue fell, almost in slow motion, onto his lover's trembling erection. "Ohhh...that's good..." "I'm glad you like it," Picard said, putting the pot aside. "It's going to get better." "You hungry for chocolate, Jean-Luc?" "Not exactly." Without bother to explain his words, Picard reached down and began to stroke that chocolate-covered cock. He did it slowly, enjoying the gasps and groans, as well as the way his lover's hips undulated against the bed. Finally, just as that mouth opened to beg, he increased the speed and pressure of his hand and watched as his lover came, thrashing and crying out Jean-Luc's name. "Now I'm hungry," Picard said and bent down to clean off the chocolate and the semen that surrounded the softening cock. "Ohhhhh..." It didn't surprise Jean-Luc when that cock began to twitch again, and as soon as it was once more hard, he sat up and reached for the chocolate again. His lover groaned as more warm chocolate was poured on him and then opened his eyes in surprise as Jean-Luc moved until he was lying on top of that chocolate-covered form. He eagerly thrust against Jean-Luc when Picard's intent became clear, and soon both of them, sticky and slippery and totally messy, were trembling on the edge of orgasm. *Beep, beep, beep, beep...* "Off!" Once more, Picard knew a vague feeling of disappointment as he woke up alone. He was also thinking about chocolate for some reason, and he had a quick moment of concern. *Surely I'm not dreaming of Deanna?* He relaxed as the thought did nothing to enhance his arousal. In fact, thinking about Deanna helped make the erection go away. She had to know what was going on with him these days, and yet she'd been incredibly discreet, something for which he was overwhelmingly grateful. If he *had* been dreaming of her, he doubted that she'd be as relaxed about the whole thing as she was. Who then? Who was this lover of his? It wasn't Beverly, although he had come away from the dreams with the feeling that his lover had long fingers and capable hinds similar to those of his friend. But he'd also come away with the feeling that she had dark hair, far darker than Beverly's had ever been, and dark eyes as well. For a time he'd thought it was Kamala, but he was beginning to think that he was making this person up out of bits and pieces of the women he'd known throughout his life. He sighed, it was sad in a way that the only perfect lover for him was one he had to create. Then he thought of his impossibly good mood and everything else that was going right in his life, and decided that, even if she weren't real, his dream lover was making his life better. For now, that had to be enough. After all, it was more than he'd had mere weeks ago. And, anyway, he couldn't think about it now; he had to be on the bridge in order to die at the appointed time. "Captain," Data asked as Picard checked up on the latest scans of the anomaly. "I am surprised that Ambassador Arlic is not present. Is he aware that Escher Six is about to make its appearance?" "The ambassador..." As Picard launched into his prepared speech about the ambassador's absence, he watched Lt. Simon Li at tactical. Li had joined the crew as chief tactical officer after the Enterprise's trip to the 21st century, and was about as far from Worf as anyone could imagine. There were still times, even after close to one year of having him as part of his command staff, that Picard still felt odd looking up and seeing him at his station. The only thing he had in common with Worf was his height, but Li was reed slim where the Klingon was broad, and soft-spoken where he was gruff. Having sparred with Li on more than one occasion, Picard knew that there was a lot of strength underneath the tac officer's slim build, and time had proven that he was as resourceful as anyone Picard could hope to have in the position. Now Li was frowning as Lt. Andrews came onto the bridge. Picard turned back to Data, hiding his smile. Andrews was the Beta watch tac officer and right now, she was also a Romulan agent. Carrying a padd in her hand, she walked toward the tac station. Picard glanced at Riker, who touched a control on his monitor, and then nodded. The entire ship, and all her defensive systems had been put on "drill" mode. Data, sensing that something odd was going on, looked at Picard curiously, while Andrews reached Li's station, and spoke to him quietly. "Cap..." Li tried to yell, only to fall as Andrews landed a swift left hook to his chin. "What the devil?" Picard snapped in mock indignation, turning toward tactical. There was a flash of light and the odd vibration of his comm badge that informed him that he was "dead," and so he fell heavily to the deck, praying that no one would step on him this time. He heard Riker yell, and heard then another heavy thud. And then chaos descended onto his bridge. After a lot of shouting and shooting, he heard Andrews' voice. "Andrews to Commander Tomalak; I have secured the bridge." "We will begin boarding as soon as you can get the shields down," a voice replied. "Aye sir." Footsteps came over to where Picard lay on the floor, and a booted foot kicked his. "Take his body to the Observation lounge. Riker's too. I'm sure Tomalak will want to be certain that they're dead." "Yes, Sub Commander," a voice replied, and two burly security ensigns with green armbands hoisted Picard up and carried him to the observation lounge. "Sorry, Captain," Ensign di Gregario said, as he helped Picard to stand. "Hope the ride wasn't too rough." "I'm sure no Starfleet corpse has ever had better treatment from a Romulan agent," Picard replied, winking at the blushing young man. "Go get Commander Riker." "Aye sir!" "What the hell did you say to di Gregario?" Riker asked, as they were left alone in the observation lounge. "He was beet red." Picard, who had brought up the ship's internal tactical schematic, shrugged. "Something about being a Starfleet corpse and being carried by a Romulan agent. I may have winked at him. This is fun, Will!" "Don't tease the poor kid too much; he's got a bit of a crush going." As Riker spoke, he came over and started staring at the screen intently. Picard felt a blush of his own stealing over his face and head. Normally, he would have noticed, but di Gregario was a beta watch officer and a new addition to the Security staff. Riker, who often commanded the beta watch, tended to exhibit a certain amount of glee when delivering this sort of news. "You're imagining things, Number One," Picard said dryly. "Anyway, we have a ship to take over. Or, at least, to *try* to take over." In drill mode, there was a second set of surveillance systems available to whomever was directing the drill. Picard and Riker used those eyes and their communicators to direct Andrews and her "Romulans" in their effort to commandeer the Enterprise. It was hard going; Li had not been killed and had managed to sound an alarm while Andrews was dealing with the captain and the first officer. Now the Gamma watch security team and LaForge were on the battle bridge, trying to run the ship from there. "Tsk tsk, Number One," Picard said as they watched Data break free of some of the "Romulans." "It would seem that Lt. Andrews miscalculated on the number of guards to use for that particular prisoner." Riker smiled evilly. "Time to bring up the Romulan ships?" "One, I think. Let's give Geordi and Lt. T'Vil something external to think about." "One Romulan ship coming up. Would you like soup or salad with that, sir?" Riker grinned at Picard. "You were right. This *is* fun!" The battle for the USS Enterprise raged on, and, as always, the battle drill tore at Picard's immediate loyalties. He wanted to win, but he also wanted his crew to win. He found himself wishing for hardly the first time that there were some way to have it all end in some sort of tie. He shook himself away from that. The drill was fun, but it was also serious business. The Romulans had done more than a few alarming things lately, like the attack on the Prometheus (he'd always known Kathryn Janeway would never just disappear), and they needed to be ready for anything. "Number One," he said in a tone that made a little bit more excitement pump in Riker's blood, "I think the Romulans would be anxious to test the quantum torpedoes at this point, don't you?" "Yes, Sub Commander Picard." End 8/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:53:02 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey02.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams 9/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:53:02 GMT Lines: 474 Message-ID: <19980312145301.JAA10970@ladder01.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder01.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1261 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 9/10 disclaimers in 1/10 Picard laughed and called up the simulation they had made of the new colony on a supposed class-M planet only three light years away. Once he introduced it into the sensors and gave his orders, the activity level increased by a factor of ten. Soon after, a mysterious "explosion" in engineering necessitated a warp core shut-down, and not long after that, the Starfleet side was able to call up reinforcements. Eventually, the ship was saved and the Romulans taken to the brig. Going on the walk, as he always did, with Riker and some other Romulans at his side, he couldn't help smiling at the very badly translated Nausican fighting song which started somewhere around section 23. By the time they actually reached the brig, just about everyone had joined in: *The anger of our souls is slowly growing. The blood of our enemies will be flowing. Victory will come. Bloodlust has begun, And hell's rage is all they will be knowing.* He stopped short of the actual cell, turning to nod at the brig officer on watch and then congratulating Data and his team for saving the ship. "Do you not wish to join the crew for a chorus, sir?" Data asked. "Not today." The had a brief post-mortem, but the day had been long and Picard was more than pleased with the initial results. Tomorrow they could comb over every detail. He did spend some time on the bridge looking at Escher Six with Ambassador Arlic. Data replayed the actual formation of the anomaly, and he watched as the stars of the "negative universe" grew even blacker, stretching out until they twisted and connected with each other, connecting across a now formidable distance. Six was again bigger than the anomaly before it, but that didn't stop the pattern from being quite familiar. The "lace" was back. "The pattern is exactly the same as Escher One, sir," Data told him, leaving no room for debate over that exactness, "although its width and depth have doubled." "It's not possible," Arlic murmured. "And yet it exists." "How about its height, Data?" "That remains unchanged, sir." "It's almost two-dimensional," Picard mused. "Yet it exists in at least fourteen dimensions. How many other dimensions is it expanding into?" "Impossible to say without further analysis, sir." Picard nodded. So much still to learn, but this day was over and he was increasingly feeling the desire for rest and for what came with that rest these days. The day had gone so well, he thought as he rode the turbo-lift to his deck, that he was getting a little anxious. He wasn't a superstitious man, but there was something unsettling about his recent run of luck, something that couldn't last. He was wary of getting used to too much fun, too easy a road. And yet, privately he knew he had believed before this that he was due for a little good fortune. The loss of his family and his ship had hit him very hard, and dealing with the Borg had been difficult in many ways. And there had been that dreadful year off while the new ship was being made ready. Yes, he'd been busy overseeing the last of her construction, and he'd spent some time at the academy, but it wasn't what he wanted to be doing. It wasn't being out *here.* But he'd been back in space two years now, and enjoying as much as he could this run of luck. *Don't talk yourself out of happiness,* he chided, almost hearing Troi in his head. A light supper, a quick shower, and then he was sliding in between his sheets with hopeful expectations. Unlike most nights lately, though, he had a little trouble sleeping at first. The day had been very full. He was standing with them, their song whispering through his mind, one drone among a several thousand, united in their purpose. Black spots covered his pale, frozen skin, and he was instructed to say... To say what? "My love," a warm voice soothed as hands covered his shoulders. He trembled at the breath on his neck, and felt lips come down gently on the upper part of his left arm. He turned to look, and when the dark-haired head moved, he saw the black spot growing smaller as the skin beneath it warmed. The head moved, another kiss, and then another mark melted away. Picard shivered harder, wanting to be free of all of them right now. "Such a crime to spoil so much beauty," the voice of his lover continued between more kisses all the way down his arm. "Like someone filled the Ice Halls of Cathinn with old dung." More kisses, all the way over the back of his hand, then around to his palm and each fingertip. "Or took a pickax to the Firewall Sculptures of Hajek-IV." His lover was kneeling beside him now, touching him gently with his hands to get the kisses where he wanted them. The kisses ended on his left arm now, and began on his right hand. "Or incinerated the Hanging Gardens of Aldea." Jean-Luc wanted to respond, to say how much greatly he felt the slow burning of those kisses, but he couldn't do anything but tremble and feel the kisses moving up his arm. They reached his shoulder, leaving both his arms unblemished and warm. His chest was screaming for that same warmth, and quickly his lover obliged. He realized he could move his arms now, and caught his lover close, pausing the kisses while he simply squeezed into this beloved rescuer his gratitude and slowly rising joy. "I love you, Jean-Luc." A tear fell, small and no warmer than the icy cheek down which it glided, and then tear was kissed away, and more kissing followed, bringing blessed warmth to his cheeks, his nose, his chin, his ears, the smooth expanse of his head, the back of his neck, and then, finally, his lips. The heat rushed through him now, out to the skin of his arms and chest and down into the pit of his stomach. "I love you," Jean-Luc said into that mouth. "Yes," his lover whispered, pulling back gently and then moving around quickly to kiss his back. Picard cried out softly as those lips drove away the cold blackness there as well, and his lover chuckled very quietly. "Did you think I would leave the job half- finished?" Down the kisses went, to his hips, his buttocks, the backs of his legs, around his feet, and now up his shins, on his knees, along his thighs, over his hips, around his stomach, and then, with another chuckle, that mouth completely enveloped his penis, which grew hard inside that warmth, caressed so perfectly by his skilled tongue. And then Picard was simply a man, standing somewhere quiet and sane. He rocked just slightly on his bare feet, unblemished, naked, and aroused, while his lover knelt before him and made him feel good. "Love you...so...much...love that you...touch me...that you kiss me...that you're sucking me off when...you could...hurt me..." As though goaded by the suggestion of such a thing, his lover sucked harder and an onslaught of pleasure was threatening to conquer him. "There is no fear!" he shouted suddenly. "Only you...loving me!" A warm finger caressed his cleft, lightly brushing his opening, and with a roar he came, jerking into that mouth without control. Dimly, the captain knew he had half-awoken from a dream filled with pleasure and heat. With a soft grunt he simply rolled away from the wet spot in his bed and sank back into the comforting darkness of sleep. There was dust everywhere, and Jean-Luc had to work to keep from sneezing as he pulled several old drop cloths aside. "What a mess," he sighed. "Jean-Luc? You up there?" The voice echoed up the stairs that led from the attic down to the rest of the house. "I was sure you weren't going to make it," Picard said, delighted, as a dark head of hair became visible at the top of the stairs. "I figured something would come up." "You wound me, Jean-Luc. You thought I'd forget my promise to help you go through all this crap?" He held up a cooler. "I even brought beer." "I never look a gift beer in the mouth," Jean-Luc said, grinning. "I'm flattered that you showed up. Greater love hath no man that he will show up to help a friend go through an attic." The other man shot him a glance he couldn't understand and then smiled easily. "Hey, it's me; can you imagine me giving up a chance to look at antiques? Where do we start?" He looked eager and Picard thought of all the swapmeets they'd been to and how his friend couldn't drive past a yard sale without stopping. They'd even been late for another old college friend's wedding once because of a particularly interesting estate sale. Picard still had the cut glass decanter he'd picked up for two dollars that time. "At the beginning and..." "...go on 'til we reach the end and stop. Of course, I always have trouble with the stopping part." Chuckling, they set to work. A distant relative had died and left Jean-Luc the old Victorian house in Pacific Heights, and he wasn't sure what he was going to do with it. As foolish as it was, he rather liked the idea of fixing up the 120-year-old beauty. If only he had someone with whom to share the work, the fun, and the house, he'd be certain that fixing it up was a good idea. "Wow!" his friend exclaimed some time later. Picard turned to see him looking at a box that was packed with tissue. "Did your great-aunt have any idea of what she had up here?" "Probably not. What did you...?" His question was answered as the other man held up a black box. "Russian lacquerware, Jean-Luc, the really good stuff." He looked at the box again, as Picard moved over to join him. "This one's a picture from the fairy tale of the Firebird." "My great-uncle Gerard, Emilie's brother, was a diplomat. She probably ended up with all his things after he died." They dug curiously through the box, uncovering several more lacquer boxes. And then Jean-Luc, who had been wrapping the boxes back up, heard a gasp from behind him. He whirled on his haunches, and saw the other man looking at something flat with an expression of awe on his face. "17th Century, at least," he murmured, and Jean-Luc saw the dull gleam of silver as those long hands turned the object over. "St. Basil, St. Catherine, and St. Nicholas...*Look* at it, Jean-Luc." It was an icon, the bodies of the saints covered in tarnished hammered silver with only their faces showing. While Picard wasn't as knowledgeable about art as his old friend was, he knew beauty when he saw it and this piece was beautiful. "What a pity it's been locked up here for so long," he said, almost wistfully. "Just like this house..." "Waiting for us to discover it," that familiar voice murmured. "When I was a boy, I used to think that Aunt Emilie had treasure chests locked up here. I guess I was right." They uncovered three more icons, one of them a startlingly beautiful Madonna that they both stared at in silence for a long time. "I might have been more religious," Jean-Luc's friend said, "if I'd grown up with this kind of art around me." "I can see you like that," Jean-Luc said. "In a Russian monastery, painting one of these." "Ha! My eye for beauty is far better than my artistic talent." Jean-Luc smiled and reached for the icon, intending to wrap it up again. "I'll want to bring this box downstairs," he began, shifting to make a grab for more tissue paper. Later, he assumed that if it hadn't been for the four beers he'd drunk, nothing would have happened. As it was, he lost his balance and ended up half-sprawled across his friend. His oldest, closest friend, the roommate he'd lived with all through college, the one person he'd never lost touch with, the friend who was always there for him...As Jean-Luc laughed and tried to sit up again, he felt those strong arms close around him for just a moment, as, for one brief second, a cheek rested against his head, and a pair of lips touched his temple. And then the other man was pulling away, his face flushed and a look of distress contorting those expressive features. For some reason that look tore at Jean-Luc's heart, and the roar of blood in his ears and the pounding of his heart increased as he sat up. "Jean...I'm sorry...I never meant...I didn't want to...I'll just...you don't have to..." "How long have you known?" Picard asked quietly, pleased to note that his voice neither shook, nor sounded angry. The question wasn't all that important, but he wanted to stop that painful litany of broken sentences. "Since I was twelve," was the flat reply. "Unless you're asking about my feelings for you, which I figured out a week into our freshman year." He looked down at his hands. "It's all right, Johnny." The old nickname made Picard's vision blur. "I'll go now. You don't have to try to forgive me." The leaden, weary tone made the tears spill gently onto Jean-Luc's cheeks. Picard watched through the haze before his eyes as his friend paused in getting to his feet to put the icon carefully into its box. Jean-Luc felt frozen, unable to believe that the other man was really going to walk away. Away from this moment, this house, and Jean- Luc's life... "Wait!" he said. And then: "Please?" At first he was sure he hadn't been heard, and then that tall form paused right in front of the stairs. "Please, don't go; don't leave me alone," Jean-Luc said, meaning it as he'd never meant anything in his life. It was only when his friend turned back that Jean-Luc knew his voice had conveyed everything he wanted it to. As Picard scrambled to his feet and stepped around boxes, remembering suddenly that he'd always loved and envied the grace with which his friend did everything, he saw those features, more familiar to him than even his own, begin to glow with a look of wonder. "You...you're not..." Jean-Luc did the only thing he could think of doing to forestall another long string of confused words; he stood right in front of the taller man, leaned up and kissed him. It was supposed to be a gentle brush of his lips, but he hadn't counted on those large hands closing around his arms and pulling him against that broad chest. He hadn't counted on hearing that moan deep in the other's throat, and the skillful way those full lips twisted against his own. He opened his mouth without a second thought, and a moan of his own built up as a warm, soft tongue slipped between his lips and brushed against his own tongue. Before Jean-Luc could do more that begin to return the kiss, the other man's arms wrapped around him and pulled him even closer, while a denim-covered bulge rubbed against him. It was only then that Jean-Luc realized that he was hard, painfully, frustratingly, hard. He ground his hips against the other man, who pulled away from Jean-Luc's mouth. "I'm sorry...it's just that I've thought about us being like this for *so* long. I'm coming on too strong, it's just that...Oh God, Jean-Luc," he moaned as Picard's arms slid around his waist. "I used to jerk off while I watched you sleep. You're so beautiful and you're so unconscious of how you affect other people." He paused, a blush stealing across his face. "I used to draw pictures of you...hell, I still draw pictures of you." "Thirty years," Jean-Luc murmured. "Thirty-two, and seven months," the other interrupted. "We've been standing here for maybe one minute and I already want you so badly that I can't stand it. How could I be so blind and leave you alone for thirty-two years?" "And seven months." That mouth was back, this time roaming over Jean-Luc's neck. "Sometimes it's not so bad," he paused again to do something incredible to the hollow of Jean-Luc's throat. "Sometimes I've gone for a few hours without thinking of you." "Ohhh..." "I compare every man I meet with you." Another pause while that tongue traced Jean-Luc's ear. "Ahhhh..." "Every lover I have fails to live up to you..." Jean-Luc was stunned by the furious wave of jealousy that washed over him. He growled deep in his throat and reached up to knot his fingers in that dark hair. "No more lovers," he commanded and pulled the other man's face down until their lips met. This time he initiated the kiss, and he was amazed at how naturally his hands slid down to cup the other's ass and pull him close. "No more girlfriends, then." "God, no," Jean-Luc replied. "Ohhh...I can't stand it...please..." "Tell me what...you want," came the other's panting reply. "Anything..." "Anything...everything...just touch me..." The words had hardly left his mouth before his back was flat against a wall. His belt was undone by hands that were obviously accustomed to that activity and then a quick tug on his jeans unbuttoned his fly. He heard a soft gasp, almost a verbal shiver, as one of those hands slid down inside his briefs to glide over his leaking cock. And then his ears heard nothing but his own moaning, interspersed with little breathless pleas for more of this. He locked his knees as best as he could, and gave himself over to the touch of that hand. He knew those hands so well; he'd seen them gripping a tennis racket with nervous tension during a match, cradling a snifter of brandy on any number of nights spent talking about anything and everything, clinging to a hawser on a windy day when they shouldn't have been out on the Bay, soaping down those strong arms in a gym shower room...Jean-Luc cried out and his hips bucked as he came into that hand. *Beep, beep, beep, beep...* End 9/10 From ensdelk@aol.com Thu Mar 12 07:55:21 1998 Path: news4.ispnews.com!news11.ispnews.com!news1.ispnews.com!nntp.abs.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.internetmci.com!152.163.199.19!portc03.blue.aol.com!audrey01.news.aol.com!not-for-mail From: ensdelk@aol.com (EnsDelk) Newsgroups: alt.fan.q Subject: NEW: Escher Dreams 10/10 (TNG, P/m, NC-17) Date: 12 Mar 1998 14:55:21 GMT Lines: 429 Message-ID: <19980312145501.JAA11701@ladder03.news.aol.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: ladder03.news.aol.com X-Admin: news@aol.com Organization: AOL http://www.aol.com Xref: news4.ispnews.com alt.fan.q:1262 *Escher Dreams* Part One by The Anon Sisters 10/10 disclaimers in 1/10 "Off!" Picard groaned, trying so hard to hang on to the vibration in his body. He felt an overwhelming love fade from his consciousness -- so good and so hot and so *real.* He hated to lose it, hated to awaken to an empty and semen-stained bed. "Please," he groaned aloud, thinking of the woman he loved in his dreams. "If you are real in any way, show yourself." But nothing responded, of course, and he felt rather foolish as he rose from the bed, stripped the sheets, and then headed to the shower. All these years of meeting aliens had given him an inflated sense of the significance of things. Or perhaps it was simply that he wanted her to be real so badly he could believe she was. It was a dangerous desire, making him vulnerable to undue influences. And yet...that anomaly. It had enthralled him and his ship for days. Were the dreams some sort of attempt to communicate? But then why weren't any other of the crew affected? Inside the sonic shower -- he hadn't taken a water shower since that last one had proven so distracting - - he made up his mind. Whatever joy he was feeling in trying to remember these dreams on his own, it was time he asked Troi for some guidance. And as if that decision had been weighing heavily on him, the moment he made it the happiness and release he'd found in the dream washed over him much more efficiently than the sonic waves of the shower. *Merde, but I've never felt better in my life than I have in the past few days. Surely, if there is some intelligence behind these dreams, she would *want* me to remember her?* Feeling uncharacteristically torn, he put himself into his uniform, tugging it firmly into place and being glad once again that the new design was so much more comfortable than the last version. He had really gotten tired of tugging his jacket down every five minutes. The ride in the turbo-lift brought him to a bridge just beginning to hum with activity. Escher Seven was due to appear in five hours, and they had - - he quickly learned -- been picking up some strange low theta-band emissions that heralded something different in the works. Picard studied the readouts for many minutes, then squared his shoulders and made eye contact with Troi. She nodded and stood, not being too eager nor pressing, just joining him on his walk into the ready room. "The dreams, Captain?" she asked as he had settled into place with a cup of tea in his hand. She took a sip of her hot chocolate and tried not to show how deeply she felt his reaction to the simple question. Not since Neela Darren had she sensed many of those feelings, and some were new to her all together. "Counselor," he began, treating a potentially embarrassing topic with complete gravity, "never in my life have I experienced dreams with the intensity and consistency of those I've had these past few days. Their connection to the anomaly seems too overtly plausible to ignore. If someone, some alien intelligence, perhaps, is trying to communicate with me...if this is how I'm interpreting some attempt at contact, then I need to know." Troi thought of a hundred questions. "Captain, before we begin to discuss methods for remembering dreams, I think you need to understand your own feelings better. After all, while I agree that the anomaly and your unusual dream experiences may both be signs of an intelligence at work, particularly since they've appeared together, we should first explore the possibility that you may be initiating these dreams yourself, that the message the dreams are sending you may be from your own unconscious." "Because that is the more likely explanation?" "It would be the more common explanation," Troi said with a smile. "On this ship, I'm not sure anything is ever more 'likely.'" He smiled back absently. "Are they just dreams about sex?" she asked. He almost winced. "No. They began...I think at first they were, but they're getting more emotionally involving. And I think...perhaps...they involve the same woman. That's what gave me the idea they might be from someone." "Is the woman familiar?" "Yes. No." Picard scowled at his tea. Troi wondered if the glass would break. "She has dark hair, and she's taller than I, her skin is smooth and warm, and her mouth is very...generous." "Anything else?" "No." "No emotions attached to her?" Picard shook his head. "No places or things attached to her?" Another shake. "What's something she's said to you?" Picard opened his mouth in surprise. Troi nodded, and he said quietly, "Something about not being religious...and we were looking at art." She was going to urge him a bit more, when he abruptly leaned across the desk, setting his tea down with a clang. "When I wake up, I feel as though I've been taken from some place completely real and then made to forget things that are incredibly important to me. This morning I felt an almost overwhelming sense of loss." *If it were anyone but you, Captain, I'd have heard about all this days ago.* "That is markedly inconsistent with the dreams you've had previous to these last few days," she said with some authority. "Then you agree there might be something to this?" "I do." She knew he was surprised by her assuredness, but she also knew that that "something" might still be completely interior. Captain Picard was as lonely as he was private. His unconscious might simply have had enough. "To begin, Captain, I usually tell people that if they think about wanting to remember their dreams right as they go to bed, they will find that in the morning they do retain more of the dreams than usual. However, I believe you may already have done this on your own." Picard nodded. "The next step is to try to think of something to dream about, an object, something very tangible and familiar. If you can put this object into your dream, then you can look at the object the next morning and hopefully 'see' it in your dream as well." "I see." It wasn't quite that simple, of course, and Troi spent another forty minutes with him discussing concentration techniques. She knew he had already learned a great deal about focusing his mind. It was simply a matter of using old skills in a new area. Long before Escher Seven was due to appear, however, Picard and Troi were back on the bridge. Ambassador Arlic had basically taken up permanent residence in Stellar Cartography, and was running a series of partiron scans in coordination with Data at Ops. They had a working theory that the anomaly was actually a series of self-regenerating anomalies that were somehow feeding off the energy the others produced in order to expand themselves. During a murmured conference at a bridge science station, the android had expressed admiration for Arlic's insight, and Riker informed them both that the ambassador had solicited his government both for an extension of his assignment to the ship and for the involvement of the Prytt version of the "free press." Picard had no doubt he was hoping to catch the attention of Dr. Leral. Picard remained at the science station when Escher Six began the tell-tale minute implosion that signaled the beginning of its demise, and so he found himself next to Lieutenant Li. "We're still seeing no effect by the anomaly on our deflectors, Captain," the security chief murmured. "Thank you, Lieutenant," he said back quietly, feeling somewhat sorry for the young man's inability to appreciate what was happening. But then something happened that reminded Picard of the danger of making snap judgments. "I've been thinking, sir. Our analyses may be a bit too...lateral." "Meaning?" "I was just thinking, sir, that since this anomaly looks like a work of art, it may be one. It may be a construction from some advanced and perhaps now extinct civilization, intended for simple aesthetic enjoyment." Picard smiled with approval at the tall man, noting something familiar in the steady gaze of his brown eyes. "An astute hypothesis, Mr. Li. Any ideas how we might follow up on it?" "Captain!" Data signaled from Ops, and the two men turned eagerly to the viewscreen. The black lace didn't drift apart, it exploded. Billions of fragments scattered in every direction, creating a frenzy reminiscent of an angry bee hive. And as it each fragment turned, it sparkled its way through an impossible variation of color. It was a kaleidoscope on warp speed, a swarm of pure color and motion. And yet some pattern was suggested to the mind, some semblance of inconceivable order. "The particles are keeping within the distance which would be defined by a more coherent version of the anomaly," Data reported, his flat tone letting everyone know he had turned off his emotion chip in order to be so efficient. Picard moved easily and quietly from the science station to right behind Data's shoulder, and said very quietly: "I don't think efficiency should interfere with appreciation of the moment, Mr. Data." "Thank you, sir," the second officer responded at the same volume, and, with a very small jerk of his head, Data was feeling again. Several minutes passed with no further movement on the bridge, and then, slowly, the anomaly was simply incredibly beautiful rather than enthralling, and they began a new set of scans and projections. Since this anomaly was not only bigger than the others, but more complex by over a factor of ten, just establishing the parameters for the tests they wanted to run took several hours. By the time Picard thought to eat lunch, it was dinner time, and by the time he actually left the bridge, he was a little unsteady from fatigue. He yawned in the middle of requesting vichyssoise and wound up with a plate of cevichi. He was going to try again, when the thought of the lime juice-cooked fish and refreshing vegetables made his mouth water. He ate quickly, struck again by how good hunger made food taste, and followed the meal with a little of his personal supply of Saurian Brandy. He thought briefly of a water shower, then simply tumbled naked into bed. He already had his "object" picked out, and in his exhaustion he longed for the feel of his dream lover beside him. "Excuse me," he heard the woman snap to the man standing on her purse strap. The bus turned the corner, and everyone leaned a bit to the left. Picard sighed. Another day, another trip home to an irritable heater that burned half the rooms and left the others icy. Another dinner of pasta and sauce from one of seven jars. Another *CBS Mystery Movie.* Perhaps one of the children would call. He thought of the box in the closet with his wife's things. It had been easy to throw away the wigs and the obscenities of her medical care. It was the things she had used before, when her hair, like cornsilk, fell over her shoulders as she brushed it -- He jerked his thoughts away from the memories. Time had faded them now, like records with worn grooves. The static of living filled in the skips and broken places. He became aware that someone was looking at him. Frowning slightly, he looked to his right and encountered a pair of dark brown eyes. "The ride home only gets longer when you think such sad thoughts," a warm voice said softly, reaching him with surprising ease over the noises of the engine and traffic. "It's always the same," Picard responded without thinking. Yet even as he asked himself why he was talking to a stranger, those dark eyes changed, pooling with empathy, and he felt an inexpressible feeling of relief and connection. "It doesn't have to be." The bus turned again and suddenly the stranger's strong form was pressed against him. He felt warmth, and something *alive* there, something he'd been without for too long. Confused, he let his eyes drop and turned slightly away. The stranger didn't respond, but when the bus stopped to pick up more passengers, the crush became almost unbearable...except that his back was now pressed against the stranger's front. It was hot in the bus, and yet the warmth was again so welcoming and welcome. Breath was tickling his neck, and with incredulity he realized a hand was lightly touching his hip. As he stood there, stunned and yet somehow not enraged, not even annoyed, the hand slowly moved down and back until it cupped his backside and very, very slowly caressed him. Oh, God. He could. He could do something about this. He could have more of it. He *wanted* more of it. For blocks and blocks the bus continued on, and he became aware of himself as a man who would stand and let a stranger fondle him in a crowd. "Don't be ashamed," that voice said in his ear. "We've just figured things out quickly, that's all." "I...I don't..." "Shhh. This is my stop. Let's get something to drink and talk about it." Picard couldn't quite remember agreeing, but he was quickly moving with the stranger off the bus and onto the sidewalk. Briskly, the man walked towards a large brownstone, smoothly drawing out his keys as he climbed the stairs to the front door. And then they were inside. As simply as that. Picard followed the man into the front room and couldn't help looking around in pleasure. There were all manner of artifacts there, including a Grecian urn, a Monet that looked genuine, and a Kurlan Naiskos highlighted by a gentle ceiling spot. The man went to a side table and poured two glasses of what smelled like scotch. He turned, and Picard saw him completely for the first time. Tall and strong and somehow incredibly arrogant. His cock stirred and he almost gasped. It had been so long...and now...what was this? "I think I should explain," came out in a rush from his mouth. "I'm not...I don't...not with men..." "Does it really matter?" the man asked, setting down the drinks suddenly and walking forward with empty hands and a laden expression. "If we care about each other, does it really make so much difference to you?" "I don't..." He thought of escape. He thought of pasta and sauce from a jar. He thought of being held by someone who meant it. "I don't know." The man smiled, and there was such warmth and delight there Picard felt a little dizzy. Those hands reached for him now, pulling him forward. But instead of letting himself be kissed, somehow he was kissing this stranger from the bus, kissing him as though the universe depended on giving him passion and pleasure. His generous mouth was warm and soft, not a thing like kissing a woman's mouth, and yet nothing like what he might have thought kissing a man was like if he had ever thought about it before. Then the man moaned slightly, deep in his throat, and Jean-Luc felt heady with power. He remembered how things worked, after all. He could show this bold seducer something more than hesitant desire -- trembling like a child and fighting something he wanted desperately. No. He would *take* what was offered and count himself lucky. With a growl, he simply dragged the man -- who did not resist -- to the soft carpet and began getting his clothes off as quickly as possible. Oh! that warm skin, so smooth to his fingers! The man was groaning loudly now, moving with him, getting his own clothes off until they were naked and pressed together. Laughing, feeling wonderful, Picard enclosed the man's left nipple in his lips and sucked gently, running a light touch over the erection he found just as he wanted it -- so incredibly soft to the touch and hard in his grasp. He began to stroke, thinking that he would first get the stranger to come, then turn him over, spread his legs, and -- carefully -- fuck him senseless. Oh, but that would feel so *good.* "Oh, oh...Jean-Luc," the man said into his mouth. "I want...oh...I can't...so wonderful to be here with you...Oh, I'm coming..." Picard laughed. And woke up, his hand around his own cock. On his nightstand squatted the Kurlan Naiskos with which his old professor had once presented him, a gift to remind him of the voices inside. But Picard didn't need to turn to it to remember one thing very clearly from his dream: It hadn't been his own cock he was stroking. END PART ONE