New: Object Lessons P/Q smbd

[Jeanita]

in your eyes
the light the heat
in your eyes
I am complete
in your eyes
I see the doorway to a thousand churches
in your eyes
the resolution of all the fruitless searches
in your eyes
I see the light and the heat
in your eyes
oh, I want to be that complete
I want to touch the light
the heat I see in your eyes

In Your Eyes
-Peter Gabriel

No reproduction without permission.
Picard/Q, SMBD

The thing is this: I was truly hurt by the way Q treated
Picard in His Beloved Pet. It made me sad to think of Jean-Luc's
pain and Q's cruelty. For me, writing this was the antidote. It
has, as someone I know once put it, schmaltz up the wazoo. It is
very long on narrative and very short on plot. Well, one does
what one must.

Also, in case you didn't get it the first two times, this contains
s/m and b/d. If you don't like that sort of thing, don't read it, okay?
I was dithering about printing this, but in light of the recent discussion
of Picard and Q's relationship (and with gentle encouragement from Ruth)
I've decided to go ahead and throw it into the ring. Comments, ladies,
please.

Object Lessons
Jeanita Danzik

For Q, it was quite gratifying to introduce Jean-Luc to the
delights of submission--not by breaking him, but by bending and
molding and shaping him into a creation of his desire. He was
slow and thorough, understanding that for Jean-Luc, the
temptation was to give himself completely, to spend all of
himself at once, and thus subtly maintain control of the process.
For him, the true discipline was in the waiting, in the creation
of a long arc of pleasure rather than a sudden conflagration that
would be too quickly over.
Jean-Luc proved surprisingly pliant. He needed this as much
as Q did, if not more, and he yielded his will with relief and
eager obedience, understanding instinctively that in this process
of slow refinement Q was protecting him from his need to
manipulate the outcome. The more he gave up, the freer he felt.
He could feel himself changing as his two halves came into
balance. By day he was all the things his Starfleet training
made him, but at night he relinquished Captain Picard, removing
his persona as he removed his uniform.
Flexibility had never been his strong suit, but he was
learning. It felt good to watch the transformation in himself,
to see the harsh edges of his personality smoothed into something
that was not captain, slave or lover, but a composite of the
three.
And as the metamorphosis took place, he learned to trust Q
more and more completely. Of all the things he learned, there
was one lesson Q gave him over and over until he got it: he was
safe here. He would be trained but not hurt, beaten but not
abused, disciplined but not disrespected, and the more he
absorbed this, the more joyfully he gave himself over into Q's
keeping. Q was very severe with him, which he required, but he
was never afraid for himself.
The rules were not harsh, but they were difficult to obey.
His legs stayed open, his eyes stayed down. He was not permitted
to touch himself, or Q, without an express command. When Q took
him to bed his hands stayed at his sides. That was a difficult
one. Q pleasured him to the point of madness, and sometimes he
would have to actually hold his hands beneath his back in order
to resist the urge to clutch and grab at Q's body. He tossed on
the bed, whimpering a little in his frustration. On the few
occassions he earned the privilege to touch Q, he was overcome
with gratitude.
He was not permitted to speak. "You're not a person now," Q
told him over and over again. "You're an it, an object, a thing.
And you belong to me. Do you understand?"
Jean-Luc nodded since he couldn't speak aloud. If he needed
something, he was permitted to bow and put his face next to Q's
right foot. Q would acknowledge him or not, as he so chose. The
discipline became progressively more difficult as Q stripped him
of the ability to make choices, and he became expert at the art
of waiting for Q to make decisions for him. Q selected his food,
and he waited until Q gave him permission to eat it. Q subjected
him to the small, but surprisingly searing torture of not being
able to use the bathroom unless he was allowed. Q bathed him.
On the few occassions when they left the Enterprise, Q dressed
him. When they had sex, he came only when Q gave him permission.
Once, during his first weeks of training, Q tied him to the
bed and teased him forever before lowering himself onto Jean-
Luc's cock. Jean-Luc tried to endure, but too soon he was
spending himself inside the tight heat of Q's body. Q was
disappointed and told him so, and Jean-Luc felt woebegone. They
had more lessons. For ten nights in a row Jean-Luc knelt in
front of Q and stroked himself erect. He wasn't permitted to
come, and his penis had to stay hard all evening. At night he
was put to sleep on his back, his hands chained to his collar,
with just enough slack to allow him to sleep comfortably.
Well not exactly comfortably. He rebelled several times.
but Q was relentless. Jean-Luc must simply start over. Yes, he
had to stay erect while he ate his dinner. Yes he was still not
permitted relief. Yes, he would be punished for speaking out of
turn. Finally around the seventh day Jean-Luc got the lesson:
he stood, sat, ate, shat, slept, fucked and came for Q, not for
himself--every one of his responses belonged to Q, not just the
sexual ones. Q must have sensed his mental 'Oh!,' because he
looked down at Jean-Luc and gave him an approving pat on the
head.
Days seven through ten, Jean-Luc was a paragon of obedience.
He willed himself erect and stayed that way, getting used to the
idea that he could actually maintain an erection for four hours
straight. By this time he didn't care whether he came or not.
The obedience was what mattered.
When they were in session, as he referred to it, he was not
allowed to ever close his legs. When Q ordered him to bed he
lay with his ankles wide apart. It shamed him, but when Q
finally deigned to come to him he offered himself up eagerly;
anything Q wanted.
He was not permitted to fasten on his own collar and cuffs.
When he came off shift he was to undress, then wait by his bureau
with the other objects of his servitude until Q came to put them
on him. Ritually he bent his neck while Q buckled on his collar,
then he held out his wrists, palms up, while Q fastened on his
restraints. Picard always relaxed after he'd been buckled in.
It was hard to stand naked and see the accoutrements of
his bondage within his reach. Without them he felt undefined,
amorphous and without purpose. Only when Q put them on him did
he know who he was, receiving shape and identity. Once Q made
him wait for nearly an hour, standing by himself next to his
dressing table. When he finally did show up, Jean-Luc was
shivering and near tears--he felt that lost. Q stroked his cheek
comfortingly, but gave no explanation. 'Of course not,' Picard
realized later. He didn't deserve one.

On night Q materialized in Jean-Luc's bed, turned him over
on his stomach and threw his left leg over the back of Jean-Luc's
thighs. He cupped his right hand over Jean-Luc's mouth, leaving
his left hand free.
"I'm doing this because I need to, Johnny. Be brave."
That cryptic warning, and the sudden sensation of a small
point of heat near his left buttock was all the preparation Jean-
Luc had. Wakened out of a sound sleep, he was confused at first,
then reassured by Q's presence, then caught in a paroxysm of
terror and pain as his left cheek exploded in fire. He screamed
into Q's hand and instinctively started to struggle, but Q had
immobilized him, and he had no choice but to endure as Q held the
red-hot brand against his body. Through the burning agony, he
heard Q counting, one one thousand, two one thousand, all the way
up to five. His eyes rolled wildly in his head, and he screamed
with each breath, the sound muffled against Q's hand. The pain
was worse than anything he'd ever endured, and as the smell of
seared flesh filled his nostrils his head expanded and he left
the room, floating off into the endless dark night. He came back
into himself still screaming. His whole left leg hurt, rays of
agony shooting down from his scorched backside. Q had released
him from his immobility, but he was still holding him and Jean-
Luc fought him instinctively, flailing and kicking until Q
grabbed his arms, easily overpowering him.
"Be still," Q ordered sharply. "If you ruin it I'll have to
do it again."
Even through his uncontrolled sobs, Picard managed to obey
Q's directive, shifting gingerly to his right side.
Q held him close and stroked his head, gentling him.
"Good boy," he crooned, "good boy. Johnny is a *good* boy."
Jean-Luc cried for a long time. The pain subsided into
bearable torture, but he wept mostly from shock. His mind could
not escape that first terrible moment when the brand had touched
him. It came back to him over and over again, and each time he
experienced it the tears would increase in pitch and tempo.
After a while, it felt as if he wept and screamed for every bit
of grief and pain he'd ever experienced in his life. He told
himself he was being ridiculous, yet he couldn't stop.
Q was endlessly patient, kissing him and soothing him until
Jean-Luc's hysteria abated somewhat. When he thought the time
was right, he materialized a chocolate and placed it against
Jean-Luc's lips. He'd started rewarding Jean-Luc with small
pieces of candy as a way of reinforcing his subordinate status.
When Jean-Luc endured a particularly grueling scene, he earned a
treat which Q placed on his tongue.
It shamed Jean-Luc that he should so look forward to these
little prizes, but whenever he earned one he was rather proud of
himself. It felt good to kneel and happily open his mouth for a
piece of chocolate; to hear Q tell him what a good boy he was. Q
was a stern taskmaster, and he didn't get treats very often.
This time it had the desired effect. He still whimpered a
little, but he laid his head against Q's chest and chewed his
candy with relish. He tried to reach down and explore the
boundaries of the sore spot but Q wouldn't let him. Q captured
his wrists, holding Johnny's hands still in front of his chest.
Jean-Luc calmed down even further--immobility always made him
feel secure.
Q stayed with him that night, holding him. Jean-Luc was
very weary after his cataclysm, but sleep was elusive. His new
brand throbbed and ached, and every once in while he emitted a
shuddering sob, startling into wakefulness to cry for a moment
before drifting off again.
He woke up feeling like a different man. It wasn't just
that his erratic sleeplessness left him lightheaded. Somehow,
through his night of tears he'd utterly unburdened himself, as if
the prolonged bout of weeping had washed away all the mud and
grime on his psyche, leaving him clear and renewed. Everything
was sharper, more focused, and things struck him with an
intensity he never knew was possible. He walked around in a
state of hyperawareness, noticing everything, hearing not only
the voices of his shipmates but the nuances behind them. When
they looked at him, he could feel their gazes touch his skin.
Colors hovered at the edge of his vision, and everyone seemed to
be banded in glowing light. He felt he might have floated off it
not for the everpresent ache of his branded backside. Picard
walked and sat gingerly. Q wanted him to adjust to the fact that
he was now a branded possession, and if he took the pain away,
that lesson would not be reinforced. It made perfect sense to
Picard, and even though every move he made hurt him, he did not
want the sensation to abate. Just knowing the brand was there
filled him with equanimity. The fact of Q's ownership was now a
physical reality to him, something he could feel on his body.
He touched it sometimes even though Q told him not to,
exploring the contours of the graceful uppercase Q that was now a
permanent part of his physical being.
"Johnny was bad," Q told him that night as he locked him
into his collar and cuffs. "He touched his brand even though I
told him not to."
Ashamed, Jean-Luc nodded.
"I'm afraid he'll need to be punished."
Jean-Luc nodded again. He knew. He didn't like his own
disobedience, yet still he disobeyed, just like he hated beatings
even though he yearned for them. He wished he understood
himself. He thought of how the rattan cane would feel coming
down on against the brand and he moaned a bit, in fear.
Q took Jean-Luc's chin in his hands and tilted his face up.
Jean-Luc struggled to keep his eyes down. "When the brand has
healed I want you to bring me the cane and ask me for your
punishment."
Oh, no. "Yes, Master." Gods alone knew how many days he
would have to live with the shadow of that beating hanging over
him. Picard drew a shuddering breath,
"Now none of that," Q responded sharply. "Go take your
place."

A month later, Johnny knelt in front of Q and offered him
the rattan cane.
"Are you asking for your punishment, slave?"
"Yes, Master."
Q held nothing back. Jean-Luc screamed through the
punishing blows, all thirty of them. Later he looked at the
marks on his backside and gloated.

Some time later they were sitting quietly together when Q
made an announcement. "I want to put another mark on you,
Johnny."
Picard thought he might faint, but Q continued as if he
hadn't noticed the blood suddenly drain from his lover's face.
"I think a tatoo will do nicely this time."
Picard went weak with relief, leaning his head against Q's
thigh. Much as he loved the mark of ownership, he didn't think
he could endure another branding. He bent over and kissed Q's
boot, as much to hide the sudden trembling of his limbs as to
show his gratitude.
Q reached down to stroke his head fondly. "Did you think I
would put you through that again? No, sweetheart. You know I
never hurt you more than necessary."
Picard smiled. He melted when Q used endearments with him,
and if anything, Q hurt him less than than he would have liked.
Now he grew anxious and ill-at-ease if he could not see some mark
of Q's love on his body. Bruises, teethmarks, welts... he
sported them all proudly, with a sense of great contentment.
"Thank you," he whispered softly.
Q stood, took Jean-Luc by the arm and led him to the mirror.
He trapped Jean-Luc's hands behind his back, frowning pensively
as he looked for the best place to put Picard's new tatoo.
Jean-Luc stood patiently under Q's gaze, leaning back against him
to rub his head against the smooth silk of Q's dressing gown.
"How about this?" Q asked. A 'Q' materialized on Jean-Luc's
left shoulder.
Jean-Luc shook his head. He tugged at his right hand where
Q held it, and, surprised, Q let go of his wrist. Jean-Luc
brought his hand up and tapped his chest, right over his heart.
"Oh, Johnny," Q sighed. He stroked Jean-Luc's cheek as the
Q reappeared over Jean-Luc's heart. "You're such a romantic."
He didn't have permission to speak, so Jean-Luc simply
smiled as the 'Q' materialized in the bed of his chest hair, then
he turned, lifting his face up to Q's.
Q picked him up and carried him over to the bed, gazing down
at him with an expression of unutterable tenderness. "Go ahead,"
he permitted. It was obvious Jean-Luc had something on his mind.
Jean-Luc smiled again, opening his legs as he had been
taught. "I'm the most fortunate man who ever lived."

Q kept their relationship hidden, but there were some things
he simply couldn't screen out. Picard was changing in subtle
ways, unconsciously projecting his new status as a cherished
possession. He stood more erect, but the stiffness vanished from
his posture so that he moved more gracefully and beautifully than
ever before. His eyes were clearer, his expression less
controlled and more serene. He'd always exuded confidence, but
now he radiated peacefulness as well, imbued with an inner
stillness and tranquility now that the terrible dissonance
between what he needed and what he thought he could have had been
completely resolved.
He was unaware of it, but he began to have a devastating
effect on dominants and heteros alike, especially if they were
unaware of their own proclivities. Just looking at him, Nachayev
found herself perspiring and breathing more heavily though she
didn't know why. Riker was horrified when he couldn't let go of
a dream where Picard writhed ecstatically beneath him. A perfect
stranger amazed himself by turning to Picard when they were alone
in a lift, grasping his upper arm and pulling him close.
Thinking it was one of Q's games, Picard let himself be handled,
yielding his body as his lips parted unconsciously.
As Picard melted against him, the man froze, shocked at what
he was doing, and Picard froze too. "Q?" He asked warily. His
body was responding to the agressive behavior, the pleasant burn
of arousal pulsing through him. It would be very like Q to take
him here, but this didn't feel like Q's presence.
The strange man was breathing hoarsely. "I want you to come
with me," he rasped helplessly. His mind was screaming at him
that this made no sense, and yet this divinely beautiful man was
responding as naturally as if this were a normal occurrence, as
if it were preordained that they should come together.
Even as he offered his mouth to be kissed, Picard stiffened
slightly. Something was definitely wrong. Suddenly Q was there
between them, and Picard could feel his rage and jealousy. The
strange man lowered his eyes and stepped away, mortally
embarrassed and disgusted with himself. What *had* he been
thinking? When the lift suddenly stopped, floors away from his
destination, he stumbled out under the pressure of Q's furious
glare.
As soon as the doors closed again, Q disappeared, and Jean-
Luc continued on his way, bemused and troubled by what had taken
place. He worried that Q would be angry with *him*, and it made
him sad to think he'd made Q angry.
To his amazement, Q never mentioned the incident. That
night, he took Jean-Luc to bed and caressed him so tenderly that
it made Jean-Luc feel very special. Through this gentle
lovemaking, Q was telling him how much he valued him, how much he
cared for him and needed him. When they were done, Q would not
let him go, stroking and soothing his body while Jean-Luc drowsed
in his arms. Q was usually fairly harsh when they made love so
this gentleness had a powerful effect on them both, sealing their
love for one another in ways their usual rough play couldn't do.
Of course, the next night Q tied him up, gagged him, and
whipped him until Jean-Luc shuddered and wept with pain, but that
was only to be expected.

For Q, the need to possess Jean-Luc would not be slaked. He
found exquisite release in Jean-Luc's suffering, and when Johnny
was under discipline, limbs trembling, eyes swimming in tears, Q
felt helplessly, ravenously, greedy for more. The branding
confirmed his sense of ownership, but paradoxically increased his
need to express it, and his desire to absorb this delicious
amalgam of tears, lust and pain was almost boundless. He was
captivated with, enthralled by, and willingly addicted to the
sensations he wrung from his lover.
'I'm lost,' he admitted to himself. 'Jean-Luc owns me as
much as I own him, if not moreso.'
He obssessed over every detail of his lover's being, down to
the cells of his fingernails. At night he watched Jean-Luc
breathe, counted the flakes of skin that sloughed off his body in
the night and rolled around in them in the morning. Every day he
tasted the inside of Johnny's mouth, the back of his neck, the
insides of his thighs, the curve of his ear; he could leave no
piece of skin unsampled. He spent endless hours watching the
patterns of heat coming off of Jean-Luc's body, watching his aura
change color with his thoughts. He wandered shamelessly through
Jean-Luc's memories, and whenever he found something he thought
Jean-Luc might like, he materialized it for him, gifting him with
rare bottles of brandy, arabian horses, castles, another trip
through time to the day his ancestor was knighted by
Charlemagne... so many things that Jean-Luc had to ask him please
to stop as he was unable to keep track of them.
"Even the trip through time?" Q teased.
Jean-Luc was distracted from his train of thought. "I meant
to ask you. I would like a holo of our trip, if you don't mind
giving me one."
"Spoiled, greedy little bottom," Q chided him fondly. He
held out his hand and a holocube appeared in his palm. Picard
picked it up, turned it on, and began to laugh. Posed as a
smiling group, it was a portrait of himself, Q, Charlemagne, and
his skinny, ugly ancestor. Picard set it carefully on his side
table and turned to lay his head against Q's chest. "I *am*
spoiled, Q, but it's all your fault."
Q threw one leg over Picard, gathering him close. "You
shouldn't have allowed it. What happened to that iron will?"
"You took it from me," Jean-Luc answered, snuggling down
comfortably. "You took everything." He kissed Q's chest, right
where his heart would have been if Q had truly had one, lay back
and waited. Soon he was moaning under Q's hands, pure
contentment washing through every part of him.

At his annual physical, Beverly discovered the brand. Jean-
Luc was indifferent to her surprise, explaining offhandedly that
Q put it there because he wanted to, and he, Jean-Luc, liked it
and didn't want it removed.
He actually heard Beverly's gulp, and several seconds passed
before she could manage to speak. "Didn't that hurt?"
"Oh yes," he answered. "Dreadfully. For almost a month,
but it's healed well and I'm rather proud of it."
"Uh, okay." She didn't want to know any more.

"You truly astound me," Q told him that evening. "I can't
believe the obsessively private Jean-Luc would be so casual about
something so personal. You shocked her to her depths."
"She'll get over it," Picard answered pragmatically,
astonishing Q even further. "Besides, once she'd found out I
wasn't going to lie. I *am* rather proud of it, you know."
"I know. I know everything about you." At the look Jean-
Luc gave him, he elaborated. "I can't help myself. I *need* to
possess everything about you." He sighed, turned over on his
back and hesitated a long moment before speaking again. "More
and more I find myself defined by the fact of your importance to
me. I don't think of myself as Q anymore, but as Q-who-owns-
Jean-Luc."
"As I define myself as Jean-Luc-who-belongs-to-Q." He
levered himself up and kissed Q's cheek. "Sleep with me."
"Forever."
Picard snuggled down against Q's warmth. He'd almost
drifted off completely when he thought of something else.
"Beverly can get over me now, and go on about her life. We
weren't doing each other any good."
In his mind, Q played back the Doctor's astonishment.
"She's going to tell Deanna, you know."
Picard's voice was drowsy. "I know. And Deanna will come
to me and say "Captain, Beverly says Q has branded you." Picard
imitated her perfectly. "And I'll tell her that until it
interferes with the safe running of my ship my brand is not
subject for discussion."
"I'm impressed," Q answered.

It happened exactly that way. Deanna came to his quarters
several nights later and asked for permission to see him. He'd
been eating, nude of course, when she buzzed and identified
herself. Picard looked at Q. Not directly into his eyes, of
course, but he turned his face towards him and caught Q's nod.
Suddenly the collar and cuffs disappeared and Jean-Luc was
dressed in off-duty clothes. He stood. "Come," he ordered, and
had to stop himself from laughing. In the evenings, he received
that order, he never *gave* it.
Deanna refused his offers of food or drink, but she sat down
at the table with him and came directly to the point. "Beverly
tells me you now wear a brand which Q gave you. Is this true?"
Picard nodded. "Yes, Counselor, it's true." He'd debated
whether to use her first name or her title, and the title won
out. She had very narrow rights here, as far as he was
concerned, and once she'd ascertained that he and the ship were
safe, any further questioning of his choices would be be simple
prurience.
More attuned to nuances of body language since he'd begun
spending time with Q, Picard read her apology before she voiced
it. She seemed very uncomfortable. "Forgive me for asking,
Captain, but I assume you don't believe he's a danger to the
ship?"
"If anything, the ship is safer, Counselor. He has more
stake in it's protection with me on board." He and Q had never
discussed this, but Jean-Luc knew he was absolutely correct.
"He's right." Q and a chair suddenly materialized next to
Jean-Luc. Q addressed the counselor, but he was really talking
to the Captain; confirming his assertion. "If it weren't for
Jean-Luc, I would leave your little tin tub to survive or
flounder on its own."
Both men looked at her, and Q dropped the barriers he kept
around Jean-Luc. She could feel the Captain's peaceful
certainty, his bouyant happiness, and her concerns melted away.
If Q made him feel this good, she took back everything she'd ever
thought or said about the entity. There was just one last thing.
"The last time we spoke of this you expressed a degree of dislike
towards him," she said to Picard.
A slight blush suffused Picard's cheeks. "I'm not
brainwashed, Counselor. I said I hated him," Picard admitted,
"but things changed."
"I'll say they did." A thought occurred to her which she
immediately tried to suppress.
"Yes, the sex *is* very hot." Q read her telepathically.
Then, after a beat, said, "No I'm not trying to rattle you, but
you're practically throwing your thoughts at me and it's harder
to ignore you than not."
Troi smiled wryly and stood up. "I'll let you get back to
your meal, Captain." As she turned to leave, her eyes met Q's.
'Congratulations,' she sent to him. 'I'm glad he's happy.'

'She's glad Jean-Luc is happy,' Q thought to himself later.
It was very early, in the morning, ship's time, and Jean-Luc was
in his arms, sleeping soundly. 'But what do I do to keep him
happy? Sooner or later he won't need the discipline and the
constant games, so how will I keep him entertained?' He thanked
whatever he held sacred that he'd drawn it out as long as he had.
Their relationship was coming to a point now where the the games
were secondary to the companionship and the affection they felt
for each other. He had to smile at his own benighted
assumptions: that loving a mortal would be safe, that he was
impervious to the seductive temptations of love, trust and
acceptance. 'And look at me,' he thought. 'Lying here holding
him because *he* likes to be held. Never mind what *I* want.'
He didn't admit the truth--that he wanted to do whatever
Jean-Luc wanted, that his gratitude for Jean-Luc's trust and
affection held him captive as surely as his bonds held Jean-Luc.
One night Jean-Luc was going to ask him if they could be
together without the bonds. He could feel it coming, and he
didn't know how he was going to hold together without the safety
of their rituals.
'So what do I do?' he asked himself. It never occurred to
him that Jean-Luc might want him regardless. He still could not
quite believe in the gift of Jean-Luc's generosity.
--