Title: One Thousand Eyes
Rating: Very Very Very soft R
Warnings: None really, maybe a bit of voyeurism…okay maybe lots but it isn't bad.
Disclaimer: All things TNG, Star Trek, Characters, or otherwise belongs to Paramount, much to my dismay. Then again, if I had true rights...they wouldn't be able to air it on daytime television. X3
Picard rolled slowly over and the walls themselves seemed to take and hold a breath, but he merely settled into a different position and continued on in his deep slumber. Falling asleep had been somewhat difficult after such a busy day, but once the Captain had given in, tendrils of tantalizing, wispy chariots of dreams had whisked him far away.
The tension that had mounted at Picard's restless stirring now melted away and the silent observation continued. He could watch from any angle in the room, with one set of eyes or thousands. It didn't matter really, as long as Jean-luc remained the center of his universal attention. If he so desired, his eyes could penetrate as deeply as the insides of those ridiculous pajamas, deeper even than that, until Q could pretend that he'd actually, quite literally, dissolved into Picard's body. Of course, though as omnipotent as ever, he would never bring himself to so violate the man's privacy. Nor would Q ever breech Picard's annoyingly placed shields until—and Q swore one day it would happen—he was expressly invited, beyond all shadow of a doubt.
So, from the far corner at the moment, he quietly observed his Captain. His Captain. A claim that he'd made from the very beginning. And now Jean-luc had shifted again, laying on his stomach, slowly drawing his knee up, arms hugging a bundle of blankets close, tugging them up and becoming ever more wrapped up in them until the entire lower half of his body was exposed and only his head poked out at the top.
The walls took a breath again as Q fanned out his viewpoint. He admired the backs of those toned legs, watching the play of muscles rippling just beneath a thin layer of skin only slightly softened with age. Q noted as his eyes roamed over the heel of one foot, that Picard was flexing his toes, curling and uncurling them. Restless dreams indeed…after so many nights watching, Q knew exactly what made the man's toes curl like that.
The entity reached out, never able to really help himself, and caressed a piece of his being over the back of one strong thigh. At the same moment a soft breath of a moan escaped thin parted lips, half-muffled by the pillows. Q withdrew suddenly, startled, into himself then scolded himself for it. Jean-luc could not feel him, the touch would have just been perceived as a gentle draft along his skin. As if even a real touch would have been able to rouse the sleeping dead in his Captain right now.
A pair of his eyes watched a bead of perspiration roll lazily down behind his ear, dampening what little hair there was, and the small, reserved noise came again. Q recognized this and did not shy away this time as he breezed gently over that scalp. Q manifested quietly in bed, weightless, with no mass in his self-projected body to disturb the mattress that his Captain was comfortably nestled in. Jean-luc remained still except for the slight expanding of his sides that signaled slow, steady breathing, and the gentle rocking of his hips as he unconsciously ground himself into the bedclothes.
The entity had only wanted to watch, thus appearing as nothing more than something that could be seen. And seeing his fingertips sooth over Jean-luc's scalp sent a ripple along the rest of his being. Physical contact wasn't really required, but it made sensing Picard's emotions that much more intimate. Though he would do nothing that would alter or modify the sleeping man and his thoughts, only bask in the sweetness of his dream-wrought arousal. At the same time the ripple that traveled through the room, across the walls, deepened into Q's own kind of arousal while he watched the image of himself watching in wide-eyed fascination at Jean-luc's slowly bucking hips.
It was a hard thing for Q, for any Q, to sit and watch without just taking what he so desired. He'd been doing it for years now though. Through the other times—it wasn't the first time he'd seen the object of his affections come to such a state, through dreams or personal fantasies—that he'd watched Picard this way he had steeled himself against the dangerous, feral desires that tended to rouse.
Yes he'd watched his Captain do a great many things, but none of which quite compared to lust-filled eyes—which Q always imagined to be looking at him instead of through him—or the sensual, rounded sounds that rolled off the normally sharp, commanding tongue.
"Oh Mon Capitaine," Q whispered within himself as his surrounding, pulsating now, arousal made the air in the room seem thick and hot. "How I wish to wake you up and force you to recognize these feelings you have…"
Jean-luc, as if answering the ghost of Q's unfelt touches, released a soft groan and shuddered. Q inclined his head as if to breathe into the shell of Picard's ear, looking spent as well while sharing in secret, the waves of a quiet, dream-induced orgasm. He had no desire to probe and find out what had been in that wonderfully complex mind to cause such a thing. Q was content to pretend that his Captain had been dreaming of him.
"Soon it will truly be me that renders you breathless this way Mon Capitaine," Q physically materialized in that moment, knowing how risky it was, but indulging himself greedily on a warm kiss to that sweaty temple. Then to make sure his deep rest was not disturbed Q snapped his fingers to clean and cool Jean-luc's heated body. "You might not believe it yet, but soon…soon enough to be within this pitifully short life of yours, you will stop suppressing your desires for me..."
And in a quiet 'pop' quite uncharacteristic of his usual flamboyant flash of white light, Q and his quietly spoken words were gone.