EQ

JULY 1996

 

Color lasers licked the warehouse walls that shook under the steady barrage of the brutal bass frequencies. Shimmery pads and fat synth arpeggios filled the air already thick with sweat and fog machine liquid. The crowd was high on love and good times, and well, drugs, too.

The latter no longer was an option for Jean-Luc, and he found the two former ones increasingly hard to get a hold of. So there he was, gray and solitary, standing away from the joyous crowd of mostly teens and twenty-somethings. Alone and awkward and more out of place with every passing year.

Raves weren’t quite what they used to be; then again, so wasn’t Jean-Luc. Time had caught up with him four years ago, crashing over him under harsh white lights and judgmental stares. In a blink of an eye, he had gained all those years he’d been running from and then some. His borrowed youth was taken back from him, and all he had left were the debts to pay with interest.

The vocals preached love and unity. It wasn’t untrue, just out of reach, behind a thick glass wall. And no one liked an old man with a sledgehammer.

Well, that’s how it was these days. All the kids danced so hard you couldn’t tell apart the sober ones, but after a lifetime of chemically assisted loosening up, Jean-Luc found it hard to let loose like he used to. “The parties aren’t what they used to be”, most of the other formerly young folks said. “We’re not what we used to be; the parties are the same. That’s why you don’t see me there anymore,” Beverly would have countered, and in honesty, Jean-Luc would have had to side with her.

Had Deanna been here with him as planned, she could have pried Jean-Luc out of his shell a bit more. Alas, a nasty migraine had forced her to stay behind at Jean-Luc’s place—Will was hosting some out-of-town friends of his; Deanna couldn’t stand Tom, even less so when she needed rest, so staying at her boyfriend’s was out of question. Will himself was busy helping Data with his records, and Jean-Luc couldn’t see any familiar faces in the sea of people on a cursory glance, nor a space for him to slot into with ease.

And that’s how it was these days.

No one was interested in an old, stuffy man standing alone in the back of the room, Jean-Luc thought. Not strictly true; there was as much love to go around as there was E, and even the few sober ones sometimes had fascination for a well-groomed man twice their age, but arriving at that conclusion would require downing some tough to swallow pills along the way, and Jean-Luc wasn’t about to go down that road anytime soon.

He wondered if he’d find Worf grumpily drinking an imported beer away from the crowd, even more of an outsider than Jean-Luc on his worst days. Only Worf didn’t care. Worf would hardly move from his spot near the bar or chillout room, would not touch drugs, and above all, would not dance. “I am here for the music,” he would say. No one knew what his real reason was, but Will and Deanna agreed it had to be some girl.

“I bet he just wants to join Will and Deanna, if you know what I mean,” Geordi had added behind their backs one time when they had been speculating why their friend kept tagging along.

Tonight, he would not bump into Geordi either. Geordi loved the music, loved the tech, loved to help behind the scenes—and, as Deanna would speculate, probably loved hanging around Data most of all. But he would not join the regular party-goers on the dance floor, whereas Jean-Luc hardly had an excuse to hang in the greenroom even on nights like this when Data was DJing. He simply had no place here anymore, like his friends all did—even Worf, in some strange way.

Jean-Luc took a deep breath and looked around him once more. He knew he would have a good time if he just made his way into the crowd, but a familiar face wouldn’t hurt—

He didn’t know why the man caught his eye, much less why he couldn’t look away once he realized he was staring. A complete stranger was leaning against the wall, sticking out like a sore thumb and glancing around uncomfortably.

A purple, fitted satin button-up tucked into light blue 501s combined with cherry-red combat boots. Dark, slightly wavy hair lined a handsome face with full, pouty lips. Not to mention big, beautiful eyes Jean-Luc caught himself staring at, shining bright under hooded eyelids that underlined his already concerned expression. The man looked striking—and acutely out of place.

It was none of Jean-Luc’s business.

A familiar three-note arpeggio broke out, and suddenly it was 1986 again.

“Hey.” It had nothing to do with him. “Are you alone?”

The bassline ascended. “Don’t make me wait too long,” sang the voices before turning back into whispered moans.

The stranger looked at Jean-Luc, puzzled.

“I, uh…” What was he doing? Never mind, I mistook you for someone else. Walk away. “It’s just that you look a bit lost.”

The stranger studied Jean-Luc for a moment. Then, his face relaxed.

“That obvious, am I?” The stranger smiled. “It’s my first time. A… friend brought me here, but I haven’t seen him since we walked in. Honestly, I’d just go home already, but he’s my ride.” American accent, hard to place more precisely. “The music is nice,” he sighed, clearly grasping at straws.

Jean-Luc glanced at his watch. Even if he were lucky, the poor man could be stuck here for several more hours.

“We could go dancing,” Jean-Luc heard himself say. The stranger’s eyes widened, and he almost looked excited for a moment before he glanced at the crowd.

“It’s been a bit of a culture shock,” he said and smiled apologetically. “Thanks for the offer, but maybe I should leave. Walk, or try to get a cab.”

Jean-Luc looked at the stranger. Tired, awkward, all alone, and entirely sober. Younger than Jean-Luc, clearly, but still well above the average age, too.

The synth arpeggio came to an abrupt halt. The four on the floor hammered Jean-Luc’s chest.

There would always be another party. This poor man was out of his depth.

The rhythm died to make room for a few lone, tension-building bass notes until the song kicked back in fully.

“I’ll give you a ride home,” Jean-Luc said. “If you’d like. I’m sober.”

The stranger looked at Jean-Luc curiously.

“And miss the party?”

“I need to check in on my sick friend, anyway,” Jean-Luc lied. As strange as it was, he felt more sorry for the stranger than for Deanna.

No, that wasn’t all, but Jean-Luc didn’t have time to examine his motives right now.

“I see. Lead the way, then,” the stranger said and flashed a playful smile, “my knight.”

Jean-Luc couldn’t help but smile at the unexpected flirt. The stranger had been awkward and uncomfortable just a moment ago; now he was full of charm.

“Q!” someone called.

“Ugh, now he remembers me,” the stranger said and looked over the crowd. Tall, Jean-Luc thought. The man looked back at Jean-Luc. “And just as I was starting to enjoy myself. How about we make our exit?”

“Q, wait!” The voice was approaching them.

But Q pulled Jean-Luc’s hand, and that was Jean-Luc’s cue to lead him out of the warehouse into the black Ford Escort waiting in the parking lot.

“Where do I take you?” Jean-Luc asked. Q looked back at him sheepishly.

“Actually, I expected to spend the night at that asshole’s place, but I’ll be fine if you just drop me off near a hotel.”

Jean-Luc quickly pushed away the anger towards Q’s sad excuse of a friend. “Or you could come to my place,” he then said. He couldn’t believe himself. It had been years since he had been this bold. “Just to sleep. I promise I won’t do anything you don’t want,” he hastily added.

Q had that curious look on his face again.

“Of course, if you’d rather—”

“No,” Q said and flashed another mysterious smile. “If you don’t mind me.” There was something oddly compelling about this stranger. Jean-Luc couldn’t peel his eyes off Q’s face for a good few more seconds. Then, he started the engine and headed towards the M25.

Jean-Luc’s flat was tiny. Especially so with Deanna’s mattress—“I know where you found that sofa and I won’t sleep on it”—taking up most of his floor space.

She was fast asleep now, thankfully. Jean-Luc really wasn’t in the mood for her teasing.

“Just a friend,” Jean-Luc hurried to explain to Q, not sure why himself, as they maneuvered past the mattress. “She was supposed to come with me today but got a last-minute migraine.”

Q just nodded and followed Jean-Luc as they reached the small nook with a bed barely fitting in.

Jean-Luc felt faint. Despite his best efforts not to think about it, he knew perfectly well why Q had caught his eye in the crowd; why he’d offered to take him home; why he’d offered a place to stay. He had no right to feel regret, although he did, preparing to say goodnight and part with him in the morning.

“I can just take the couch—” Jean-Luc said and awkwardly gestured for Q to take the bed, but soft fingertips brushing feather-lightly against his jaw interrupted him, paralyzed him.

“My gallant knight doesn’t want his reward, then?”

Jean-Luc’s heart skipped a beat. There was a desire in Q’s eyes Jean-Luc hadn’t felt targeted at him since—

“I do,” Jean-Luc replied in a choked whisper. He was fairly sure Deanna was knocked out till morning. Did he even have any rubbers? Maybe there were some still left on the shelf—

Q’s hands found his arms, mouth covered his; he gently pushed Jean-Luc onto the bed. When the kiss broke, Jean-Luc saw Q pull a condom—thank god—from the back pocket of his jeans before starting to unbutton his shirt. Jean-Luc clumsily pulled off his own t-shirt and tossed it aside, then ripped off the white tank top under Q’s purple shirt before grabbing his neck and pulling him back down into another kiss. How had this happened, again? Q broke off and started moving south. Jean-Luc was too overwhelmed to realize what was happening until he realized his fly was unbuttoned and Q was rolling a condom over his cock. He gasped as Q took him in his mouth. God, it was heaven. Maybe it really was. Maybe the mechanical valve in his heart had failed.

“Oh, oh—” Jean-Luc tried to keep as quiet as he could not to wake up Deanna, but it was hard. Q knew what he was doing. Extremely well. And when Jean-Luc’s eyes locked with those big, hungry eyes…

Q let go just in time before Jean-Luc was past the edge.

“Was it good?”

“Was it?” Jean-Luc let out a little laugh between his panting. “God, Q, that was…”

He noticed Q was fumbling through his pockets again. Looking for another condom, Jean-Luc speculated and let his eyes close for a while and tried to calm himself. He definitely wasn’t new to sucking a dick, but he couldn’t compete with that.

Jean-Luc braced himself, opened his eyes, and gasped. Q, in his fully naked glory, was on his knees over Jean-Luc’s half-clothed body, reaching behind with one hand, biting his lip, eyes scanning Jean-Luc’s body. Oh god. Please.

Q noticed Jean-Luc staring at him with his mouth open. “Just a second longer,” he said and Jean-Luc just nodded while Q pulled off Jean-Luc’s jeans while leaving a trail of kisses along his thigh. He hadn’t expected any of this to happen tonight, yet there he was, about to fuck some handsome stranger he had picked up at a rave before it had properly even started.

Q straddled Jean-Luc’s hips and pushed his cock against the slick opening. “Oh,” he moaned softly, in a small voice, and let his eyelids fall shut as he pushed just the tip inside. Jean-Luc’s arms moved on their own as he grabbed Q’s hips and held him as Q slowly lowered himself all the way.

“You feel…” Jean-Luc couldn’t find sufficient words. He felt silly, wanting to sing songs to this man and his soft mouth and tight ass. “…so good,” he eventually settled on, much to his own disappointment. Q, slowly raising and lowering his hips, didn’t seem to mind the underwhelming choice of words.

“Mmm…” he responded. “Maybe I need to get into trouble more often.”

He was picking up the pace. Jean-Luc’s hands were traveling up and down his thighs, such long thighs. Long back, too. Q was towering above him, and Jean-Luc felt small and wondered if that’s how it felt being ridden by a god. Then he wondered if he had ever thought of such things with such earnestness when sober before.

He wanted to be good to Q too and pushed his own hips up while pulling Q closer with his hands firmly on his waist. Q was moaning loudly. Jean-Luc was gaining confidence. Q was enjoying himself. He tried to free one of his hands to take care of Q’s heavy erection pushing against his belly, but Q promptly grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t let go, please,” he pleaded, and there was nothing Jean-Luc could do against that tone. Thankfully, Q took the hint and grabbed his own cock. His breath ragged and at the back of his head Jean-Luc knew Deanna could not possibly sleep through the noises Q made but none of that was of any concern to Jean-Luc right now as Q was rapidly reaching climax.

“Oh, god, oh—” Thick ropes of cum spread all over Jean-Luc’s stomach and chest. Jean-Luc, hands tight around Q’s waist, thrust hard into Q and groaned as pleasure erupted through him.

Q fell over Jean-Luc, limp and heavy and comforting and lovely. Jean-Luc did his best to maneuver the condom off his softening cock without spilling the contents everywhere and grabbed a stray tissue to clean at least some of the cum off both their bodies.

What a mess. He felt tender and pushed his lips under the curls covering Q’s neck. He could feel sweat and cum drip down and make a mess of the sheets. Well, he had needed to wash the sheets anyway, he thought, and sighed into Q’s neck, then pulled away. He glanced at Q. Still full of adoration. Jean-Luc let out a small laugh.

“You keep looking at me like I’m the most wonderful thing you’ve ever come across,” Jean-Luc said.

“I suppose. Have you considered that maybe you are?” Q pretended to give it serious consideration. “Definitely the most wonderful thing on this goddamn island so far,” he said sincerely and sighed.

“How long have you been here?” Jean-Luc said and pulled the blanket over them.

“A little less than a month.” Suddenly Q looked tired again. “Family, a dreadful bunch of leeches. I had to get away from the US, but…”

Jean-Luc reached out to touch his face, tracing along his features with his finger. Q had a fascinating face. Jean-Luc felt like he could stare at him forever.

“Hasn’t been quite what you hoped for, has it?”

Q closed his eyes and buried his head under Jean-Luc’s jaw.

“Not until now,” Q said, and Jean-Luc decided that for just one night he could let himself believe that he was indeed Q’s knight in shining armor.

“I don’t believe you told me your name yet,” Q said.

“Jean-Luc,” he replied. “But everyone just calls me Johnny.”

“Mmm… Jean-Luc,” Q said sleepily, with perfect pronunciation. Unreasonable how happy hearing Q call him by his name made Jean-Luc.

“You speak French?” Jean-Luc asked to keep the conversation alive.

“A little. A relative married someone from France when I was a kid, and suddenly I had to take classes. You’re French, then?”

Jean-Luc’s body became tense. He didn’t enjoy talking about his past. “I left the family vineyard when I was 14 and moved to England much against my father’s wishes,” he said.

“Crossing the sea at such a young age. Mon capitaine,” Q said. Jean-Luc could hear the smirk in his voice, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the nickname.

“Just a passenger, I’m afraid. Besides, you can see across the sea on a clear day. Your voyage is a lot more impressive,” Jean-Luc said.

“The captain of your own fate, then. And I took a plane,” Q muttered sleepily.

“Still a long trip to make,” Jean-Luc said, but got no response. Q was breathing steadily against Jean-Luc’s body. Jean-Luc turned off the small light above his bed and hoped Deanna would wake up before them and leave quietly, then trailed off to sleep himself.

That didn’t happen, though.

To be precise, the part about her waking up early did; she just had no intention of leaving quietly.

Q was still asleep when Jean-Luc grabbed his underwear and climbed out of the bed.

“Good morning,” Deanna chirped as Jean-Luc was rummaging in his drawer for a shirt big enough for Q that wasn’t obnoxiously loud. A lot of Jean-Luc’s day-to-day clothes wouldn’t have fit Q’s tall body, and remembering Q’s outfit from last night, he likely wasn’t too keen on wearing anything neon. “Is your friend still asleep?”

Jean-Luc heard the open smugness in Deanna’s voice emanating from the small kitchen nook. He didn’t reply, just placed a folded, moss-green turtleneck and a clean towel next to the sleeping Q and slunk into the bathroom. Q still wasn’t up when Jean-Luc stepped out of the bathroom in clean sweatpants and a white tank top after a brisk shower.

“Deanna, if you could please leave before he wakes up. I’m afraid this could be awkward for him—”

“He didn’t seem to mind my presence last night,” Deanna said and received a blank stare from Jean-Luc in response. “Fine, I’ll be on my way. I would ask how last night went, but…” Deanna peeked over Jean-Luc’s shoulder to look toward his sleeping nook. Jean-Luc knew she was teasing him, but gave her a stern look anyway. “I’m joking. I’ll leave you now. Thank you for letting me stay over,” Deanna said and smiled. Jean-Luc smiled back at her, and she grabbed her bag and left. Jean-Luc stood still for a solid minute after the door closed, trying to wrap his head around the whole situation.

“I wonder why you really were so eager to get rid of her. I’m not that bashful, you know.”

Jean-Luc turned around and—god, there was Q, standing in nothing, nothing but a neon yellow t-shirt Jean-Luc had forgotten to fold back into his drawer after trying to find something in Q’s size.

“I gave you a towel if you’d like to take a shower before… before we…,” Jean-Luc stammered and trailed off as an impish smile spread across Q’s face.

“Before we what, Jean-Luc?”

That was enough, Jean-Luc thought and turned away from Q, desperately trying to will away his hard-on by focusing on what little Deanna had left in his already rather empty fridge.

“I have a couple more rubbers on me,” Q whispered in his ear. Somehow, he had sneaked directly behind him, close enough for Jean-Luc to feel his body heat—worse, to smell all the smells from last night on him. “I’ll go take that shower now. Am I right to assume I’m in no hurry to leave?”

“No. Stay as long as you’d like,” Jean-Luc sputtered and tried his hardest to think what to serve with a can of beans instead of what Q might be planning with Deanna out of the way.

In the end, Jean-Luc couldn’t bring himself to serve what sorry breakfast he could cook using the ingredients present in his tiny kitchen.

“I’m afraid I’ll need to make a quick trip to grab something for us to eat, unless you want to split a can of beans and a pack of Smarties,” Jean-Luc said. “You can stay here if you’d like.”

Q, fresh from the shower, wrapped his arms around Jean-Luc from behind. “A plateful of jellied eels would be fine with me if it’s you I’m sharing it with. But yes, let’s go get some groceries. I’ll come with you. If it’s not too much.”

What was too much was Q’s sudden and complete adoration of Jean-Luc. The batted eyelashes, the shy, nervous frown when Jean-Luc had to look away. He was flattered, he was pleased. But ultimately, he was terrified. Not because he feared this stranger, but because…

“Let me get my wallet,” Jean-Luc said.

“Of course. But let me pay,” Q said, and gave Jean-Luc a silencing look before he could protest. “I assure you, money is no issue. I don’t like skimping on quality.”

And sure enough, Q wasn’t counting pennies as he loaded their basket with fresh bread, fine butter, two kinds of imported cheese, eggs, grapes, pears—and, yes, condoms. There was a lot to take in here. “Do you have any coffee at your place?” Q asked, already reaching for a luxury brand coffee before Jean-Luc managed to tell that he was more of a tea-drinker. And when he heard that, Q also grabbed some quality loose-leaf Earl Grey from the shelf. “Oh, I almost forgot the cream,” Q said, picking up several more items on the way to the dairy aisle.

By the time they were done, Jean-Luc had a full fridge. An unusual sight in his apartment—food at home was fuel for him; plenty of restaurants nearby when he occasionally felt like indulging.

Well, Q’s plans didn’t involve a candlelit restaurant date.

“I saw your record collection,” Q said as he was looking for plates and utensils in the cupboards. “Could you play something?”

Q would only shrug when Jean-Luc asked what he would like, so he looked for something calm, something soothing, something fitting the slow morning. What did that look like? Avalon by Roxy Music caught his eye. That will work, he thought and put the record on. He glanced at Q. A raised eyebrow and a suggestive smile. An own goal for Jean-Luc, but he didn’t exactly mind.

“Keep doing that and I’ll need another heart surgery,” Jean-Luc muttered. Q looked alarmed, and Jean-Luc immediately regretted saying it out loud. “It’s under control. Sorry I worried you. I don’t know why I—”

“Don’t apologize,” Q said sincerely before his mouth twisted into another smirk. “Maybe I should apologize for being such a heartthrob.” Before Jean-Luc had a comeback ready, Q was pulling out a chair. “Breakfast, darling.”

Over breakfast, Jean-Luc learned Q had come to the UK to get away from his extended family. His parents had died when he had been but an infant, leaving him “enough money to get by”, although Jean-Luc could tell Q was being modest about his wealth. He had no job, but was looking for a place in central London—“Soho, preferably”—and just hadn’t found one he liked yet. He didn’t know anyone, really—he had met the guy who had brought him to the rave just a couple days earlier. “We didn’t even fuck. I think he just wanted me for my money,” Q said and looked sour. “Good riddance. He wasn’t really my type, anyway. I can’t stand kissing guys with beards.” Q waved his hand and wrinkled his nose. He genuinely hadn’t liked this man.

Good, Jean-Luc thought to himself. Should be safe to introduce him to Will, then.

Introduce? Jean-Luc sipped his tea. Best damn tea he had ever had. Why was he getting so hung up on a one-night stand? Well, Q wasn’t done with him just yet, the packet of condoms on top of the drawer reminded him, but Jean-Luc wasn’t looking for anything long-term, not now, not ever. This lifestyle had served him well for almost fifty years.

He reached with his hand to grab another grape and accidentally bumped against Q’s doing the same.

“Oh,” Jean-Luc said and pulled away.

“What’s wrong, Jean-Luc? You weren’t planning on growing one?” Q asked.

“Growing… what?”

“A beard. I said I don’t like beards, and you went quiet all of the sudden.”

“Oh, right,” Jean-Luc smiled nervously. He noticed the music had stopped. “No, I… I should go change the side…”

Q stood up at the same time as Jean-Luc and gently but firmly grabbed his wrist before he could step away from the table.

“Why won’t you put a CD on repeat? I don’t want to fight for your attention,” Q purred and took a step closer. “I think we’re done with breakfast.”

There was a fine line between compelling and intimidating, which Q had never once so far crossed, and still managed to find the exact sweet spot where Jean-Luc found it impossible to say no to him. Breakfast was very much over.