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21 January 2026

2991 words

Rated E for sexual content

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He didn’t know what to think, except that he had sworn to spend every day of Picard’s remaining life by his side, and he would not back down no matter how hard he had come to resent it.

—

A sequel to Consolation prize

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Q knew he was coming. He always did. So he was always there in time to answer the door, sitting behind his desk, wearing his silly little old-fashioned suit, a cup of Earl Grey waiting on the coffee table, the door opening the moment Picard stepped in front of it.

“Why, I remember you saying you would never get used to that,” Q said as Picard stepped in completely unfazed.

“Lately, there has been a lot less that can surprise me where you are concerned,” Picard said and walked past him to the couch.

“Ah,” Q said and followed Picard with his gaze, not missing the lack of his usual meekness. “Am I correct in assuming this is a purely social visit?”

“No, there is something… I thought I might drink the tea before it gets cold.” Picard took the cup in his hand and averted his gaze. His confidence was fading faster than Q’s good mood. “I have had headaches for a week now. It’s affecting my sleep.”

“And you didn’t go to that…” Q managed to hold his tongue. “Doctor Crusher for this?” He quietly erased any trace of the headaches Picard suffered from and passed him a bottle of sugar pills from the desk drawer.

Picard raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t expect me to keep my word?” He took the bottle, not seeming entirely convinced, and looked away. “Reliability is the one good thing written on my evaluation year after year.”

Q stood up and slowly approached Picard, keeping him under his stare the entire time. Picard’s eyes darted at Q and back away. He sighed.

“I am no idiot, Q. I realize no one else knows you’re here. I know no one else can access this room. What I don’t know is why you do this,” Picard said and paused. “I don’t know whether or not you’re even real.”

Q’s eyes narrowed.

“So you’d rather risk your health, is that right? A dangerous wager, Picard,” Q spoke in a low register.

“I suppose.”

“And for what? You only have one life, my friend. I am real, and if you truly need to know, you can show that mark on your back to your Starfleet friends, but either way I would advise you to be more appreciative of your own self lest I lose my temper. You’re the only you there is.”

Not strictly true, of course. Not the part about him being the only him, and not the part about him really being him. But this Picard and that nasty bearded bastard in another universe were the closest matches to the person he loved. Given the right incentives, the latter would gladly take Q any way he would care to ask for, but there was not a shred of kindness within that man. And in Picard, Q’s need for kindness trumped his need for strength.

Q wondered if there was a shred of kindness within his own self these days.

“Why do you come here,” Q asked, but not really, but then again...

“You said you knew.” A pause. “I made it clear enough.”

“Yes.”

The silence finally urged Picard to continue.

“There was something… missing within me. Is… missing. I don’t know how else to explain it,” Picard said quietly. “It’s as if that emptiness draws me to you. You don’t fill it. But you… fit in there. Unlike anything else, I find.”

Q couldn’t fathom why. Of course, he had felt the urge to leave something of him behind when he took away Jean-Luc’s memories. But would Jean-Luc ever forgive him for doing that? No, he wouldn’t, so Q took the good along with the bad. He left no trace of himself behind in Picard’s mind. No memories, no feelings. Nothing to remind Picard of their conflicts, of their worst moments. Nothing to remind Picard of the trust, the friendship… the affection that had slowly begun to build up before they were suddenly torn apart.

Q’s eyes were fixed on the teal of Picard’s uniform. It represented all he loathed most.

“Since you finally came to realize this place is not what it appears to be,” Q said and snapped his fingers, “might as well make this illusion more to my liking.”

The room around them changed, as did Picard’s uniform. A painful jolt traveled through Q when he saw Picard donning command red and captain’s rank once again, standing where he belonged.

“Is this…?”

“The captain’s quarters, yes. No doubt you have seen it on a holodeck tour of the ship,” Q said. Picard was eyeing Q’s matching uniform in some puzzlement.

“Except it’s not, is it?”

Q offered a small wry smile at his observation.

“No more real than the previous room and certainly not a replica of the current captain’s quarters.”

“It’s theirs. The one you—”

“Yes,” Q snapped, his smile gone in an instant. “It’s theirs. No one you need to worry about, I assure you, so be a good little captain now and cease the questions. And get on the bed already.”

Q didn’t bother waiting. He took Picard’s glancing around and stepping towards the bedroom as a sign of consent enough to move them instantly, pinning Picard on the bed under his arms. He looked at the simulacrum of Jean-Luc-the-Captain that he had created and ached for a kiss, but the imitation was lacking and he didn’t know how.

“Say my name,” Q murmured.

“Q,” Picard said softly with a lilt.

“Not like that.”

“Q.”

It was wrong, so wrong. Why couldn’t he get it right?

He grabbed the front of Picard’s uniform, but his disgust won over the arousal.

“Get out of here,” he whispered, barely audible to Picard, and let go of him.

“Q?”

Q returned the room to its usual state and moved away from Picard, also back in his regular blue uniform.

“Get out of here, Picard,” he said, louder now, and Picard complied.

***

Days passed, but Picard would not come to Q’s door after his shifts anymore. He didn’t know what to think, except that he had sworn to spend every day of Picard’s remaining life by his side, and he would not back down no matter how hard he had come to resent it. So, he nudged.

And as expected, the next day Q was back in his room in time for Picard to arrive on his doorstep.

“Why, isn’t it Picard? What brings you here after all this time?” Q asked, already knowing it perfectly well.

“It’s the rash, I—”

Q was already lifting the hem of the uniform as soon as the door closed behind Picard.

“And it’s gone,” Q said, eyes wide, healing the skin on Picard’s torso with a single thought, then let go of the man and sat on the couch. “Tea.” It wasn’t an offer, but an order.

Picard didn’t even look surprised anymore, simply obeyed and took the seat next to Q.

“You wanted me here, no,” Picard stated more than asked. Q said nothing, and Picard did not push.

“What happened to them?”

Q stared at the teacup in front of Picard. Teal reflected off the glass.

“He died,” Q said flatly. The pain of letting those words out almost made his human facade rip along the seams and the room disappear into nothingness. The answer wasn’t exactly true, but not entirely untrue, either. Jean-Luc did die in another reality, and he would have died in this had Q not taken his memories, effectively making him a different person in the process. He already wanted to send Picard away, but his pride demanded otherwise, and he forced himself to keep the surrounding illusion intact. He didn’t realize what was happening outside his mind until he felt a pair of arms wrap around him.

“I miss him,” Q sobbed despite himself against Picard’s chest. He hated how good this man’s warmth felt against Q’s forehead, how his kindness tore down Q’s defenses. How he almost made Q forget.

“Q,” Picard spoke with a deep timbre, and a small gasp escaped Q’s lips. Picard’s touch was no longer only that of a friend comforting another. There was electricity running under his fingertips, fingertips now slowly but steadily traveling across his spine as if posing a question, to which Q answered by leaning closer in and groaning softly.

“What do you want me to do?” Picard asked. Q didn’t want to think straight, just to be close to him.

“Get naked. And then get me naked,” Q said.

“No magic this time?”

“No magic this time.”

They sat there in silence for a while longer. Picard held Q until the worst of the pain was gone, then pulled away gently. Q watched Picard lose his uniform, piece by piece, then his underwear.

“Wait,” Q said when Picard was about to reach for Q. “Let me…”

Slowly, carefully, Q placed the palm of his hand on Picard’s body, feeling as it twitched slightly under his initial touch. Picard wasn’t hard yet, and somehow the vulnerability of it all fired an echo of an emotion Q had thought he would never again feel. He slid his hand across the lean body, avoiding Picard’s eyes he painfully well knew were lovingly set on his own, watching Picard’s arousal grow, feeling his body respond in kind.

“Fine,” Q rasped. “Go ahead.”

Picard sat up and slowly unbuttoned Q’s waistcoat, his shirt, his pants, pulled each garment off and placed them neatly on the backrest of the couch, then almost leaned in for a kiss before thinking better of it and finally pulling off his underwear, revealing a by now achingly hard cock.

“What now?” Picard asked. Q still avoided eye contact.

“I’ll have you suck me while you get yourself properly hard, first. Then I want you in my bed, on your back, while I fuck you until we both come,” Q listed breathlessly, staring at the ceiling. Q wasn’t sure who it was he saw in front of him anymore. Or who he wanted to see. That scared him. He hadn’t dressed up this Picard, not this time, trying to pass him off as someone he wasn’t. Stripped of rank and uniform, this Picard was genuine, real, himself, and he was also him.

“Look at me,” Q heard someone say and hesitated. He closed his eyes and lowered his head, still unable to look.

“Q!”

His eyes shot open at the sudden low roar of his name. He looked at the kind yet strong, resolute eyes, and there was nothing left to distinguish this man from the one Q missed so. The moment quickly evaporated, as did the resolve in Picard’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s not me you want to see,” Picard muttered, and Q wondered exactly how ruinous this was for both of them.

Picard’s gaze lingered as he slowly made his way between Q’s legs, dragging his warm breath along Q’s skin as if in agreement anything more than that would be crossing a line. Q watched him get down on his knees in front of him, looking small between Q’s long legs.

Coward that he was, Q couldn’t bring himself to touch Picard as he took Q in his mouth while simultaneously stroking his own cock. He focused on his own pleasure; it kept the loneliness at bay. Perhaps made it worse; nevertheless, it was a momentary relief that dulled the worst of the pain right now.

Picard moved smoothly up and down Q’s length as if he could read his mind. That alone would have been plenty to keep Q satisfied, but—

“Bed,” Q sighed. Picard said nothing, just did as told and got on his back on Q’s bed. Q followed him and—what had he been thinking? The love behind Picard’s eyes was like a dagger piercing his flesh. Q knew he was doing the wrong thing and were it any other being, mortal or not, whose love he was taking advantage of, he wouldn’t have cared in the slightest. But this one…

Q grabbed Picard’s wrists and fled the loving gaze by burying into his neck. The short hair was prickly against Q’s forehead. He smelled familiar, just like Jean-Luc, his Jean-Luc. Of course he would.

“I’m in no mood for all the steps involved,” Q muttered. Picard correctly interpreted it as a question.

“Do it any way you want,” he said, and Q snapped his fingers out of courtesy before relaxing his partner enough to let Q in. In another place and time, Q would have taken his time to touch him, caress him, explore him, worship him. Given the unfortunate here and now, though, all he could grant either of them was some instant comfort before pushing roughly into the warmth inside and pretending it was someone else while Picard could pretend that somebody loved him.

Q forced himself to look at Picard, to observe how he gasped and writhed in response to his movements. It was hard to tell if it was painful for Picard; Q was well aware he was big. Not that he cared. It was intoxicating, watching Picard like this, reduced to a sweating, shivering object, seemingly constantly on the verge of saying something Q didn’t want to hear. Close to begging for more, he looked like, so Q rammed into him harder to keep his mouth shut, the tightness around his girth almost too much to bear for Q, no doubt for Picard, too.

He slammed against the bucking hips in a steady rhythm, briefly wondering how such a nasty act had become his raison d’être, gripping Picard’s sides with increasing pressure, laying bare his pitiful urge just as openly as Picard did. If it hurt, Picard didn’t let it show. Maybe in another world there would have been pillow talk and tours around the cosmos and promises of eternity—very literal in Q’s case—but this was what they had; each other and no one else, and this was the only way they fit together.

Q hung his head and let his body glisten with sweat. He panted hot air against Picard’s equally damp skin and pushed his forehead against Picard’s chest, inhaling the comforting scent. A sudden touch, fingers caressing his nape, brushing against the curls at his hairline, sent Q over the edge. He burrowed deeper as he came, terrified of letting go of the body despite the release. He knew Picard hadn’t come yet, but he couldn’t bring himself to help, paying barely any attention while Picard quietly brought himself to a finish and only slipping out of him once the shame overcame the bliss.

“I’ll handle this,” Q muttered and, before Picard could say a thing, cleaned them up and moved them back to the couch where they had started, a fresh cup of tea waiting for Picard.

“I’m in no hurry,” Picard said with poorly veiled regret. Q said nothing. Picard knew very well this wasn’t about the mushy parts, and Q wouldn’t hurt him any more than necessary with promises of something that would never be.

“I don’t expect sweet nothings, Q. Just give me a few minutes to know it’s real.”

Q really didn’t need another reason to feel bad.

“Don’t expect the same thing from me as you have from your previous lovers. You may be used to gentle preparation and cuddling, but displays of affection have no place between us,” he shot at Picard.

Picard looked at him and… smiled.

“I haven’t done this with anyone else.”

A sick feeling washed over Q. He knew Jean-Luc had been intimate with several men at the Academy well prior to the Nausicaan encounter.

Not like that he hadn’t, Q realized to his horror. He hung his mouth open for a few seconds before managing to say something.

“I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? For what?” Picard looked at Q, genuinely confused. When Q didn’t answer, he continued. “I wanted it as much as you did. I know you’re…” he hesitated for a moment, sadness creeping into his voice for just a second. “Using me, but in a way, aren’t I just as bad, using your longing and my apparent likeness to someone you loved and lost as a means to make you give me what I want from you?”

The notion was ridiculous, but Q had no intention of getting into that topic.

“I should have been more gentle,” Q simply said.

“You were gentle enough.”

Q felt disgust. Picard, this Picard, deserved no captain’s rank on a flagship, no reverence, no loyal crew with absolute trust in him. He had done nothing to warrant those things. But he deserved some basic kindness, Q thought, including being treated as more than a piece of meat in bed. Being used or not.

“Either way, patience is a virtue. I want to make up for my bad behavior. We’ll take our time the next time,” Q said and tilted his head back slightly to indicate a question.

“Yes,” Picard said and gave a look of silent acknowledgment.

This was all right. Q had never led Picard on; he was willingly participating in this, knowing Q would never return his feelings.

Not like Picard had anyone else, anyway.

Q watched Picard lift the cup of tea to those lips that weren’t for Q to have, careful not to burn his mouth as he took the first sip. As if Q’s tea ever wasn’t the perfect temperature.

“You know, Picard, I used to think that particular teal was the dullest shade of blue there is, yet maybe it doesn’t look so terrible on you, after all,” Q said once Picard had placed his empty cup on the table. Q leaned in and, when Picard didn’t move away, placed an experimental kiss on his cheek, and it wasn’t so terrible, either. Then, without a word, Picard leaned closer to softly kiss Q on the lips.

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