The one where Q learns about safe sex

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“You have what?”

Q was sinking into the couch. Literally. Either Picard’s eyes were playing tricks on him, or Q was slowly disappearing into whatever dimension he had found between the cushions.

“Q!”

Picard’s tone pulled Q out of his hiding place and forced him to bark back a frustrated “Oh please, do I really need to repeat myself?”

“Not repeat, but explain,” Picard said, still not entirely convinced this wasn’t a fever dream, “how it’s possible for a Q to have a sexually transmitted infection?” He paused, too astonished to even feel angry over the obvious implications. “How is it possible for you to have one all of a sudden?”

“It wasn’t transmitted to me sexually!” Q yelped and practically flew up from his seat, then sank back against the backrest. “But it would be transmitted to you sexually,” he said in a lower voice.

Picard stared at him and somehow the eye contact was steely enough to keep Q from slipping away through the cushions.

“That only explains the latter half of it,” Picard muttered, admittedly relieved Q wasn’t secretly sleeping around the galaxy while he wasn’t looking. They usually spent most of the week apart, but until now, Picard had never had to suspect such a thing. And he wouldn’t; whatever the issue, Q’s word had been enough for Picard for the past two years they had been together, and it would be enough now.

A soft pillow appeared in Q’s arms, and he buried his face into it.

“I would rather not talk about it. It’s embarrassing.”

Picard’s voice softened. “It’s an infection. There’s nothing to be ashamed of. It happens.” He sighed, sat next to Q, and gently put his arm around Q’s shoulder. It didn’t, really, not to a Q, Picard knew it. But the rest of the sentiment still applied. “Are you all right?”

“It will pass in a week or two,” Q mumbled into the pillow.

“Good,” Picard said and placed a kiss on his forehead. “I didn’t know you could get sick.”

Q sighed deeply, then cautiously lifted his face from the pillow to look Picard in the eye from under his brow.

“It’s really a Q disease. I can’t heal it like that. The STI part…” Q averted his gaze as he struggled for words for a moment. “Somehow,” he began, slowly, “it manifests that way when I take this form.”

Picard nodded. “We’ll wait until it has run its course.”

“Ah, yes, well…”

“Well?”

Q seemed to consider his options: couch dimension or pillow.

“Q,” Picard cooed.

Both. Q picked both.

“Don’t do that,” Picard sighed and wrapped one arm around Q’s back and grabbed the pillow with the other. Q yanked the pillow back with full strength, way overestimating the force Picard gripped it with, sending the pillow flying across the room and revealing a very visible erection bulging through Q’s uniform.

Picard raised an eyebrow at Q. Q hung his head back.

“It will be like that until then,” he simply said.

“Oh.”

Silence.

“Have you tried—”

“I did. Thrice today.”

“Oh.”

“I will live.”

If only out of spite, the bitter tone of Q’s voice seemed to imply.

“If there’s anything I can help you with—” Picard tried to offer, not knowing himself how he possibly could.

“I will live,” Q repeated, somehow even more bitterly than before.

***

Three days later.

“Jean-Luc, please.”

“Q—”

What do you say when someone has been dry-humping you for the entirety of the morning, and you need to leave?

“Don’t leave me like this,” Q whimpered and pushed Picard against the wall of his quarters to be able to press harder against his buttock.

“I have to! What do you want me to do, offer you to hump my leg under the table while I’m negotiating the terms of a joint research project between the Federation and Kinmoku III?”

“Can I?” Q’s eyes grew wide and, miraculously, his grinding stilled.

“No!” Picard said and was subjected to humping twice as fierce as before, accompanied by miserable whines.

“Surely someone else can do it,” Q pleaded.

“I’m the captain.”

“Call in sick, then!”

“How? You’re the infected one,” Picard said, wondering if kicking Q off of him would be too cruel. He wasn’t mortal, but he was sick.

“I need you,” Q moaned. Maybe it was the gasping mouth next to his ear, or the hot breath against his neck, or the way Q was grabbing his wrists; in any case, Picard was suddenly losing his ability to find Q annoying, and getting incredibly turned on instead.

“This infection—the Starfleet routine immunization doesn’t cover it, then?”

“No,” Q mumbled against Picard’s neck.

“Having sex will not cure you.”

“It will alleviate the symptoms temporarily.” Q was slowing down, clearly paying attention now that he noticed where this was going.

Picard checked the time. There was still some left.

He glanced at Q. The poor man’s face was flushed and tired. He wouldn’t be spending any precious time on foreplay.

This could work.

“Fine. Let me go.”

“The infection will be more dangerous for you than it is for me,” Q warned, but let go of Picard’s wrists. “I can’t let you take any risks.”

“I know,” Picard said and walked to the replicator. “Latex condom. Strong, extra lubrication.” He glanced at puzzled Q, then, hiding the smile tugging at his mouth, added, “large.”

He took the newly replicated condom in its wrapper and tossed it to Q.

“Put that on. And be quick.”

Q held the condom and stared at it in silence. It crossed Picard’s mind that he could have taken the chance and escaped the quarters in that moment, but frankly, by now he wanted this too much.

“We don’t have much time. Put it on,” he repeated his orders.

“What is it?” Q finally got out, an expression of pure disbelief on his face.

Picard rolled his eyes, walked up to him, and snatched the condom back.

“It’s a condom. You wear it to prevent STIs and unwanted pregnancies. They were commonplace until vaccines and birth control became widespread and advanced enough to make them obsolete,” he explained, then paused and muttered, “until now.”

Well, not entirely true, he thought. There were still plenty of worlds, Federation and not, where you needed something like this.

“Strip,” he said at Q, who was either too deep in thought or too paralyzed by the surprise to react. “Now,” Picard added and opened his own uniform and tossed away the top layer. The sight of Picard in his tank top was apparently enough to wake Q up and get him to fumble his clothes off in haste.

“Good,” Picard said with a crooked smile and gave Q a once-over. Shame they didn’t have more time.

“Sit down,” Picard said and guided Q to the bed. He wished Q didn’t have to look so damn agonized now that he had finally gotten his way. “Relax.”

Picard sat beside him and tore open the wrapper and took out the condom under Q’s curious gaze. It had been a while, but this was hardly the first time he’d needed to do this. Back in his youth, he’d had a summer fling with a Coronisian boy, an exchange student on Earth, whose homeworld had just recently joined the Federation and had not yet gotten their vaccination schedules in order. There had been others, too. Picard didn’t feel like reminiscing for too long while Q was next to him, flushed red and impossibly hard, eyes half-lidded and lips parted, looking like one touch would send him over the edge. Maybe it would. Picard hoped not.

“That thing is supposed to keep you safe?” Q got out.

“It will,” Picard said and gave him a peck, then placed the slick rubber on the crown of his cock. Slowly, he started rolling it down the shaft, enjoying the needy whimper Q made as Picard’s hand slid down his length.

“There,” he said once the rim reached the base, rubbing Q’s latex-covered cock softly, then let go. “How does it feel?”

Q ignored the question and grabbed Picard’s hand. “Can I fuck you now? Safely?” His eyes were burning with three days’ worth of pent-up sexual frustration. “Please, Jean-Luc, I need to, or I’ll die.”

Picard was fairly certain Q was not going to die, but he was desperate and in pain while Picard was in a hurry, so he nodded and quickly stripped the rest of his uniform. It only took seconds for Q to have pushed Picard’s back against the bed and have their mouths locked in a feverish kiss. Then, without a word of warning, giving Picard barely enough time to ready himself, Q pushed into Picard, much more roughly than usual, pounding into him so hard it was a small miracle it wasn’t too painful. Q moaned in relief, and the rawness in his voice and the grabbing hands trying to possess all of Picard’s body was enough to have Picard’s blood race to his cock. Then, without meaning to, he glanced at the clock. Ten minutes, and he’d need to be out that door. Q was gasping for air and squeezing Picard’s sides, sweating against his chest and emptying himself into the condom deep inside his gut, and now all Picard was thinking about was the time.

“I love you, I love you,” Q chanted in Picard’s ear after collapsing against his body.

“I love you too,” Picard replied half-absently. “Q, you need to pull out before the rubber slips off,” he said gently. “Make sure it doesn’t roll off as you do.”

Q looked at him with a pained expression. “Right away? Can’t we be here for just a minute longer?” Then, he noticed the loss of Picard’s erection. “Oh,” he uttered. “It wasn’t very good for you, then.”

Picard felt a stab in his chest. “I couldn’t get today’s negotiations out of my mind, after all,” he said and touched Q’s guilty face. “I wanted you to feel better. Do you?”

Q nodded and kissed Picard’s hand. “This should buy you a few days of hump-free time. Who knows, the infection might have cleared by then.”

“Will you be here when I get back?”

“Believe it or not, a human form is the least troublesome for me while this goes on,” Q sighed. “Yes, I will. I hope you’re not terribly inconvenienced.”

“I won’t,” Picard said and smiled. “At least I have those few days of hump-free time.”

***

Four hump-free days later.

Q was back in health and gone from Picard’s quarters. It was a relief in a way, a loss in another. Q had been less desperate and sexually frustrated for the rest of his stay, but he was growing frustrated in other ways. Being confined to the Enterprise for a week was, as Q had put it, like shoving a human being into the trunk of a twenty-first century car. Picard understood the sentiment, but nevertheless did not appreciate his metaphor of choice.

Two days later.

Picard’s day off. He wondered if Q would visit him today, as he often did when Picard had plenty of spare time. He wouldn’t have blamed Q for needing more alone time after being sick and spending so much time together. But when he returned to his quarters to notice Q’s silhouette in the doorframe against the starlit bedroom, Picard certainly wasn’t complaining. As he got closer to Q, he noticed something in his hand.

“Can you teach me to use these? I want to practice how to put one on you in case we ever need to.” Q was holding up not one, but a strip of dozen or so condoms. Even in the dark, Picard could see the faux-helpless expression painted on Q’s face before he let a smirk and seduction creep into his voice. “Who knows when a new germ pops up.”

Picard tried to look annoyed as he pulled Q into a kiss before hopping onto the bed and starting to remove his clothes.

“Fine. But first, we need more light. And you need to get me hard.”

The dim, warm light revealed the eager smile on Q’s face as he got on his knees between Picard’s bare legs.

“Now that I do know how to do.”

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