Chapter 2 of 2

He did not know how long it was before he was awakened by the touch of someone's hand cupping him through his thin pants. It was a warm, safe feeling, and he allowed himself to drift into consciousness on a gentle wave of pleasure. His nerves seemed to be hypersensitive, and he almost heard the virtually silent thrum of Data's machine-based functions. He noticed that the storm outside had died away. He could probably return to the dig site now…

He sighed, put an arm around the chest on which he lay, and tried to bury his face deeper into the exquisitely scarred flesh. No archaeology could match this. Fascinating as it was, it was history, and history made available by death. There had been too much death between them for him to welcome any more: this was now – this was life. He turned his mouth to the pale skin and kissed it. "Data," he whispered. "Oh, Data…"

As if in reply, he felt the pressure of the caressing hand subtly increase, and thrilled to the knowledge that Data, who could have had anyone, wanted him. With all his imperfections, all his hesitations and uncertainties, Data wanted him. He wished he could respond to the physical gesture, but he was entirely spent – deliciously empty and clean. Lovely as it felt, and dearly as he wished to react to that beautiful, welcome touch, he suspected that Data was wasting his time.

Lifting himself up from his unwonted pillow, he lay back and chuckled: the rich, full chuckle of a man at ease with himself and his companion. "You won't get much more out of him, Data – remember, I'm human. You may be able to regulate your bodily functions, but I – ah! Oh…" He swallowed. It would seem that he might be wrong.

"Captain?" Data's voice was mischievous, and when Picard opened his surprised eyes, he saw that his expression was too. "You were saying, sir?"

"Well – maybe…" Picard began to breathe faster. "Maybe."

He had never been a man for repeats: he usually put so much of himself into the first time that it ended up being the only time. He had assumed that his experience with Data would be no exception: but he had never been touched by hands as skilled, stroked by fingers as deft, caressed by senses as divine, as this before.

Data had slipped the ties of Picard's grey shirt, opening it to expose the broadness beneath, and was now trailing his finger-tips across its smoothness, almost touching the skin, and making the hairs stand up on end in delight as they reached out for the android's caress. Picard arched his back to increase the contact, but Data moved away, keeping that tantalising millimetre between them. Slowly, the movement focussed on his upper chest, then on his left nipple, already firm and expectant, waiting to be toyed with by Data's expert fingers. As the perfect nails scraped ever so gently across the sensitive bud, Picard gasped, and he felt his stomach twist involuntarily. For a moment, he was overwhelmed with a need so powerful that he knew he had no control over it: it washed over him, soaking him from head to foot and leaving him dizzy and light-headed. He felt his balls twitch.

Data took the little tower of flesh and began to roll it between his fingers, teasing it into desperate solidity as it rose up to meet him. Then his head dipped and his warm, wet mouth fastened on the other, his tongue working around and across it, sending shafts of desire down into Picard's exhausted cock, demanding that it respond, demanding that it reply and awake and take its glorious due.

"Oh God!" he grunted, totally lost, totally unable to think about anything but his own all-consuming sensations. His senses overflowed, and his body spasmed in response to the insistent stroking. He brought his hands around Data, pressing his head into his chest, running his nails along the android's back, trying to climb into him as they lay entwined, pink and yellow limbs forming a pastel patchwork on the soft dark sheets.

He wanted him – he'd never wanted anything so much in all his life. It wasn't enough that he'd just taken him, just delighted and covered himself with him: he wanted him utterly, completely, flesh buried in flesh, body within body, soul clasping soul. He began to squirm beneath the android's weight, desperate for a deeper physical contact elsewhere.

Data must have realised the strength of his Captain's urgency: he shifted his position, abandoning the rock-hard, desire-dark nipples and reaching down to Picard's sex. Effortlessly lifting his Captain up, he twisted down the still-damp pants with one movement and, with a second, tweaked them off Picard's feet, along with his indoor boots and socks. It was the practised gesture of a being who knew exactly where all the stress and balancing points were: no human could have done it.

Picard groaned again, and automatically spread his legs wide, revelling in the freedom from his wet clothes. Then, with a stab of awful shame, he remembered. "Data – oh Data, it's a mess…"

"Mmm," Data replied, and when he looked up at him, Picard could swear that he saw the lust stand out physically in the android's eyes. He licked his lips. "I know."

He moved between Picard's knees, bent his head, and systematically began to lick his Captain clean.

His tongue was just rough enough to remove all traces of Picard's previous splash of pleasure; just rough enough to dive into all the cracks and crevices of the Captain's folded flesh, doing more than cleaning them: teasing them, stroking them back into life. Working up the insides of his thighs, Data moved closer and closer to Picard's open body, pulling the skin tight with cool, practiced hands, until Picard almost cried out to be taken and have an end to this delicious misery. Finally reaching the dark-skinned balls, hot and tight now with longing, Data began to snuff at the base of them, drawing them into his mouth, his tongue holding and moving them across each other as his hands traced patterns on Picard's lower stomach, down, down, insistently down.

Changing his position, Data sucked suddenly on the delicate package in his mouth, and Picard gasped in exquisite pain. If only – oh, if only Data would – he wanted to be entirely inside him, enclosed in that warm, wet, dark place, swelling to impossibilities within Data's beautiful mouth. "Please – please," he gasped. He felt Data's hand stroke his erection, and almost came. Then he was inside Data's mouth – all of him, every bit of what made him a man, what made him want to be with Data, enclosed in the wicked heat of him, pressing up to be enveloped in the confines of that beautiful body, the tongue moving across, through, between, taking him up, up, up to the edge, gripping the sheets slick with sweat, bucking up into the final explosion, fire shooting out of his belly as – as – and Data's mouth was gone, his hand instead, still running up and down the thick, heavy length, still flooding him with the unstoppable sensations that beat, like waves, each one more powerful, each one nearer, nearer to the final cascade of abandon…

Then Data was speaking. Picard caught his breath, almost crying at the frustration of being so near to breaking. "What?" His voice was harsh: he could not control it."

"I said, do you trust me, sir?"

"What?" Now the question was a genuine response. Why the hell would he not trust Data? Didn't what they were doing show that he trusted him implicitly? But Data's face was very serious: the mischief of a few moments before had vanished. "Trust you?" His head swam. "Good God, man, of course I trust you!"

"Then let me show you something."

Picard could not process such subtlety. He was, for the moment, no longer a thinking, reasoning being: he was a machine for sex, a powerhouse and a greedy sponge, generating it in terawatts and cramming it into himself without thought or consideration like a two-year-old with unlimited ice cream. All he wanted was sex, and all he wanted was for Data to give it to him.

Data's mouth fastened on his, and he drank in his own scent and sweat, mixed with that peculiar taste that was all Data's own. Now, Picard felt violent: now, he wanted the pain that accompanied the pleasure. He thrust his tongue deep into Data's mouth, roughly scouring, recklessly exploring the recesses he found there, grabbing the android's head and pulling him closer. He pressed his lips into the other's, clashing teeth, biting at the soft, sensitive flesh, until Data responded in kind, and Picard felt the first flash of pain, tasted the first sweetness of blood, and felt his body scream in desperate excitement at the sensation.

When they broke the kiss, he looked again into Data's eyes, and saw his own fire mirrored there, contrasting strangely with the loose, oddly vulnerable skin below them, betraying the ageing process to which his lover was now subject. If anything, it made him even more beautiful than he had been before. But the eyes were still young, pale and raw and burning, and he saw in those eyes a fury, an almost-hatred, that in any other man would have terrified him: in Data, it almost sent him over the edge of wild delight. He growled: he had no words.

In a moment, Data was gone, crouching at the end of the bed, roughly pushing the Captain's legs apart and lifting his hips with easy strength. Picard felt fingers exploring him, skimming his balls, caressing the sensitive skin behind them, searching, seeking, for something deeper, something secret and dark – and finding it, probing it, seeking a way in, stretching and manipulating the tightness until it ceased to be tight, slipping through the barriers of everyday existence into another, ecstatic world, penetrating and wounding him, opening him up to new surrenderings, taking him completely, making him his own…

The pain was sharp and delicious. Picard fought against the invasion at first, unprecedented as it was, then slowly relaxed, allowing Data deeper in, welcoming him home. As he felt the cool fingers move inside him, he realised that this – this final gesture of complete love – was what he had been seeking all his life. His belly turned to liquid, his brain to bright white light.

He was completely relaxed now, eager and helpless clay in Data's hands. He watched, half in wonder, as Data manipulated his legs until he was utterly open, before beginning to stroke Picard with his own swollen response, already seeping sweetness, seeking the entrance his fingers had so recently found. Again, the sensation of pain, of tightness yielding, was followed by the beautiful breaking in, the final penetration that made him, body and soul, the willing property of the man towering above him. Gently, inch by inch, Data eased the fat, thick flesh to its goal, filling him up with hot, pulsing tenderness. As the final thrust struck home, Picard yelled: his whole body was on fire, every nerve raw and burning, every synapse and cell screaming for release and not-release and totally, totally lost in Data's overwhelming love.

He clasped his hands around Data's buttocks, trying to draw the android in even deeper. He found Data's own secret entrance, and hooked a gentle finger into it, feeling the crinkled skin, the damp promise of so much pleasure yet to come. He heard Data gasp, almost as if he had sucked his breath in suddenly, and knew that he had felt it. Working the soft place, he matched his movements to those of his lover, who had opened him up so much that he could now ease himself in and out, building the sensation, sliding outer against inner skin, slick and sweet and beautiful.

Then Data's rhythm changed: it became regular, urgent, targeted with intent. He opened himself up completely, offering himself as a glass to take Data's thick wine, pressing his fingers into Data's sensitive opening until they were moist and damp with sweat and lust. He felt Data's own fingers curl themselves around his own painful hardness, and knew that he too was on the edge. He wanted to control himself – wanted to provide the prefect receptacle for Data's being, but his balls spasmed, his cock leaped, and even as he heard Data cry out and explode within him, filling him up with liquid fire that felt as if it would burn its way through the universe, he felt himself pulse out the life that had built to an impossible height within him, emptying all his urgency and desire in wave after wave of relief, festooning the android with his love, and chaining him with thick ropes of spent, wet passion.

His stomach was on fire. He felt the heat of Data within him, searing him with a fine, razor-edged pain, and still the thick cock trembled inside, filling him to bursting and making him whole. Still, Data thrust, spearing him on this vicious love, and even with hands that were weak with exhaustion and exhilaration, Picard pulled him deeper in, wanting to keep him, the feel of him, hard and solid and hot inside.

He looked at his lover, and was amazed. Data's hair, normally so neat and flat, was wild and unkempt, shaggily silver and beautiful in its abandon. His half-closed eyes seemed reckless and unfocussed, full of wantonness and desire even now, and Picard could have sworn he was panting. Data caught his eye, and smiled lasciviously. "Again," he whispered.

Picard's eyes widened. He'd already achieved double what he was used to: what did Data think he was, a machine? Then he understood. He was asking for more, not from him, but for himself. He thrilled and trembled at the thought that Data wanted him so much, and loved him enough to demand this of him. Sated and quieter now, but with every nerve end still heightened from their joining, he responded by moving so that his fingers could work their way into Data more deeply than before. No longer concerned with his own orgasm, he could concentrate entirely on that of his lover. It was a privilege beyond his imagining.

"Again!" he echoed softly, and began to explore.

* * *

The following morning, in a comfortable silence, the two men prepared breakfast prior to leaving their little moon and rendezvousing with the Enterprise. They smiled as their hands touched, and enjoyed with pleasure the chance encounters which brought their bodies into contact. Both had found a deep, long-sought-for peace, and were content.

Data placed Picard's croissant on the table, now clear of artefacts that might be damaged by any turbulence during the flight, and sat down to eat. The mental construct that served him in place of a heart was too full for words, and he was quietly satisfied in his Captain's presence, remembering the memories they had created yesterday, anticipating the memories they would create in the days and months to come.

He chewed his croissant thoughtfully, wishing he could taste it. "I am very pleased that Guinan suggested I accept your invitation to accompany you, Captain," he said. "I have no doubt that we would have found each other in time, but this enforced isolation has offered us a unique opportunity to explore – ourselves – uninterrupted. Yes, I am grateful – I must thank her."

He had only been 'thinking aloud', as humans put it, comfortable in the company of another being so close to him as to be hardly separate. He was not, therefore, prepared for Picard's response.

"Guinan suggested you come with me? I thought it was you! That you wanted to."

Data heard the pain in the Captain's voice, and sought to alleviate it. "If you recall, Captain, we were both under some level of misapprehension at the time. While I would most definitely have wished to accompany you, I would never have requested such an assignment. You are not – angry, Jean-Luc?"

"Angry? No. Just perplexed."

"Why, sir?"

"Because it was Guinan who suggested I ask you to come with me."

Data stared at his companion as the silence lengthened. Then, as a sequence of synapses fired and files previously separate were juxtaposed, the pieces of the jigsaw fell into place, and he smiled. "Guinan has – "

" – set us up!" finished Picard. "She knew all along!"

"It does make sense, Captain. She spoke to each of us about the other, obviously recognising our feelings before we did. She called us 'fools', and I regret that she was right."

"You speak for yourself, Mr Data," Picard smiled grimly. "For myself, I'm going to give our bartender a very particular piece of my mind."

Data knew his Captain too well to be alarmed at such a speech, and calmly added, "I trust that you will also thank her, sir, for bringing you such good fortune."

He felt Picard's eyes bore into him, but maintained his bland expression. "Did you just crack a joke, Data?" He heard the incredulity in the other's voice.

"No, sir, I was merely expressing myself ironically."

"Data," laughed Picard, "you cracked a joke!"

"As you wish, Captain. Shall we give her the pieces of our minds together? It will surely strike more fear into her than if we do so one at a time."

Picard was silent for a moment, and Data feared he might have been too frivolous. Getting the balance right was so difficult. But then Picard spoke. "Do you know, for someone whose emotion chip has been stolen, fused to his circuitry, battered and bent and switched off and on at the drop of a hat – you really have a very keen wit, Mr Data."

Data felt an absurd surge of pride. "Thank you, sir. I suppose – " he paused, knowing his lover would be irritated by hat he was about to say, "I suppose we should also thank Q."

"Q!"

"Yes, sir. It was his actions, however mischievous, that initiated the chain of events that brought us together."

"Huh."

There was a sudden incongruous flash, and Picard jumped. Q's entrances were always unexpected, sudden and ill-timed, and this was no exception. "Well I'm glad that you at least appreciate me, Mr Data, though I would have thought my dear Jean-Luc…" The powerful being sat companionably at the table with them, dressed as they were in casual clothing, buttered croissant in hand.

Data always found Q curious. "Have you been listening to our conversation, Q?"

"Have you been watching us?" Picard snapped, and Data saw from the voyeuristic glint in the newcomer's eye that he probably had. Picard, however, did not seem to notice.

"My dear Captain – captains – although I see that Data has assumed a more subordinate role in order to please his new commanding officer – how could you imagine such a thing? I can go anywhere, see anything – why should I be interested in the sweaty couplings of two primitive bipeds? No, mes capitaines, I have come to accept that which is my reward. Data has already graciously bestowed it upon me. Now it's your turn, Jean-Luc. Some gratitude, please. Merely some gratitude."

Data found the sight of his Captain grinding his teeth incongruously amusing. He watched Picard master his annoyance with this pompous, opinionated man, then turn to Q and – astonishingly – hold out his hand. "You have given me the greatest gift of my life," he said simply, and Data felt his throat catch. "You're a damned nuisance, Q, but – I…" He stopped, emotion apparently getting the better of him. Then he reached out to Data, who gladly offered his hand in turn. "Thank you," he whispered, and Data saw that his eyes were wet. "Thank you."

"Jean-Luc!" Q said, almost simpering, and Data realised that he was actually embarrassed. "I – well – I've never seen a soul on show before. Tell me, can anyone join in? I might like this game the two for you have found for yourselves." He winked at Data.

But Picard only smiled, and tightened his hold on his friend. "No, it's a just a game for two, I'm afraid. And how long do you think you could stand all that sweaty grinding, eh Q?"

Q winced. "Hmm – perhaps you're right. A job well done, though I say so myself. And so deliciously annoying to almost everyone! I can't tell you…" He looked Data up and down, and then raked his eyes over Picard with unspoken, unmistakable intent. "If you get bored with him, mon capitaine…?"

"Not a chance!"

"Oh well – your loss." He looked around suddenly, and grimaced. "Oh dear, how boring. The Q are – as you would say – hot on my trail, and I wouldn't want to be found – they'd only be tiresome about me interfering again. So farewell – I will see you soon, mes amis!" And he was gone.

"Not if I see you first," Picard growled. Data felt the sound rumble through his body, and his neural net thrilled at the sensation. "And now," his Captain continued, "to other business. Mr Data, contact the Enterprise, if you please."

Moving to the flight cabin, Data did so, his fine fingers deftly manipulating the runabout's controls. "Geordi," he said, as his old friend answered the hail, "Captain Picard wishes to speak with Guinan. Can you patch her through?" He became aware of Picard standing behind him, his hand on Data's shoulder, his torso against Data's back.

"Will do, Data."

A few moments later, Guinan's voice – which Data's sensitive artificial hearing registered as holding more than its usual degree of caution – came over the speaker. "Captain?"

"Guinan," Picard said, in the significant voice he reserved for recalcitrant aliens, naughty children and mischievous friends. "Mr Data and I would like a word with you…"

The End