The BLTS Archive- Cast Adrift by Trexphile (trxphile@cox.net) --- DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns these characters, which is fine with me. I can still take them where I want them to go. NOTE: This story contains material that may be offensive or disturbing to more sensitive readers. I appreciate and welcome any comments you may have. August 1998 --- His tea had grown cold. The Gamma shift had been underway for two hours now and although he was tired, he sat at his desk and continued perusing the paperwork half-heartedly. Kareel Odan had left tonight. From the Federation's standpoint, the mission had been a success -- Ambassador Odan, acting through Will Riker, had managed to quell the growing tensions between the Peliazel moons, averting a war that would have cost each side dearly. From Beverly Crusher's viewpoint, the mission had been a devastating personal loss. He had watched her struggle with her emotions while still carrying on as CMO, as always the consummate professional, even while her heart was breaking. It had been difficult for him, seeing his old friend, the woman that he harbored even deeper feelings for, once more forced to endure the loss of someone she loved. He sat back and stretched, then let his hands fall idly to his lap. Odan's words, spoken to him while he was still "Odan," had taken him aback. The man had asked him how "committed" Beverly was to staying in Starfleet. Up until then, Picard hadn't realized how deeply involved the couple were. He had been surprised at the jealous wave that had washed over him when the realization had become concrete, fortified by Odan's hopeful question. Would she have left Starfleet? Had she and Odan discussed this possibility together? He couldn't imagine Beverly doing such a thing -- she had always seemed so stable, so entrenched in her duty and her devotion to her profession. Would she really abandon everything for love, for passion? Obviously he didn't know her as well as he thought he did He'd had brief hints of the potential passion that lay below her cool surface, could recall some subtly suggestive comments Jack had made after returning from leave. Jean-Luc had striven valiantly to keep from embellishing those meager comments while alone in his quarters at night ... and hadn't always been successful. He felt his cheeks flush with the memories and tugged on his tunic to bring himself back to the present -- the present, where once again Beverly Crusher had loved another and lost. He should probably go speak to her, see how she was coping. It was his duty as her captain and her friend. He had put off going to see her, deciding that she would need some time alone after the new host had left. It had now been five hours -- it was time. The door chime chirped as he rose, surprising him. "Come," he replied. She walked in slowly, her steps halting. "Beverly," he said softly. "Sit down." "No ..." she began, "I can't stay long. I just wanted ..." Her voice trailed off. Her appearance distressed him. She looked tired and disheveled and she'd been crying. He stepped to her and took her arm gently. "Come on." He led her to the couch and she didn't resist. He sat down beside her, studying her face. She sank back into the cushions, looking small and uncertain, and his heart keened for her. He'd seen her this way before when he'd come to her and Wesley, bringing them confirmation of Jack's death. Although neither situation had been his fault, he still blamed himself at some level for her grief, even now. "Beverly," he whispered and she turned her head slowly to face him. "I know this ... situation has been very stressful for you. You can take some time off, if you'd like. I know that you haven't had much rest these last few days ..." Merde, but he hoped she didn't misinterpret his meaning. She nodded and looked away again. "I'll be all right, Jean-Luc. I'll do better if I continue working." "If you think that's best, of course ..." "Jean-Luc?" She sat up straighter, her hands twisting in her lap. "Have you ever considered having sex with a man?" The bluntness of her question shocked him. He cleared his throat. "You mean, *me*? Have ... sex with a man?" She looked at him, her expression unreadable. "Yes." "I uh ... no, I haven't." "What if you were really in love with him? What if he'd been a woman and underwent a transformation and was now a man? Could you still love him? Make love to him?" He took her hand. "Beverly, I'm very sorry about what has happened with Odan. I know this must be devastating to you and, although I can't understand fully what you're going through, I can only imagine how difficult--" "It was so strange," she interrupted. "I could feel Odan there with me but her body ... it was just so different. I couldn't bring myself to look at her, I didn't want to see *her*. I just wanted to feel *him* again. It felt good while it was happening but afterward ... I don't think I could ever adjust to it." She laughed a small bitter laugh. "I guess I'll never know now, will I?" Jean-Luc didn't know what to say. He was dumbfounded by Beverly's confession. She had made love to Kareel, to a woman. Why was he having such a hard time with that? There was nothing wrong with sex between two consenting people, regardless of their genders. In some cultures he'd encountered, three or four individuals in a relationship was the accepted norm. Is it because she chose to unveil her passion to another and not me? He looked down at her hand where it rested in his. He'd always loved her hands -- they were large and slender and strong. He'd often imagined them gliding across his skin, caressing, leaving fire in their wake ... Stop it, Jean-Luc. This is not the time. "Beverly ..." he began, then didn't know what else to say. "Jean-Luc, do you think I'm cursed?" "What?" "Why can't I have a relationship like everybody else? Why must all of mine end badly? Prematurely?" She sat sat up and leaned toward him, her eyes bright with either tears or anger, he wasn't sure which. "Why can't *I* be the one who decides when it's over? I'm always the one left twisting in the wind afterward." Her lip trembled slightly and he knew that it was indeed tears he saw. "Beverly," he murmured, overcome by her uncharacteristic fragility, and he opened his arms to her. She hesitated for just a moment and then she pressed herself against him, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He felt her shuddering as he smoothed and patted her back. After a long time, she pulled away from him and he was surprised to see her eyes and cheeks dry. His surprise grew when she took his face in her hands and leaned forward until her nose was touching his. Her breath was warm against his lips as she spoke. "Have you ever thought about us?" His throat constricted and his heart beat loudly in his ears. "Us?" he rasped. "Us," she answered, her lips brushing his as they formed the word. He tensed, but didn't pull away. His brain was screaming at him to get away, get out, this is wrong but she had wrapped herself around him, physically and sensually and he saw his chances of escape dwindling fast. His hesitation was his undoing. She moved forward slightly and (dear God) pressed her lips against his. She moved them slightly, then parted them and her tongue traced his lips. He couldn't stop himself -- he opened his mouth and let her inside. His brain reeled as his body responded instantaneously. He couldn't remember ever getting so hard so quickly before. And all from Beverly's kiss. Not just her kiss -- she was now moving down his neck, licking and nipping at his neck, moving up to his ear. He was already panting with desire and when she flicked her tongue along his ear, he groaned. The sound woke him up. He somehow managed to push her away (God, I want her) and stood. He strode quickly across the room to his desk and stopped, keeping his back to her. "Beverly," he said with as much authority as he could muster, "we shouldn't do this." "Why not?" Her voice startled him -- she was standing right behind him. He whirled around to see her standing half a meter away, her eyes dark and heavy-lidded. "Don't you want this, Jean-Luc? Haven't you wanted this for a long time? I have." She took his hand as he stood paralyzed, unable to resist. Moving slowly, languorously, she laid the palm of his hand against her breast, cupping it with her hand and squeezing. She moved in closer and laid her other hand against his chest, moving it downward slowly. He focused on her face, feeling his control slipping away rapidly. He could feel her nipple, hard beneath his palm and he slid his hand across it just slightly. She moaned and closed her eyes and suddenly her hand was there, cupping him, stroking him through his uniform pants. The pleasure was so intense and so unexpected that his knees almost buckled. "Yes," she breathed, "I can see that you want it too." And then her mouth was on his again, her hands were everywhere and dear God he was responding, touching her neck, her breasts, her ass, grinding against her with unfettered lust. All of his arguments had dissolved in the rush of heat and all he wanted was her right now, consequences be damned. He would deal with those later. His hands reached for the closure on her jumpsuit as she reached for his. Their movements were frantic as they stripped each other down, clawing and tugging, all finesse cast aside with their clothing. When she finally stood naked before him, he held his breath, his eyes flowing across her body. God, she was beautiful. He wanted to just stand there and admire her, but she had other ideas. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled him to her, her mouth finding his again, and turned until she was backed up against the desk. She released her hold on him and sat on the edge, leaning back until she was resting on her elbows. "What do you want to do to me, Jean-Luc?" He answered by leaning over her and placing his hands next to hers. He pressed his pelvis forward until his erection barely grazed her mound of curls. She sucked in her breath sharply as he rocked forward, pressing into the sensitive area below. She opened her legs and tilted her pelvis upward, and he felt the wet heat against him. "Yes ...." she groaned and let her head drop back as she moved against him. "That's so good ..." He couldn't believe this was happening and there was no way he was going to stop now. He stretched his body on top of hers, shoving the scattered padds onto the floor, then pushed her down until she was flat on her back. He moved his hands up her torso, feeling the rippling of her muscles beneath his fingers. He paused when he reached her breasts and looked at her face. Her eyes were closed, her mouth open slightly, her breaths coming shallow and fast. The desire he saw there almost did him in. He circled her nipples lightly with his fingers, smiling at her breathy "yes." He leaned down and took one in his mouth, circling with his tongue, then nipping lightly with his teeth. He felt her hands move to his head and grip it firmly, her fingers squeezing. He moved to her other breast, his actions becoming more urgent. He was still grinding his pelvis against her wetness and he could feel the tension building in his body, aching, so good. He moved back down her body, trailing his lips and tongue between her breasts, down the middle of her torso in a straight line. He dropped to his knees before her, and pulled back to see her, open and waiting. He felt her shudder as he licked along the inside of her thigh, moving slowly inwards. She sat up and pressed her hand against his forehead. "No. That's not what I want." He looked up at her, confused. She slid off the desk and knelt, the proximity of the desk pressing her body against his. "This is what I want," she said and grasped his penis firmly, her thumb circling the head. He groaned. She pushed him and he lay back, his control totally gone, her abject slave. She moved to kneel over him, her knees on either side of his thighs. She was absolutely breathtaking, her chest rising and falling rapidly, her hair wild, her eyes even wilder. He wanted this woman more than he'd wanted any woman in his life. She paused and looked down at him, a smile tickling at her mouth. And then -- dear God -- she started moving slowly, undulating her hips, almost but not quite touching him with her heat. She closed her eyes and tilted her head back as she moved over him, occasionally grazing his penis and belly, but always pulling away before he could rise up to touch her. "Beverly ... please ..." She was killing him. She laughed, softly and deeply, and stopped her subtle gyrations. She poised herself over him. She was there, right there, and he grabbed her hips and thrust upward. All conscious thought left as he slid into her. So good ... she felt so good, hot and wet and tight. She moved on him and he met her thrusts. "No," she panted, "don't move. I want to do it." He forced himself to lie still, to surrender to her. God, he hoped he would last long enough. He watched her above him as she moved languidly, setting the pace. Her eyes were closed and her hands pressed against her thighs. With each thrust, she ground into him, eliciting a little gasp from her each time. He wanted so badly to throw her onto her back and pound into her but he obeyed her and stayed where he was. He watched as her hands moved slowly up her body to her hips, then to her belly. Her movements sped up as her fingers moved upward. Her eyes were still closed and when her hands reached her nipples she moaned. Jean-Luc gripped her hips tightly, forcing himself to hold back, hold back. He was so close and as he watched her stroke and twist her nipples, he could feel the tension build to the bursting point. It was the most erotic thing he'd ever seen. He closed his eyes, unable to take much more. She sped up even more. He was almost there ... oh god Beverly I'm not going to last much longer ... "Oh God ...." He opened his eyes at the sound of her voice. She was whimpering -- tiny, urgent sounds, punctuated by deep gasps. He felt her tighten around him and pound against him and he knew that he couldn't hold back anymore. He wanted to hear her, wanted to hear his name gasped from her lips as she came. He gripped her hips even tighter and arched into her, no longer able to remain submissive. "OhGod ... yes, yes, god ..." Say it ... please say it ... just once ... She stopped moving and as the contractions rippled through her, he was pushed over the edge. "Beverly ..." he sighed, the pulses radiating through his body. It seemed to last forever and he wondered briefly if he was going to die from pleasure. She fell against him, pressing him into the floor. It felt glorious. She breathed heavily against his neck for a long time. He stroked her back, her hair, her arms, overcome by emotion. He was afraid to speak, afraid that he might break down. He had wanted this for so long. He just hadn't realized how much until now. She shifted finally and moved off of him to lie beside him on her back. It was then that he realized that the door wasn't locked, that anyone could have waltzed in if they'd chosen to. "Computer, secure doors." Beverly giggled. "A little late for that, isn't it, Jean-Luc." He grinned at her. "It's never too late." He paused and regarded her seriously. She looked at him. "For anything," he added. Her lips parted as if she was about to speak, then she smiled slightly and sat up. She reached for her clothes and stood, looking down at him. "I should get back to my quarters," she said as she began dressing. "It's really late." He gathered his clothes together and started dressing as well, put off by her sudden distance. They dressed in silence and when she was ready to leave, she leaned in and kissed him lightly on the cheek. "I'll talk to you later," she whispered and before he could respond, she was out the door. He stood in the center of the room and watched the doors close behind her, more confused than before. --- She didn't talk to him later -- not the next day or the next week or the next month. It was as if the encounter had never happened. He tried on the few occasions when they were alone together to discuss it but she always evaded all his attempts. They rarely saw each other anymore after that, the occasional dinner or concert or breakfast becoming a rare occurence. She always seemed to find an excuse to stay away from him. He finally admitted to himself what had happened between them. Sympathy fuck. That was all that it had been. She had been vulnerable and he had taken advantage of her. No wonder she wouldn't speak to him about it, no wonder she didn't want to have anything to do with him anymore. He deserved her contempt. --- Beverly stood in the middle of her quarters in her nightgown and checked the tricorder readings for the fifth time. The results were the same, just as she knew they would be. She spoke aloud. "Well, Beverly, you got your wish -- you're finally the one to end the relationship ... even before it ever got started." With a professional air, she picked out a hypospray from the medkit on the table and calibrated it. After thinking for a moment, she lifted her gown and pressed the instrument against her abdomen. The medicine was released into her body with a hiss and she dropped the hem of her gown. She retrieved another hypospray and calibrated it for pain relief. She carried it with her into the bathroom to wait for the first hypo to do its job. --- The End