The BLTS Archive- Another Saturday Night
by Reesa (skbtf@mediaone.net)

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As we all know, Paramount owns the rights to Star Trek and anything
and everything connected to it.  Me, I've got this story and a really
cool Micky Mouse watch, which somehow always gives me the wrong date.
I'd trade you, but I have a feeling that the Disney people would be
upset, and it's the only wrist watch I have.

Feel free to archive, but make sure my name stays on this.

This baby goes straight out to Jeanita, who sent a nice bit of praise
for my first work, Distant.  When she asked for more P/Q, I warned her
that it would probably take a while since I just could get Picard's
voice down properly.  Well, Jeanita, two seconds after I hit send, it
dawned on me that there was something else I could write about from
Q's point of view that required no words at all from Picard.  So there
you have it, an new story.  I guess you could have held your breath
after all.

Please note that any spelling or grammatical mistakes may be blamed on
the late hour, the really bad softball game I just played (22-4, very
ugly), and the Sam Adams Lager and the Harpoon Summer Ale (a very good
summer beer), I just downed.  I just know that if I don't send this
now, it will just sit on my computer forever.  So enjoy.

By the way, the title refers to the old song by the same name by the
legendary Sam Cooke.

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Ah, here we go.  Another Saturday night.  A show by Jean-Luc Picard
for an audience of one.  Me, Q.  Of course, if he knew I was watching
he'd never indulge himself.  But since he doesn't know, it can't hurt
me.

How precise he is.  How ridged.  And no, I don't mean a certain part
of his anatomy, but how he brings himself comfort every Saturday
night. Always the same routine.

He enter his quarters late in the evening.  Usually, he's spent the
evening with various members of the senior staff--attending a concert,
playing in the make-believe world of the holodeck, or even just
working.  However, once he's finished, he must follow his routine.
That's my Captain Picard.  Slave to duty, even when the duty is his
own pleasure.

First, he strips himself efficiently.  Uniform straight into the
refresher, boots in the closet, pips on the dressing table.  Once
naked, he replicates a bowl of warm oil, turns down the bed, and
orders the lights for thirty-six percent.  Now, he carefully dips his
fingers in the oil, making sure to get just the right amount, Jean-Luc
reaches down and coats the length of his shaft.  Only the shaft. 
Slowly stroking the oil first on one side of his cock and then the
other.  Once the shaft is covered, he wraps his thumb and first finger
of one hand around the base of his shaft.  With a measure precision
that would do his chief engineer proud, Jean-Luc moves this circle up
and down his cock.  There's no real pressure involved.  It's just a
teasing caress.  An awakening of the nerve endings, reminding them of
their functions.  A wake up call to what is to come.

Once he has teased that portion into ridgeness, he reaches back into
the bowl, then begins to anoint his balls with the warm fluid.  This
he savors.  Using both hands, he clenches his precious jewels just
tight enough to begin to feel that edge of pain that makes pleasure
that much sweeter.  Squeeze.  Release.   Repeat.  Over and over until
you can tell by the tightening in his face that if he keeps up this
action, he will come too soon.  And Captain Jean-Luc Picard is no
slave to his passion. After all, protocol must be observed.

Releasing his balls,  Jean-Luc dips back in the oil with just his
thumbs.  Now, he beings to anoint the crown of that being.  Creating
circles of pleasure over the head of his cock, Jean-Luc beings to lose
himself in the joy of the moment.  The perfect pleasure for him.  A
struggle between pleasure and competing his duty to himself.  This is
the moment that I love the most.  The time the Jean-Luc is most
vulnerable.  I always hope that pleasure will win out of duty.  For if
Jean-Luc can let himself enjoy being at the mercy of his own body,
then perhaps there is hope that he will one day enjoy being at the
mercy of me.

Unfortunately, too many years of Starfleet training and his innate
iron will prevent him from being led astray.  After a few minutes of
this exquisite torture, he pulls his thumbs away from his cock. 
Watching him lie there, struggling for control, blushing with
pleasure, closing his eyes against the sight of himself, there is
nothing more erotic in the universe to me.

Once he's got himself under a semblance of control, Jean-Luc reaches
back into the bowl.  Coating both hands, he moves in on to the grand
finale.  Wrapping one hand around his balls and the other around the
shaft with his thumb working the head of his cock, Jean-Luc Picard can
finally allow himself to be a slave to his passion.  He has held off,
beaten back the instinctual urge with self control, and it is now time
for his reward.  Seeing one hand moving up and down with increasingly
rapid strokes while his other hand is squeezing and releasing his
balls in time, is one of the most thrilling sights I have ever seen.

As he begins to arch his hips up and tosses back his head in silent
pleasure that borders on agony, all I want to do is replace his hands
with mine.  To press his body back onto the bed with my own.  To rub
our cocks together until the sweet friction that we create brings us
to a mind-blowing climax together.  Instead, I watch Jean-Luc tilt
back his head and with a wordless shout, come all over his hands,
stomach, and chest.

Now for the part I hate.  Once he's recovered his senses and his
breathing has returned to normal,  Jean-Luc leaves his bed, hops in
the shower, where quickly and efficiently he washes all evidence of
his passion away.  After dressing in his nightwear and returning to
the bedroom, the Captain disposes of the oil, changes the bed, and
settles into it with a book or some report he has to review.  To view
him now, you would never know that Jean-Luc had an sensual side at
all.  It's almost as if he steps out of time and space from the time
he enters his bedroom until he rises to go to the shower.  He becomes
another man. One with passion and needs.  Once he is finished, back
returns Captain Picard, a man who needs very little outside of a
well-run ship and the occasional companionship of his crew mates.

If it wasn't for the glimpses of Jean-Luc that the captain allows me
to see, I would have abandon this little tin can in space a long time
ago. But as long as he's offering this free show every Saturday night,
I'll be here.   Watching and wanting.

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The End