For Ruth, because she asked me to.

This story contains explicit descriptions of sex, and a
dominance/submission type relationship (which is more than a little
non-consensual, especially at first), as well as the character of
Q.  If you are offended by any of these concepts, please stop
reading now.  If not, well, you're in good company.  ;)

(And "TQ" stands for "thank you", a very common abbreviation on the
net.  I changed the title to that after Alara so vehemently
denounced the other story entitled "Thank Q".  I just gotta be
different somehow.  ;)  )


TQ by Mercutio (mercutio@europa.com)


"My dear Picard."

The words startled him out of his reverie, and Picard sat up
straight in bed with a jerk, dropping his book.  "Q!"

"What a way to greet me, Jean-Luc," Q said from his position
leaning against the wall.  He pushed himself off, and stood over
Picard.  "Now, can't you be a little nicer about it?  Make me feel
a little more welcome?"

"The last thing I want to do is to make *you* feel welcome."

Q made a scoffing noise.  "I hardly think so, my dear Jean Luc. 
You know..." he disappeared, and reappeared lying on the bed next
to Picard.  A proprietary hand stroked Picard's cheek, then down to
his unclothed chest.  "I almost think you *want* me here."

Picard held himself rigid.  He was wearing only a pair of briefs --
he'd hoped the book would lull him into a state more conducive to
sleep, and was consequently prepared for bed.  A definite mistake. 
"I want nothing of the sort."

"Of course not," Q said, almost purring.  "Care to make a little
wager on that?"

"No."

"You're no fun."  Q laid back on the bed, a pout on his face.

Picard felt a little inrushing of relief.  Now Q would stop with
the sexual innuendo and tell him why the entity was *really* here. 
It wasn't possible that Q really meant any of this -- if he had, he
would very certainly have done something after the incident with
the Borg.  Picard had been half-expecting to find Q in his quarters
that night, and was still somewhat surprised that Q had never
followed up on Picard's "I need you".

What Picard had expected to happen then was something he tried very
hard not to think about.  While it was a ridiculous thought that Q
wanted something sexual from him -- beneath ridiculous -- somehow,
he couldn't quite get the picture out of his mind of Q taking
advantage of that admission, of forcing Picard into something even
more degrading than having to beg Q for his assistance.  Q
certainly had the power to do almost anything he liked, and
suddenly Picard couldn't stop thinking about himself, naked, being
led on a leash throughout the ship, while Q displayed his conquest
like some sort of exotic toy.

Of course, Picard thought as his mouth cocked up in a wry grin, it
would have to be a very nice leash.  Q would never settle for
anything less.

"Something like this perhaps?"

Q was holding a long leather leash in his hand, with a rather
ornate collar, worked in gold and what were almost certainly
emeralds.

"Yes," Picard said, fighting to keep his voice level.  "Something
like that."

"Strange.  I never figured you for someone with *exotic* tastes,
Jean-Luc.  You always struck me as being more stodgy and boring
than that."

Despite the sarcasm of his words, Q's voice was like a caress, and
Picard fought an urge to close his eyes, and hope the earth would
open and swallow him up.  That they weren't actually currently *on*
the Earth was only a minor inconvenience.  A black hole would be
equally handy.  "Well, yes, I'm afraid I have my little
eccentricities, Q.  Now, if you don't *mind*--" he gestured at the
leash, hoping Q would make it vanish and get on with whatever
business he had in mind.

"If that's what you want, Jean-Luc."

Q's voice was amused, and with a sinking sensation, Picard realized
why, as the collar disappeared from his hand -- and settled into a
heavy weight around Picard's throat.

Picard didn't reach up to tug at it.  "Q.  You know that wasn't
what I meant."

"Ah, yes, but you look so *good* this way."  Q stood up and tugged
on his end of the leash.  When Picard didn't move, he tugged
harder.  "C'mon.  Let Daddy look at you."

Feeling a burning sense of shame, Picard stood up.  He didn't have
very much choice in the matter.  The collar would not be removable
-- he knew Q that well -- and calling for help would only make him
look ridiculous.  There was nothing Security could do to oppose Q,
and in any case, Q was very capable of leaving him here for them to
find, quite possibly in an even more embarrassing position than
this.

Q surveyed Picard with possessive eyes.  The captain stood very
straight, retaining his dignity, even dressed only in a pair of
shorts and a collar.

"Oh, I *do* so like a man in uniform," Q said, purring. 
"Especially when he's *out* of uniform."

"Can we get to the point?" Picard asked, trying to sound bored with
all of this.  "What do you want, Q?  I assume you have some other
motive behind your visit other than..."

"Down on your knees, boy," Q commanded, slapping the end of the
leash against Picard's chest.

The leather stung, but not badly.  And Picard was getting more
confused by the moment.  "You can't want..."

Q's eyes glinted.  "Are you going to be a bad boy, Jean-Luc? 
Disobedient?  I didn't think you had it in you."

Picard firmed his chin.  He didn't know what was going on.  But he
was almost certain that Q was playing a game with him.  Why, and
for what stakes, Picard had no idea.  Perhaps to see if he could
get a starship captain to grovel.  "I'm staying right here, Q,
until you explain what's going on."

Q waved a finger at him.  "Naughty, naughty.  *Bad* captain."  And
then he pulled hard on the leash.

He was even more vulnerable to that now than he had been on the
bed, and Picard felt himself being yanked forward, down to the
floor, putting out his hands to break his fall.

And, at the end of it, he was on his hands and knees in front of Q. 
"So, Q," Picard asked, a fine sense of irony ladening his voice,
"now that you have me where you want me, what do you plan to do
with me?"

"You're absolutely adorable, you know that?" Q said, tipping
Picard's face up.  "Resilient to the end."

"Thank you.  I think."  Picard looked at Q.  He was wearing a
captain's uniform, as was his usual wont, and playing with the end
of the leash.  Q had allowed him a little slack now that Picard was
actually on his knees, and had been forced into the position Q
wanted.  Q seemed even taller from this perspective, definitely
more threatening.

Picard straightened his back, and sat up on his knees, determined
not to seem in the least bit cowed.

Q materialized a chair, and sank down into it, still holding onto
the leash, and looking at Picard like a pet at his feet.  When he
spoke, his tone was amused.  "You know, Jean-Luc, I'd never guessed
you had such *sordid* fantasies about me.  I suppose it's my own
fault -- I should have probed deeper into what passes for your
psyche after that little contretemps with the Borg.  But *really*. 
To imagine yourself naked, and me with a riding crop, putting you
through your paces like some sort of dressage moves as if you were
a *horse*.  What would dear William think of that?  Or your darling
Beverly?"

"Hopefully, they'll never find out," Picard said tightly.  "Q,
that's very personal information, and... in any case, you can't
hold my fantasies against me."  Especially when he hadn't quite
realized he'd been having them.  The one Q had just mentioned was
an idle, very brief thought he'd had while riding on the holodeck
one day, one that had just as quickly slipped into contemplation of
how Beverly had looked at breakfast that morning and what might
possibly become of their relationship, if and when.

"Now, now, my dear captain," Q said.  "You don't think I'm going to
let you get away with that, do you?  You wanted *moi*, and here I
am."

"And now I don't want you.  Leave."

"You don't *really* mean that.  And, in any case, I do believe
*I'm* in control right now."  Q tugged on the leash, pulling
painfully on Picard's neck to reinforce his words, before releasing
the tension.  "I think it's time you explored some of those darker
fantasies inside you."

Picard hoped desperately that Q didn't have in mind what he thought
Q had in mind.  "No.  Please, Q -- *no*."

"'Please' -- that sounds so lovely coming out of your mouth, Jean
Luc.  It must be the accent."  Q's face hardened and he sat up a
little straighter.  "But I'm not your dear Beverly, captain.  I'm
not going to be talked out of this with pretty words.  For once,
you're going to have to live with what you want instead of denying
it."

"Live with what I want..."

Before Picard could finish his sentence, Q had stood up from the
chair.  He snapped his fingers imperiously.  "Take off the rest of
your clothes.  Make it interesting and I'll have a treat for you."

Picard stared up at Q.  "And if I don't?"

Q smiled evilly.  "I hoped you might say that."

Picard found himself suddenly, with no transition, lying on his
bed, still clothed, face up.  His arms and legs were spreadeagled,
and bound down by some invisible force.  Other than lifting and
turning his head, he could make no motion greater than a twitch.

Q sat next to him, holding a long curling feather in his hand.  As
Picard looked up at him, he dipped the feather down over Picard's
face, tracing his mouth with it.  "Now, I don't want to hear
anything out of you, Jean-Luc, other than moaning, unless you're
prepared to beg me -- and prettily, mind you -- to be allowed to be
naked.  Not one word.  Otherwise, I'll have to gag you, and then I
wouldn't be able to hear you beg, now would I?"

As Q smiled sweetly at him, Picard felt an urge to protest right
then and there.  He had no desire to participate in any game of
Q's, and if it would ruin things for Q for him to speak, then he
was quite happy over the prospect of making Q's day a little more
miserable.  But, under the circumstances, completely restrained and
with no other freedom *but* his voice, it didn't seem like a very
wise idea to push Q into it.

"Good," Q said, still smiling.  "You can be a very good boy when
you want to be, Jean-Luc."

Picard glared up at Q.  That wasn't it at all.  But he couldn't
very well say that.

Q ran the feather down Picard's chin, over his chest, idly watching
as Picard held himself very still, determined not to respond to the
tickling sensation.  "Your fantasies are *very* interesting, you
know that, don't you?  I'm half-tempted to let you live out a few
of them.  The one about you having to submit to being taken while
bent over your chair, in front of your entire bridge crew --
deliciously degrading.  Although I have to admit a certain fondness
for the one where you have everyone gathered in the holodeck for
some sort of picnic, and everyone else is eating calmly and
chattering away, and there you are -- still completely naked --
what is it with you and being naked, hmm? -- fetching a stick for
me as I throw it.  *Very* entertaining."

Picard shivered despite himself.  He *had* thought that, Q wasn't
making it up.  While his sex life was as normal -- and at the
moment, celibate -- as anyone could wish, he did have fantasies,
fleeting images of other things.  Some even more demeaning than the
things Q was taunting him with.

The feather completed its journey down his chest, and came lazily
up to his nipple, delicately brushing against it.

It was just a tickle, nothing really.  The lightest brush of air. 
He could, *should* be able to hold out against that.

Except that he wanted to bat it away, wanted nothing more than to
reach down and scratch the area it was moving over.  And he
couldn't.  He couldn't do anything at all.  Only put up with
whatever Q chose to do to him.  He had to put up with the
sensation, had to let it happen as the feather lightly touched his
skin, repeatedly brushing the already sensitized sections.

Before he could stop himself, Picard heard his own voice saying,
"Q... *please*..."

"Yes, Jean-Luc?" Q asked, in a sensuous murmur.  "Did you have
something you wanted to ask me?"

Hearing Q's voice, that smug, self-satisfied tone, only made it
worse.  Now he wanted to strangle Q as well as bat the damn feather
away and scratch.

"Will you please stop that?"

Q appeared to consider that for a moment, before the feather
resumed making lazy circles on Picard's chest.  Picard almost
groaned with frustration.  "Are you willing to beg me to let you be
naked?"

"And you'll stop tickling me?"

"I'll do whatever I want to you, Jean-Luc.  No matter what you say
or do.  However, I must admit that it irritates me that you refused
to undress when I asked you, and you really don't want to see me
angry with you."  Q looked pointedly down at Picard's helpless,
pinioned body.

With a sigh, Picard surrendered to the inevitable.  Q was right. 
There was nothing he could do to escape.  It was laughable to even
think of trying.  And Picard understood what was going on well
enough to realize that Q was tickling him in order to get him to
beg.  If he didn't give in now, the stakes would just get higher
until he eventually did give in.  Better to give in while he was
just being tickled into compliance, rather than waiting until Q had
decided that the way to get him to beg was to, say, parade him on
this leash through Ten-Forward, then perhaps sit and order a drink
while Picard knelt at his feet.

Of course, that could very well be what Q had in mind to do to him
next after he begged.  In which case, Q would do whatever he wanted
without any consideration for Picard's dignity, and it didn't
matter whether he gave in or not...

Q shook his head, and for a moment, rested his hand on Picard's
chest.  The feeling was incredible -- his skin was sensitized by
the feather, but more than that - for that moment, in that spot,
nothing itched anymore, a blessed spot of peace.  Picard moaned,
and half-closed his eyes against the feeling.  "I won't do anything
like that to you, Jean-Luc.  As much as you want it, deep down in
your psyche, you're not ready for it.  Although--" his eyes
flashed, "if you continue to be disobedient, that may be my only
recourse."

Although Q's tone was light, almost humorous, his face was set in
stern lines, and Picard didn't bother to disbelieve them.  Q's
threats were not always carried out, but then again, they sometimes
were.  And his promises were always good.

"Please, Q," Picard said simply.  "I... want to be naked now."

Q ran the feather down Picard's chest, and then further.  When it
reached his hip, Picard gasped.  He hadn't noticed the difference
until right then -- should have noticed the difference -- but the
feather was now moving across the suddenly bare skin of his hip.

"Like that, do you?" Q asked.

"Q, if what you want is to fuck me, then get it over with," Picard
said, deliberately choosing to use the crudity.  "You've got me
here, and I can't do anything about it.  So just do it."

Q tapped the feather reprovingly against Picard's chest.  "You know
better, mon cher.  No, what I want is for you to beg me for it."

"To beg you for it?" Picard asked, his face suffusing with color. 
"Q, that's, that's..."

"That's exactly what you want."  A hand reached down and stroked
his hard penis, and Picard closed his eyes against the intensity of
the sensation.  Somehow, not being able to do anything about it
made every sensation that much more acute and impossible to resist. 
"You see, Jean-Luc?  I think you would be very, very disappointed
if I left you alone right now."

The hand continued to stroke him, lightly at first, just a brush of
the fingertips over the velvet soft skin, then more firmly, the
entire palm of the hand moving against him, and Picard found
himself straining upward, unconsciously struggling to get more of
that touch, to have that hand more firmly against him.

And then there was nothing at all touching him, no hand, no
teasing, tormenting feather, and Q almost groaned with the
disappointment of it.  He opened his eyes, and looked at Q.  His
voice harsh, he said, "So what's your point, Q?"

"My point?" Q asked, feigning surprise.  He looked down at Jean-
Luc's erection, straining upward, and observed maliciously, "My
dear Jean-Luc, I was *sure* you were the one who had a point."

"*Q*..." Picard said in a strained voice.  "*Please* just tell me
what you want."

"Much better," Q said.  As if by way of a reward, a light stroking
sensation began at the level of Picard's feet, slowly moving
upwards.  Q hadn't moved, and there was no apparent cause for the
feeling.  But it was there nonetheless.  "Now, as I was saying
before I was so *rudely* interrupted" -- something pinched Picard,
quite hard, mid-calf -- "all I want you to do is exactly what
you're told.  I'm sure you remember how, from your days as an
executive officer.  What *did* you and Jack Crusher do after all? 
And -- oh yes, be sure to ask me very nicely for permission to..."

"To come?" Picard asked bluntly, his breathing ragged.  "To beg
like some sort of trained pet?  Is that what you want from me, Q?"

Q beamed at him.  "Exactly.  Why, you're a *very* quick study,
Jean-Luc."

Picard closed his eyes.  He couldn't take any more of arguing with
Q.  It wasn't getting him anywhere; Q was too good with words and
had all the advantage in this situation.  And having him sitting
there on the edge of the bed made it even worse.  Q's fully
dressed, completely in control presence made Picard's naked
helplessness stand out that much more.  It would have been easier
if Q were naked as well.  Then they would've been on something of
the same plane.  But this... just looking at Q made him feel more
helpless, more exposed -- and more turned on by it.

But closing his eyes was a mistake, too.  Then he all he could do
was feel what was happening to him, react to the touch tracing its
way up his legs, coming up, tantalizingly closer; feel the hand
possessively laid on his chest -- knowing the complete ownership
that lay behind that pressure; and *want* more, even as he knew he
shouldn't.

And then the touching was joined by a tongue, licking its way
across his hip, leaving a wet trail across his skin, and Picard
squirmed, trying to turn closer into it, bound too securely to do
that and feeling both helpless and aroused that he could do nothing
but wait for whatever was going to happen to him.

The touch grew firmer as it moved up his thighs, becoming a true
caress as it moved over his upper thighs.  And the tongue...

Picard moaned as it licked at him, wanting it, almost past caring
why this was happening or who was doing it.  He knew that if he
opened his eyes right now, he would see nothing -- the mouth moving
over his penis would be invisible, as would the hands on his legs. 
All he would see was Q, staring at him, his gaze dark and...

Picard shuddered, and moaned as the mouth settled fully over him. 
His hips moved in time with its stroking.  He wanted this, wanted
it badly.

And then it stopped.

He looked up, staring blankly at Q.  "What?  What..."  He was still
aroused, still wanted the orgasm he could feel trembling inside,
but without any direct stimulation, there was nothing he could do.

The only place he was still being touched was his chest, Q's hand
remaining there, that much not invisible and very real.  Q leaned
closer to Picard.  "I told you, Jean-Luc.  If you want this, you're
going to have to beg for it.  It's not going to be good enough for
you to get away with just taking what I give you.  You're actually
going to have to ask for it."

That wasn't a very large thing, and for a moment, Picard considered
saying it just to say it, just to have the need relieved.  That Q
would do it, he had no doubt.  Picard also had no doubt that Q
would be insufferable about it afterwards, in a way which the
captain would not soon be able to forget.

He shook his head, and laid there.  He *didn't* need this.  He
didn't have to have it.  He was a starship captain, not some mere
man at the mercy of his physical needs.

"Ah, but you are, Jean-Luc," Q said.  "If only you would admit to
it... well, perhaps it's all for the best that I be the one to
teach you that.  It would have been so disappointing for you to
have learned that from dear Beverly, and miss my chance."

Picard could have borne the taunting.  But Q wasn't interested just
in taunting the captain.  He stretched out beside his victim,
leaning on one arm, keeping his free hand on Picard's chest.  And
then, under those lazy, glinting eyes, it all started over again.

This time, Q was not so gentle with him.  Little pinches were being
made all over him, Picard involuntarily pulling away from each one
as it landed somewhere else, new and surprising each time.  His
nipples were tugged at, and pinches laid everywhere, his hips, his
feet, his arms.  A finger traced down his body from his neck to his
hips, leaving a line of fire in its wake, a burning feeling that
only made him ache to be touched more.

This time, Q gave him no direct stimulation.  A neat bow was tied
around the base of his penis, not tightly enough to cause him
damage, but tight enough that Picard could think of nothing but the
throbbing there.  And nothing was done to relieve it.  All of the
sensations, all of the things happening to him were to other parts
of his body.

Which didn't stop Picard from being unbearably aroused by them.  He
was moaning in time with the pinches now, almost anticipating the
small sharp pains.  Then those stopped, and a tongue was lapping at
his body, a mouth sucking on his fingers, teeth nibbling on his
nipples.  And everywhere the tongue went, a feeling like warm honey
being dribbled over his body followed...

Everywhere but the part of him that most wanted stimulation.  That
was completely ignored, and Picard was aching with need.  Did it
matter?  Did it really matter so much what would happen after this,
how Q would taunt him when he finally did beg?

The teeth nibbled at his hip, so close, and not close enough to
what he really wanted.

"Q, please..."

"Do I detect a note of begging in that cultured voice?" Q asked
mockingly.  His tone changed again.  "Come on now, Jean Luc.  Beg
for what you want.  That's a good boy."

Picard felt a surge of anger at Q for treating him this way, but it
passed quickly.  What was happening to him was too overwhelming,
and yes, he damn well *would* beg for it if he had to.

"Please, Q, I... I need..."

"Need what?" Q asked tauntingly.  "A trip to New York?  A new
starship?  Hair?"

Picard opened his eyes, staring at Q.  "You know what I want, Q. 
I want to come.  I need it.  I need *you*.  Please!  Damnit, Q, if
that's not good enough, tell me what you want to hear and I'll say
it.  Anything."

"Anything?" Q asked.

"Anything," Picard said, panting, as the nibbling and licking and
biting continued, frustrating him, but giving him no relief.

"Very pretty," Q said approvingly.  "I'll remember that."

And Picard spared a moment to wonder how he was going to pay for
his admission later before Q leaned over him, laying his fingers
over Picard's mouth.

Picard knew what Q wanted, and he kissed his fingers without even
thinking about it, and was rewarded with the sensation of a mouth
on his penis, relieving the horrible tension that had been building
up, while making it greater as finally he was going to be allowed
to come.

The bow around his erection had been removed, and now his hips were
moving with that hotness on him, trying to get more -- and getting
it, being taken in deeper and harder, having all of it that he
wanted and needed.

Picard opened his mouth, and Q's fingers slipped inside.  He sucked
on them greedily, giving Q back a little of what was happening to
him, nibbling and even biting as the sensations grew more intense,
and now he had to come, wanted to do nothing else, and yet... yet
Q had brought him to frustration too many times tonight already and
something held him back, kept him from actually taking what he
needed.

He opened his eyes and looked at Q, not knowing what he wanted to
say, still suckling Q's fingers as though they were some sort of
security blanket, some reassurance -- of what, he didn't know.

Q's free hand came up to stroke Picard's forehead, and he bent over
him possessively.  "It's all right, Jean-Luc.  You can come now."

And that did it.  Somehow those words, spoken in that dark voice,
threw him over the edge, although whether it was because he
actually needed to permission or because he was turned on by the
humiliating act of begging for permission, Picard couldn't say.  He
wasn't aware of Q removing his fingers from his mouth, wasn't aware
of turning into Q, although he knew he was grabbing onto something,
felt something warm and flesh-like giving as he grabbed onto it,
holding tightly as the orgasm rushed over him.

It was good, it was more than good -- even agonizing considering
how Q had built him up to this and then denied him before.  But
that only made it better, more intense.

Picard gasped, breathing raggedly, trying to recover as aftershocks
continued to wrack his body.

He lifted his head, to realize that his face was pressed into Q's
chest, and that he was holding onto Q very tightly, and that Q was
regarding him with what looked like a very amused expression.

Picard let go of Q, and laid back, waiting for whatever sarcastic
remark Q might choose to make.  Now that he'd finally been allowed
to have an orgasm, the rush of sexual excitement was fading, and he
felt more than a little ridiculous lying here on his bed with
nothing but Q's collar on.  What had he been thinking?  Surely Q
was going to take this opportunity to embarrass him by mocking what
just had happened.

But Q said nothing, lying there on his side, looking at Picard with
a slightly possessive air.

Suddenly Picard felt very tired.  He'd been tired all along, but
hadn't been able to fall asleep.  Now he would be able to -- there
was no question about that; he felt physically and mentally
drained.

"Go ahead, Q.  Make whatever point you wanted to make about my
weakness and twisted desires."  It was difficult for Picard to
speak, moreso because he was practically asking Q to humiliate him. 
But then, that was undoubtedly what Q was planning, *had* been
planning all along with this little encounter, and it as best to
get it over with now.  "I know you could hardly restrain yourself."

Q looked down at him, eyes hooded, and expression unreadable.  "Do
you think so little of me, Jean-Luc?"

"No.  I know you, Q."

"Ah, well then.  Quite all right.  You know all about me, so you
have every right to expect me to behave in certain ways. 
Predictable old Q, that's me."

Picard knew sarcasm when he heard it.  Even when delivered as
sincerely as Q had just done.  "Then why?"

"Why did I invade your quarters, put you on a leash and make you do
tricks?"

Picard tried very hard not to flush.  "Yes, that."

"Go to sleep, Jean-Luc," Q said in a very gentle voice.  "Don't
trouble yourself over it.  Let me worry about my motives."

Picard stared at Q for a long moment, not wanting to think that Q
meant what he *thought* he meant, but not being able to come up
with any other possibilities.

And right now, it didn't matter very much.  He was tired -- much
more tired than he had been earlier when he'd initially gone to bed
-- and the tension that had been plaguing him had finally gone
away.  He was exhausted, entirely too fatigued to be able to argue
with someone who was much more stubborn than he was and *might*
have just made the amazing admission that he cared about Picard. 
It was too much, and more than enough all at once.

Picard closed his eyes and rested his head more deeply into the
pillow.  He could feel Q still lying there next to him, knew that
Q was watching him, but somehow, it didn't seem to matter, seemed
to be right in some way he couldn't define.  What had happened
tonight hadn't been bad at all, had been curiously liberating, in
fact.  Picard *had* a sex life, whether or not anyone would believe
that, but it was naturally a very restricted one, given that he
*was* a starship captain, after all.  And Q had shattered all of
that, given Picard something he hadn't known he wanted until he'd
gotten it -- some experience he couldn't control, a wildness that
tasted of the forbidden to someone who must ever live his life
within the rules.  It was what he had feared about Q from the
first, and yet, now that the worst had happened, and Q *had* done
exactly what Picard had feared and more, it wasn't all that bad. 
In fact, it was very very good.

"Thank you," Picard said, before drifting off to sleep.

Q looked at him for a very long moment, watching Picard sleep, his
eyes closed, utterly relaxed.  "You're welcome," Q said softly.


-the end-