Standard disclaimer: Paramount owns The Great Bald One, the Auburn Goddess, and the ship they're in. I own the BBS, though, and I wanna play! If you like, blame my two beta readers for challenging me. If you don't, blame Wildcat and Heather. As always, feedback will buy you more.

“Whatcha doing, Mom?”

Beverly’s face flushed pink and she quickly cleared the screen. “Nothing much,” she lied. “Trying to work out the standard deviation on the crew fitness evaluations.”

Wesley perched on his mother’s desk. “You don’t have to do that kind of menial work, Mom. That’s what the computer’s for.”

“Now, Wesley, we’ve been through this before. I don’t like relying on the computer.”

“Moooooooooom. Arvada’s over a long time ago. It isn’t going to happen again.”

Beverly sighed. It was an old argument and neither of them was going to change. Well, Wesley might, depending on what the future brought, but she’d rather it brought him nothing to change his mind. In any case, it wasn’t an argument she wanted to rehash now. She had better things to do.

“Don’t you have homework?” she asked, hopefully.

“Yeah. I’ve got to research equidistant letter sequences in ‘The Love Song of Surak’ for my Vulcan Lit class.”

“I thought that was all nonsense.”

“It is, but the computer can do all the work and I’ll get a killer grade.”

Beverly wanted to protest, but not now. “So go do it, already.”

Wesley smiled and went into his own room. Beverly turned back to her computer, cleared off the screen saver, and resumed her reading where she’d been so rudely interrupted:

Fairy touches caressed Jean-Luc’s face, his neck, glided over his clothing. He reached his hand out and touched only empty air. Idly, he wondered if the holodeck could hide her from him at this close distance and wondered why he even cared. This was what Beverly had meant for him this time, and that was good enough. He felt a touch, again and again, at the seam of his shirt; his succubus was either unable or unwilling to undress him, and so he undressed himself.

The touches began anew, starting with the top of his head, working slowly down his face (across his brow and over his cheekbones, down to his mouth, where questing lips closed over nothing at all). There were the lightest of touches along his collarbone and the feeling of fingernails raking down his abdomen, a mouth on his nipples. He reached out, certain he had her position at last, finally feeling hair under his fingers, taking precious seconds before realizing the hair was on his own chest.

Unseen hands caressed his hip bones, trailed lightly along his thighs. He opened his legs to their touch and was rewarded with a tingling on his inner thighs. His hips bucked in anticipation of the fairy touches moving closer and closer in towards the center, but the apparition--whatever it was--knew him better than that, and denied him such immediate pleasure. He moaned. ‘Beverly...’

“Dr. Crusher?” God, he sounded so near. Guiltily, she looked around her room and only then realized that Jean-Luc’s voice was coming through the comm system. Though he couldn’t see her, she pounded a few buttons to invoke her screensaver.

“Yes, Captain?”

“Are you doing anything important?”

Nothing important at all, just scanning the P/C archives on the ship’s BBS. “No, of course not.”

“Would it be possible to see you, then?”

“Of course. Shall I come to your ready room?” Shall I come... Damn. I hate talking to him when I’ve got a raging squidgy.

“No, this requires a certain measure of privacy. Could you come to my quarters, please?”

“Of course. Crusher out.” To. In. What a difference two little letters made. She stopped in her room long enough to pull herself back together after her interrupted reading and headed out.

She had been an avid reader of the ship’s BBS since she’d boarded. At first it was Wesley who’d introduced her, but she quickly became obsessed. It was the place where the lower ranks felt free to express themselves, and she told herself it was a professional matter—learning all those thing which influenced the crew. That did nothing to explain her reaction to the photographs she’d found after a few months of lurking.

The first was a picture of Jean-Luc. He was dressed as Dixon Hill, and as she’d let the whole picture load she remembered their aborted visit to the holodeck. He hadn’t looked like this then, though she’d fantasized about it. In the picture, his hat was at an angle, his tie loosened. His shirt was unbuttoned, as was the fly of his trousers, and one hand was reaching below his belt. A female arm reached into the picture, the hand on his chest. She wanted that to be her hand.

Beverly felt guilty, of course—who wouldn’t? She assumed the picture, and the others she found later, were fakes, but she was his physician—they were damned good fakes.

A week later she stumbled on a picture of herself, and it was enough to drive her from the BBS for a whole day. After she got over the anger and the shock, she recalled the picture. Another Dixon Hill scenario. Jean-Luc was in the photograph, in white tie and that stupid fedora. Her likeness was wearing a long indigo dress slit up to here, and Dix’s hand was in the slit, drawing it back, showing that the photographic Dr. Crusher wore nothing beneath her dress. It was odd, being a voyeur of herself, but strangely erotic. She found it difficult, for weeks afterwards, not to think of that photograph each time her glance landed on Jean- Luc’s strong hands.

Then she’d found the fiction. Who knew the crew spent that much time and imagination speculating about her relationship with the captain? She gobbled it up and gave each story a slot in her own fantasies. She’d even written a story or two herself, anonymously, but found they weren’t as arousing as the others. She had a few good scenes, though:

He gathered her up, carried her into the inner room, and tumbled her down onto the bed, dropping atop her. She reached for him, but he trapped her wrists above her head with his hands. ‘You will obey your commanding officer, won’t you?’ He transferred his grip to one hand and began using the other to undo her clothing and explore her body. She twisted and turned at his touch, unable to reciprocate. Her long legs slid up and down his legs, until he told her to stop even that. ‘Stay still or leave. Your choice.’ Then he bent to her breast, sucking it into his mouth, leaving her no choice at all.

He teased her, doling out pleasure along her face, neck, her upper body, allowing her neither to return the gestures nor to rest. At last he released her wrists, but chilled her intent to touch him with a curt, ‘You will keep still, won’t you?’ before indulging in an exploration of the rest of her body. She lay impossibly still under his ministrations, held captive by the force of his will.

When her moans and gasps reached a particularly erotic cadence, he tore himself away from her, rose and undressed. He did not return to the bed, but stood before her, hands clasped tightly behind his back, silent. She reached out to him, calling his name. ‘I told you to stay still, or leave.’ He waited a moment, two, for her to make her choice, and as he suspected, she lay back against the pillows. Finally he relented, touching her arm...

She could almost feel that touch. Damn—she could. He was here, in the corridor outside his cabin, touching her arm to lead her inside. She felt the kinetic friction of his warm palm against her arm and shivered. It was sheer serendipity that each time she lost herself in fantasy he should call out to her. It was absolute hell.

She had to get out of here quickly, before she could do anything stupid. She’d just find out what Jean-Luc wanted, give it to him, and get out. Simple plan, simply done. Right.

“Doctor...Beverly...I...”

“Yes?” Damn. Why’d her voice have to sound so sultry? Oh, well, Jean-Luc was impervious. He’d probably never even notice.

“I found something on the ship’s computers which...well, it certainly did me...I think you...it really is too much...”

She walked over to Jean-Luc, stopping only inches from his body, cupping his face in her hands. Control, Beverly. Control. No time for fantasies now. “Breathe, Jean-Luc. You’re not making any sense.”

He took two long breaths and let them out. “I...I can’t. Let me show you.” He was intensely flustered, and she could only wonder what he would show her. Her hormones were on overdrive, imagining what she’d like to be shown.

He led her by the hand to his desk and turned on his computer. “I was doing my standard search for my name in the Starfleet uploads...”

“I never took you for an ego-surfer, Jean-Luc.”

“It business, actually. The Picard Family Vineyards is a registered trademark, and we are quite exacting in our licensing of the name. I do hope you didn’t think I was looking for my own name.” It was amazing how quickly he could pull the nobleman’s facade around himself, Beverly thought.

“And you found?” She had wanted to get out of here when he’d intruded on her fantasies. Now that he had turned cold, she really wanted to leave.

“I found a reference to my family’s wines. I traced the file back through its routing—all the way to this ship. And there was even more. Beverly, I was shocked. Shocked!”

“About what?”

Picard pushed a few buttons and a screenful of text appeared:

‘And what excites you?’ Jean-Luc was asking.

‘You do,’ Beverly answered.

‘Really?’

‘Feel.’ Beverly placed Jean-Luc’s hand between her legs.

He eased a finger inside of her and withdrew it, gleaming with her wetness. His tongue snaked out again and again to lick his finger clean.

Beverly gave a grunt of disbelief. ‘I’ve heard you Frenchmen will eat anything. I mean, if you’ll eat snails...’

‘We’re not gourmands, we’re gourmets.’ Jean-Luc bent to kiss her breasts, working slowly, too slowly, towards the nipples. He suckled at one, then the other, his hands resting at the curve of her waist, waiting for her.

‘I’ve heard there’s nothing better than French...wine.’ Jean-Luc looked up at her, and she took advantage of his change in position to roll out from beneath him. ‘I’ve heard the Picard vintage is especially tasty.’

Jean-Luc gasped as she turned and moved her way down his body. ‘Where did you hear that?’

His hand slapped down on the control pad, blanking out the text. “This is really quite horrible, isn’t it, Doctor?”

“Of course. It’s clearly a PWP and lacks the subtlety of her usual writing, but it was a round-robin, so...” Beverly caught herself, too late. “I mean, yes. It is. Horrible.”

She didn’t have to look at Jean-Luc to see the shock in his eyes. “You knew about this sort of thing?”

“The stories?”

He nodded.

“Yes.”

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Besides the archives?”

“Beverly...”

It was clear he was running out of patience. She suddenly realized that he didn’t sound angry and no longer seemed shocked, so she answered him honestly. “There are photographs.”

“Of me?”

Damn but he was egotistical. “Of me, too. Of most of the senior staff—lots of Yar and Troi. And some of various couples.”

“I don’t believe it.”

Beverly didn’t like having her word questioned, though she knew that wasn’t really what he’d meant to do. “Check out alt.binaries.bev-and-jlp .”

Amazingly, he did. There was a new picture up, and he let it load while they waited in tense silence.

First they saw some wavy pattern, which made no sense. A second later, the tops of their heads, Beverly’s hair wet, dripping. They were looking at each other, their mouths open and very close together. Beverly’s hand was behind Jean-Luc’s head, drawing him closer, her other hand resting on his naked shoulder. She was wearing a chemise, though it had gone nearly transparent in the water.

Glancing over at her companion, the real Beverly was pleased to note that his eyes were glued to the screen.

In the photograph, Jean-Luc’s hand was around Beverly’s waist, his other somewhere under the water. From the angle of his arm, it was pretty obvious that the somewhere was one of Beverly’s more intimate body parts. Water, in the same wavy pattern as they had earlier seen, covered their lower torsos.

“That’s it?” Jean-Luc moaned when he could catch a breath.

“You’re right,” Beverly commiserated. “Pretty tame.”

“You mean they’re usually worse than this?”

It was time for action. He didn’t seem to mind what he’d found, at least not as much as when he’d called her to his quarters. He seemed shell-shocked, and that gave her a window of opportunity. “No,” she said with a roguish gleam in her eye, “usually they’re better.” She bent low over the computer, hoping that he’d take a good look down the front of her sweater. Thank god she’d been off-duty when he’d called.

She called up one picture after the other, letting each linger on the screen only seconds, just long enough to get a reaction from Jean-Luc but not long enough to allow him speech. He was getting closer to her with each picture they viewed, and she could feel his breath hot on the back of her neck. After the one where his likeness had his face buried between her likeness’s breasts she felt him steady himself with one hand on the desk beside her. After another of the Dixon Hill pictures, with Beverly dressed in nothing but Dix’s fedora and her hands bound with his tie, she felt Jean-Luc’s hand touch her waist. When she showed him the one where only his head and nude torso were in view because a mop of red hair was spread across his hips Beverly felt his chin come to rest on her shoulder.

Now that she had his interest (and now that it was beginning to press uncomfortably against her rear), she decided to go for broke. Dipping into the archive one more time, she pulled out that picture of the two of them that she’d found the other night. She smiled as it began to fill the screen—yes, that was the one:

Beverly was wearing only a thin, translucent scarf stretched across her breasts. She was facing the viewer and her legs were spread. Behind her one could spot Jean-Luc’s face, its arrogant lines slackened, dazed, his mouth open. Between her legs one could see his erection, aiming for her, the head rubbing against her curls.

“Where do they get these pictures?” Jean-Luc breathed into her ear.

She shrugged. “I think they’re just collages. Our heads, someone else’s bodies.”

“This is terrible.” For a moment she went cold, fearing she’d gone too far. He continued, “It doesn’t do me justice at all.”

For a second she was peeved. How egotistical, to be concerned about his own appearance—hadn’t he even noticed the way she’d looked in the photo? Then she realized what he must have meant, and she smiled. Smirked. Grinned in delight.

Beverly Crusher was a scientific woman to her core, so she proceeded with her newest investigation. She gave an experimental wiggle and was delighted to feel an answering pressure. “You’re right,” she said. “They didn’t get me quite right, either. Of course, whoever did this couldn’t know that...”

“That what?” Jean-Luc’s hand moved up, caressing her rib cage.

“Oh, nothing.”

His hand moved up, barely cupping the bottom of her breast. “What?” he exhaled into her ear.

“Just a little something. Only my lovers—and, of course, my doctors—know about. So at least I know it isn’t one of my staff making this pictures.”

His hand moved a bit higher, contracted slightly around her softness. “We really should find out who is.”

His thumb made slow circles, trying to coax her nipple to erection. Her head fell back onto his shoulder. “Maybe if I had more accurate information...” She gasped as his mouth descended to her neck.

“Investigate this more thoroughly...” he murmured.

She felt cool air at her back and bit her lip. Was he dense enough to begin checking the computer? No—his other hand finally left the desk and moved to the seam of her jumpsuit. His lips followed.

Jean-Luc’s hands peeled the jumpsuit from her shoulders, and he kissed each centimeter of skin as it was revealed. She was perfect—absolutely perfect. A beautiful porcelain doll. And he would make her flush with anticipation and passion.

Beverly wasn’t wearing a bra, so he stalled for quite a long time at her breasts, suckling, biting, lathing them with his tongue. When she could take no more, she called out for him. She leaned back on the desk as he removed her pants and underwear. When he began to kiss her, she was glad she had the added support. When he began to tongue her, she was ecstatic.

He wouldn’t give her her satisfaction. Not this way. He brought her to the edge of madness and then abruptly stood. He met her dazed look with his own and then began a lazy perusal of her body, turning her around so he could see all of her. When he found her secret, he grinned. No one would ever have guessed.

Beverly’s breath calmed. ‘Now show me what they got wrong about you.’ She watched almost dispassionately as he stripped and then gasped when his erection sprung free. Her mouth watered and speech failed her.

Which was fine, because Jean-Luc didn’t seem in the mood for talk. Not then, when he took her on his desk, or later in his bed, or even later yet, in the shower, just before they both went on duty.

On her way to Sickbay, Beverly smiled. She couldn’t wait to get at her computer. She had a great story to post.

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