textfiles/sex/EROTICA/R/ready.txt

The Ready Room
Copyright 1994 by Sandra Guzdek

     It had been a long and tiring day for the captain of the flagship
of the United Federation of Planets.  'Then again, everyday is a long
and tiring day when you are the captain of the Enterprise,'  mused
Jean-Luc Picard silently, staring into a steaming cup of Darjeeling tea,
his favourite alternative to the sometimes-wearing Earl Grey.  He
couldn't even find it in himself to leave the ready room, so there he sat
and did some reading on the ruins of Betelgeuse Prime.  Fascinating
how some of the galaxy's most intricate and beautiful tapestries were
found in the deepest caverns on that world, intact after millenia, when
all that was known about these people was their love of war.
     "Captain,"  came a voice out of thin air.  He gasped, as it had
interrupted a very fluid train of thought.  At first he didn't even
recognize it as being Beverly Crusher's, it had seemed so deep, so rich
to him.
     He knit his brow, and hit his communicator.  "Yes, Doctor?"
     Suddenly the voice was beside his ear; he almost jumped out of
his seat.  "I'm right here, Jean-Luc."  He looked up to her, and the
smile on her face was both radiant and mischievous.  "Sorry to
interrupt you."
     'I'll bet you're sorry,'  he thought unkindly.  "How on earth did
you get in here?"  he asked.  He always became a little defensive when
his privacy was intruded upon.
     "A little trick I learned from Vash,"  she said, snaking her arm
around his shoulders.  He was more than a little surprised.
     "Doctor, what is the meaning of this?"  he asked, hating the fact
that it sounded so cliche.  Yet when he felt her warm breath on his
neck, he knew all too well what she wanted.
     What scared him most of all was the fact that he almost, almost,
did not push her away.
     He stood quickly.  "Doctor Crusher, what is the meaning of this?!"
His voice had raised but a notch, not so loud to be heard out on the
bridge (heaven forbid), but loud enough to convey his consternation.
     However, the anger rolled right off of Beverly, and she smiled one
of the most seductive smiles Picard had ever seen, as she stepped back
and away from him a couple of steps.  He had noticed briefly that she
was not in uniform, but in her civvies, a long, pretty green/blue
sweater that had a scooping cowl neck.  And had her hair ever looked
that silky, and had her eyes ever shone so brightly?  He shook his
head as if to shake out the very thought.
     "Captain,"  she said,  "as your medical advisor, I must recommend
that you get more physical activity into your schedule."  She looked at
him through her reddish brow, the corners of her mouth curled
devilishly.  With that she pulled down the collar of her sweater,
revealing a pale shoulder and the tiniest bit of her bosom.  At once
Picard's mind leapt to the thought of an infant Wesley, suckling that
breast . . .
     He sank back down to the chair as the other side came down
around her shoulders, and she approached him languidly, smile still
settled across her lips.  He was frozen in his seat, could make no move
to get away from her advances, as if he wanted to move, which deep
down inside he did not -- something did not care to admit to.
     "Captain,"  she purred.  Somehow the way she said it stirred him.
     In a moment she was on his lap, straddling the chair, trapping
him beneath her.  She touched her nose to his and caught his eyes,
meanwhile sliding her hands beneath the edge of the jersey he was
always tugging down, and then under the waistband of his regulation
trousers.
     She said softly,  "I've got the door locked out to anyone, so don't
worry about being walked in on."  She closed her eyes and brushed her
cheek against his like an affectionate cat.
     He could not decide if he was mortified or terribly excited.
Certainly his body was quite responsive to her touch, but all he could
think was that this was his Chief Medical Officer and Jack Crusher's
widow.  In any case he made no move on her, and she grabbed his
hands, placing them on her thighs as she moved in closer to him.  It
was then he noticed that she was wearing nothing but the sweater when
he saw -- or, rather, he felt -- the smooth skin of her upper thighs
and hips, that tuft of soft coppery nether hair.
     Beverly was pressed right up against him now, leaning the chair
back into a reclining position.  She had not even kissed him yet, opting
instead to nuzzle into his neck and work her hands all over his body.
Jean-Luc had definitely decided he was about to burst against her (in
the logical way Jean-Luc decided to do everything else), CMO or not,
Crusher's widow or not.  Upon this thought, he grabbed her shoulders
and pushed her away to land on the desk as he stood over her.
     She was laughing.  "Oh, Jean-Luc. I didn't know you had it in
you."  She watched as the uniform was peeled from him and thrown to
the floor, to see the wonderfully mature body of the captain standing at
attention before her.
     "We have a strange relationship, you and I.  I command this ship,
while you have every right to countermand me."
     "Isn't power grand?"  she asked, regarding him from her place on
the desk.  "Come over here."
     "No,"  he replied.  "You come here."
     He smiled as he sat back into the chair.
     "What if I decide to be completely insubordinate to my commanding
officer?"  she asked, raising her eyebrow.
     "The better to . . . discipline you, my darling Beverly,"  he said,
his voice low and husky.
     "Promise?"  she asked demurely, as she walked towards him, his
legs between hers as she stood, bending to place a delicate kiss on his
forehead.  Sliding her hands across his crown and weaving her fingers
into the short hair at the base of his neck, she took her place once
again on his knees and slid up to press herself against him, touching
her lips to his, but resisting the urge to kiss . . . just letting the warm
breath move from one, to the other, and back to the first.
     The feel of flesh against flesh, and cashmere against flesh, sent
each nerve ending into a frenzy.  He gently grabbed her hair at the
roots and pulled her head back, kissing her neck, as she felt him
against her most sensitive area, nudging, and then finally entering, in a
steady, pulsing rhythm.  She felt an uneven sigh escape her lips as she
arched back, and the captain pushed her sweater up to kiss her breasts
and slide his hands against her taut stomach, finally pushing the soft
sweater onto the floor.
     The soft moans and sighs were threatening to grow in intensity
and in volume.  When Beverly placed her lips on his and kissed him
fully, hungrily, she felt the warmness explode within her belly and
Picard quivering all over as he emptied into her.  She, however, did not
cease her gyrations or her teasings, and in fact made them that much
stronger, here in his chair, here, not more than ten meters off of the
main bridge.
     His breath came in short pants and his pulse was dangerously
high.  Neither cared.  Beverly's spine straightened as she felt her own
body erupt with spasms, and she threw her head back, sending her hair
around her shoulders.  She wanted nothing more than to scream out in
pleasure, at the top of her lungs, until the breath emptied from her
body and she was nothing more than a tingling mass of nerves.
     Picard stood, taking her with him, until she felt the cool, smooth
surface of the desk against her back, as he pushed whatever was on
there to the floor, at this point not even caring who on the bridge
heard the crash it made.  Now it was his turn to be in command, and
when he saw the still-warm remnants of his Darjeeling tea, he took the
teacup and poured it over her breasts and abdomen, then drinking it
up from her with his silky tongue as she gasped beneath him,
shuddering all over again.
     At that moment Riker's voice sounded through his brain.  He
paused but a moment to bark out a very gruff,  "Not now, Number One."
On the other side of the door, Riker was very puzzled by this
brusqueness, shrugged, and returned to the big chair.
      With soft sighs, the final climax erupted, and then all was still
except two humans bathed in sweat, taking pleasure in one another's
arms.  Picard rested his head on Beverly's bosom and closed his eyes as
he withdrew from the warmness of her.
     "Mmmm,"  he murmured gently, pulling her up by the forearms as
he stood.  She was rosy all over, and her skin was very warm to the
touch.  He had the incredible urge to just hold her close to him, and he
did, sliding his hands along the small of her back to settle comfortably
there.  He did not know how he could bear to be separated from her
warmth once this tryst was over.  The only word he could find to say
was her name, over and over again, like a sacred mantra.
     After a few moments, Beverly spoke.  "Computer,"  she sighed as
she tried catch her breath.  As the computer made its alert noise, she
continued,  "Two for site-to-site transport to Holodeck Three . . . and
begin program Beverly Six."
     As they became alive with dazzling light and disintegrated into
mere molecules, Picard looked up and his eyes went wide.
     "But . . . our clothes -- "
     He did not hear her response as the shimmering sound echoed in
his ears.  The Holodeck shimmered into view; he saw darkness, carefully
held away by a small fire.  Beverly's program was a campsite . . . A
very familiar campsite.
     "Kespritt,"  he whispered.  "We were on Kespritt."  Beverly looked
at him oddly.  She walked to the other side of the fire, somehow
growing less real.  He reached for her . . .
      . . . And sat up, disoriented.  His back ached from a night on
the hard ground.  He looked around, and saw Beverly, fully clothed,
sleeping peacefully near him, turned away.  It was early morning; the
campfire had died, and he could feel the chill air against his skin.
     He hoped fervently that she had been sound asleep.  He bent to
look at her; her eyes were closed, her breathing regular, from the way
her chest rose and fell.  Asleep indeed.  He sighed.
     But he could have sworn that he saw a smile pass her lips.

the end.