AN: Here we are, another chapter to this one!
I do hope you enjoy! If you do, please do consider leaving a comment or review to let me know!
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The trip to their bed took longer than it had ever taken before, because their forward progress kept getting impeded by the need that they both felt to keep stopping for kisses that were long and hungry. Jean-Luc couldn't speak for Beverly, but he wouldn't have traded a single one of those kisses for getting to the bed faster, however, and he felt somewhat confident that she felt the same, given that she was introducing her share of them.
When they finally made it to the bed, Jean-Luc helped Beverly to sit on the pallet without hurting her ankle. He helped her remove her pants and her shirt. He appreciated the unexpected sensation of enjoying immensely the simple act of caring for her. As he removed each item of clothing, he let his fingertips trail lightly over her exposed skin. In the dim light offered to them by the lamp, he couldn't see fine details, but he could feel the skin rise and bump up under his gentle touch. He could see when she shivered. He could tell that her pupils were much larger than he might have considered normal, and he wondered how much of that was owing to the dim light, and how much was owing to her arousal.
Before he helped her remove her underwear, he stopped to remove his own clothes. There was more urgency there—less desire to take his time. For him, there was nothing sensual in shedding his clothes.
And, then, Beverly interrupted his hasty movements by replacing his hands with her own. She held his eyes, a soft smile playing at her lips, as she slowly helped him to remove his clothes. To keep her from moving too much and risking any unnecessary injury to her ankle, Jean-Luc helped her, but he gave her the lead.
She touched him delicately. She pulled him to her and kissed his jaw, and neck, and collarbone. She directed him and he moved as she commanded, allowing her access to his chest. She ran her flat tongue over his nipple, before she sucked it, and she pulled away to laugh at the practically violent shiver that ran the full length of Jean-Luc's spine.
He laughed, too, almost thankful for the momentary break.
She looked at him with a soft smile on her lips. She bit her bottom lip.
"You're beautiful," Jean-Luc said.
She hummed.
"You are, too," she offered.
He laughed quietly. His heart was drumming like a snare drum and, yet, it was a pleasant sensation—not like the cold fear he sometimes felt when he thought about things, like relationships, somehow getting entirely out of his control.
He felt, at the moment, entirely ready to hand over any control to Beverly that she might like. He trusted her to be in control of him, if she wanted that.
She wasn't asking for that, though—at least, not entirely.
"You haven't changed your mind, have you?" Jean-Luc asked.
"I never changed my mind," Beverly said. "I was just waiting for you to make up your mind, Jean-Luc."
He was slightly struck by the comment, but he accepted it.
"Sometimes, I can be rather slow about things," he offered.
"Sometimes, slow isn't a terrible thing," Beverly said. "Like—now, for instance."
Jean-Luc's heart seemed to somehow find a way to pick up a beat. He felt his face burn warm and his breath seemed a little quicker and a little shallower, and all of it was happening entirely outside of his control.
He was losing control, but he was enjoying every second of it.
The only control he fought for, now, was the control to take his time with Beverly—with this. He wanted to savor every moment. He wanted to look back on this moment—this night—and find that he had no regrets. He might regret a great many things in his life, but this…just this moment…he wanted to be something that was always entirely without regret.
Jean-Luc moved back toward Beverly for another kiss. She indulged him. As he moved out of the kiss, he peppered her face with kisses, as his instinct led him to do. He felt her fingers as they seemed to dance along his skin. He shivered under her touch—so delicate and loving. He had dreamed a great many times of being touched by Beverly in just this way—practically reverently—but he had hardly ever let himself imagine that it would someday be real.
He touched her, too. As he kissed her, tasting her skin, and moving his lips over her neck, and shoulders, and collarbones…and, finally, down to her perfect breasts, he let his fingers run over her skin. He read her body like braille. He tasted it like he wanted to read that very same message—a love story, perhaps—with his tongue.
When her breathing changed its rhythm, his own body reacted. When she moaned out her appreciation of a particular touch or a gentle scrape of teeth, Jean-Luc's body seemed to answer the call.
Before, when they'd been together, Jean-Luc had felt like a man possessed. He'd felt like a man caught up in a fever. He'd felt outside of himself, and outside of his own control. He'd felt frantic.
It was quite different now. Everything felt like a dream. It felt like the most beautiful, intoxicating dream ever, but it was real. Jean-Luc no longer felt like he was caught up in a fever. He was caught up in a dream, yes, but not in the maddening dizziness of a fever dream. He felt happy to linger here. Jean-Luc felt like the world around him was quite outside of his control, but he found a certain peace and acceptance in that thought for now. He felt, however, still quite in control of himself.
He was making his choices. He was here. He was present. He was enjoying this, and he would remember it, forever, he was sure, with the happy sort of fuzzy memory that always surrounded some of life's greatest moments.
And they had all the time in the world to enjoy it because Beverly had pointed out that she was happy that they had long-term plans. Jean-Luc found that, as he took his time exploring Beverly's body with his hands and mouth, he was happy, too, to think that they had long-term plans.
Now that he was allowed to touch her and taste her at will—now that he wasn't feeling like he must devour her as quickly as possible—Jean-Luc found there was a certain peace in thinking about a future where this was simply normal. The thought made him smile against Beverly's skin—quite covered, as it was, with the tiny bumps that the chill and her pleasure raised up.
"I love you," he breathed out against her skin. "I have—loved you for so long."
"I love you," she answered back.
The darkness, now, had practically swallowed them both entirely, except for the very dim halo of light coming from their lantern. The effect was almost as magical as every other aspect of the moment. It helped to relax Jean-Luc, in a way. He felt the effects of it as it practically flowed through his veins. It invited him to stay as long as he liked.
Forever. Jean-Luc was beginning to like how the word felt as it took shape in his mind. He would taste it, later, on his tongue.
For now, he had other interests.
"May I?" He asked, as he changed his own position and Beverly's, slightly.
She breathed out something about him "not having to" do exactly what he ached to do in the moment, and he settled between her thighs. He closed his eyes, allowing his senses to focus their attention on the taste of her and the silky feeling of her against his tongue. He let his ears focus on the sounds of her pleasure and approval.
Jean-Luc, for once in his life, perhaps, felt certain that he was doing something right. He was doing something wonderfully. He was absolutely pleasing the woman that he had loved since the moment when he'd first laid eyes on her.
Her pleasure was intoxicating.
Then, some nagging voice in his mind stopped him for a half a second. It suggested what he feared most—the voice, after all, had always been there. He could recall hearing it even as a child. It was the voice that reminded him that he wasn't good enough. He wasn't "right" in whatever context of the word was necessary at the moment. He wasn't enough.
And, now, the voice suggested that, perhaps, Beverly's pleasure was nothing more than her kindness. She loved him enough to give this to him—to pretend that he was good enough for her—but she knew it wasn't true.
"Jean-Luc…what's wrong?" She asked, when he'd apparently paused for too long.
Jean-Luc pulled himself back from the odd sort of daydream that had seized him, for a moment or, it seemed, even longer. His chest ached. His throat ached. He felt a wave of profound sadness—much more profound than he might have imagined would come from a woman pretending to find pleasure in his touch when, in reality, she found none—wash over him.
And, then, he reminded himself of where he was. He reminded himself of the taste on his tongue—a taste that he could sample, again, if only he were to open his mouth and allow his tongue to explore the woman he loved once more. He reminded himself that he had not forced her here. Beverly had come willingly—eagerly, even.
"Nothing, Beverly," he assured her. "I just…needed a moment."
"You can stop, if you want," Beverly said. "If you're tired…or…"
He smiled to himself. He felt an ache that was unrelated to the one he'd felt before. He realized that this pause had created, perhaps, some insecurity in Beverly. And why wouldn't it? She was in a very vulnerable position.
Jean-Luc moved and pressed a kiss to the inside of her thigh.
"I needed only to catch my breath," he said. It wasn't entirely false, but it wasn't entirely true. He told himself that he wanted to stop lying—to Beverly and to himself—but, for now, that tiny lie wasn't the worst thing that could happen. He kissed her thigh again. This time, he tasted it, too, with his tongue. She moved, as she'd been moving, her hips. The movements, which seemed to be something instinctive for her—something she was driven to do—gave credence to the sounds of pleasure she'd been making. "I'm not tired, I assure you" he said, moving back to latch onto the most tender of spots and suckle her. He held tightly to her hips as she moved in response.
The voice was silent, because Jean-Luc refused to listen to it.
He might not be good enough for Beverly in many ways—that much may be true—but he could work to be a better man. He could work to be what she deserved. He could learn to pleasure her in other ways, just as he was learning to pleasure her now. In the rest of life, just as here, with his face between her thighs, he needed only to learn to pay attention to her cues in order to give her what she needed and to be what she needed him to be.
When he couldn't stand it any longer, Jean-Luc moved his way up Beverly's body. Without hesitation, she kissed him and wrapped her arms around him. She whispered in his ear—an act that, at that moment, sent the same chills through him that her touch had earlier, like something electric—and she invited him to take his place inside of her.
Without hesitation, he joined them together and, for a moment, he held her tightly and simply savored the explosion of feelings that he felt—enough sensations to make him believe that his mind couldn't possibly think of anything else, ever again. Then, when the overwhelm passed enough to allow him some feeling of control, he made love to Beverly. He made love to her the way that he'd always wanted to make love to her and, if her reaction was any indication, he made love to her exactly as she wanted him to do so.
When they both finished, they held each other a few moments as heartbeats and breathing rates returned to normal. Under the blankets, they held each other as sweat—and other things—dried between them.
And, for the first time in his life, and on a planet entirely unknown to him, where he had no professional or personal ties beyond the woman in his arms, Jean-Luc Picard finally felt at home.
