From: lgbeard@bsu-cs.bsu.edu (Lisa G. Beard)
Subject: Continuing Education, part 3 of 4
Date: 8 Sep 1993 12:38:16 -0400
Keywords: sf mf series mild dom
X-Moderator-Review: 7: high quality but doesn't feel as focused as it could

Archive-name: ContinuingEd-3
 
                    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

The replimat was fairly busy with the shift changes all over the
station, but with the variety and number of different people on the
station, it was never really completely quiet.  The array of faces
and languages had once fazed him slightly, but no longer.  Now the
kaleidoscope of variety was simply taken for granted.

Today, though . . . he took special pleasure in the walk.  Colors
seemed sharper to him, smells more enticing.  Each person's unique
face demanded attention and interest.  The sussuration of speech --
vocalized, clicked, whistled -- sounded like a linguistic dagwood to
his ears.  Nice day, he remarked, watching out the port as the
wormhole writhed into existence, admitting a ship, in or out he could
not say.  Even that sight, which he freely admitted was one of the
more spectacular he had ever seen, appeared to be more vivid, more
immediate, today than since the first time he had witnessed it.  The
stately whirlpool spun in place for a few moments, revealing the
throbbing interior glowing with strange light, and then flashed into
a point and disappeared, as it had countless times since he had
arrived on the station.

He looked back from the window with a jerk, suddenly aware that he had
spent quite a few minutes simply staring out the port and watching
the stars.  That's ten minutes less time you'll have for lunch, he
told himself sternly, but he didn't really care.  With the same light
step he had used all day, he continued to the replimat, sat down, and
ordered his meal.  As he brought the first mouthful to his lips, he
realized that his sight, his hearing, were not the only senses to
have been sharpened for some reason.  The curry had never tasted so
marvelous to him, and he had never been nearly sent into a reverie of
philosophical contemplation by the hot and cool contrasts of mint tea
before.  He thought back to his appointment schedule and pondered
whether he could get away with taking an extra quarter hour for
lunch; he didn't want to rush the experience.  Chastened by his
desire to put off his duty but unhappy at having to rush, he began to
eat just a little faster.

There.  Ten minutes left.  I can stop by Quark's, get something to
wash this down with -- the mint tea was the only decent beverage the
replimat was capable of producing -- and get back in plenty of time.
After entering his account number into the table, he wiped his lips,
rose, and exited the replimat.

Quark's was also relatively busy at the time; he always got the
overflow from the lunch crowds, and then there were the barflies who
never seemed to leave the place as well.  He had just asked the
Ferengi behind the bar for an apple synthale (Quark was not in
evidence) when his eye fell upon one of the corner tables.  His Lady
sat there, quietly drinking a starduster, and going over what
appeared to be cargo manifests.  The bartender handed him his synth,
and where previously he would have been uncertain about approaching
her away from the ship, he walked over and smiled to her.  She smiled
back and he felt a tug at his spirit.

"Doctor," she said, pleasure in her voice as she put down the little
handheld display she had been tapping at.  Her smile was genuine,
with only a little hint of scandal.  "Please," she added, gesturing
to the seat next to her in the booth, "have a seat."  Her eyes
watched him as he sat.  "How are you feeling?" she asked him, leaning
back.  He smiled at her, slowly and slyly.

"Well, I'm not tired, if that's what you mean," he said, matching her
light tone.  "I got plenty of rest while I was on the Ariad."

She sat silently for a few moments, then spoke.  "Actually, that's
not what I meant," she said.  "I mean how are you feeling."  Her
expression was penetrating but tender.  Julian nearly blushed.

"Oh," he said lowly.  He did not answer for a few moments, but his
Lady could see fleeting expression dawning on his face and flying to
make room for others.  Finally, he smiled openly, and shook his head.
He looked up into her eyes.  "I feel wonderful," he told her,
shrugging.  Unable to think of anything else to say, he sipped at his
synth.

She nodded.  "Yes."  She took a small sip at her starduster, and he
watched as she licked at the moisture left on her lips when she put
the glass down; he was unaware that she had watched him similarly.
"I was hoping you would.  So does Rala."

Julian looked into his drink.  "Where is he?"

"Off somewhere," she told him.  "Sightseeing, I suppose."  She patted
him on the arm.  "Your experience meant a great deal to him, as
well."  At first, Julian did not respond.  Then:

"I didn't know that was really possible," he said.  "It wasn't
something I had . . . considered for myself before."  He looked up at
her, leaning back against the booth, clad in the most clothing he had
ever seen her wear since the first time he had encountered her.
Unbidden, his eyes imagined the contours of her body beneath her
clothing.  "I had thought . . . "  His voice trailed off, ending on
the merest breath of air.  Softly, tenderly, he felt her hand against
his thigh, caressing.

"Had though what?" she prompted, concerned.  He squirmed just a
little, uncertain of how to continue.  Finally, he simply spoke.

"I was afraid it would get in the way of . . . of what I felt for
you," he told her, honest and entreating.  His face was so open, she
saw, so sincere.  His uncertainty, his fear at losing her shone out
of his eyes as if they were lit from inside.  The synth, forgotten,
sparkled under his chin.

His beautiful Lady did not respond at first, touched and surprised at
his response.  By now, she reminded herself, no depth or magnitude of
devotion from this young man should surprise you.  "Doctor . . . "
she said.  "Doctor, I should not be surprised to hear you say that."

"Surprised?"  He was not following her.

Her sharp face was tilted down, her eyes narrowed just a little.
"Every time I encounter you, you show me greater depths of caring and
devotion."  Her starduster was also forgotten, and she turned herself
in her seat to face him more directly.  How I wish we were back on
the ship, she told herself . . . back to where I could touch you
openly, wih no fear of being seen to make you shy from me . . .  She
could not keep her hand from wandering languidly up his thigh,
brushing him just briefly.  "I wish I could touch you now," she said
finally.  His face betrayed his inner jolt of emotion at her words.
"Your pleasure in Rala and what he has opened you to could never keep
you from enjoying anything else, Doctor," she said simply.  "No one
pleasure can block another.  Often, it can deepen all others, all
other sensual pleasures, making them far more rich and textured.  At
least . . . that is what I have found, starting during my training
and continuing up the present day."  She chuckled.  "You may find
that my next lesson for you will be the richer for what he has shown
you.  For what you have shown each other."

He was beginning to fall forward, and the feel of her hand on his hip
had begun to excite him.  Warmth and tingling radiated from where she
had touched him, and he saw that if he didn't get up and leave now,
he would be in a . . . less than collected state upon returning to
the infirmary.  Jumping slightly, he saw that he was due back in less
than a minute.  "Lady . . . " he said.

"You must go."  She removed her hand, paining him.

"For now.  I will be back at the Ariad" -- back with you, where I
should be -- "later tonight."

"Good."  She took another sip from the starduster and watched him as
he rose, her keen eye aware of the barest signs of his arousal that
no one else would see.  She could say nothing else, and her only
thought as she watched him exit the bar and return to duty was sorrow
at his departure, his devotion to his duty.

Damn it, she thought.  Never another Starfleet officer.  Never again.
Shocked, she raised her hands to her eyes and felt a hint of moisture
at their corners.  What a consort he would make.

Unsettled and unhappy, she picked up the padd and resumed her perusal
of the cargo manifests.

                    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Two patients brought in from an accident during routine maintenance
and one false labor from the Bajoran woman he had seen the previous
day -- nothing too demanding.  The Bajoran woman had had a history of
uncertain births, so he had been well prepared for such an emergency.
The most complex part of the repairs to the accident victims had been
the transporter-based removal of the bone chips in the woman's left
leg, which had been shattered like ice under a falling girder that
the safety fields had failed to catch.  Had they been left in her
system, they could easily have blocked an artery in her heart or even
her brain, leaving her dead.  The bone itself had been matched and
stabilized, and the patient dozed under the restraining field as the
regenerators placed over her leg worked to heal the break.  The
diagnostics showed her system clear of any bone chips or fragments;
she was out of danger.  An eventful day, but not really a demanding
one.

He rubbed his hand over his chin, and felt it scratching against his
palm.  His beard repressor had evidently worn off some time ago; he
automatically walked to the little cabinet near his desk where he
kept personal items against the time he might have to sleep in the
infirmary; the student habits of medical school and very late nights
as an intern died hard.  However, as his hand signalled the drawer,
he caught a reflection of himself in the door of the trans-autoclave
where the instruments were kept.  His own face shone back at him,
through a shadow wreathing his jaw, and it seemed darker to him.  The
reflection-Julian's brow knit slightly.  He had no other patients
today, and it was only twenty minutes until his shift ended.  He
could afford to look a little less than . . . professional for a few
minutes until his shift ended.  And then . . . we will see.  The
other Julian seemed to agree,and the deep eyes over the shadowy veil
of darkness on his cheeks narrowed in anticipation.

She will definitely get a few surprises, he thought.  That was how he
could pass the time!  He sat at the desk and called up a few of the
files on Ishtarian training that were not proprietary that he had
archived on his account and spent the ensuing twenty minutes brushing
up, getting himself in the proper frame of mind for what he would do.
His eyes glazed slightly as he envisioned her strong supple body
beneath his hands, what he would do to it, and what he would ask of
it . . . Unknown to him, his eyes had narrowed, their natural tilt
accentuated until they appeared nearly feline.  His delicate lips
curved slightly.

The alarm sounded again, signalling the end of his shift as it had
the night previous.  Without another thought or look back, he stood,
snapped off the viewer on the desk, and strode rapidly out of the
infirmary on the way to his quarters.

Fifteen minutes later, he again stood at the entrance to his Lady's
ship, his hand on the chime with far more confidence than previous.
With deliberation, he pressed it once.  In response, the door slid
open silently, revealing the interior, dark again, but lit with one
lone candle in the center of a small table standing beyond the bed.
The ports, which he had not realized were there, were completely
transparent, and the effect was that the entire far wall of the ship
was completely open to the stars.  Her ship was on the far side of
the station, facing away from the planet below, and toward the
wormhole.  Glittering cold lights from a million stars sparkled back
at him, ignorant of his existence but aware of his pleasure in
observing them.  Moving further into the room, as if in a trance, he
found himself being drawn toward the ports.  There were plenty of
them on the station, and he had been outside in the runabouts many
times, but never had he seen such a large expanse of stars at one
time, like a solid wall of them before him; EVAs were not typical
training for medical staff.  As he moved closer to the port, placing
his hands against it, he felt as is he were dangling over the edge of
a precipice that called to him like a siren.  Rapture of the deeps,
he told himself, aware of the phenomenon that had been known and
spoken of for most of human history.

He did not turn or jump as he felt warm strong hands at his back,
which slid quietly up against his shoulders.  "The ports can be
dialed to opacity if the sight disturbs you," she said, unwilling to
break the cathedrallike silence with more than the vaguest whisper.
For a moment, he did not respond.

"No," he finally said back, his soft voice complementing the silvery
stars.  "No . . . "  For what felt like a few brief centuries, they
both stood, simply looking at what was presented to them.  Julian
felt his Lady's warmth behind him, against him, and in the darkness
he smiled.  He leaned back just a little into her body, and felt as
she held him, nuzzling his neck just a little.  The melting started
again, the bodymelting he felt upon being with her at any time, and
his arousal appeared to delight the stars that watched them.  With
the tolerant love of a great matriarch, they seemed to smile down
upon the doctor and the trader, blessing their desire and their play,
ringing like little sparkling silver bells in approval.

Still they watched the stars, and felt the other's breathing until
their chests were rising in spontaneous synchronization.  Two voices
were stilled, two minds calmed, as they watched the stars quiver with
a consciousness they could taste.  They waited until they both felt
the energy, the vibrance, as they began to resonate in tune with one
another.  His beautiful Lady reached up past his shoulder to place
her fingers against his slender neck, running gently down from his
chin to his collarbones, feeling the warmth, the texture, the living
pulse.  Finally, Julian was able to turn his eyes from the stars, to
see them in his Lady's eyes as she gazed at him.  Caught by her eyes,
whose color he could still not fathom, he took her face in his hands
and moved closer to it.  With difficulty, she placed her hands on his
chest.

"Doctor, I cannot," she told him, her body so close to his that he
could feel her heart beating.

"Yes," he told her, placing one hand against the back of her neck.
"You can."  Firmly, gently, with unyielding tenderness, he kissed
her, unbound and unbonded.  It was only the second time that his Lady
had kissed a man out of bond, and he felt her body stiffen against
his; she did not push him away.

After a time, he moved his hands down her back, pressing his hips
into hers, toying with her moist lips, feeling his shadow rough
against her skin.  Boldly, he began to probe her mouth with his
tongue; it seemed so warm, so open to him, and after a time, her
tongue rose to meet his.  The silence that had risen up out of the
stars that watched their play was broken, or simply caressed, by her
sighs.  She sounded like an angel.

Her body had begun to move against his as well, and she writhed
against him.  He felt her fingers twining in his hair, pulling his
face against hers more firmly, tasting him more deeply.  That, her
hips between his hands, her body against his, her lips and tongue
under his, the scent of her, the soft sounds of her mouth . . . he
felt himself beginning to lose his individuality, drowning in the
sensations again as they stood by the ports, by the stars.  With
effort, he pulled away from her; he did not want to destroy her
training completely, or even a little, but she had said that she may
wear the collar this time.  Perhaps she would wear it on her heart
and not just her neck.

"I'm not trying to hurt you," he said, softly, looking at her evenly.
"I know this is against your vows."

She seemed to be gathering herself, breathing more quickly than
usual, pressing herself into him.  She did not reply right away, but
only closed her eyes as she felt herself on him, feeling her lips
pulled to his skin, to his beautiful long neck.  His warmth was
intoxicating, and she nestled her face there for a brief time,
letting it fill her like a sweet liquor.

"Doctor, I don't know what my vows are anymore," she said simply.  "I
haven't wondered this since I was invested . . . "  Shaken, she stood
away from him, her raised hand between them, halting him from putting
his arms around her and comforting her.  "Please do not . . . " she
said on a breath.  Words jammed on their way out of her mouth, and
Julian could only watch as his normally calm Lady had to gather her
thoughts.  "Doctor . . . " she said at last, "I must teach you the
next lesson."

"I know," he replied softly.  He brought his hand to her face, and
she did not shake it off, though the touch seemed to distress her.
"I'm ready to learn."

"I know, she echoed.  "But . . . but I may not be ready to teach."
Confused, Julian only looked back at her.  She walked away from him
then, stood with her back to him, the starlight coating her in her
plain drape of gossamer grey; she needed no ornament.  "I must teach
you," she repeated, and Julian got the distinct feeling that she was
speaking more to herself than to him.  "I have sworn it, and it is my
duty for a pupil so skilled as you."  She turned to face him.  "I
must begin as your teacher . . . but I do not know if I can remain
that way."  Alone in the middle of the wide room, she looked back at
him, his reed-slender body outlined by the stars -- a dark shade,
only the eyes reflecting back light.  He walked toward her; she could
not see his face against the port.

"I don't understand," he said to her.

She knit her hands and composed herself.  "Doctor, I have been here
for several hours, ever since seeing you on the station, thinking to
myself.  I have spoken to no one of what I've thought, not you, not
Rala."  A breath, the vaguest whisper.  "I have contemplated my vows,
thought back to what I told you when we last met, the time before."
Without conscious volition, her hand rose to move gently over his
chest as he came close.  "I can only join with a consort, or a man in
bond.  It is against our way, the way of teachers, to do otherwise."

"But," he said, and pain was in his voice, regret as well, "I am not
your consort."  She saw his thoughts flickering over his face, saw as
the memories of their last time, pressed close and warm, ran through
his mind.  "I cannot be your consort," he continued, his voice
softening almost to the point where it vanished.  He closed his eyes,
and she saw him swallow.

"I do not know if I can remain only a teacher to you," she said.
Only.  Would she ever have called a teacher "only" anything until
now?  "I do not know if I will be able to keep from calling you
consort, even if it cannot be legitimated."  She could not restrain
herself from placing her body close against his, feeling him against
her skin.  "I may not be able to -- remain true to what I am."

Julian placed his arms around her, holding her close.  I don't know
if I can keep from calling you beloved, he thought silently, though
he did not say it.  Her hair was at his face, the fragrance in it
rising to suffuse him in a warm vapor.  He felt the silkiness under
his lips, felt as it caught against his face, his rough chin.
"Lady," he said at last, "I don't know if I can . . . see you leave
again."  Her head jerked upright.  "I had to tell you."

"You will have to," she said.  "And I will have to see you stay
behind."  A rueful chuckle, with great sadness behind it.  "It's too
early for us to get so maudlin," she said.  "We have another lesson
yet to learn ahead of us."  Stepping away from him yet again, she
smiled at him.  He dipped his face close to her and brushed his lips
against hers.

"And what will I learn now?" he asked.

"I'm not sure.  I'm not sure what I can teach you now," she said
quietly.  "I don't know if I can remain as teacher for the entire
lesson; I can't tell you what you will finally learn."  She nuzzled
his cheek with hers.  "It may be that I will learn -- learn that I
judged too well when I first saw you, that I took too much of a
chance in teaching you."  Her voice had nearly disappeared.  "I may
learn that I am not the teacher I thought I was."  Julian looked back
at her, horrified.

"No . . . "

"It may be," she said firmly.  "I do not yet know."  Her face became
wondering, something he had never seen.  "You are unlike any pupil or
man I have ever encountered.  Young, unlettered, impulsive . . . kind
and loving, caring and with depth that even you cannot guess at."  He
simply stared back at her, unwilling to accept what she was saying.

I am a doctor, he thought -- the first thing that came to mind
whenever he contemplated his life, his purpose.  That is all.  A good
doctor, an . . . egotistical one . . .  Someone who hasn't had half
of what he says he's had, or wants.  Someone who speaks before
thinking, and does precious little of one, too much of the other.  He
shook his head, chastened.  "Lady . . . I don't think I am what you
seem to think."

"I think you are," she replied simply, and walked to the bed.  She
turned and sat on it, watching him.  "I want to show you," she said.

"Show me?"  He was confused.  "How can you show me . . . "

"What you do not know yourself?"  She smiled.  "I know it is there,
and I have seen it in others, though never before as clearly . . .
as purely.  Come here," she told him, her hand on the bed next to
where she sat.  "I will show you what you have inside yourself."

Like a sleepwalker, he moved to where his Lady was sitting.  He felt
an impulse to kneel before her, but controlled it.  He sat next to
her.  He looked into her gaze, placing his hand on hers.  "What will
you show?"

"Something you need to know about yourself.  Something you suspect is
there, something I know is there . . . what is drawing me to you."
She rose.  "Wait here."  Following these pregnant words, she
disappeared from the room.  Julian sat, awaiting her return, but she
did not do so.  His heart began to beat more strongly, and he
wondered why she was taking so long.  Idly, his eyes began to roam
the room -- over the bed, the tapestries serene with the voices of
ages speaking silently from them, over the few other articles of
furniture, the flame lamps, which had lit them last time . . .  His
eyes fell on something at the foot of the bed.  Black, matte . . . he
reached toward it and found a pair of the boots, the same ones she
and Rala had always worn, in black suede this time instead of
leather.  They were like butter beneath his fingertips, smooth and
swallowing what light fell on them.  He unrolled them; they looked to
be nearly the right length and size . . .

 . . . for him.  He looked more closely at the animal skin, and ran
his fingers over the top cuff of the left boot; embossed on the suede
he saw a tiny Starfleet emblem, the little trefoil glowing up at him,
the only shiny thing on the boots catching the starlight.  Without
realizing it, he smiled thinly.  Their size appeared to be no
coincidence.  By himself, he laughed.  Why not?  It was a matter of
moments for him to pull off his boots and undo his uniform, tugging
it past his hips.  One quick pull and his shirt was off as well,
tousling his hair.  He removed his underclothes also, folded them
into a neat pile, and placed them all on the table upon which sat the
flickering candle.

He turned to the port then, to see the stars, to stand before them,
and the blue candylike glow coated him from head to heel.  Placing a
hand against the glass again, he watched them twinkling at him for a
few moments, then turned away and picked up the boots.

The cool suede felt wonderful sliding over his skin.  He had been
concerned that they would be too tight around his calves and thighs,
but his fears were unfounded.  They were . . . snug, almost more like
suede tights.  Tugging firmly, he brought them up to his upper
thighs, feeling the loose upper cuff of skin caressing him as he
moved his leg.  The little emblem flickered back at him as he moved,
and quickly, its twin joined it on his right leg.  He tightened the
laces along the back, and stood.  The suede kissed his skin,
languidly, and massaged his legs as he walked.  He felt the upper
cuff tickling at him as well, and the dangling laces tapped against
his thighs.  Like his Lady's, and like Rala's, there were no heels on
these boots, but only supple soles that did not impede his movements
at all.

Grinning, he considered that they were more comfortable than his
uniform boots.  Pity I can't wear them on duty, he said, and actually
chuckled out loud at himself.  He walked back to the bed and resumed
his place on it.  As he suspected, his Lady returned not long after.

He turned to see her entering from the other room, and watched as she
watched him.  She appeared to slow her pace for a few moments, then
resumed.

Oh . . . she had to catch her breath at him -- slim, feline, with his
eyes glittering at her over his darkened cheeks.  His angular body
was supplely turned toward her like a dancer, and his legs looked
impossibly longer, coated in the buttery soft animal skin.  One was
underneath him, one stretched out before.  The starlight was on him as
well, outlining his fine slender shoulders, his graceful arms, pooled
like quicksilver at his collarbones and neck.  His entire back was
coated with the bluish-silver glow . . .  She lowered her eyes,
taking control of herself, and began to play her part.

Julian watched her as she dropped her eyes; her entire demeanor had
changed.  She simply stood before him, her hands clasped before her,
her gaze on the floor.  Clutched in her hands was the wine-colored
collar she had shown him before he left, the one she had promised she
might wear, if he so chose . . .  Her eyes did not come up to meet
his.  She remained where she was, silent and waiting.

Julian got up and walked toward her, curious.  "Lady . . . ?" he
asked.  Her eyes met his at last then, but almost timidly.  She was
not the woman who had left the room so recently.  Julian smiled,
understanding, as again her eyes fastened themselves to the floor.
With deliberation, he held out his hands and looked at her
expectantly, an amused expression on his sharp face.  She was still
for a moment, then took a deep breath and placed the collar in his
hands.  He took it from her, regarded it for a few moments, then
tossed it at the bed; it clattered loudly against the wall and slid
down behind the headboard, disappearing.

"I don't think we'll need that," he told her easily, his voice
resonant and sensuous.  Courtly and smiling, he held out a hand to
her; she placed hers in it, and he led her slowly to the edge of the
bed.  "I need not bind you here," he told her, running one finger up
her neck to her chin, tilting her beautiful face to his.  "You will
wear your bindings here," he said, tapping her chest over her heart,
"the softest bindings you will ever know."  She closed her eyes at
his words, and sighed.  He dropped his face then, to her chest,
kissing the place over her heart lightly, lingering there to drink
her scent, to nuzzle her breast with his shadowed cheeks.  Dropping
to one knee, he wrapped his arms around her hips, embracing her with
passion.  Her strong thighs, muscular yet not without softness, gave
under his fingers as he ran his hands over the velvet skin.  Her
round buttocks as well filled his hands as his rough chin brushed
against her tight black curls.  Slowly, lazily, he took locks of the
ebon ringlets between his lips and tugged very gently, nuzzling.  The
faintest scent of her rose to his face, and he felt himself begin to
throb, to thirst.  Revelling in it, he told himself strictly that he
would slake the thirst, in time.  Her hands were at him, running so
lightly over his skin, his shoulders, his neck, toying with his hair.
She tried to kneel to face him, but he gripped her legs too strongly,
compelling her to remain standing.  "No . . . " he whispered, and
stood, his body merest inches from hers.  With infinite care, he
embraced her and laid her gently onto the bed, taking care not to
catch her hair, which draped over her body, her only clothing.  For a
time, he simply looked at her, as the silvery starlight poured over
her, turning her forearms, her legs, the points of her hips, to
liquid metal.  His fingertips roved over her as he knelt once again
next to the bed; belying the metallic sheen, her flesh was warm,
pliant, delicious.  Shimmering flashes of it caught in her hair, and
as he brushed his fingers through it, it shivered and danced like
water.  Dazzled, he wondered where to start.  He could kiss and
fondle, taste and adore, every part of her at once.

She lay back, watching him, watching his eyes, feeling his cool slow
hands on her, and felt like fleeing.  Badly, she wanted to run, to
dash away from here, from what it meant confronting.  Unseen, her
fists clenched.  My vows . . .  she told herself again, appalled at
the lack of conviction in her thoughts.  Closing her eyes, she felt
nothing save his gentle touch roaming tenderly over her body, his
palms brushing over her, his lips at her skin again; she gasped
slightly.  My vows . . .  Throwing her head back, she opened her eyes
at last and looked at the stars against which the headboard of the
bed was placed.  They watched her back, and whether they were
accusing or approving she could not say.  Perhaps, she thought as she
felt his lips travelling with agonizing slowness over her breasts and
neck, moving toward her own, they simply did not care.

Suddenly, his lips were on hers, the subtle warmth of his face at
hers, the scent of him evanescing from his skin.  Startled, she
turned her face toward his, shadowed against the stars and by the
darkness on his cheeks and chin, and caught her breath as his lips
descended toward hers.  Again, her fists clenched as she felt herself
dissolving into the kiss, into the warmth and darkness.

She opened her mouth just a fraction, sighing against him, and fought
to keep control over herself, to keep playing the part she must to
teach him what he needed to learn.  From wanting to run and hide, she
had gone to fighting a passionate desire to fall into him, to clutch
him to her, to lose herself in him, never coming out . . . to keep
him forever, no matter their duty.  With a will of absolute iron, she
compelled herself to stay in her designated role.  He is pupil, I am
teacher; he is not my consort.  Her tongue rose against his, and ran
over his lips.  She felt him take it, gently sucking at the tip,
toying with it.

"Lady . . . " he breathed, and she heard the devotion in his voice as
well, the wanting.  His hands then came up around her face from where
they had been caressing her and she felt them at her cheeks as they
kissed, their passion growing.  They began to devour one another; she
too took his face in her hands and pulled him to her.  Firmly,
though, and with care, he grasped her wrists and pulled her hands
from him.  She looked as his breathtaking eyes pinned her where she
was.

"No," he told her with such gentleness that she nearly melted.  He
placed her hands back down near her sides, pressing them there.
"Relax, my Lady," he said.  "Relax" -- as he began to toy with her
again, with her face, her neck, with her ears, and she began to move
beneath him.  She tried but could not suppress the sounds of passion
stirred from her throat, she felt him smile against her as they rose
to his ears.  Her arms strained against his grasp, but not by much,
and after a time, they stopped altogether and she simply gave herself
to him and the passion he roused in her.  Play the part, she told
herself, play the part . . .

He sat atop her now, still devouring her skin, moving down toward her
breasts, toward the tender skin there and at her stomach, her hips,
still gripping her wrists.  Julian felt her gasp and start when he
took her breast, firm and athletic, into his mouth, again teasing and
playing with the baby-soft nipple.  He felt it grow firm in his
mouth, and the knowledge of her arousal multiplied his own.  Running
his tongue over her gently, slowly, he began to draw lazy shapes on
her skin, his chin rough on her skin, leaving a cool trail of
moisture behind.  Beneath him, against his chest, she shivered and
her stomach tensed; he felt her hips rock just barely forward, and
her hands tightened into rocks.  For what seemed like hours, for what
may have been, he teased and delighted her this way, feeling himself
grow firm and pressing into his body, pressing into hers as well.
Finally, he began to trail his eager mouth further down to her hips,
to kiss and fondle everything in between, to grasp her thighs in
strong hands and part them ever so slowly.  He cast a glance at her;
her head was back, her eyes closed, her chest rising and falling
rapidly.  Again, the bluish glow of the stars lay over her like a
thin sheen.

He returned his gaze to her gateway -- beautiful, fragrant, ringed in
tight and soft black curls.  Julian kissed each curl in turn and ran
his lips over them all, beginning to drown in the softness and scent.
Tenderly, he kissed these lips as well, running his tongue over the
niche between them and her thighs, making her gasp yet again in
pleasure and want.  Teasing her yet further, he toyed with her lips
for several long languid minutes and felt as his own sex urgently
pressed into him, pulsing in time, jolting him with its insistence.
Steady . . . he told himself against the voice that told him to rise
and plunge himself into her; he was shocked at how much easier it was
to resist this time.  The knowledge of her impending delight, and
his, and how both would be the greater for the wait, made it nearly
trivial, until he took a pure strong pleasure in forcing himself to
resist, feeling his body sing to him with sensation.  Finally, he
parted her lips with his own, searching for the place that the
Ishtarian mythology called the temple jewel, the place of holy life,
where life began.  Yes . . . there.  He took it between his lips,
tasting its sweetness, its moist delicious softness, and felt her
hips rock against his mouth as the sensation ran itself through the
body of his Lady.  Moaning, she tried to break his grasp on her
wrists, but he increased his strength and held them firm as she
fought to free her hands.  He flicked his tongue over the jewel,
quickly, distracting her until she no longer tried to free herself
but instead was simply forced to lie back, allow herself to be
buffeted by the stimulation.

Then, suddenly, he pulled away from her, leaving her gasping and
moaning beneath him.  He looked to the little table and saw . . .
yes!  It was there; she had known he would need it and left it out.
He rose from the bed, leaving her there.

It, too, was turned into shimmering light by the stars, but the glow
only added to its already silvery sheen.  He removed the lid, taking
out a small dollop onto his finger, and walked back to the bed where
his Lady lay, watching him.  Her face was . . . as he looked, he saw
a flicker of emotion, deep and strong, that shook him slightly.
Could she be . . . he wondered, then stopped himself.  He must trust
her as well as himself, trust that she will tell him what he needed
to know, about the training, about her own feelings, about himself.

He returned to the bed and resumed his position at her.  Smiling, he
took the little ball of sweet cream on his tongue and bent down to
where she was open, wet and wanting.  Her hips rocked yet again, but
this time she did not give him cause to hold her wrists, as she felt
his tongue probing inside her, coating her with the cream.  He felt
the powerful surge of appetite in himself, and heard his Lady's voice
as she did as well.  The thirst gripped him, and he began lapping at
her even more strongly, burying himself in her sweetness, devouring
her as she bucked against him.  For a brief few moments, he lost
himself in her, then pulled back, remembering that it must last, that
he must not rush, no matter how badly he had to resist.  Again, he
concentrated on the resistance, on the hunger; it was harder this
time to find pleasure in it, but it was there, deeper than it had
been before and more rewarding.

Julian opened his eyes at her gateway, panting, trying to take
control over himself.  A teacher he was not.  He moaned, light and
delicate, and laid his cheek against her curls, regaining his wind,
and his control.  He had nearly given himself to it, nearly lost
himself.  "Lady . . . " he breathed.  "I am not . . . I don't have
what I thought I had."

Her voice was far softer, more pliant-sounding, than anything he had
ever heard from her.  "You have . . . more than you think," she
breathed, her hand rising from her side to caress his hair.  You have
enough to make me question myself in ways I never thought possible,
she finished, though she did not say it.  After a time, after he had
regained himself, he rose above her; she watched his slim body
stretch before her eyes.  He turned then, and picked up the little
jar of kamireh.

"Lady," he said, "I'll need your help for this part."  A trick of the
light? she thought, or was he actually smiling like that, that smirk?
She shook her head then, and watched as he opened the jar and scooped
out another little ball of the white cream.  He leaned toward her,
his hand going to her mouth, and again she caught her breath.  "Will
you help me?" he asked.  She nodded.  "Good."  She felt her lips
parted gently, and her tongue rose to his fingers.  "Here," he said,
placing the ball of kamireh on her tongue.  She held it, between her
lips, and he rose before her, moving slowly up her body until his
wanting sex, pulsing in firmness, was against her cheek.  Her eyes
went to his face, looking down on her with the dollop of cream on her
tongue.  He said nothing, and she knew what he wanted from her.
Doctor . . . her mind was a wisp, a mere veil over a warm sea of want
at his actions.  Doctor, you are more pupil than anyone I have ever
taught, she told him with silence, with her eyes as the cream began
to melt from the heat of her mouth, entering her system and making
her mad.  Turning her head slightly, she took him into her mouth
then, feeling him slide into her without effort, slowly.  He did not
push, did not thrust but merely . . . entered, with careful
gentleness.  With her tongue, she coated him all over, down the
length of his shaft, and heard him moan, low and quiet.

With a loud clap, he laid his hands on the edge of the headboard,
gripping it convulsively as she excited him further, as she felt the
hot surge of hunger build in her from the kamireh.  She saw his head
fall back, saw his body arch, and felt his hips rise against her
mouth.  The wanting was in him, and his voice gave it life.  He was
atop her, but she had him in her grasp, in her control.  The solidity
of her position relaxed her just a little, the part she played less
likely to make her feel that frightening falling.  You are playing a
part, she told herself again, you must not live it . . .  She toyed
further with him, drinking in the intoxicatingly musky male scent,
feeling his tight curls tickling her nose.  Relaxing, she took him in
more deeply, as deeply as she could or as she needed to, massaging
him against her throat.  His voice grew more insistent, more
plaintive.  Suddenly, she felt him withdraw from her until he was
inches from her lips, shaking before her, his body tense as piano
wire, his hands still clutching the headboard in an absolutely iron
grasp.  Whimpering lightly, he knelt there, his knees on either side
of her shoulders, still as a statue but for his subtle shaking and
the quivering of his shining sex.  She moved forward just a little,
licking the starlight from the head, and felt him jerk away from her
again.

"No . . . " he breathed, almost begged.  She brought her hands up to
his waist, and his eyes jerked open.  "No," he repeated more firmly,
taking her wrists and placing her arms at her sides once more.  He
took several gulps of air, steadying himself, then resumed his
earlier position, kneeling with his hips just below hers.  He could
just barely make out the dizzying folds of her gateway, beckoning
him.  Clenching his jaw, he parted her thighs again and, sliding his
knees under hers, he entered her, slowly and carefully.  She moaned
to him, and pushed her hips further against his, and he saw her eyes
widen as he drew himself back, keeping only the head within her.
You, he thought, you would take me only so far at first.  I will give
you only so much at first as well.  He placed one hand against her
hips, stilling them.  "Wait," he told her, watching her breasts rise
and fall as she breathed.  Then, "I'll enter you, but you must do
something for me first."  Her response was on a wisp.

"Yes . . . "

He placed his hand, his sure hand, over her jewel, caressing and
tickling at it with his fingertips.  Her body writhed.  Now, it was
time for this, he thought.  Not from any Ishtarian manual, perhaps
totally unfamiliar to her . . . "I will continue for ten counts," he
informed her, barely able to keep from plunging into her as he felt
her twitch in response to his caresses.  He swallowed.  "During that
time, if you move or make a sound, I withdraw."  She moaned at this,
unbelieving, and incredulous eyes met his.  Indeed, she had not heard
of this before.  Then, as he continued, her head simply fell back
limply, and she moaned again in abandonment.  "If you withstand until
I count ten," he said, leaning against her, "I enter you completely."
A pregnant pause; he placed his lips against her sensitized skin.
"Do you agree?"  Silence, then the barest of nods.  "Let's begin."

He pressed into her wet jewel, flicking it lightly, just a few times.
"One."  Just a few more flicks, and he watched his Lady's face, saw
her tensing muscles as she fought to hold herself back.  He pressed
slightly harder and felt her suppress a jolt.  "Two."  Twitches
against him, around the head of his sex, nearly made him lose
concentration, but he let himself fall into the rhythm of his
partner, and found it again.  The slightest of quivering was all she
betrayed, making the starlight on her skin shimmer like water.
"Three," and he moved his fingers more lightly, more lazily.  "Four."
He looked down and could see the milky cream running in pulses from
her.

"Five."  As he watched, she bit her lip, and swallowed what would
have been a strong and delicious moan as he felt her legs jerk just
slightly.  He had found a very sensitive place.

"Six."  Yes, this place and this movement was what she thirsted for,
what she wanted.  Again, her stomach muscles grew tense, pulsed, and
she gasped like a drowning diver.  He concentrated his fingertips on
this place, pressing just slightly harder, and his Lady had never
looked so abandoned before.  His heart was soft; he could never do
anything other than enter her, no matter what she did.  But she did
not need to know that.

"Seven."  He continued, just a touch more slowly.  There was no need
to raise her so close to the peak that he would have to bring her
over into the fall; that would be unconscionable.

"Eight."  He began to move his fingers in a lazier fashion, bursts of
movement followed by even stillness, a stillness during which she
would clutch involuntarily at him, her breath coming sharply at each
of the clutches.

"Nine."  He wanted to tell her something sweet, something kind and
loving, but kept from doing so; he could not break the flow of what
he was doing.  With several sharp flicks, one, two, three, he brought
her even higher.  She could not help herself -- her back arched
slowly.

"Ten," he finished, feeling her tense finally, and was shocked to
hear her moans.  They seemed as if . . . he looked closely at her
face.  In the darkness, he could not see her well enough to tell
normally, but with the ports open and the stars looking in at them,
their light was just enough for him to make out the glittering at her
eyes.  "Lady . . . " he said, astonished.

"Ju -- Doctor," she replied, and her voice caught.  She gasped
deeply, unable to keep her body still.  Still supine, not fighting
his hands, she simply gazed back at him.  "Doctor . . . you who
cannot be my consort . . . "

Immediately he was against her, his chest pressing into hers, his
face at her face.  He had slipped out of her but did not realize it.
His hands wreathed her features, and he watched in helplessness as
she wept quietly.  "No," he breathed, his cheek against hers, his
lips fondling her skin.  Nuzzling against her, he kissed her neck
tenderly.  "Lady, no . . . "  He could barely stand her tears.
Gently, he placed his hands on her wrists, bringing her fingers to
his face; she held it then, her hands at his jaw, still weeping
quietly in the darkness.

"Doctor . . . "  They kissed then, the abandonment and passion, the
wildness of their timeless desire for each other finally surfacing in
both.  "I cannot . . . " she began, but could not continue.  Julian
Bashir stilled the failing lips of his Lady with his own, devouring
so hungrily, so lovingly.  "I must play a part, but I cannot . . .
you would have me live the part."  His gentle lips were at her cheek.
"Live the part of the taken lover, the initiate."  Between gossamer
sobs, she spoke.  "I must show you how to take an unlettered lover,
and I must play that part, I must play that to you . . . and now
. . . "  His eyes too began to grow moist and shining.  "I am no
longer playing the unlettered lover, I *am* the unlettered lover."
Her moist eyes ran over his face in amazement.  "I cannot finish as
teacher, and yet . . . I must finish.  I must have you, and I must
have you take me."

He closed his eyes, and kissed her with more depth than he had ever
felt before, more so than at any time previous.  "Then take me, let
me take you -- as consort."  Her lips quivered at his.

"I cannot," she replied simply.  "Ju . . . "  Her voice trailed off.
He knew what she had nearly done, the nature of the precipice upon
which she teetered.  No teacher could speak the name of a lover not a
consort, and most especially not that of a pupil.  He had learned
that much during his perusals of the Ishtarian lessons during the
last five months.

The nearness of her breach, how close she had come before catching
herself, frightened her.  She gazed up at him in the darkness, and
her eyes became warm and soft as she saw him over her, saw his
concern and even his love.

"Lady," he told her, "I never wanted you to be hurt."

"I chose you," she said, "that day, so long ago . . . I chose you.
Perhaps I chose too well."  She kissed him so softly that he nearly
wept at her touch.  "You did not wish to harm me; I know that.  You
could never have foreseen . . . "

"Lady, take me as consort.  No one need know . . . "  His eyes burned
brightly and his chest rose quickly against hers.  "I've felt it,
too.  I've felt it with you . . . the feeling like I'm being
awakened, like I'm in a dream that's not really a dream, that's a
reality more real than anything in my waking world . . . "  His voice
trailed off; the words were so hard to find.  His kisses trailed down
to her neck, powerful and strong.  "Lady, you've shown me parts of
myself I didn't know I had."  He stopped entirely, afraid of sounding
too prosaic, too maudlin.  She was looking back at him, silently.

"But you must stay here," she said.  "And I must go."

"Yes."  Another kiss.

She gasped and caught her breath, quelling her tears with iron will.
"You cannot have only me," she told him.  "You must take others."

"I will, I promise."

"You are the best pupil I have ever known; for you to refuse to take
others would be . . . unthinkable."  He swallowed.

"I will, Lady," he said weakly.  "I promise."  Starlight on tears
drew a trail of quicksilver on his sharp cheek.

"You will find other parts of yourself, new ones with each person,
new ways of feeling caring, trust, love, lust . . . and you will grow
deeper with each person, woman and man."

"I will," he said with a kiss she could barely feel.  "Old sailors
kept lovers in every port.  I can be here for you."

"And I must return, trade or no."  Her eyes burned into him, and her
hands caressed him with care and love.  The candle on the table
behind them burnt down to the end at last, leaving them awash only
in the glow of the stars.  "I will return, Doctor."  Their mouths
touched, and through their kiss, they became one being of passion and
love.  "My love.  Julian, my love."

Her thighs embraced him, slowly, and with liquid grace, he lowered
himself onto and into her, feeling her envelop him, feeling her fluid
embrace.  He slid into her very slowly, and saw as she reacted,
closing her eyes in pleasure and satisfaction, finally able to say
what she had felt, to give voice to what he had felt as well -- the
unity, the trust, even the love.

When he had entered her fully, pressed against her, he kissed the tip
of her nose; she opened her eyes.  "You have used my name, Lady, but
I still don't know yours."  He felt her hips moving against him then,
and felt her hands running along his slim back, wrapping around his
waist.  His Lady smiled.

"Come here," she said.  He leaned down close to her until he felt her
breath stirring his hair, and she told him what he wished to know.
On the softest breath, he whispered it back to her, his voice filled
with love.

"It is done . . . Julian," she said.  "No pupil knows my name, not
you, not Rala, no other.  You do; you are my consort."  Her lips
brushed his.  "My beautiful consort away from me."

"But you will return," he stated.

"Of course."  Her smile was a smile he had waited his entire life to
see.  "I must return; I am bound here, to you."  It took him a few
moments to realize that she was not speaking metaphorically; she was
indeed bound to this place, and to him.  It took him the merest
sliver of time to realize how fully he was bound as well.

"Lady," he said as he began to thrust lazily, caressing her entire
body with his, feeling her skin moving on his, her body beneath his,
"do you believe in a soul?  A spirit?"

Surprised by his question, she took a moment to reply.  "I believe in
a spirit," she said.  "A liquid spirit . . . "  Her voice halted as
she felt him touching her, deeply.  " . . . which is poured into a
great cauldron upon each death.  The cauldron is mixed, and new
spirits are dipped from it."  She smiled coyly, and sighed like
melody.  "We may have been dipped from similar spirit," she told him.

Julian smiled.  "We may have been," he responded, then began to
thrust more strongly, yet retaining his easy pace, synchronizing
their appetites.  The bond deepened, beyond what he thought was
possible.  Closing his large eyes, he laid himself full against her,
and closed down his mind until all he knew was the warm pliance of
her flesh on his, the curves and textures beneath him as his body fit
into hers, against hers.  Her warm body seemed to glow against him,
and he concentrated until he could hear even the soft sounds of his
gentle thrusting, and the scent of both their bodies echoed in his
spirit.  He wanted to sing, or to dance with his soul.  How could he
not?  How could he feel this, all over him, all five senses and his
heart and mind, and not want to?  The music of her spirit called to
him, and he moved himself against her; indeed, he told himself, I am
already dancing.

It seemed hours, and could never be long enough.  There could never
be enough time to explore all of him that I must, nor to find all of
myself in him.  His weight was on her, and yet she seemed to float
with him, in a choir of emotion, of taste and scent and sound.  My
consort, she thought.  My consort.  She felt her eyes growing moist
again, and did not stop to dry them.  She did not need to; Julian saw
them and, with his fine lips, took the wetness from her into himself.
She kissed him, and could taste the salt of her own tears on his
lips.  Joyfully, she smiled at his love, then laughed aloud.  He
heard her, and his own smile then dawned and grew until they were
both laughing in their love for each other.  Amazing! she thought,
and laughed again.  She threw her arms around him tightly, and felt
as she embraced him with herself.  The energy between them grew,
flourished, until they shared it with each other, one person loving
itself.  Outside the ship, the stars as well shimmered with their own
laughter.

He felt himself pushed upright until he was sitting on his heels, his
Lady atop him, and together they rocked to a gently rolling music
that she hummed, punctuated by occasional gasps as she held him
inside her more tightly, two bodies together warm and soft.  Her
hands were on him, caressing, fondling, toying over the curves and
dips, the landscape of his slender, lovely body.  His arms were
around her, his face nuzzling with such tenderness, his graceful body
bending into hers.  He was so smooth, so soft; she had never felt
anything like him, never seen anything alike.  The soft suede of the
boots kissed her inner thighs as she moved herself on him, and could
not compare to his tender skin.

They were approaching the peak, the delicious peak; both the doctor
and his Lady.  Their bodies, their minds felt the teasing tightness,
the mad feeling of desperate want, and did not fight it but drowned
themselves in it until at last, they plummeted over the precipice
into a warm waterfall of moist joy.  Julian felt his Lady's hands
clasping at his waist, her thighs tensing around his body, as if he
no longer inhabited himself, and felt her cries in his own mind,
music he could gladly hear for the rest of his life.  His Lady could
feel him swelling, bursting, inside her, and felt his spasms against
her stomach, felt/saw/heard/tasted a glorious starburst of emotion
and sensation that made her gasp in amazement.  The energy grew past
them both until when it finally abated, neither could tell where the
other stopped and they began.  In the darkness, together, they slept
peacefully, each filled with the other.  Starlight coated their
oblivious bodies as they slept, in a tangle of arms and legs and
hearts and minds.  From time to time, each would drift lazily into
wakefulness, open sleepy eyes, and see the astonishing multitudes
of stars.  Eyes would then close, and the stars would vanish,
replaced by dreams to which even they could not compare.

                    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Copyright 1993(c) by the author.
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