Author's notes:  Feel free to archive to any pertinent site.
As always: Paramount owns all the marbles, we just have a lot more fun playing with them.
Feedback is always appreciated - posted or e-mail.

Whoa Nellie's Picard/Vash Romance Fan Fiction website is at:
http://geocities.datacellar.net/TimesSquare/Galaxy/7926/
 

 Onboard the Enterprise E, Archaeology Councilmember Vash walked down the corridor toward Holodeck Two.  It didn't seem possible that she had only started her position as the civilian head of the ship's archaeology department about a month ago; of course, that might have something to do with the fact that she and the ship's legendary captain had become quite the item.  The description 'hot and heavy' didn't do the situation justice.  Jean-Luc and she hadn't spent a night apart since the first week that she was onboard.  The nightly question wasn't if they were going to sleep together--they were-- but how much sleep would they actually get.  Today happened to be Jean-Luc's birthday and Vash had a surprise for him.

 "Computer, retrieve program Vash 1, Femme Fatale, Dixon Hill,"  Vash called out as she stepped into the holodeck; instantly, her surroundings were transformed into a 1940's nightclub.  The club's fully stocked bar ran the length of the wall behind her, along the far wall in front of her was a stage with heavy gold velvet curtains and tables and chairs surrounded the runway that extended from the stage.  Turning around, she stepped between two of the barstools and leaned over the polished oak of the bar to put a small duffel bag behind it before heading toward the stage.  She went up the steps at the end of the runway and walked across the stage, making her way back behind the curtains.

 Just backstage was a makeup vanity with a full length mirror on the wall next to it.  Vash stood in front of the mirror to study her reflection, with the extensions that Mr. Mot had put in this afternoon, her normally shoulder length brunette hair fell in glamorous curls to her waist.  Her hot pink, sequined gown molded itself like a second skin to her curvaceous silhouette as it skimmed her body to fall to the floor.  She took one step forward.  The slit that ran up the front left side of the gown's skirt parted to reveal a long, supple length of leg from her hip to her hot pink, stiletto-heeled shoe.  Reaching over to the vanity, she picked up a pair of long black satin gloves, putting them on and admiring the way the smooth, black material glided up her arms to meet the short capped sleeves of the gown.  An audacious amount of her décolletage spilled over the gown's plunging sweetheart neckline.  Again reaching over to the vanity, she picked up a long, black feather boa.  Leaning her head back slightly, she wound the boa underneath her hair to drape across her shoulders.  Wrapping each wrist in the softness of the boa, she posed in front of the mirror with her arms held out to her sides.  Smiling, she said to her reflection, "Showtime."

.............................................

 "Happy birthday, sir," Commander William Riker smiled broadly as his commanding officer stepped into the turbolift.  Dressed in a brown tweed, double breasted pinstripe suit, Captain Jean-Luc Picard looked like Dixon Hill, the 1940's fictional private eye, come to life.  A wide brown neck tie, trenchcoat, and fedora completed the costume.

 "Thank you, Number One," Picard responded pleasantly as he smiled at his first officer.

 "Does Starfleet Command know the flagship captain is moonlighting as a private eye?"  Riker teased.

 "Mr. LaForge has informed me that the new Dixon Hill program *Femme Fatale* has been installed," Picard explained, adjusting his tie.

 "That's the story where Hill is hired and seduced by a strip-tease queen, isn't it?" Riker asked, with mock innocence.  "Hill begins by visiting the nightclub where she's performing."

 "Why am I not surprised you know that," Picard shook his head and lamented with amused exasperation.

 "The question is does your own femme fatale know it?" Riker retorted good-naturedly.

 "Vash?" Picard's entire expression lit up as he said her name.  "It was her suggestion that I take the next couple of hours and try out the program.  She said she had an appointment with Mr. Mot this afternoon and would meet me for dinner later."  Noticing Riker was watching him with open amusement, Picard asked, "What?"

 Hesitant, Riker shook his head slightly but his eyes had that familiar impish glint to them.

 "Go ahead, Will."

 "Well, sir, you appear to smile every time she comes up in conversation," Riker said with a slight grin.

 "Indeed," Picard raised an eyebrow with a small, self-depreciating smile.  "I'll have to be more careful about that."  Just then the turbolift stopped and the doors opened.  He clapped his first officer on the shoulder, "Carry on, Number One."

 "Have a good time, sir," Riker said as Picard stepped out of the turbolift.  Picard nodded and then headed down the corridor toward Holodeck Two.

..............................................

 As Picard walked into the holodeck, he noticed that the Dixon Hill program had already been retrieved.  Grining, he wondered if it was Geordi or Vash who had prepared it for him.  He walked over to the bar and laid his trenchcoat on it.  The bartender approached and Picard slipped into the role of Dixon Hill.  "Scotch, straight up."

 Vash watched from behind the curtain as Jean-Luc approached the bar.  'He doesn't have a clue,' she thought to herself.  'Oh Jean-Luc, I love you, but it's time to knock you flat on your brass.'  Seeing that he had turned toward the bar, she made her way to centerstage and posed with her back to her audience of one.

 Picard had seated himself on a barstool and took a sip of his drink.  In the background, music began playing and he immediately recognized it as the composition 'The Stripper.'   His glass of scotch still in his hand, he swiveled his barstool around to face the stage.  He watched as a long haired brunette clad in a very tight, hot pink, sequined gown with black satin gloves and a long, black, feather boa began a slow, seductive bump and grind routine.  As the stripper slowly pivoted to face her audience, Picard nearly fell out of his chair.  Considering himself a well-traveled man, he was not a man easily shocked by erotic entertainment, he had seen many different cultural forms of erotica, and, given his interest in cultures and their histories, he had felt obligated to experience many of them firsthand.  This included his fair share of bump and grind burlesque strip-teases; however, it was somewhat different seeing one performed by the woman he was in love with, even if it was just a holodeck simulation.  Just for an instant, he wondered which one of his officers had decided to flirt with death, but that thought was replaced almost immediately with the realization that this was all Vash's doing.

 Picard was bewitched as he watched the simulation of Vash on the stage, her lush, rose-colored lips curved upward in a seductive, enigmatic smile.  Dropping one end of the boa to the floor as she went, she slowly strutted down the runway, trailing the boa behind her.  Every beat of the music brought another swish of her hips and another tantalizing view of her long, shapely legs, with every step, the full curves of her breasts threatened to spill over the tight, low neckline of her glittering gown.  Just short of the end of the runway she stopped.  Still swaying her hips provocatively, she let her gaze sweep over him until her eyes locked with his.  Holding his gaze, she brought one delicate, gloved hand up to her lips and leisurely pulled once on each satin-covered fingertip with her pearly white teeth to loosen the glove.  She flicked her small tongue out very quickly to brush the middle fingertip of the glove before taking it between her teeth.  She arched her head back and closed her eyes as she very slowly pulled the glove off.  Picard felt his heart rate speed up and he tightened his grip on his glass as he watched the black satin glide from her arm.  She took the glove out of her mouth and stretched it in front of her between her two hands erotically using it to caress her swaying body before discarding it with a flourished movement of her wrist.  As he stared, transfixed, she repeated the process with the other glove.  Picard reached up with his free hand to loosen his tie slightly as it had suddenly become unbearably tight.

 Vash knew Jean-Luc thought she was a holodeck simulation, she also saw the open look of lust on his face and the intensity in his steel grey eyes.  'This is fun,' she thought, completely ignoring her own arousal that Jean-Luc had caused merely from the heat of those grey eyes.  Twisting side to side in time to the music, she weaved slowly downward while reaching behind her to grasp the zipper at the back of the gown and as she gradually twisted her way back up to a standing position, she deftly undid the zipper.  She shrugged the gown from one shoulder at a time, deliberately slowing its fall to expose her shapely silhouette inch by inch.  The gown slid down to first expose her generous cleavage still contained in a sequined, hot pink, strapless bra, then it slipped down to reveal the slenderness of her waist and the feminine flare of her hips.  The gown moved past her hips to reveal a pink sequined g-string before dropping down her long legs to the floor.  Her body tingled with anticipation as she felt the gown slide from her body.

 "Merde," Picard muttered, feeling every muscle in his body tighten in response.  He threw back the drink, finishing the scotch in one swallow.

 Stepping out of her dress, she deftly hooked one foot in the cloth and kicked it out onto the floor in front of her enchanted audience.  She continued to dance to the music without missing a beat.  Once again turning her back to her audience, she erotically caressed the long, satiny locks hanging down her back.  Showing amazing agility she bent backward to look at Jean-Luc, giving him a breathtaking view of her cleavage hanging dangerously in the strapless bra.  As she hung there, bent over backwards, her hands reached behind her back to undo the bra which dropped to the stage when she straightened to stand upright.  Picard's glass dropped to the floor, unnoticed.  Spinning around to face her audience, she fell to her knees, head to the floor.  With the last beat of the music, she sat up straight, her breasts thrust forward one arm reached over her head and the other extended toward him.  Her long, silky brunette hair fell in waves of curls over her breasts to her waist, the hard rosy peaks of her breasts playing an erotic game of peek-a-boo through the silky mass of curls.

 The sight caused Picard's breath to lodge in his throat and his desire became almost unbearable, 'This is just a holodeck simulation and I'm getting a . . .' he thought to himself as he stood up from the barstool.  Then he groaned, 'Oh Christ, I already have a . . ."

 Vash stood up and started to walk toward Picard.  It was taking almost all of her self-control to maintain her composure when inside she was quivering with desperate need from the excitement of stripping for him.  With him dressed as Dixon Hill, in a fedora, double breasted suit, and crisp white shirt and tie, he was overpoweringly male.

 He watched as she moved to stand just in front of him, dressed in nothing but a g-string and high heels.  Somewhere in the very back of his brain it registered that they were now completely alone in the bar.

 "A good private dick is hard to find," she cooed seductively, flicking his fedora off his head so that it tumbled to the bar.  She pressed herself against him, molding the curves of her soft body to his hard lean one.  She could feel her breasts crushed against the muscular wall of his chest and his desire pressed against her through the fabric of his trousers.  Staring directly into his eyes and feeling deliciously brazen she added, "Of course, a hard private dick is even better to find."

 "What the . . ." Picard's confused question was cut short when she captured his lips with hers in a deep, searching kiss.  Instinctively, he put his hands on her hips pulling her even harder against him.

 "Scotch," Vash sighed and wet her lips with her tongue when the kiss ended.  The very masculine combination of his clean-scented aftershave and the slight taste of scotch in his kiss threatened to completely undo her.  She wanted him, now.  While pulling his suit jacket off him and undoing his tie, she suggested in a heated whisper, "Why don't you secure the holodeck doors?"

 "Vash?" Picard gasped as the realization hit him that this wasn't a holodeck character.  Her lips engaged his again in a fiercely ravenous kiss.  With his tie undone but still hanging around his neck, her hands moved to fumble with the top button of his shirt.

 "For the love of God, Jean-Luc, lock the damn door!" Vash rasped hoarsely into his mouth with desperation.  Wanting to explore the muscular expanse of his chest, she ripped open his shirt sending the buttons clattering across the floor.

 "Computer, secure Holodeck Two, priority one, authorization Picard four-seven-alpha-tango!"  Picard nearly shouted the command and, at the same time, he swept Vash into his arms and sat her on the barstool behind them, placing himself between her long, shapely legs.  His lips attacked hers in a demanding kiss, his hands sliding up her satiny skin to cup the swell of her breasts.  He felt her delicate hands push beneath his open shirt to travel quickly down his torso to the waistline of his trousers.

 "Just take me now," Vash moaned as she opened his trousers and her small hands firmly grasped him.  "Oh God, you're so hard."  She felt his fingers seize her g-string and then it was gone.  His hands  tightly grasped her hips and pulled her to the edge of the barstool.  Reaching up, she slipped her hands beneath his shirt to rest on the masculine slope of his shoulders, steadying herself in anticipation of the moment when he entered her with one powerful thrust, driving her back into the leather of the chair.  With a low moan, her head fell back sending her long curls cascading down the back of the barstool as she felt his body completely filling her own.  She waited but he didn't move.  Looking up at him in a mixture of frustration and curiosity, she reached out to trace his jawline with one delicate finger.  He captured the finger with his mouth and gently sucked on it.  Vash felt sparks race through her entire body, she wrapped her legs around him and tried to grind her own hips against his but he held her hips tightly against his own, keeping them both immobile.  "Please, Jean-Luc, oh, please," she panted.

 "Patience, mademoiselle," he teased in a deep resonating whisper.  "After your little show up there, I intend to enjoy this."  He moved one hand to her leg just above her knee, using his other hand at her hip and his weight to keep her pinned in place.  "You are absolutely breathtaking."  Her eyes fluttered shut as she felt his wonderful voice and strong hands caress her.  As his hand slid up her thigh, he told her, "You have the longest, shapeliest legs I've ever seen." His hand continued up over her hip and across the flat plane of her stomach to her small waist.  "Your skin is like warm satin."  His hand cupped the fullness of one of her breasts and his thumb moved over her hardened nipple.

 Whimpering, Vash bit her lower lip.  She could feel him buried deep inside her, and the heat and fullness were driving her to near insanity.

 "Your breasts are beautiful."  He lowered his head to capture the hardened peak in his mouth.  Her body writhed sinuously against his mouth as he pulled and teased the taut nipple.  He began to move his hips in a slow, deliberate pace.  He let his mouth tease and torment the peak of the other breast.  Continuing his methodical movements, he lifted his face to hers.  "And you have the face of an angel."  He lowered his lips to hers in a deep kiss that mimicked the way his body was caressing hers.  He felt her entire body shudder around him and he stopped, holding himself still, allowing just enough time for the tremors to begin to ebb.  Raising up, he released her hips to grab the bar behind them.  He quickly started to increase his pace.

 Vash was struggling to regain her breath from her first release when Jean-Luc sped up and a second explosion came right on the heels of the first.  She anchored herself with her hands gripping his tight, sweaty pecs.  Arching herself up in a wordless plea for more of this sweet ecstasy, she gripped the ends of the tie still around his neck and pulled his head down to hers in a demanding kiss.  She forced her tongue past his lips to explore his mouth in a taunting imitation of what he was doing to her body.  In this position, she could feel her hardened nipples grazing through his chest hair with each thrust, driving her wild and wanting more.  It was if her body were made expressly for this pleasure-giving man.  "Oh Johnny . . .  more . . .  please . . . more," she panted wantonly.

 Picard sucked strongly at her tongue as he continued to drive into her.  He lost himself  in the burning pleasure of his body moving in and out of her softness.  Her cries of passion spurred him on to higher heights of desire; taking in gulps of breath, he struggled to control himself.  Finally, he felt and heard what he'd been waiting for when a primal scream echoed through the holodeck and Vash arched herself up into his body.  He continued to drive relentlessly into her until, before her shudders had even subsided she was lost, breathless, in the throes of yet another, even more powerful release.  Picard made one final, hard thrust as her release triggered his own draining response.

 Gasping for breath, Vash wondered if her quivering body and racing heart would ever calm back down to normal.  Spasms and tremors continued to race through her body as her breathing slowed, she held Jean-Luc tightly, her arms wrapped around his neck.  She could feel his heart pounding against her own with his ragged breathing rasping in her ear.  Completely drained, she buried her face into his neck, luxuriating in the solid breadth of his chest, the warmth of him, the smell of him.  "I love you," she whispered, placing small kisses over the damp skin of neck and shoulder to the collar of his open shirt.  She smiled into the curve of his neck and added, "you are an extraordinarily talented man."

 "I love you, too," Picard said softly.  Raising himself off her slightly, he asked, "and speaking of talent, where did you learn that?"

 "Learn what?" Vash mumbled as she nuzzled his throat.  She was still slightly breathless and a little disoriented.  Her hands wandered down under his open shirt, exploring the lean muscular strength of his torso.  He stared down at her and arched an eyebrow meaningfully.  Vash looked up into the chiseled features of his handsome face and giggled.  "Oh, you must mean my little striptease."

 "Of course I mean the striptease,"  Picard sighed.  Her small hands moving over his chest and back felt soothing.

 "As an undergraduate, I worked my way through college in an upscale nightclub as a burlesque-style striptease dancer.  I also did a little torch singing," Vash answered, feeling a little uneasy.  She wasn't sure how he would respond; of course, he would have found out eventually anyway.  She looked down and tangled her fingers in his chest hair.

 "Really."  Although inside Picard was grinning from ear to ear, he forced himself to keep a straight face.  Would she ever run out of these little surprises?  "I wish you had told me sooner."

 "Why?  Does it bother you?"  Shyly, Vash glanced up at him through her lashes.

 "No, not at all."  He couldn't help smiling.  She was giving him that 'How can you possibly be mad at me' look.  "Although, I am a little disappointed that you waited until now to honor me with a private performance."

 Smiling impishly, Vash gave one light tug at his chest hair and scolded him, "You are most definitely a bad boy, Johnny Picard."

 "Uh huh," Picard agreed.  He let his gaze travel over her.  The silky curls of Vash's hair tumbled seductively across her shoulders and over her breasts.  The long cascade drew attention to her slim waist and her long legs, which were still wrapped around him.  His smile turned wolfish and he added, "A very lucky one it seems."

 "I haven't performed since college.  This is the first time I've ever danced in front of a man I've been involved with," Vash admitted with a twinkle in her eye.  She was enjoying the way he was watching her.  "In college it was a job.  When I worked at the club, the striptease was just a dance performance.  It felt different stripping for you, it was erotic, hot.  My own reactions took me completely by surprise.  As I teased you, trying to turn you on, your reaction were turning me on.  I wanted you as much as you wanted me.  So, do you still think I'm an angel?"

 "Oh Christ, did I want you.  The Romulans could have blown the ship up right out from underneath me and I wouldn't have cared," he muttered shaking his head.  Dryly, he added, "And I said you had the face of an angel, not that you were one."

 "Don't quibble," she teased back, noticing that Jean-Luc seemed to be preoccupied with the new length of her hair.  He was picking up handfuls of it, watching the curls wrap around the end of his fingers.  Then he was releasing it slowly, watching it stream down the front of her.  "I haven't worn my hair this long since I was in college either.  I had it cut to shoulder length at the same time I hung up the g-string.  The shorter length was more practical for all the archaeological field work I did in graduate school and afterward."

 "Are you thinking of keeping it this way?"  Picard asked thoughtfully as he continued to play with the heavy silken mass.

 "What is the male attraction to impossibly long hair?" Vash rolled her eyes in exasperation.  "I'm a field archaeologist.  Do you have a clue as to how impractical hair this length is to deal with?"  When he arched an eyebrow at her meaningfully at her, Vash giggled as she reached up with one hand to run her fingers through the fringe of grey hair at his temple, "Sorry.  I guess you'll have to trust me on this one."

 "It's very sensuous," he persisted.  "And there is always Mr. Mot.  He is the best hairstylist in the fleet."

 "Johnny,"  Vash stressed gently, as she grabbed the ends of his necktie to draw his face closer to hers.  "Kiss it good-bye."

 "Can't blame a man for trying," he sighed with defeat.

 Still holding on to the ends of the tie, Vash raised her lips to his in a long conciliatory kiss.  "Jean-Luc, will you do me a favor?" she requested softly when the kiss ended.

 "Anything," he said nuzzling her cheek.

 "Can we keep the fact that I worked as a stripper in college just between the two of us?"  Vash asked with a slight blush.  "It was a long time ago, I was very young and it was not my most prestigious career move."

 "Of course," Picard assured her gently.  Then with a wry smile, he added, "I must admit, I would have liked to have seen Will Riker's face when he found out that the sweet young thing sharing my bed is also a talented striptease queen."

 "You really enjoy torturing him, don't you?" Vash chuckled.

 "It's good to be the king," he responded dryly.  Looking down at both of them, he asked, "I don't suppose you have any ideas for how we can discreetly leave the holodeck."

 "As a matter of fact I do," she smiled with smug satisfaction.  "If you want to reach behind the bar, you'll find a duffel bag with a jumpsuit for me and a clean, freshly pressed uniform for you."

 "You're a jewel," he praised.  Then he teased, "Of course, reaching for the bag means I will have to move from this delightful position."

 "Yes it does, would you like me to tell you where you can find sympathy?"  Vash asked with a broad grin.

 After they dressed, Vash folded their costumes and started packing them in the bag.  She looked around confused.  Where had the blasted thing gone?  It was the one thing she didn't want anyone else finding.  As she bent to look under the barstool, she asked, "Jean-Luc, do you see the g-string?"

 "It's been confiscated, captain's prerogative."

 Vash stood up quickly and turned to see Picard, straight-faced, twirling the small scrap of material and sequins around on his index finger.

**FINIS**