Standard disclaimer--like Cheese Whiz, Paramount's rights to Trek just keep spreading and spreading and spreading.

This isn't necessarily a follow up to "Let the Games Begin," but it does presuppose that sort of relationship between all the players. No cheese products were harmed in the writing of this story.

And in a slightly lighter vein...

"A little more to the right, Will."

Riker moved his hand, massaging where Deanna had ordered him to. It was their monthly ritual, and, like most constants in his life, bored him silly.

Not that he'd tell her. After all, how could you tell a naked lady you don't want to service her any more? And it wasn't like Deanna wanted to let anyone else know about this little secret need of hers. Even Worf hadn't been allowed to know it. Just a little secret between Imzadis.

"That's so good, Will," she purred, shoving a chocolate bon-bon into his mouth as reward.

He tried to distract her. "So, what's up with Beverly and the captain?"

Her face fell, its look of ecstasy quickly replaced with infinite sadness and frustration. "I wish I knew." Two perfect tears rolled down her cheeks.

Riker felt sorry for her, then. Her empathy was always so unreliable, and popped up at all the worst times, like now. He knew she could feel the tension and frustration their two friends radiated like shields around themselves, and pitied Deanna for having to share all those emotions with no hope for release.

She asked so little of him, Riker thought. Just this small service, this little release for her tensions. He scooped up another gob of the creamy white goo and spread it on Deanna's head. No, no one on the ship would know that every four weeks the counselor dyed her hair, covering its natural, un-Betazoid mousy brown with this rich, chocolate black hair color. If she weren't so infinitely boring in the bedroom, he might even consider offering her other diversions...

That night, long after Will had left, Deanna was woken by a flash of bright light. Even before her vision had cleared, she knew whom she would see leering down at her--Q. "Frustrated, dear Deanna? Eavesdropping on other people's emotions can be dangerous, but I can do something about those frustrations."

Troi glared back at him. "I'm not that frustrated."

Q threw his head back and laughed. "And I'm not that self-sacrificing. I wasn't offering to sleep with you, you vain Betazoid cow. I just thought you might be interested in a very erotic exhibition about to take place on this ship."

Despite herself, the counselor was intrigued. "Where?"

Taking that as consent, Q snapped his fingers, transporting them to the scene of the action--

the captain's quarters.

Picard was lying back against his pillows, smiling as he toyed with one of the restraints fused into the corners of his bed.

A woman's voice drifted in from the living room--Beverly Crusher's voice. "Do you want anything?"

The captain chuckled. "If I said yes, you wouldn't bring it, anyway."

Beverly laughed. "You're right." She entered the bedroom, and Deanna gasped as the sight forced her to accept what her brain had been trying to deny since she and Q had appeared. Beverly was naked; what she saw of the captain was unclothed. How could they both be giving off waves of frustration when it was clear they were--how did Will put it?--bonking?

Gracefully, Beverly laid down on her stomach next to her lover. She crossed her ankles and bent her knees, swinging her long legs in the air as she reached into the plate she had brought with her from the living room and began munching on its contents. Jean-Luc bent over to kiss one perfect, white shoulder blade, and then sat up suddenly. "Get out of my bed! Now!"

"But, Jean-Luc..."

"Now! I promised myself that I would never, ever, ever let anyone eat crackers in my bed, and I won't. Not even you."

"But, Jean-Luc, these aren't just crackers. They're cheese crackers!"

He grunted. It really made no difference--cheese crackers made just as many crumbs.

Beverly's eyes glinted. "Besides, there's a whole culture around cheese products. Maybe I should just get you a book about it." He laughed and kissed her. She puckered her mouth in thought, and then got out of bed, hurrying to the replicator. Coming back with a bowl, she ordered Jean-Luc onto his stomach. She began massaging something white, thick, and cold on his back, enjoying the way he squirmed to avoid the chill.

"Red's almost as obsessed with Jean-Luc as she is with food," Q whispered to Deanna. Troi's eyes went wide.

"What is she using?"

"Find out for yourself." Deanna swooped in, running an invisible, unfelt finger along the captain's tight backside, and smelled and tasted the white stuff.

"Ricotta. Kinky. I didn't know Beverly had it in her."

"She doesn't--yet. But she will soon," Q leered, watching the scene.

Beverly rubbed it all over Jean-Luc's back with quick, almost angry strokes, making him moan in anticipation. She was in a rare mood tonight, and he planned to enjoy every second of the treatment. When his back was full of the thick creamy stuff, she spread herself atop him, covering her own body in white cheese. Smiling, she sat up. "Oh, damn. I'm full of this stuff."

Jean-Luc knew what was expected of him. He grabbed Beverly's shoulders and steered her down onto her back, crunching the plate with the cheese crackers beneath her, filling his bed with the crumbs. He was willing to ignore that, for now, with Beverly spread beneath him like an all-you-can-eat cheese festival. He leaned over her, hungrily licking her body clean.

Deanna was almost panting by now. "I didn't know any of this was going on."

"So much for your famed empathy," Q shot back. "Oh, well, if you were better at your job, the mood ring industry on Qualor 7 would go out of business."

Deanna glanced at the bed. Picard had cleaned Beverly's chest, and was proceeding due south. "Maybe we should leave now," she whispered to Q.

"Not a chance." He placed a hand around her waist, drew her back against him. "You wanted to know what's going on."

"But they're..."

"Oh, this is nothing. Wait and learn, dulcet Deanna."

Deanna watched. She watched as Jean-Luc cleaned every available centimeter of Beverly's body, inside and out. She watched as he continued his ministrations long after the cheese was all gone. She watched as Beverly tightened her thighs around the captain's head, screaming his name. She watched as Beverly flopped back against the pillows, weak and sated, and watched as Picard lifted his head from between Beverly's legs, smiling like the cat that ate the cream, or more like the cream cheese.

He crawled up next to Beverly, holding her while she caught her breath. Deanna circled the bed, raised questioning eyes toward Q. "Why didn't Beverly tell me? I asked her. She lied to me!"

"Ah, light dawns over the Betazoid skies. Keep watching, Deanna, dear, and you'll see why Red lied to you, other than just on principle."

Beverly left the bed again. She turned back to Jean-Luc to chide, "You really ought to install a replicator in here. It would be much more convenient." He harumphed, but gave no other answer.

Beverly returned with more food, this time a plate with a warmer below.

"What's in there?"

"If you want to know what I'm bringing, install a replicator near the bed, and you'll hear what I order." She placed the unit on the nightstand, and took Jean-Luc in her arms.

Slowly, she began to kiss him, her body stretched diagonally across his. She nipped at his ears, bit at his lips, nuzzled his nipples. Lower and lower she went, her hand smoothing the way for her mouth. When she reached his navel, she reached for the plate at the bedside, and extracted a warm, slightly melted slice of yellow cheese. Beverly wrapped it around him, molding it to his outlines with her hand, causing him to gasp with the heat and the friction. Then, with careful, cautious bits and licks, she devoured the cheese, and then devoured him, taking him in her mouth and gently scraping the last of the melted cheese off with her teeth.

Deanna was no longer speaking to Q; her breaths were too labored for speech.

On the bed, Jean-Luc began to thrash, calling out for his lover. With seconds to spare, Beverly removed her mouth, leaving Jean-Luc groaning, trying to force her mouth to reclaim him. She brought forth the next treat from her platter, grinding a hot deep fried mozzarella stock against his nipples, causing him to scream in pain, and then, following immediately, in fulfillment.

As he fought to regain his breath, she continued to press the fiery hot food against him intimately, watching the cheese cool and melt on his chest and torso. "When they outlawed cigarettes 50 years ago, people had to improvise." She bent to nibble at the hardening mozzarella with a satisfied sigh. "Waste not, want not."

"You are a cruel woman, Beverly Crusher."

"Yes, I am. And you love every second of it." She pulled a particularly big gob of melted cheese from the side of his throat, garnering a sharp scream, and then stuffed the cheese into his mouth, quieting him.

"Thinking of someone, Deanna?" Q leered. "Maybe that Imzadi of yours?"

"Humph. Definitely not him. He's as appealing as fromage fondu." Her eyes roamed the stark lines of the captain's body, exposed to her in a way she'd never dared imagine.

"Microbrain, maybe? Did I tell you he's got that cheesecake photo you sent of yourself posted above the bar at Quark�s? You really should develop better taste in partners, Little One."

"Shh," she warned. "The show's going to start again..."

"Beverly," Jean-Luc asked, "where did you learn to do all this with cheese?"

She smiled and ran her teeth over her lower lip. "Do you remember Jack's favorite food?"

"Of course. He always carried some with him--cheese doodles." Realization dawned on him. "Beverly, what did you do to him with cheese doodles?"

"A lady never tortures and tells."

"Just a hint?" he pleaded.

"Well, we actually progressed from those triangle cheeses. They start out so wonderfully solid, and then, as they warm up, they become pliable--unlike some other things I could mention." Obviously, the discussion gave her some more ideas, because she went for her fourth trip of the evening to the replicator.

"No wonder Geordi's been complaining about an energy drain lately," Deanna said.

"Yes," answered Q. "I'm surprised there's anything left after their disgusting antics and your chocolate and hair dye frenzies."

Beverly returned with a bowl and two spoons. "What now?" Jean-Luc groaned, wondering if he could keep up, figuratively and literally. He looked at the white circles in the milky sauce, smelled the overpowering sweet smell, and almost gagged.

"Rasmalai--cheese balls in cream. Want some?"

He shuddered. "Not particularly."

She licked the sauce off of the sphere on her spoon . "Too bad. You don't know what you're missing. Nothing's better than a pair of balls in cream."

"Beverly!" both Deanna and Jean-Luc protested, but only one voice was heard.

"Disgusting, isn't it? She's almost old enough to be... well, she's old enough to know better, and look how she carries on," Q complained.

"You're as excited by all this as I am, aren't you, Q?" Deanna accused. He tried to deny it, but even he couldn't lie that well, not when he was in a physical form.

By now, Beverly had finished her snack and was amusing herself by writing nasty words on Jean-Luc's chest with the leftover cheese curds. "It occurs to me," she said, and Jean-Luc burst out laughing as she touched a ticklish spot. She waited until he had gotten control of himself, and continued. "It occurs to me that you're coasting. Getting slack."

He took her hand and tried to prove that he was far from slack, but she demurred; that wasn't what she meant. "You lie back and take any punishment I can think of, but you don't really work for it any more." She leaned back on the pillows, thinking, absently nibbling on some cheese puffs she had pulled out of Jean-Luc's drawers.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Do what you want to me, you know I'll love it."

She sighed, feeling as misunderstood as welsh rarebit. "I don't think you appreciate how much work it is to think up all these delightful little cruelties. It's your turn, Jean-Luc." She spread her arms wide and lay back on the bed, ready for whatever he threw at her.

"This is your cue, my dear," said Q, snapping his fingers. Before Deanna could react, she was spread, naked, on the captain's bed, unable to speak. She looked at where she knew Q was, and saw herself standing there, watching, talking with Q.

Picard left the room, blissfully unaware of any change, but his former partner was not so fortunate. Beverly blinked rapidly. She was suddenly standing, and the transition disoriented her. She looked over at the bed, and saw that she was still lying there in breathless anticipation. She turned, saw Q, and had an inkling of understanding. Full enlightenment came when she caught her reflection in the window, and saw Deanna Troi's dark eyes staring back at her. Great, just what I always wanted for Christmas. Cottage cheese thighs. "You sick little piece of crottin!" she yelled.

"Oh, hush, Doctor. Watch. Enjoy. And then later, you can punish your whipping boy for spurting his cheese whiz on the wrong toast."

Jean-Luc returned, having borrowed a trick from Beverly's cookbook of delights. His aristocratic face was set into a nasty sneer, holding the hot fondue pot aloft. He had all sorts of interesting things he was going to do with the hot cheese, the cubed apples, the skewers. And he would make sure Beverly endured and enjoyed each one. He broke a hunk off the loaf of cheesebread which had been lodged under one arm, dipped it in the pot, and began to coat Beverly's lovely body with the burning mixture. Deanna screamed, Beverly screamed, each wanting nothing more than to change places with the other.

In the morning, Deanna woke in her own quarters. She had had the most bizarre dream the night before. A quick check of the computer revealed no trace of Q, no hint that she had ever left her own quarters or even woke up during the night. But, for some inexplicable reason, a few crumbs of Limburger still clung tenaciously between her thighs.

Vocabulary for the cheese impaired:

fromage fondu--a very bland processed cheese of gummy texture, often covered with nuts.

crottin--literally, "dung," a French goat cheese, tangy yet mild when young, becoming more powerful with age.