Title: Power Hungry

Author: TheGrrrl

Author's email: thegrrrl2002@yahoo.com

Author's URL: http://www.geocities.com/coffeeslash/thegrrrl

Date: 11/07/02

Pairing: Tu/R

Rating: R

Archive: EntSTSlash, Archer's Enterprise, Tim Rubens, WWOMB, oh, anywhere is fine.

Notes: A bit of silliness, inspired by a suggestion in Nijijin's post about 'The Seventh'. Unbeta'd.

"And damn it, I'm just plain tired of seein' this blue and grey everywhere. I want new colors. Somethin' bright. And cheery. I want my walls painted…yellow. Not lemony though. I hate lemon-yellow. More like a creamy yellow." I sit back in my throne, regarding my quarters with regal distain. "And I must have a bigger bed, Lieutenant. I can barely sleep in that little thing. It's far too tiny for someone of my status."

"Yes, Sir." Malcolm picks up his padd enters my requests. "Right away Commander Tuck—I mean, Captain."

"And contact the quartermaster. Tell him I want new sheets. These are rough on my delicate skin. I want Satin. Red satin," I add imperiously.

"Very good choice, Sir," Malcolm says respectfully.

"If I want your opinion I'll ask for it, Mr. Reed." Then I clear my throat meaningfully. When Malcolm finally raises his properly downcast eyes to look at me I gesture to the bowl on the desk.

"My sincere apologies, sir," he grovels, very nicely, as he puts down his padd and hastily reaches for bowl. A moment later he's dutifully spooning pistachio ice cream into my mouth.

I eye the second spoonful thoughtfully. "I find this color appealin'. I wish to have the engine room painted green. Light green. The exact color of this ice cream."

My minion grabs his padd with his free hand and spoons the ice cream into my mouth at the same time. A drop falls from the spoon onto the front of my uniform.

"Sorry sir," Malcolm gasps, eyes wide with fear. He snatches a napkin from the tray and begins to dab at the spot on my chest.

"Sorry?" I look down at the spot, then back up at his face. "Sorry?" I sneer.

Malcolm drops to his knees and stares at my feet. "Forgive me, Sir. It was an accident." A moment later he adds, "But the color looks nice on you, sir." I sigh heavily. Sometimes I question my own judgment my choice of minion. Sure, he's gorgeous, but has a tendency to be pretty damn impertinent. I contemplate the head bowed before me. Then I bend forward, bury my hand in that dark, silky hair, and pull his head up gently. "You got a smart mouth, Lieutenant," I say to him. "And you're lucky I got such a generous, forgivin' nature."

Malcolm nods, relief showing in those misty grey-blue eyes. I release his head, nodding, convinced my message got through.

Malcolm stands, straightens his uniform and reaches for his padd. "Engine room. Pistachio ice cream green," he murmurs as he punches the buttons.

I still think he's being a bit too cocky. "I've never been particularly fond of these uniforms." I look him up and down. "They offend me. Lieutenant, you will no longer wear your uniform on duty. From now on I want you in…in…," I ponder the possibilities. "A loincloth. That's it!" I slap my knee. "From now on you will only wear a loincloth while you are aboard my ship," I pronounce solemnly.

Malcolm drops his padd, staring at me. Then he bends down to pick it up slowly. "I was afraid it would come to this," he says gently. "I truly regret having to do this, sir. But I'm afraid the time has come. I must remove you from command. You've gone mad with power and it is sworn my duty as security officer to protect the rest of the crew."

I sputter with astonishment and dismay. "But—but Malcolm—I thought—I thought you were my loyal—"

He shakes his head sadly. "I was sir, but you've gone too far. I have my limits."

"Listen to me, Malcolm—those satin sheets—they were for you! For us!" I'm desperate now. I'll say anything.

"Forgive me sir. But now I must strip you of your authority." His hands are on the zipper of my uniform, and he's pulling the tab down slowly.

"No!" I protest fiercely, my hands on his chest. The zipper snags about halfway down and I quickly help him free it. Then I place my hands back on his chest. "No, Lieutenant! Don't do this! I'll give you anything—you and I—we could rule the universe together!"

My fickle second-in-command finishes unzipping, and wrenches the uniform off my shoulders. I barely have my arms free when he pulls the shirt off over my head. He'll pay for this betrayal, I vow. He grabs my arms, hauls me out of the chair, face grim, and practically throws me onto the bed. Oh, he'll pay dearly, I promise myself as I bounce on the mattress in a most undignified manner.

Malcolm brandishes a pair of restrains. "Hate to do this, sir, but it's for your own good." His mouth is starting to twitch, and I realize this treacherous man isn't sorry at all, not a mite. He puts a hand on my chest and shoves me flat on my back.

"I should have known," I tell him. "Reliable minions are hard to find."

I am resigned to my fate. My ex-minion fastens my wrists to the frame of the bed. Then the traitor removes my shoes, throwing each one across the room. He finishes the job of removing my uniform with a flourish.

"Loincloth" he snarls. He yanks off my underwear. "*I* shall not even allow you that. Under my reign, you shall serve me *naked*." There's hunger in his eyes as he rakes them over my naked body. I'm quivering. With, er, fear. He runs his hands possessively over my legs, up to my thighs, and spreads them wide. He's kneeling before me, between my legs, but not in the same submissive posture as before.

"Oh, so now that you've overthrown my command, you think you're gonna—oh, god, Malcolm—yeeaaaah baby—" I pant. His brutal hands are on my dick now.

"Time for your comeuppance," he growls as he lowers his head.

The moment has come. I accept my punishment with great dignity, as befitting my status. Well, with some dignity. Maybe just a little dignity and a lot of hollering and moaning and squirming and OH GOD YESYESYES!!

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