Originally written for the Strifehart Kink Meme.
Prompt: Captain Strife of the USS Carbuncle takes advantage of the holodeck to try to quench his fierce and inappropriate desire for his new First Officer, Squall Leonhart, before it gets out of hand.
His First Officer would be the death of him. Truthfully, he had to admit that the young man was wise beyond his years and far more competent than several senior officers he could name. So the problem did not lie in his abilities, nor was it in his attitude – despite his cold exterior and seemingly permanent glare, many of the crew were rather fond of him for his earnestness and devotion to his duties.
No, the problem was that First Officer Leonhart, at the age of seventeen, was a living image of perfection as Renaissance artists had dreamed but never materialized. He had a heart-shaped face, inlaid with a pair of bright blue eyes that sparkled with intelligence. His auburn hair shone a very dark reddish gold in the light, fashionably trimmed such that a long thin "tail" trailed down the back of his neck just short of his shoulder blades while the rest was kept short. There was a scar he had received in the line of duty some point before his transfer, but it complimented the young man's look rather nicely; it made him seem a little more dangerous.
His body was slender, not unlike a teenager's, and his uniform emphasized that a little too well. Measured to fit him exactly, cloth hugged the body as tightly as a second skin, highlighting every fine curve as the young man moved with quiet reassurance. Those fingers were long, and he had been treated to many a sight on how dexterous they could be.
The First Officer was a dangerously sinful sight for sore eyes, and by the end of the lad's first week, Captain Cloud Strife knew, definitely, that he was in trouble.
"… Sir?"
The captain realized too late that the very object of his musings was trying to get his attention. At once, he looked up.
"Yes."
"The holodeck has been prepared for your use, as you requested," his subordinate spoke at last, eyes bearing into him with the same half-glare that he always carried, regardless if he were speaking to a common thug or his immediate superior.
Captain Strife cleared his throat and stood, maintaining a stiff dignity in the face of those who were under him. "Very good. I leave things to you until I return. And I expect you to understand that I will not, under any circumstance save dire emergency, be disturbed."
"Aye, Captain," the First Officer answered automatically. Then, carefully, he pointed out, "You have not mentioned how long you will take, sir."
"Ask me again when I'm done."
Before the boy could say another word, his superior slipped away and hurried off the deck. Making a beeline straight for the simulation room, he mentally willed himself to just hold out a little longer. Having the boy that close to him, especially with the thoughts he had in mind, had near compromised him. This could not keep up for much longer – he had to settle this quickly, cleanly, and thoroughly.
Pressing a hand to the panel, he impatiently fidgeted in the time it took for the scanner to identify him and grant him access. Stepping in, he turned right away to where the controls were. He did not pause in the input of data for every blank, but he found himself hesitating all the same when he was at last required only to press one last button.
Come on, you louse, he cursed at himself. It's either in private or in public. Just get it over with.
Without a further thought, he jammed his thumb over the "OK" button. At once, refined technology warped the appearance of the room around him. There was a brief shimmer of neon lines, before the otherwise drab room melted away into something darker, more foreboding in its contrast of shadows and minimal tungsten lights. Before him was a door comprised of iron bars that crisscrossed in cage-like fashion, already drawing back and getting out of his way.
He stepped through, entering the narrow passageway of what he recognized to be the brig. Turning the corner, he barely paused for another set of barred doors to slide away before he reached his destination. The final doors, unlike the others, consisted only of horizontal beams, thicker than the others to prevent more than a few fingers from slipping through the gaps. Still, thin as it was, the line of sight was just about enough for him to peer into its tiny confines.
Hanging from the ceiling was Squall – or at least, a data version of him – barely keeping on his feet with only a pair of iron shackles that dangled from the ceiling tightly cuffing his wrists to hold him upright. Though his uniform was liberally torn, the skin beneath was untouched, its color a creamy contrast to the dark standard of the cloth. And those tears – every single one was in just the right place, revealing just enough without giving everything away.
… bloody hell, man, he mused to himself, unable to tear his eyes from the sight. You are one kinky bastard, aren't you?
Without a further thought, he reached for the keys hanging on the wall and unlocked that last barrier between himself and his objective. The passage cleared for him, he silently approached his captive, each step bolder as he allowed his desires to override his conscience. It was only a simulation, he reminded himself over and over, repeating it like a mantra. It was not the real thing. He could do whatever he wanted, sate every desire, and no real consequence would befall him.
"Well, First Officer," he heard himself say in a husky voice, "ready to confess to your crimes yet?"
Squall raised his head to glare back at him. Not that half-assed, condescending look he held for everyone, but a proper defiant gaze that challenged him. The line of his neck was exposed, even more so as a chin lifted almost defiantly. A small smirk worked its way up those soft lips.
"I don't know, Captain," this delightful hologram purred at him, "why don't you tell me what I did wrong?"
Captain Strife decided that he loved this holodeck. First thing when they got back to the hangar, he would pour funds into it like nobody's business. Nothing but the best for this lovely, lovely room.
"You always were a cocky one, boy," he growled aloud instead, getting his head into the "game" he had set up. "Perhaps I should help you remember."
Despite being chained up and helpless against the blond, the youth continued to smirk with little sign of fear. "Perhaps you should."
Hands could no longer resist taking hold of that slim, firm body. He could feel where all the muscles were so tightly packed, how little was wasted on soft fat. Wandering fingers traced the lines of abs, slipping through the torn fabric to trail the goosebumps that rose along chilled skin. He heard a stifled gasp, felt the body tremble beneath his administrations. Murmuring dirty promises of what he could and would do, he lowered his hands steadily.
As he found that nice tight rear, he squeezed each cheek firmly to earn a soft whimper in his ear. Trembling, he dug a little deeper, finding the holes in torn cloth and tearing it further. Without even tackling either button or zipper, he started to shed the boy of his ruined pants. The Squall he visualized thankfully was one without underwear, saving him one more hassle to get around. As what he sought came to view, the last of torn cloth pooling around the boy's feet, he curled his fingers around it.
"I see you need a little more persuasion," he spoke, barely keeping his calm even in this moment. "before you will talk to me."
At the first stroke, Squall arched his back with a hiss. The hands that were restrained above his head clenched and shook, the chains rattling as he struggled against their hold. Watching him like this, half-naked and vulnerable to his every "assault", Cloud felt the heat in his body rising. One hand kept busy over the teenager's length, the other came up and probed against his bottom lip with three fingers.
"Suck," he ordered sharply.
There was little hesitation before Squall took the digits into his mouth. Heated velvet rubbed in circular motions over his skin, teasing him in even this tiny task. As the tip of that hot surface lingered, he pulled the fingers out on his own, heard their slippery release as he drew them back. He reached under, probing for the opening. He found it, started to negotiate his first finger in. There was a small cry of pain this time, the chains jerking again with renewed fervor. He could feel his own need rising, and he added a second finger. He kept circling, kept preparing the beautiful adolescent for what was coming.
"… First Officer," he spoke hoarsely now, too overcome by desire, "do you confess your guilt?"
Squall choked on the sensations he was forced to submit to, before he managed to speak a single word: "… Yes."
"Do you accept your punishment?" the captain continued, driving the third finger in quickly to earn a sharp cry.
"Yes… Yes…!" the teenager practically whimpered, writhing with the digits still moving about in him.
Captain Strife was ready at long last, thrusting the fingers with increased speed a few more times before pulling them out. His free hand cupped a chin, brought himself closer, so close that their noses touched. Yet, he denied the other anything further.
"… Beg me for it…" he ordered. "Beg me to end your suffering."
The boy did not answer right away. It only seemed appropriate, otherwise this was not the same brunet he hungered for. There had to be some of that pride in the lion cub yet, even if he was already half broken. It made the rest of it all the more fun.
"Beg," he repeated, his hand holding the chin firmly in place, refraining any moves he would not allow. "Beg me to punish you."
The hand that had been inside the boy moments ago wrapped around his length again, though not enough to give him release. Squall was shivering violently now, no longer able to support his own weight as the chains stretched taut above him.
"… Cloud…" he whispered at last, his whisper somewhere between a hiss and a sob. "… Please…"
"Again."
"… Please… Now…"
Gleefully, the captain conceded to both his quivering prize as well as his own stiffness. He slackened his grip on Squall's chin, tilting it upward. His lips parted slightly, leaning to claim the ones below him…
…when quite suddenly, they fizzled away into a handful of air.
He blinked, too stunned to do much else aside from watch Squall and the brig disappear around him. It was a matter of seconds before he found himself back in the real world, surrounded once more by the simulation room's design.
"Captain," the voice of the one he had heard moaning so pleasantly in his ear only seconds ago filtered in through the speakers. "I apologize, sir, but a – as you would put it – dire emergency requires your attention."
Shaking his head roughly, desperate for immediate regaining of his self and composure, the captain refused to turn around. Keeping his back to the cameras, he demanded sharply, "What is it?"
"The Commodore wants a word with you, sir," First Officer Leonhart answered. "Right now. He speaks on behalf of the Admiral."
That old, wrinkled son of a… Several colorful complaints and more curses against the Commodore filling his head, Captain Strife bowed his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. "… this is retribution, I know it is…"
"Sir?"
"Nothing, Leonhart," he growled in answer. "Just… stall him. I'm going to… need a minute."
"Aye, Captain."
Captain Strife, stuck with a bad case of wood in the middle of a simulation room, barely kept himself from whimpering before the blissfully ignorant boy signed off with a final click.
Oh yes. He was most definitely in trouble.
Shameless advertisement: If you'd like to prompt me to write something Cleon/Strifehart for you, drop by the Strifehart Kink Meme (http: //community. livejournal. com/ cleonrp/ 2723. html). The ones I like better will end up back here for your reading pleasure.