The BLTS Archive - Command and Control by Doyle (the_slugandlettuce@yahoo.ca) --- Archive: Permission to archive granted to EntSTCommunity. All others, please ask. Warnings: If you run screaming from Evil!Archer, run now. This fic contains scenes of violence, dominance, non-con and cruelty. Reader discretion is strongly advised. Feedback: My first piece of notable non-fluff. Feedback is welcomed. Flames are not appreciated. Beta: The wonderful and insightful Brian, without whom it would have made no sense. Thanks B. Spoilers: None Disclaimer: Not mine, I just like to play. They're not too happy about that, are they? --- Command and Control: (Mil.)The exercise of authority and direction by a properly designated commander over assigned and attached forces in the accomplishment of the mission. --- What am I? I am the captain. He looks at himself in the mirror. Underneath this, I am still a man. He braces his hands on the edge of the sink. His eyes scrutinize the face in the mirror, determined to see beneath, to take in the full measure of the man. He looks behind his reflection's eyes, and somewhere, he loses track of the mirror. I am strong. I will not be moved. He imagines hazel eyes boring into him, her gaze pointed with a brazen contempt. An eyebrow slanted in pure disdain. She opens her mouth to interject, to shut him down. To batter him with insults and bend his will to hers. He looks on her coldly as she meets his sang-froid with feminine wavering, and he doesn't flinch as she hits the far bulkhead. I am powerful. . . and virile. He imagines fucking the Lieutenant with his voice. All it would take is a sharp look and a demanding tone and the man would cum all over himself like a teenager. His hands are braced on the Tactical console, head dropped to his chest. But work must be done. "I gave you an order, Lieutenant." The words are scarcely formed before the smell hits him again, before his Lieutenant spontaneously cums again. "Yes, Captain." He sees his hands, large and sinister over soft, young curves, fisted roughly in black glossy hair. When he's done with her, she asks when he'll visit her again. I desire. I control. I will have them. He pictures a mouth on him, a head between his legs. Blonde. Blonde and noisy, but so quiet now. The open countenance tightly docile, a gag tucked under his flexed jaw and restraints on his wrists. I will take. I will make it mine. He thinks of unsmiling eyes, half hooded as he dutifully waits face down on the bed, naked, a pillow under his hips. The lubricant sits nearby and he's already used it. He's learned that if he forgets, some people may not remember. There is a single bruise-blue mark on the dark expanse of his back, and finger-marks on the backs of his muscled arms. This is my crew. They are mine to command. He pushes away from the mirror and steps back. He brushes hair out of his eyes and clears his throat. When he steps out of the door, he is not the same man who entered. This is *my* crew. And I am their captain. --- The End