A Day's Work
by Gonzai
Summary: Braca finally finds out what Grayza wants from him.
Rating R
Author's Notes: Thanks to Kernezelda for beta-ing. I would've submitted this to Anna's UC challenge but for the non-con. Oh well
;-) I think this just might be darkfic!
"Captain Braca!" The lieutenant approached his superior officer nervously, and Braca knew who had sent him. "Commander Grayza wishes to see you at once, in her bedchamber."
Braca was unsurprised. Grayza routinely requested him at the oddest of times and often at the oddest of places. At least she wasn't summoning him to the bath this time. "Thank you, Lieutenant. Dismissed." He could only imagine what she wished of him this time. And he preferred not to use his imagination. It wasn't a good idea for a Peacekeeper.
He arrived at the door, which was presently unguarded. Very incompetent of the guards. They would have to be reprimanded, at the very least. "Ma'am? You wished to speak to with me?" Braca cautiously approached the bedchamber, not knowing whether Grayza was satisfactorily clothed, and silently hoping that she would be dressed.
She was not clothed. At all. And she was lying on her bed and - 'Oh, frell,' he thought, and quickly beat that thought down. He was a soldier. He could resist his own superior officer. He hoped he could.
Grayza was, to be honest, bored. There had been little excitement aboard the carrier for many solar days. And while it was generally best not to use subordinates - at least not the better ones - for her entertainment, she found Captain Braca to be fairly interesting. Perhaps he would prove worthy of her interest, and on this particular occasion, she wished to determine precisely how worthy.
"My dear Captain Braca. Come in, please," she instructed him, her tone indicating it was in fact an order, not a request. She was quite satisfied to note the effect her nudity had upon him.
"Commander, m-ma'am, I - perhaps now is not the b-best time, I could come back...later, when you're...dressed," he stammered. He really was quite attractive when he was uncomfortable.
"Now is the perfect time, Captain. Come closer."
Awkwardly, he moved closer to her and she quickly reached out and pressed her hand against his groin. Braca yelped and tried to step back, but she had already slid her hand upwards and taken hold of the waistband of his pants, so he was not going anywhere. She pulled him closer to her and stroked his cheek with her other hand. "Now, now, dearest Captain, this is what you want, isn't it?"
Braca closed his eyes and spoke with his jaw tightly clenched. "No, ma'am, no it's not. You're my commanding officer."
"Should that really matter?" She squeezed her lower hand and he groaned. Involuntarily, she was sure. She let her fingers drift across his cheek and across his throat, then carefully began unzipping his uniform. "Come now, Captain. I have an assignment for you."
As she had expected, he was unable to refuse. Heppel oil certainly had its benefits. But regrettably, it was soon apparent his ability to follow orders was not to her benefit this time. He performed for her, but nothing more, and her interest waned quickly. She would have to find another means to make him worthwhile recreation.
As the Captain neared his climax, Grayza calmly began running her fingers through his hair with her left hand, while her right hand travelled across his body and then slipped beneath her bed. Her fingers tightened around the toy she kept there for just such an occasion. At the instant that Braca came inside her, she tightened her hold on his hair and jerked his head back sharply, almost enough to break his neck. She raised her right arm, and with the sharp, intricately carved knife she favored for such events, slashed Braca's throat.
Blood sprayed across the bed as she casually pushed his convulsing body off of her own and onto the floor. Calmly, she stood up, wrapped a flimsy gown about her and gazed down imperiously at the helpless, dying man who lay at her feet.
"Entirely inadequate, Captain," Grayza informed him, and serenely stepped over the fast-spreading pool of blood on the floor as she made her way from the room.
Braca awoke suddenly and sharply, confused and unsure of his whereabouts for several moments before finally realizing he was awake and lying in his bunk. Another nightmare. They were far too frequent. But if there were means for stopping them, it was beyond the knowledge of Peacekeepers, and admitting to having them would surely be the end of his career. All the same, should Peacekeeper technology ever advance to the stage of possibly preventing dreaming, he would be first to offer himself for the experiment, he thought ruefully.
It was another arn before he was due on duty, but he would not sleep any more this night. The bunk was soaking wet with perspiration and (something else) and the humiliation of this was at least as unpleasant the nightmares themselves. He would have to clean his quarters, and he needed to clean himself.
He rose from the bunk and set about preparing himself for the day ahead. Someday, he supposed, he would no longer serve Grayza, and such nightmares might then subside, but until then he would have to tolerate them. He dressed, and briefly allowed his frustration to take hold of him, striking the wall next to the mirror with his fist, before reporting to his post.
To his dismay, Grayza had already requested his presence at her chamber. Resolutely, he strode down the corridors to her den, trying his best to ignore the stares and whispers of the other Peacekeepers as they passed. Gossip was not worthy of a Peacekeeper, but try telling that to junior officers. Frell them. Frell them all.
He reached Grayza's chamber and steeled himself, then entered, ignoring the interested glances of the guards.
"You requested me, ma'am? What can I do for you?" he spoke as evenly and without emotion as he possibly could, trying to ignore the way she looked at him, the way she saw him, the way she thought of him.
"Ah, my dear Captain Braca," she laughed lightly and stroked his disfigured throat, tracing the jagged scar that ran a path underneath his jaw and just above his collar, the mark that publicly declared what everyone onboard the carrier knew and none would speak openly of, "it's what you can't do for me."
THE END
©copyright 2000 Gonzai