"Intimate, Intimidate"

[Col. C.E. Harper 0]

(Takes place after "Holding the Reins". -- CEH)

 

"Intimate, Intimidate"

Special guest author, name withheld

Harper Log 08.16.06

In orbit of Psi Velorum IV

 

Harper bid the guard a good night as she stepped into her quarters, engaging the privacy lock behind her. This day had been, while not unpleasant, extremely long. Now that she was off-duty, she wanted nothing more than to settle in with a book-padd and a glass of the good brandy she had stashed away.

 

The slave lay sprawled upon the colonel's bed in his usual scant attire, looking relatively placid. He turned over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows as he gave Harper a playful smirk. "Good evening, Charlotte."

 

She gave him a half-hearted glare; the question of address was an old fight and not one she had the energy for tonight. Besides, he'd at least waited until the door had shut. A thought occurred to her, and she smiled. "Sheuji," she purred, sauntering towards the bedroom and leaning against the doorframe. "Good evening."

 

He smiled slightly, almost boyishly. "How was your day?"

 

"Very... long." She sighed lightly. "Although productive, and occasionally entertaining."

 

"Productive," he repeated, "and entertaining. Aren't you lucky. Tell me more."

 

She smiled. "Well, I educated some of the Empire's up-and-coming forces, and coaxed information out of a lizard. Incidentally," Charlotte added, wagging a finger at him playfully, "your people didn't teach these slaves their place in the galaxy very well."

 

"Well, give them a bit of a break; the flip-flop of the slave masters has to be a little... disconcerting for them. Don't you agree?"

 

"I don't see why." Shrugging, she pushed off the doorframe and came the rest of the way to the bed, brushing her fingertips against his bicep teasingly. "So there's an Imperial Warship hanging over them instead of a Warbird. What does it matter?"

 

Resisting his first impulse, he sighed softly as she rubbed against his skin. "Perhaps it's how their masters drive them, but who am I to tell you how to manage a fellow slave."

 

She nudged him over and sat down on the bed beside him. "And such a fine, upstanding example to your fellow slaves you are... ryak'na."

 

Flushing, he replied, "What ever do you mean?"

 

Eyes wide, she feigned innocent surprise. "You are obedient, aren't you?" Her hands trailed lightly over his bare chest. "Respectful?" She brushed the back of her fingers along his jaw. "Humble?"

 

"Guilty as charged," he said, letting her hands wander over him. "Speaking of obedience..."

 

"Yes?” Her hands paused, and she sat looking at him expectantly.

 

"The trio of senior officers learned a few lessons today, so I hear."

 

"Oh, really?" Amused, she settled herself more comfortably. "Robair was in a foul mood on the bridge as we arrived; something about a little tiff keeping his kitten away from the bridge.” Once again her hands began drifting aimlessly. "Something to do with that?"

 

He knew that by keeping her informed on all the good gossip, she'd be more tolerant of his... failures as a 'good slave.' "Seems that the dear captain is into micro-managing the little power struggles between the department heads."

 

"Already?" she asked, dragging a nail lightly along his collarbone. "Either he's extremely confident, or extremely nervous."

 

"Confident," he nodded slightly. "The man certainly knows how to stir them up. They've taken to calling him Dread."

 

Her hand stroked down the side of his face, fingers curling into the slightly waving locks of his hair. "So what did the dread captain do?"

 

Laughing slightly, he answered, "Verbally made the little Kroells speechless, agonized Robair, and has Robair allegedly cleaning the holodeck by hand... not bad."

 

"Hmm," she murmured. "I imagine Robair isn't happy about that."

 

"Especially since the half-breed took Prell's side," the Romulan noted. If there was one thing they agreed upon, it was racial purity and superiority. The difference, however, was their definitions of racial superiority: one involved pointed-ears and green blood, the other round and red-blood.

 

She nodded and released him, shifting her weight so that she leaned across him, one hand planted on the far side of his body, the other now freed to caress his throat and chest. Her eyes slightly distant, she murmured, "There must be some way to use this..."

 

Cooing softly, he let her have her way for a few moments before speaking. "It could be a trap, Charlotte."

 

"You tell me nothing I do not already know," Harper replied, her tone hardening as her gaze came back in focus. She glared down at him fiercely. "I think we can see which of us is better at holding on to power, can't we, ryak'na?"

 

"For all your superior technology," he replied as gently as possible, "I still have much knowledge of the game of deception that you do not, e'lev."

 

"Do you now, slave?" She caught his chin in her hand, staring coldly into his eyes. "And what, in your 'expert opinion', is going on aboard this ship?"

 

"He's making a power play," he stated obediently. "Early for such a move, which makes it smell of a deception. He could be very well trying to draw out his enemies now, so he can tell who to off later – or sooner, as the case may be."

 

She released him with a forceful motion that turned his head to one side. "Throwing his weight around like this will get him knifed before he has a chance to off anyone."

 

"Well, sahe'lagga, you know as well as I do," he said as he gathered himself, "that half-breed didn't rise to his position without being smart enough to know what he's doing. The man certainly is ambitious."

 

"Ambitious.” Her eyes lit with amusement and she leaned over to claim a quick kiss. "Like someone else I could name."

 

"Well," he admitted. "I do see some qualities of a certain Romulan Admiral who once struck fear into the hearts of the Imperial Starfleet."

 

Laughing, she dipped her head for another kiss, hot and hungry. When she released his mouth, it was to whisper, "But never the Marines, my little ryak'na."

 

After three years of servitude, he'd learned to ignore her mangling of his native tongue. He'd grown accustomed to the horrid accent she couldn't be bothered to correct. Of course, it was also his own little way of reminding himself which race was superior. "Well," he said after she released him. "At least one Marine."

 

"So long as you remember that, Sheuji." She fixed him with a sharp glance, then relaxed, settling back down.

 

"Why is it you prefer to call me that?"

 

"To remind you of your place, of course.” She idly toyed with a lock of his hair. "Everything you are -- even your most private name -- is mine, to do with as I please."

 

He sighed, "I know that, but I prefer to be called by my given name -- Destorie."

 

She smirked. "I know," she said simply.

 

 

Romulan Language:

ryak’na – garbage, trash

e’lev – love

sahe’lagga – passionflower

 

Sheuji – In addition to a personal name, surname, and often a middle name, Romulans have a private name. They typically give this name only to those who are extremely close to them, and it would never be used in public.