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If there was anything that Lore found even remotely appealing about Starfleet, it was the uniforms. The tight-fitting materials had a way of extenuating the endowments of the crew members, both female and male, onboard the Enterprise.
It was just that thought that was crossing his mind as his eyes landed on yet again on Data. He was sitting at his post, tugging a golden sleeve to cover his wrist absentmindedly, before placing his hands back on the console.
Lore honestly had a hard time deciding which he liked better: Data all made up in his Starfleet skin-suit getup or his own personal memory images from before Professor Soong had had the intelligence to outfit Data with a modesty subroutine (Lore can still remember Data traipsing around, his brother’s naked bioplast gleaming in Omicron Theta’s mid-day heat, after they had both skinny-dipped in the cool water of a lake near the Soong homestead.).
He wondered how the outfit would fare if he were to become rough with it; not enough to rip it but just enough to muss it up. Like if he was to corner his little brother against a bulkhead and grind into him until Data came in his pants, would they stain because of his golden spunk? If he were to trap Data in a turbolift and trace his muscles with his tongue over the fabric, would his faux-saliva leave wet trails? If they were planet-side and Lore put him on his hands and knees and fucked him into the ground with his outfit still on, exactly how dirty would it be by the time they were done?
Suddenly, Data turned to look at him, a fake, forced smile on his brother’s face. He smiled back at his younger brother casually, keeping up his clam, innocent façade.