(no subject)
Title: Alone Time
Rating: um.. PG?
Characters: Kara & Lee (this is standard =P )
Length: 1012 words, dammit. Cigars are bad for you.
Summary: Lee doesn't realise he has an audience. Kara wonders why he should care.
A/N, Disclaimer: These pretty people don't belong to me, sadly. I'm keeping them in shape for next season. Written for the BSG1k challenge #6. Everyone except Svilleficrecs, please ask before archive.
Alone Time
The rhythm is regular, steady. Soothing. I hear the metallic thump of the bench against the bulkhead, hear the hiss of breathing rendered heavy with exertion.
It's funny, seeing how long he’s been doing this, that he is still so self-conscious, that he feels unfathomably shy even among people who sleep mere inches from him every night, share his meals, his bathroom. His life. But he is, and that's just the way he is.
Thunk. Thunk. Breath exhaled. Thunk. Hiss of indrawn air. Thunk.
Its a habit, of course. I learned early on not to be embarrased by my own body, to ignore my awareness of eyes where they shouldn't be. It's never been an issue for most people. Except Lee.
Thunk. Thunk. Slow, drawn out breath. Pause... is that panting? He's working hard. Thunk again, and the rhythm continues.
Don't misunderstand me - he doesn't blush anymore when he walks into the pilots head and catches a glimpse of some girl in a towel. He's fine with shaving with an audience, brushing his teeth. The sting of communal hygiene wore off a long time ago, just like it did for me. But this is something else.
Thunk, thunk. Thunk. The bulkhead is cold, but it lets me keep a low profile, and gives him the illusion of privacy. Thunk. Thunk.
I mean, it's a natural part of being where we are, doing what we do, right? Taking relaxation where you find it. Pursuing the body's natural highs, as my drill instructor told me once. Endorphins, adrenaline. Exertion only makes the release sweeter, you feel good. And you don't really need a partner for it if you know what you're doing; your mind is focus enough.
Thunk. Breath. Thunk. There's little noises in the breaths now, he's been working at this a while.
Of course, that doesn't explain why he's so reclusive about it. No-one is going to be shocked to see Captain Adama doing this, even if sweat is a little out of character. Sweat's more my deal, and I like it. It's a reminder that I've pushed myself, even after the buzz of adrenaline has worn off. Lee, on the other hand, always seems to look just like he's stepped out of the shower. I can't remember the last time I saw him covered in grease after a shift on the Hanger Deck; used to ask him if he carried soap around in his pocket to clean up before cleaning up. So maybe that's it? He doesn't like to look like he exerts himself?
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Little groan, breath. Thunk.
Of course not, everyone knows he works his ass off, but then again, this isn't exactly work that I'm eavesdropping on. One couldn't really say it's part of the CAG's duties.
Thunk. Grunt. Thunk.
It’s amazing how much stamina he has, really.
Thunk. Thunk.
Okay, Starbuck, mind out of the gutter, please. Thinking about why he needs privacy for this, right?
Thunk. Breath. Thunk.
Right.
Grunt, and a little pause. Is he done? Thunk. Thunk. Evidently not.
He really doesn't want an audience, even just a listening one. He didn't know I was here. I didn't exactly announce my presence when he started this, and once he got going, I wasn't about to interrupt. It's actually quite fun, knowing he's about two feet behind me, with this partial bulkhead between us, and I can hear every motion. But it provokes my curiosity...
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Breath, and out again. Thunk.
...among other things.
Thunk. Thunk.
Maybe it's because he just likes to be alone sometimes? Hell, I can understand that. He likes to pretend he doesn't need anyone, aside from a wingman or the occasional card-game, but for this? The stoic face doesn’t fool me, and at any rate, I'm pretty sure he's not wearing it now, hiding down here in the dark.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Grunting breath. Thunk. Thunk.
Gods know how long he can keep this up. Probably longer than me, and that's saying something.
Thunk. Thunk. Pause. Thunk-thunk.
Rhythm's getting a little uneven, there, Lee. Almost done? I hope so. This bulkhead is cold.
Thunk.
I can't figure it. I'd ask him, but if I walk around that corner now, he'd probably jump six feet and then blush all shades of pretty colors, and ask me how long I've been here. Come to think of it, that sounds like fun.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Groan.... Thunk. Silence.
Wow. One of these days, I'd really like to discuss this with him, maybe even compare and combine efforts, because even just listening, I think that was pretty impressive. Admittedly, he could have done this in the bunkroom without anyone caring a scrap, but that's just the way he is: hide his virtuosity under the cool, inscrutable face. Think I should ask him about it anyway, just so he doesn't really think he's getting away with anything.
I could even offer to help.
He's still breathing hard back there, and I can't say I'm surprised. But I'm cold, and I'm not getting anywhere useful with this line of speculation, and I have to be on shift with the nuggets at ten-hundred. Sleep would be good. A stogie would be better, but I don't have one with me. Lee could probably use a stogie too, but he saves his for special occasions.
I don't think this is a special occasion. Might have been if I was helping him out, though. I don't think he'd have been done so soon with me egging him on. After all -
Footsteps, means he's going. That's good. I can get up, and it'll be just as much fun to tease him about his alone time tomorrow as it will be now, when he's too wrecked to argue back. One of these days I'll figure out why he always wants to do this on his own.
- After all, it's only sit-ups, and this IS the gym. Why the frack should he care if anyone sees him doing that? Lee is pretty fracking weird, sometimes.
Rating: um.. PG?
Characters: Kara & Lee (this is standard =P )
Length: 1012 words, dammit. Cigars are bad for you.
Summary: Lee doesn't realise he has an audience. Kara wonders why he should care.
A/N, Disclaimer: These pretty people don't belong to me, sadly. I'm keeping them in shape for next season. Written for the BSG1k challenge #6. Everyone except Svilleficrecs, please ask before archive.
Alone Time
The rhythm is regular, steady. Soothing. I hear the metallic thump of the bench against the bulkhead, hear the hiss of breathing rendered heavy with exertion.
It's funny, seeing how long he’s been doing this, that he is still so self-conscious, that he feels unfathomably shy even among people who sleep mere inches from him every night, share his meals, his bathroom. His life. But he is, and that's just the way he is.
Thunk. Thunk. Breath exhaled. Thunk. Hiss of indrawn air. Thunk.
Its a habit, of course. I learned early on not to be embarrased by my own body, to ignore my awareness of eyes where they shouldn't be. It's never been an issue for most people. Except Lee.
Thunk. Thunk. Slow, drawn out breath. Pause... is that panting? He's working hard. Thunk again, and the rhythm continues.
Don't misunderstand me - he doesn't blush anymore when he walks into the pilots head and catches a glimpse of some girl in a towel. He's fine with shaving with an audience, brushing his teeth. The sting of communal hygiene wore off a long time ago, just like it did for me. But this is something else.
Thunk, thunk. Thunk. The bulkhead is cold, but it lets me keep a low profile, and gives him the illusion of privacy. Thunk. Thunk.
I mean, it's a natural part of being where we are, doing what we do, right? Taking relaxation where you find it. Pursuing the body's natural highs, as my drill instructor told me once. Endorphins, adrenaline. Exertion only makes the release sweeter, you feel good. And you don't really need a partner for it if you know what you're doing; your mind is focus enough.
Thunk. Breath. Thunk. There's little noises in the breaths now, he's been working at this a while.
Of course, that doesn't explain why he's so reclusive about it. No-one is going to be shocked to see Captain Adama doing this, even if sweat is a little out of character. Sweat's more my deal, and I like it. It's a reminder that I've pushed myself, even after the buzz of adrenaline has worn off. Lee, on the other hand, always seems to look just like he's stepped out of the shower. I can't remember the last time I saw him covered in grease after a shift on the Hanger Deck; used to ask him if he carried soap around in his pocket to clean up before cleaning up. So maybe that's it? He doesn't like to look like he exerts himself?
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Little groan, breath. Thunk.
Of course not, everyone knows he works his ass off, but then again, this isn't exactly work that I'm eavesdropping on. One couldn't really say it's part of the CAG's duties.
Thunk. Grunt. Thunk.
It’s amazing how much stamina he has, really.
Thunk. Thunk.
Okay, Starbuck, mind out of the gutter, please. Thinking about why he needs privacy for this, right?
Thunk. Breath. Thunk.
Right.
Grunt, and a little pause. Is he done? Thunk. Thunk. Evidently not.
He really doesn't want an audience, even just a listening one. He didn't know I was here. I didn't exactly announce my presence when he started this, and once he got going, I wasn't about to interrupt. It's actually quite fun, knowing he's about two feet behind me, with this partial bulkhead between us, and I can hear every motion. But it provokes my curiosity...
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Breath, and out again. Thunk.
...among other things.
Thunk. Thunk.
Maybe it's because he just likes to be alone sometimes? Hell, I can understand that. He likes to pretend he doesn't need anyone, aside from a wingman or the occasional card-game, but for this? The stoic face doesn’t fool me, and at any rate, I'm pretty sure he's not wearing it now, hiding down here in the dark.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Grunting breath. Thunk. Thunk.
Gods know how long he can keep this up. Probably longer than me, and that's saying something.
Thunk. Thunk. Pause. Thunk-thunk.
Rhythm's getting a little uneven, there, Lee. Almost done? I hope so. This bulkhead is cold.
Thunk.
I can't figure it. I'd ask him, but if I walk around that corner now, he'd probably jump six feet and then blush all shades of pretty colors, and ask me how long I've been here. Come to think of it, that sounds like fun.
Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Groan.... Thunk. Silence.
Wow. One of these days, I'd really like to discuss this with him, maybe even compare and combine efforts, because even just listening, I think that was pretty impressive. Admittedly, he could have done this in the bunkroom without anyone caring a scrap, but that's just the way he is: hide his virtuosity under the cool, inscrutable face. Think I should ask him about it anyway, just so he doesn't really think he's getting away with anything.
I could even offer to help.
He's still breathing hard back there, and I can't say I'm surprised. But I'm cold, and I'm not getting anywhere useful with this line of speculation, and I have to be on shift with the nuggets at ten-hundred. Sleep would be good. A stogie would be better, but I don't have one with me. Lee could probably use a stogie too, but he saves his for special occasions.
I don't think this is a special occasion. Might have been if I was helping him out, though. I don't think he'd have been done so soon with me egging him on. After all -
Footsteps, means he's going. That's good. I can get up, and it'll be just as much fun to tease him about his alone time tomorrow as it will be now, when he's too wrecked to argue back. One of these days I'll figure out why he always wants to do this on his own.
- After all, it's only sit-ups, and this IS the gym. Why the frack should he care if anyone sees him doing that? Lee is pretty fracking weird, sometimes.