FIC: Set To Explode
Title: Set to Explode
Author: Amy (alexia@innergeekdom.net)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica 2003
Spoilers: 2.17
Disclaimer: Talk to Ron Moore. And while you're at it, tell him you loved Roswell season three.
Ship: Kat/Kara
Rating: Um, R? NC-17? Something like.
Summary: It wasn't Kat's fault that the entire fleet was a ticking time bomb of sexual frustration.
Notes: My first non-crossovery BSG fic! Oh, that's scary. Um, written for femslash06 for sing1118. Props to everyone who I made help me with this one, especially tellitslant, who was totally forced into reading this like twelve times.
2,048 words
The week after President Roslin enacted the abortion ban, the entire fleet was practically ready to explode. The first few days, Kat wrote it off to irritation at the growing political unrest, not to mention the real possibility that Baltar could be in charge of the colonies, but within a week the real reason emerged.
Absolutely no one was getting frakked, and the frustration was driving them all mad.
"You're serious?" she asked, leaning back against her locker. "You're all ready to bite the head off any frakkin' toaster that comes within sixty yards because you haven't gotten laid?"
"That's the job, Kat," Apollo said lazily, not even bothering to move from his position leaning against the wall. "They're the toasters. And we kill them. If you didn't want to do that, maybe you shouldn't have wasted Starbuck's time teaching you to fly."
This was why no one ever talked to him about anything important. Especially not when he was cranky.
But at least it was a reaction. Kat opted to push the point. "You don't give a frak about the toasters right now, though. You just want a way to burn off your frustration." She traced the room carefully, each officer for him- or herself. "Gods, do you really think you're going to grow hair on your palms, Apollo?"
"Shut the frak up, Kat," Starbuck interrupted. "He's not going to scratch your itch, especially now that if you get pregnant you have to keep it."
"Hold up," Kat said. "Who said anything about me frakking your boy?"
"He's not my boy." Starbuck almost growled it out. "I don't care who's frakking Lee, so long as it doesn't cut down on my men in the field."
"Gods damn, Starbuck," she said, shaking her head. "You need to get laid more than anyone else in the fleet, don't you?"`
"I need the nuggets," Starbuck said, her voice calculatedly calm, "to remember their place, and stop pretending that they're me."
Now Apollo did move, tensing up for a problem.
"Don't worry," Starbuck said. "We're not going to get into a fight." She paused, almost smiling just a bit, looking straight over like there was a joke and Kat was the punch line. "Sir."
"No fighting," Kat agreed. "Sir." She bit off the end of the word, like it was Starbuck's frakking ego she was cutting in two.
"Make sure of it," Apollo said, and then he got up to leave. "I'll be in my bunk if you need me," he added, glancing from Kat to Starbuck and back.
Kat snorted. Didn't say "Of course you will," but wanted to, and she knew Starbuck knew it too. You don't look at people like that without one thing on your mind.
Which was why, they both knew, as soon as Apollo cleared out everyone else did too, like they had something important to do. Kat figured it'd be less than ten minutes before at least four of them found themselves in the showers, trying to avoid looking at each other, or maybe lending a hand. Which was what they should've been doing anyway.
She would never understand how half of them survived a Cylon attack when they couldn't even figure out the benefits of mutual masturbation or oral sex.
"What's going on, Starbuck?" Kat asked, pushing herself harder against the locker just to make her back ramrod-straight. "Too good for your own fingers?"
Starbuck closed her eyes, took a deep swig from her mug, opened them again. "Too good for yours, if that's what you're asking."
"Kara Thrace," Kat said, drawing out the words like a bowstring. "Kara Thrace, too good to be frakked by the only pilot in the fleet who can outshoot her. That it?" She used her elbows to push herself up, started to walk towards Starbuck one step at a time. "Or are you just scared I'll be better than you at that, too?"
A sound between a snort and a snarl. "Nice try, Kat."
"Or maybe you know you are." And now she was closer, so close that she could look Starbuck in the eye when she said it. "Or maybe you're just too drunk to even try."
She thought Starbuck was going to hit her, she really did. But it still caught her by surprise, the quick movement of a hand and then the sting against her face, hard and hot. Kat didn't say a word, barely even flinched, just smiled a little and said "That the best you got, sir?"
First blood went to Starbuck; Kat tasted it, thick and metallic, and if it were anyone but Starbuck whose fist had connected she might have conceded defeat. But it wasn't, and it was, and the pain was worth it just to keep smiling and throw Starbuck off her guard. She considered spitting blood, just because she could, but then Starbuck was there, spinning her around and pinning her hard against the wall and then Starbuck was tasting the blood too, devouring her, kissing Kat so hard that it almost hurt more than the slap.
And Kat leaned into it. She was that kind of girl.
"Are you that desperate after a week without cock?" Kat asked. "Because seriously, none of the men in the fleet are that good with what they do. I think you just haven't been properly frakked in months, is that it? You're just waiting for the right woman."
"I don't wait, nugget," Starbuck said. "I want, I take."
"I bet you're so wet you're making Apollo's fantasy right now look like it comes from a kids' story," Kat breathed. "I bet you're so into this that if it wouldn't make me right, you would have already torn my clothes off and frakked me into oblivion. Or is that not how you work anymore?"
"Do you honestly think this is about you?" Starbuck paused, just for a fraction of a moment, and then said "Take off your shirt."
"You're not going to rip it off me?" Kat raised an eyebrow. "What, you developing boundaries? It's a little late, don't you think?"
"I'm not going to have you sitting there tomorrow morning, explaining to the old man that you need a new uniform because I tore your frakking shirt. Take it off."
Because even drunk, she managed to think more than Kat even bothered to try. She peeled off her shirt, then her bra, then shimmied out of her pants. "That acceptable?" she asked. "Sir?"
Starbuck's fingers were everywhere, then, pinching and slapping, just a little, enough to sting but not to burn, just to remind Kat who was in charge.
Which would have worked better, Kat thought, if she weren't moaning, keening, and egging her along the whole time. But she wasn't going to argue if this was Starbuck's version of a power play.
"You've been waiting for this forever, haven't you?" Starbuck asked. "You've just been waiting for someone to come by and remind you of your place."
"Almost as long as you've been waiting for someone to take away your control," Kat said, with a smile that could have been a snarl. "Is this a decent substitute for Daddy giving you a good spanking?"
It was almost annoying, how easy it was to bait Starbuck. There was no way to know when a line would be crossed when your target didn't even have a line. The only thing that made it tolerable, really, was how excellent it felt to be beating Starbuck at her own game.
Time skidded around them, fast and furious and as angry as Starbuck, and the pile of clothes on the floor doubled and Kat couldn't even get a good look at Starbuck, naked, because she was always moving, a bundle of nerves and misplaced drunken rage. Which was, Kat thought, kind of frakking fantastic.
They ended up frakking right there, the wall cool against Kat's skin as Starbuck used one hand to pin her there by the throat, pressure just short of stopping her air supply. The fingers of her other hand pumped furiously between Kat's legs, and Kat wasn't really sure whether Starbuck cared about if she got off as long as the power balance was restored.. Her smile was just daring her to say a word, taunting, as though somehow she was beating Kat by getting her off.
Kat didn't get it. She also didn't care.
She wasn't going to play submissive to Starbuck. That wasn't going to work anymore; not when she could outshoot her, out-fly her, out-anything her if it came to that. Starbuck was doing more than just drinking, now, but not much more. She wasn't going to bow her head and take anything she got thrown at her, just because Starbuck started flying a few years before she did.
That didn't change the way that Starbuck's knuckle rubbing over her clit felt even better than the rush after a fistful of stims and a quick frak in the showers.
"Feel better?" she hissed at Starbuck, her entire body trembling against her will but refusing to let her voice follow it. "A bit of release without any chance of a little baby frak-up coming out of it?"
The hand around her neck released to hit her, hard across the face again, and this time Kat laughed, leaned forward to kiss her, missed her lips but managed to get blood on her cheek anyway. Marked her. Grinned so hard her cheeks hurt.
Starbuck might have been drunk, but Kat was drunk off her.
They were both sweaty, bloody, satiated. Neither of them would admit they were done, though, so it kept going, skin against skin until Kat couldn't tell, sex or violence, and didn't much care either way, drowning in sensation and feeling and touch.
They fought and they frakked and it was pretty much the same, each pinning the other, taunting, getting off and then wriggling free to give as good as they got. It was sex like a competition, like a battle, like a war.
By the end, Kat was pretty sure she won. But she was pretty sure Starbuck thought the same thing.
They headed off to the showers afterwards, eyeing each other carefully, like the match was over but the game was still on. There wasn't a single part of Kat that didn't feel sore.
The water sluiced over her, harsh and unforgiving and perfect, and when she rubbed hard at her skin, pressing away the sweat, she noticed for the first time the bruises that were already blossoming all over her body. She looked over, though, ignoring the time-honored tradition of not checking out anyone in the shower, and saw that Starbuck had quite a few marks herself. Including a bite, right around her throat, that definitely hadn't been there yesterday. Good.
She smirked, finished showering. She felt perfect, warm and clean and calm and satisfied. No wonder everyone else had been nothing but aggression; this was the only thing getting Kat through the day. She felt so unwound, in fact, that she poked Starbuck on one of the bruises and grinned.
And Starbuck, against all odds, giggled.
The gasp then was audible, distracting even, and it wasn't from Starbuck or Kat. They both turned to see that it was three other officers, all standing under the flow of the water and not moving, not breathing. All of them had clearly been jacking off. Kat noticed one fist frozen in mid-stroke, like he couldn't even think to unwrap his hand. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Starbuck didn't even try.
Starbuck nodded at two of them, the ones whose names Kat didn't even know, but her smile widened at the third. "Captain Apollo," she said. "Sir."
"Sir," Kat echoed. She reached for her towel as she left, draping it around her waist. Her hair was cool and damp against her neck. She reached back, brushing it across one particularly sore spot, where she was pretty sure Starbuck had left a mark. She looked over to Kara, opened her mouth to say something, but she was already dressing, already getting ready to leave. Which meant, Kat guessed, no more sex. At least not tonight.
She liked frustration, sometimes. It made release that much more fun.
Author: Amy (alexia@innergeekdom.net)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica 2003
Spoilers: 2.17
Disclaimer: Talk to Ron Moore. And while you're at it, tell him you loved Roswell season three.
Ship: Kat/Kara
Rating: Um, R? NC-17? Something like.
Summary: It wasn't Kat's fault that the entire fleet was a ticking time bomb of sexual frustration.
Notes: My first non-crossovery BSG fic! Oh, that's scary. Um, written for femslash06 for sing1118. Props to everyone who I made help me with this one, especially tellitslant, who was totally forced into reading this like twelve times.
2,048 words
The week after President Roslin enacted the abortion ban, the entire fleet was practically ready to explode. The first few days, Kat wrote it off to irritation at the growing political unrest, not to mention the real possibility that Baltar could be in charge of the colonies, but within a week the real reason emerged.
Absolutely no one was getting frakked, and the frustration was driving them all mad.
"You're serious?" she asked, leaning back against her locker. "You're all ready to bite the head off any frakkin' toaster that comes within sixty yards because you haven't gotten laid?"
"That's the job, Kat," Apollo said lazily, not even bothering to move from his position leaning against the wall. "They're the toasters. And we kill them. If you didn't want to do that, maybe you shouldn't have wasted Starbuck's time teaching you to fly."
This was why no one ever talked to him about anything important. Especially not when he was cranky.
But at least it was a reaction. Kat opted to push the point. "You don't give a frak about the toasters right now, though. You just want a way to burn off your frustration." She traced the room carefully, each officer for him- or herself. "Gods, do you really think you're going to grow hair on your palms, Apollo?"
"Shut the frak up, Kat," Starbuck interrupted. "He's not going to scratch your itch, especially now that if you get pregnant you have to keep it."
"Hold up," Kat said. "Who said anything about me frakking your boy?"
"He's not my boy." Starbuck almost growled it out. "I don't care who's frakking Lee, so long as it doesn't cut down on my men in the field."
"Gods damn, Starbuck," she said, shaking her head. "You need to get laid more than anyone else in the fleet, don't you?"`
"I need the nuggets," Starbuck said, her voice calculatedly calm, "to remember their place, and stop pretending that they're me."
Now Apollo did move, tensing up for a problem.
"Don't worry," Starbuck said. "We're not going to get into a fight." She paused, almost smiling just a bit, looking straight over like there was a joke and Kat was the punch line. "Sir."
"No fighting," Kat agreed. "Sir." She bit off the end of the word, like it was Starbuck's frakking ego she was cutting in two.
"Make sure of it," Apollo said, and then he got up to leave. "I'll be in my bunk if you need me," he added, glancing from Kat to Starbuck and back.
Kat snorted. Didn't say "Of course you will," but wanted to, and she knew Starbuck knew it too. You don't look at people like that without one thing on your mind.
Which was why, they both knew, as soon as Apollo cleared out everyone else did too, like they had something important to do. Kat figured it'd be less than ten minutes before at least four of them found themselves in the showers, trying to avoid looking at each other, or maybe lending a hand. Which was what they should've been doing anyway.
She would never understand how half of them survived a Cylon attack when they couldn't even figure out the benefits of mutual masturbation or oral sex.
"What's going on, Starbuck?" Kat asked, pushing herself harder against the locker just to make her back ramrod-straight. "Too good for your own fingers?"
Starbuck closed her eyes, took a deep swig from her mug, opened them again. "Too good for yours, if that's what you're asking."
"Kara Thrace," Kat said, drawing out the words like a bowstring. "Kara Thrace, too good to be frakked by the only pilot in the fleet who can outshoot her. That it?" She used her elbows to push herself up, started to walk towards Starbuck one step at a time. "Or are you just scared I'll be better than you at that, too?"
A sound between a snort and a snarl. "Nice try, Kat."
"Or maybe you know you are." And now she was closer, so close that she could look Starbuck in the eye when she said it. "Or maybe you're just too drunk to even try."
She thought Starbuck was going to hit her, she really did. But it still caught her by surprise, the quick movement of a hand and then the sting against her face, hard and hot. Kat didn't say a word, barely even flinched, just smiled a little and said "That the best you got, sir?"
First blood went to Starbuck; Kat tasted it, thick and metallic, and if it were anyone but Starbuck whose fist had connected she might have conceded defeat. But it wasn't, and it was, and the pain was worth it just to keep smiling and throw Starbuck off her guard. She considered spitting blood, just because she could, but then Starbuck was there, spinning her around and pinning her hard against the wall and then Starbuck was tasting the blood too, devouring her, kissing Kat so hard that it almost hurt more than the slap.
And Kat leaned into it. She was that kind of girl.
"Are you that desperate after a week without cock?" Kat asked. "Because seriously, none of the men in the fleet are that good with what they do. I think you just haven't been properly frakked in months, is that it? You're just waiting for the right woman."
"I don't wait, nugget," Starbuck said. "I want, I take."
"I bet you're so wet you're making Apollo's fantasy right now look like it comes from a kids' story," Kat breathed. "I bet you're so into this that if it wouldn't make me right, you would have already torn my clothes off and frakked me into oblivion. Or is that not how you work anymore?"
"Do you honestly think this is about you?" Starbuck paused, just for a fraction of a moment, and then said "Take off your shirt."
"You're not going to rip it off me?" Kat raised an eyebrow. "What, you developing boundaries? It's a little late, don't you think?"
"I'm not going to have you sitting there tomorrow morning, explaining to the old man that you need a new uniform because I tore your frakking shirt. Take it off."
Because even drunk, she managed to think more than Kat even bothered to try. She peeled off her shirt, then her bra, then shimmied out of her pants. "That acceptable?" she asked. "Sir?"
Starbuck's fingers were everywhere, then, pinching and slapping, just a little, enough to sting but not to burn, just to remind Kat who was in charge.
Which would have worked better, Kat thought, if she weren't moaning, keening, and egging her along the whole time. But she wasn't going to argue if this was Starbuck's version of a power play.
"You've been waiting for this forever, haven't you?" Starbuck asked. "You've just been waiting for someone to come by and remind you of your place."
"Almost as long as you've been waiting for someone to take away your control," Kat said, with a smile that could have been a snarl. "Is this a decent substitute for Daddy giving you a good spanking?"
It was almost annoying, how easy it was to bait Starbuck. There was no way to know when a line would be crossed when your target didn't even have a line. The only thing that made it tolerable, really, was how excellent it felt to be beating Starbuck at her own game.
Time skidded around them, fast and furious and as angry as Starbuck, and the pile of clothes on the floor doubled and Kat couldn't even get a good look at Starbuck, naked, because she was always moving, a bundle of nerves and misplaced drunken rage. Which was, Kat thought, kind of frakking fantastic.
They ended up frakking right there, the wall cool against Kat's skin as Starbuck used one hand to pin her there by the throat, pressure just short of stopping her air supply. The fingers of her other hand pumped furiously between Kat's legs, and Kat wasn't really sure whether Starbuck cared about if she got off as long as the power balance was restored.. Her smile was just daring her to say a word, taunting, as though somehow she was beating Kat by getting her off.
Kat didn't get it. She also didn't care.
She wasn't going to play submissive to Starbuck. That wasn't going to work anymore; not when she could outshoot her, out-fly her, out-anything her if it came to that. Starbuck was doing more than just drinking, now, but not much more. She wasn't going to bow her head and take anything she got thrown at her, just because Starbuck started flying a few years before she did.
That didn't change the way that Starbuck's knuckle rubbing over her clit felt even better than the rush after a fistful of stims and a quick frak in the showers.
"Feel better?" she hissed at Starbuck, her entire body trembling against her will but refusing to let her voice follow it. "A bit of release without any chance of a little baby frak-up coming out of it?"
The hand around her neck released to hit her, hard across the face again, and this time Kat laughed, leaned forward to kiss her, missed her lips but managed to get blood on her cheek anyway. Marked her. Grinned so hard her cheeks hurt.
Starbuck might have been drunk, but Kat was drunk off her.
They were both sweaty, bloody, satiated. Neither of them would admit they were done, though, so it kept going, skin against skin until Kat couldn't tell, sex or violence, and didn't much care either way, drowning in sensation and feeling and touch.
They fought and they frakked and it was pretty much the same, each pinning the other, taunting, getting off and then wriggling free to give as good as they got. It was sex like a competition, like a battle, like a war.
By the end, Kat was pretty sure she won. But she was pretty sure Starbuck thought the same thing.
They headed off to the showers afterwards, eyeing each other carefully, like the match was over but the game was still on. There wasn't a single part of Kat that didn't feel sore.
The water sluiced over her, harsh and unforgiving and perfect, and when she rubbed hard at her skin, pressing away the sweat, she noticed for the first time the bruises that were already blossoming all over her body. She looked over, though, ignoring the time-honored tradition of not checking out anyone in the shower, and saw that Starbuck had quite a few marks herself. Including a bite, right around her throat, that definitely hadn't been there yesterday. Good.
She smirked, finished showering. She felt perfect, warm and clean and calm and satisfied. No wonder everyone else had been nothing but aggression; this was the only thing getting Kat through the day. She felt so unwound, in fact, that she poked Starbuck on one of the bruises and grinned.
And Starbuck, against all odds, giggled.
The gasp then was audible, distracting even, and it wasn't from Starbuck or Kat. They both turned to see that it was three other officers, all standing under the flow of the water and not moving, not breathing. All of them had clearly been jacking off. Kat noticed one fist frozen in mid-stroke, like he couldn't even think to unwrap his hand. She bit her lip to keep from laughing. Starbuck didn't even try.
Starbuck nodded at two of them, the ones whose names Kat didn't even know, but her smile widened at the third. "Captain Apollo," she said. "Sir."
"Sir," Kat echoed. She reached for her towel as she left, draping it around her waist. Her hair was cool and damp against her neck. She reached back, brushing it across one particularly sore spot, where she was pretty sure Starbuck had left a mark. She looked over to Kara, opened her mouth to say something, but she was already dressing, already getting ready to leave. Which meant, Kat guessed, no more sex. At least not tonight.
She liked frustration, sometimes. It made release that much more fun.