Fanfiction, written for inlovewithnight's One-Night Stand Challenge
Fanfiction
By rebelliousrose
Written for grammarwoman in inlovewithnight ’s One-Night Stand Fanfic challenge
Rated PG-13
Author’s Note- I have never had a prompt, or set of prompts, fight me so hard. Those bunnies are tough little bastards. I BID on this one, and I don’t know why it was such a struggle, except I have become more and more reluctant to deal with RPF because of various crazed fans who take the idea way too far and then get mad when the actors don’t comply with it in real life. So I guess you can say I “Jossed” it a little. All of the at con incidents are completely real, including the two actors in the hall with the substances. Don’t ask me who they are. But it was GHB. grammarwoman, I did my best for you. I hope it came out okay. And there was sausage involved to try and tempt the plot bunnies.
“This is craazy!” She’s laughing as he pulls her down the hotel hallway. They are definitely being followed, and while it’s not totally unexpected, it’s proving to be pretty annoying. It happens, but this time no one’s here to deflect it for either of them; his assigned handler’s eating dinner, and hers is at some panel thing on God-knows-what but seems to involve making fun of people in animal makeup and fuzzy mascot suits. Right now he’s seriously very glad that one of his old work buddies has been to every convention known to man and shared the survival tips generously.
The group behind them has that wild-eyed look, totally overinvolved and not quite able to discern that the people they are hunting might not be quite who they’d wish them to be. Or more to the point, two professionals who just want to get something to eat and hit the bar, since they’ve been being pleasant to people all day and some time to decompress would be nice.
They are rounding one of the corners and he looks back. Their pursuers are about fifteen to twenty doors behind, perfect, and he grabs her wrist and yanks her into a run. Two seconds later they are at the stairwell doors and tearing down two flights and out onto another floor. She’s still giggling, an endearing sound, since her husky voice tends to lend itself better to sultry purring and ironic statements. He shushes her, putting his finger to his lips and then suddenly noticing her notice his mouth. It’s been like this for both of them for a while. The noticing. Does great things for the characterization, and the tension in scenes.
He fumbles for his key card; he’s got about ten of them, since overzealous fans like to slip them to him, or flat-out hand them over with room numbers marked for invitations to room parties, or private parties. He doesn’t go to many of those, since the night that Douglas got into an in-depth discussion about the mythology of Battlestar with some geek and a guy in furry goat legs and abandoned him to a bunch of women in the corner, who kept begging him to flex. Not his scene.
He’s hustling her down the hall, still by the wrist, and he steps over a pair of well-known actors who really should know better than to be crushing up their evening’s recreation outside in the hall on the floor. He’s about to say something, since he’s worked with one of them on the new show, but a short, ponytailed guy in the BSG tanks interrupts him, shooing the two actors into the nearest room and scolding.
His room’s down two more and he gratefully slips the key in the slot, and shoves at the door. The light’s green, the latch clicked, but the door’s not opening. He rams his shoulder into it, and it opens with a shredding sound as a pile of papers tear underfoot. They’ve found his room, damn it, and he resigns himself to a painful day at his signing table tomorrow when he’s asked detailed questions about something he’s been too busy to read, digest, and comment on.
She trips daintily over the pile and yanks the papers out of the way so he can close the door. “What is all this?” she asks, tamping the papers into a stack. “It’s like the Chinese menus in New York; you can’t open the door if you’ve been gone for a few days.”
“Fanfiction.” He knows his tone is grim. He can’t help it. It’s like coming home to a sink of dishes when you’ve been working all day.
“Oh, we used to get that all the time on Tru, and for Joss’s shows.” She’s obviously amused and starts flipping though the pages. He hopes it’s at least the good fic, something that a dedicated fan wrote, because they tend to get stuff pretty right as far as the characters go.
“I’m going to change, and we’ll go, okay?” Her eyes flash up to him and there’s another one of those noticing moments. He ducks it by heading into the bathroom with his clothes. He’s got convention dressing down to an art at this point, two pairs of pants, five shirts and comfortable shoes. A few accessories and his sisters’ rings. He may not wear them all the time, but he always has them near. He misses his family a lot.
She’s laughing in the bedroom and her husky voice raises enough to be heard through the crack in the door. “Do you read this stuff?”
“Sometimes. Some of them are pretty good. Some of them are….well, let’s just say that fans can be lacking a few social graces.”
“What’s the worst thing a fan’s ever done to you?”
He doesn’t have to think. “I had this one enormous guy scare the hell out of me at lunch one time, came running over and I thought he was going for me. And the first time I was here? I used the bathroom after a panel and these three guys followed me into the bathroom and were standing right at the urinal, waiting for me to finish so they could shake my hand. Or compare, and I don’t want to think about what they’d post on the Net if I came up short in their eyes.”
“I got hugged by this super-nervous sweaty freak…oh, no, that was Joss. Sorry.” She giggles. “Fanguys mostly get speechless around me, or try and pick me up.”
“I get a lot of women asking if I am gay for their male friends.”
“I get a lot of really hot lesbians.”
“Trade you!” he calls back, wiping sweat off his face and chest with a damp washcloth. The signing halls are always so hot and crowded he feels grimy at the end of the day. He’d love a proper shower, but they are both starving and he’s longing for a drink. Or seven.
“Who is Felix and why are you having sex with him?”
He thunks his head against the door. “Character on Battlestar. It’s me? Not Helo, or Karl?”
“It’s you. Here, listen. Felix’s mouth is so soft against Tahmoh’s overheated skin, lapping at the salty tang of his clavicles as Tahmoh twines his long, male fingers into his soft curls. He strips out of his tanks and presses against the Native American’s hard, sculpted, sweaty body. Suddenly a knock at the door heralds Jamie’s arrival. His Australian accent is clipped as he says “Hello, boys, starting without me?” He rips off his shirt and uses it to tie Felix to the chair.” She’s got the giggles badly and he’s incredibly glad she can’t see his face, because his skin tone can’t hide a blush, and he’s sure he’s red as an apple.
“Oh, man. That’s awful. It’s always poor AJ that gets tied up. And Jamie’s not Australian.”
“Let me see if I can find a better one. I’m going to assume that anything with you having sex with Joss and mentioning “bromances” or “man-crushes” is out?” He hears papers sifting to the floor and because he doesn’t want to dignify that with an answer, starts brushing his teeth. She teases him like his sisters do, sometimes, and he likes it, but there’s always that extra element that’s not sisterly at all. “How about a nice one where Paul ties Topher to the desk in the Dollhouse and has his way with him while Victor…seems to be wearing a ball gag?”
He’s proud that he doesn’t aspirate his toothpaste and that his voice sounds relatively normal when he says, “No, I prefer the ones with Enver in heels. It’s a good look for him.”
More rustling, and then “How about something described as a “character piece” with Starbuck? That quiet guy, the Raptor one, is working the heavy bag across the gym. He’s always quiet, and calm, and patient with people. Everyone likes him; even his callsign shows it. He’s had three, actually, he started out called “Sunshine” because of his disposition, but it didn’t fit him and some wag dubbed him “Helios”. Someone else shortened it to Helo, and that’s how he’s stayed. Kara hates him.
Not for any reason, really; he’s the kind of man she likes in a lot of ways. Muscled, physical in his tastes, always up for a laugh or a hand of cards, and he gets around. Most of the female class members have some sort of Helo story, ending with dropped voices and pointed looks at anyone else who doesn’t have a story about the ECO cadet with the lethal green eyes.
They don’t really mix with the same crowd. Helo studies, Kara skates through on natural talent, attitude and nerve. Helo doesn’t seem to have nerves, since she’s been trying to get on them since she got to the fitness center today to find him there by himself. Usually he’s got a gym buddy, or more than one, since he’s offered to help a cadet here and there with the fitness requirements. He spends a lot of time in the gym. It shows.”
“Not too bad,” he calls out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth and rinsing his toothbrush. “Kind of cliché, and that kind of story gets written a lot. Or at least I get handed the same one a lot. Is there sex?”
“Probably. It says it’s rated R. Let me skip down. Ooh, you are being such a jerk! The heavy bag slams into her with stunning force and Kara goes flying. She lies against the wall for a minute, trying to breathe, trying to process that pleasant, gentle Helo has just belted her across the gym with the heavy bag and is now coming around to either pick her up or kill her, and from the look on his face, he’s still trying to decide which. His hands fist in her tanks and he hauls her up and bangs her against the wall, three or four times. “Why can’t I screw up too, Kara? Why do I have to be perfect for you all the time? Why can’t I be just as much of a frakup as you?” Helo punctuates each sentence by slamming Kara against the wall with a resounding thwack. He’s finally had enough of her bullshit, because now she’s hitting where it hurts. A lot.”
“That’s new. Helo was a pretty good guy. Not the woman-beater type.” He glares at his hair in the mirror. It’s pretty hopeless. Nothing a hat, plastic surgery and some sunglasses won’t cure. He needs to drink less tonight or his liver will be flying home in a separate seat.
“I found the sex! You want to hear it?” Her tones are coaxing, and he gives in. It’ll give him a few minutes to try and salvage his hair since he has to go to some fan party later with the Vancouverites and Eddie. Once Hogan discovered that fans have free drinks, he hasn’t missed a party since. Douglas is a pretty hard-core drinker, and he himself is no slouch, but they are both talented amateurs compared to Hogan. He’s a professional.
“Helo’s got Starbuck down on the floor mats. Her hands are over her head, both wrists in one of his and she’s trying to bite him, but her heart’s not in it. “You wanted my attention, Kara. You’ve got it. What do you want from me?”
Fast as a snake, her teeth fasten in the meat of his bicep and cursing, he pries her loose with his free hand and lets the full weight of his body press her down. “Cut it out, Starbuck. You started this, not me.”
She looks like she’s going to spit on him and Helo’s had enough. He flips her onto her face and squashes her flat. She’s struggling, but she’s Starbuck, and that’s to be expected. “I hate you, Helo.”
He rests his face in the soft hair next to her ear. “No you don’t. You’re just pissed because I’m bigger and you can’t intimidate me or get your way.”
Kara goes limp under him. “I hate me more than I hate you. That’s something, I guess.”
He’s not feeling sympathetic, not with her teeth marks coming up on his arm where Gaia’s going to ask about them. He grabs the back of her hair in his fist. “Cheated on Headcase and feeling guilty again?”
She hisses like a cat and goes berserk under him, and this time he can’t help it and doesn’t want to. Her squirming’s gotten his attention, and she can’t help but feel it. According to the female cadets, Helo’s attention, and attentions, are pretty sought after.”
There’s a pause, and he winces, squinching up his face and hoping.
“So, this true? The attention thing?”
“Fans like to give their favorites the benefit of the doubt.” He shrugs. “I don’t know how Trucco sits down, if half of what they say about his characters is true. Guess you’ve made it professionally when someone starts a website comparing characters’ attributes.”
“Are you blushing?” Her voice is teasing, and much closer.
She’s right outside the door. He can see the ruffle on her skirt and the tip of one pointy shoe. The bathroom’s suddenly way too small, so he goes for honesty. “Yeah.”
“You should see the speculation about my boobs, if they’re real.”
He stops himself in time. #2 on things to never ask a woman, after the big no-no. He makes a mental note to check with Dana, in Wardrobe. They always know. “I’m almost done. You want to check that restaurant guide?”
“No, I’m enjoying this. It’s…”
“Something that will happen to you if they find your room,” he snaps, bumping the door closed with his elbow and shaking out his fresh t-shirt.
“Helo’s mouth is soft and he knows how to use it. Half a class can’t be wrong, and Kara’s glad they are right. His hands are cradling her jaw and he’s kissing her with the same concentration he gives to someone who is talking, that intensity, and it’s the most delicious male mouth she’s ever tasted.
He’s spicy, and sweet, and tastes faintly of cherries. She wants to swallow him whole, and from the way he’s kissing her back, it’s mutual. He’s gotten her tanks off somehow, and her sports bra is in his way until he rears back impatiently and yanks both straps off it. The bra’s at her waist within seconds and he’s got her in his mouth, but now he’s taking his time, savoring and suckling and now she’s absolutely sure what those endless lollipops are good for.
Kara’s always been a tit-for-tat kind of person, though, and she flips him onto his back and he lets her. The hollows over his hipbones draw her; he’s that kind of rangy lean that has no extra fat at all, or as one of the boys always says, “all the body fat only has one place to go, honey.” At a three-inch distance, there’s no doubt where Helo’s has gone and she’s done with the preliminaries, attacking his zipper and buttons and nearly losing an eye when he springs free.
It takes her two seconds to decide, and she’s up and ripping off her shorts. Neither of them are wearing briefs, probably for identical quick-draw motivations. His eyes are hot, and Kara comes down on him all in one motion, aims, and takes him in faster than she should. It’s a good ache, but he frowns and pins her with his big hands on her hips. “You okay?”
Only Sunshine here would be concerned at a moment like this, and Kara bites him again, a sharp nip over the right nipple, tasting his heartbeat. “Fine,” he growls, and he’s bucking up so hard under her that he’s lifting her off the mat with each thrust.
It’s amazing, but it’s too fast, and Kara gasps, “Wait.”
One more heave up, and she’s on her back watching the muscles in his arms cradle her ears. “Make up your mind, Starbuck.” Now he’s teasing her. Taunting, really, soft touches and just enough depth to make her really want, but she can’t get the leverage to take back control and Helo’s not going to let her. She’s getting what she wants, but his way. Not hers.
He slides against her, using his whole body to touch her. He’s holding himself up not with his hands, which are touching the sensitive skin under her ears, but on his flat forearms, and he’s surrounded her completely, filled her utterly. How strong must he be to do this, Kara wonders, dazed, but then he’s moving, a long, teasing glide, and it’s his show. He shifts himself and hooks an arm under one of her legs and then he’s away and it’s the same kick as a freshly launched Viper into space.
“Raptor,” he says against her ear, not even breathing hard. “I don’t do Vipers. I hit my head on the canopy.”
“Shut up, Helo,” Kara growls, and drags his mouth to hers. She still hates him.”
He’s breathing pretty hard himself in the bathroom, and it takes a moment of stern attention to hockey scores, cold showers, and his sisters walking in on him, or god forbid, Eddie or Mary and he’s good. Mostly.
“Not bad,” she says from beyond the door, and as he opens it he notices that her skin’s a little flushed. “Ready?”
And there’s another one of those little moments when it balances on a pin; a nudge one way or another and a decision’s been made, but he gets it back. Porn’s one thing, but because of fanfiction? He’d never live it down inside his own head.
He places his hand on the small of her back as they leave the room. It’s gentlemanly, and courteous, and he’s now completely sure no papers are hidden under her dress. You never knew; he might want those for later.
By rebelliousrose
Written for grammarwoman in inlovewithnight ’s One-Night Stand Fanfic challenge
Rated PG-13
Author’s Note- I have never had a prompt, or set of prompts, fight me so hard. Those bunnies are tough little bastards. I BID on this one, and I don’t know why it was such a struggle, except I have become more and more reluctant to deal with RPF because of various crazed fans who take the idea way too far and then get mad when the actors don’t comply with it in real life. So I guess you can say I “Jossed” it a little. All of the at con incidents are completely real, including the two actors in the hall with the substances. Don’t ask me who they are. But it was GHB. grammarwoman, I did my best for you. I hope it came out okay. And there was sausage involved to try and tempt the plot bunnies.
“This is craazy!” She’s laughing as he pulls her down the hotel hallway. They are definitely being followed, and while it’s not totally unexpected, it’s proving to be pretty annoying. It happens, but this time no one’s here to deflect it for either of them; his assigned handler’s eating dinner, and hers is at some panel thing on God-knows-what but seems to involve making fun of people in animal makeup and fuzzy mascot suits. Right now he’s seriously very glad that one of his old work buddies has been to every convention known to man and shared the survival tips generously.
The group behind them has that wild-eyed look, totally overinvolved and not quite able to discern that the people they are hunting might not be quite who they’d wish them to be. Or more to the point, two professionals who just want to get something to eat and hit the bar, since they’ve been being pleasant to people all day and some time to decompress would be nice.
They are rounding one of the corners and he looks back. Their pursuers are about fifteen to twenty doors behind, perfect, and he grabs her wrist and yanks her into a run. Two seconds later they are at the stairwell doors and tearing down two flights and out onto another floor. She’s still giggling, an endearing sound, since her husky voice tends to lend itself better to sultry purring and ironic statements. He shushes her, putting his finger to his lips and then suddenly noticing her notice his mouth. It’s been like this for both of them for a while. The noticing. Does great things for the characterization, and the tension in scenes.
He fumbles for his key card; he’s got about ten of them, since overzealous fans like to slip them to him, or flat-out hand them over with room numbers marked for invitations to room parties, or private parties. He doesn’t go to many of those, since the night that Douglas got into an in-depth discussion about the mythology of Battlestar with some geek and a guy in furry goat legs and abandoned him to a bunch of women in the corner, who kept begging him to flex. Not his scene.
He’s hustling her down the hall, still by the wrist, and he steps over a pair of well-known actors who really should know better than to be crushing up their evening’s recreation outside in the hall on the floor. He’s about to say something, since he’s worked with one of them on the new show, but a short, ponytailed guy in the BSG tanks interrupts him, shooing the two actors into the nearest room and scolding.
His room’s down two more and he gratefully slips the key in the slot, and shoves at the door. The light’s green, the latch clicked, but the door’s not opening. He rams his shoulder into it, and it opens with a shredding sound as a pile of papers tear underfoot. They’ve found his room, damn it, and he resigns himself to a painful day at his signing table tomorrow when he’s asked detailed questions about something he’s been too busy to read, digest, and comment on.
She trips daintily over the pile and yanks the papers out of the way so he can close the door. “What is all this?” she asks, tamping the papers into a stack. “It’s like the Chinese menus in New York; you can’t open the door if you’ve been gone for a few days.”
“Fanfiction.” He knows his tone is grim. He can’t help it. It’s like coming home to a sink of dishes when you’ve been working all day.
“Oh, we used to get that all the time on Tru, and for Joss’s shows.” She’s obviously amused and starts flipping though the pages. He hopes it’s at least the good fic, something that a dedicated fan wrote, because they tend to get stuff pretty right as far as the characters go.
“I’m going to change, and we’ll go, okay?” Her eyes flash up to him and there’s another one of those noticing moments. He ducks it by heading into the bathroom with his clothes. He’s got convention dressing down to an art at this point, two pairs of pants, five shirts and comfortable shoes. A few accessories and his sisters’ rings. He may not wear them all the time, but he always has them near. He misses his family a lot.
She’s laughing in the bedroom and her husky voice raises enough to be heard through the crack in the door. “Do you read this stuff?”
“Sometimes. Some of them are pretty good. Some of them are….well, let’s just say that fans can be lacking a few social graces.”
“What’s the worst thing a fan’s ever done to you?”
He doesn’t have to think. “I had this one enormous guy scare the hell out of me at lunch one time, came running over and I thought he was going for me. And the first time I was here? I used the bathroom after a panel and these three guys followed me into the bathroom and were standing right at the urinal, waiting for me to finish so they could shake my hand. Or compare, and I don’t want to think about what they’d post on the Net if I came up short in their eyes.”
“I got hugged by this super-nervous sweaty freak…oh, no, that was Joss. Sorry.” She giggles. “Fanguys mostly get speechless around me, or try and pick me up.”
“I get a lot of women asking if I am gay for their male friends.”
“I get a lot of really hot lesbians.”
“Trade you!” he calls back, wiping sweat off his face and chest with a damp washcloth. The signing halls are always so hot and crowded he feels grimy at the end of the day. He’d love a proper shower, but they are both starving and he’s longing for a drink. Or seven.
“Who is Felix and why are you having sex with him?”
He thunks his head against the door. “Character on Battlestar. It’s me? Not Helo, or Karl?”
“It’s you. Here, listen. Felix’s mouth is so soft against Tahmoh’s overheated skin, lapping at the salty tang of his clavicles as Tahmoh twines his long, male fingers into his soft curls. He strips out of his tanks and presses against the Native American’s hard, sculpted, sweaty body. Suddenly a knock at the door heralds Jamie’s arrival. His Australian accent is clipped as he says “Hello, boys, starting without me?” He rips off his shirt and uses it to tie Felix to the chair.” She’s got the giggles badly and he’s incredibly glad she can’t see his face, because his skin tone can’t hide a blush, and he’s sure he’s red as an apple.
“Oh, man. That’s awful. It’s always poor AJ that gets tied up. And Jamie’s not Australian.”
“Let me see if I can find a better one. I’m going to assume that anything with you having sex with Joss and mentioning “bromances” or “man-crushes” is out?” He hears papers sifting to the floor and because he doesn’t want to dignify that with an answer, starts brushing his teeth. She teases him like his sisters do, sometimes, and he likes it, but there’s always that extra element that’s not sisterly at all. “How about a nice one where Paul ties Topher to the desk in the Dollhouse and has his way with him while Victor…seems to be wearing a ball gag?”
He’s proud that he doesn’t aspirate his toothpaste and that his voice sounds relatively normal when he says, “No, I prefer the ones with Enver in heels. It’s a good look for him.”
More rustling, and then “How about something described as a “character piece” with Starbuck? That quiet guy, the Raptor one, is working the heavy bag across the gym. He’s always quiet, and calm, and patient with people. Everyone likes him; even his callsign shows it. He’s had three, actually, he started out called “Sunshine” because of his disposition, but it didn’t fit him and some wag dubbed him “Helios”. Someone else shortened it to Helo, and that’s how he’s stayed. Kara hates him.
Not for any reason, really; he’s the kind of man she likes in a lot of ways. Muscled, physical in his tastes, always up for a laugh or a hand of cards, and he gets around. Most of the female class members have some sort of Helo story, ending with dropped voices and pointed looks at anyone else who doesn’t have a story about the ECO cadet with the lethal green eyes.
They don’t really mix with the same crowd. Helo studies, Kara skates through on natural talent, attitude and nerve. Helo doesn’t seem to have nerves, since she’s been trying to get on them since she got to the fitness center today to find him there by himself. Usually he’s got a gym buddy, or more than one, since he’s offered to help a cadet here and there with the fitness requirements. He spends a lot of time in the gym. It shows.”
“Not too bad,” he calls out of the bathroom, wiping his mouth and rinsing his toothbrush. “Kind of cliché, and that kind of story gets written a lot. Or at least I get handed the same one a lot. Is there sex?”
“Probably. It says it’s rated R. Let me skip down. Ooh, you are being such a jerk! The heavy bag slams into her with stunning force and Kara goes flying. She lies against the wall for a minute, trying to breathe, trying to process that pleasant, gentle Helo has just belted her across the gym with the heavy bag and is now coming around to either pick her up or kill her, and from the look on his face, he’s still trying to decide which. His hands fist in her tanks and he hauls her up and bangs her against the wall, three or four times. “Why can’t I screw up too, Kara? Why do I have to be perfect for you all the time? Why can’t I be just as much of a frakup as you?” Helo punctuates each sentence by slamming Kara against the wall with a resounding thwack. He’s finally had enough of her bullshit, because now she’s hitting where it hurts. A lot.”
“That’s new. Helo was a pretty good guy. Not the woman-beater type.” He glares at his hair in the mirror. It’s pretty hopeless. Nothing a hat, plastic surgery and some sunglasses won’t cure. He needs to drink less tonight or his liver will be flying home in a separate seat.
“I found the sex! You want to hear it?” Her tones are coaxing, and he gives in. It’ll give him a few minutes to try and salvage his hair since he has to go to some fan party later with the Vancouverites and Eddie. Once Hogan discovered that fans have free drinks, he hasn’t missed a party since. Douglas is a pretty hard-core drinker, and he himself is no slouch, but they are both talented amateurs compared to Hogan. He’s a professional.
“Helo’s got Starbuck down on the floor mats. Her hands are over her head, both wrists in one of his and she’s trying to bite him, but her heart’s not in it. “You wanted my attention, Kara. You’ve got it. What do you want from me?”
Fast as a snake, her teeth fasten in the meat of his bicep and cursing, he pries her loose with his free hand and lets the full weight of his body press her down. “Cut it out, Starbuck. You started this, not me.”
She looks like she’s going to spit on him and Helo’s had enough. He flips her onto her face and squashes her flat. She’s struggling, but she’s Starbuck, and that’s to be expected. “I hate you, Helo.”
He rests his face in the soft hair next to her ear. “No you don’t. You’re just pissed because I’m bigger and you can’t intimidate me or get your way.”
Kara goes limp under him. “I hate me more than I hate you. That’s something, I guess.”
He’s not feeling sympathetic, not with her teeth marks coming up on his arm where Gaia’s going to ask about them. He grabs the back of her hair in his fist. “Cheated on Headcase and feeling guilty again?”
She hisses like a cat and goes berserk under him, and this time he can’t help it and doesn’t want to. Her squirming’s gotten his attention, and she can’t help but feel it. According to the female cadets, Helo’s attention, and attentions, are pretty sought after.”
There’s a pause, and he winces, squinching up his face and hoping.
“So, this true? The attention thing?”
“Fans like to give their favorites the benefit of the doubt.” He shrugs. “I don’t know how Trucco sits down, if half of what they say about his characters is true. Guess you’ve made it professionally when someone starts a website comparing characters’ attributes.”
“Are you blushing?” Her voice is teasing, and much closer.
She’s right outside the door. He can see the ruffle on her skirt and the tip of one pointy shoe. The bathroom’s suddenly way too small, so he goes for honesty. “Yeah.”
“You should see the speculation about my boobs, if they’re real.”
He stops himself in time. #2 on things to never ask a woman, after the big no-no. He makes a mental note to check with Dana, in Wardrobe. They always know. “I’m almost done. You want to check that restaurant guide?”
“No, I’m enjoying this. It’s…”
“Something that will happen to you if they find your room,” he snaps, bumping the door closed with his elbow and shaking out his fresh t-shirt.
“Helo’s mouth is soft and he knows how to use it. Half a class can’t be wrong, and Kara’s glad they are right. His hands are cradling her jaw and he’s kissing her with the same concentration he gives to someone who is talking, that intensity, and it’s the most delicious male mouth she’s ever tasted.
He’s spicy, and sweet, and tastes faintly of cherries. She wants to swallow him whole, and from the way he’s kissing her back, it’s mutual. He’s gotten her tanks off somehow, and her sports bra is in his way until he rears back impatiently and yanks both straps off it. The bra’s at her waist within seconds and he’s got her in his mouth, but now he’s taking his time, savoring and suckling and now she’s absolutely sure what those endless lollipops are good for.
Kara’s always been a tit-for-tat kind of person, though, and she flips him onto his back and he lets her. The hollows over his hipbones draw her; he’s that kind of rangy lean that has no extra fat at all, or as one of the boys always says, “all the body fat only has one place to go, honey.” At a three-inch distance, there’s no doubt where Helo’s has gone and she’s done with the preliminaries, attacking his zipper and buttons and nearly losing an eye when he springs free.
It takes her two seconds to decide, and she’s up and ripping off her shorts. Neither of them are wearing briefs, probably for identical quick-draw motivations. His eyes are hot, and Kara comes down on him all in one motion, aims, and takes him in faster than she should. It’s a good ache, but he frowns and pins her with his big hands on her hips. “You okay?”
Only Sunshine here would be concerned at a moment like this, and Kara bites him again, a sharp nip over the right nipple, tasting his heartbeat. “Fine,” he growls, and he’s bucking up so hard under her that he’s lifting her off the mat with each thrust.
It’s amazing, but it’s too fast, and Kara gasps, “Wait.”
One more heave up, and she’s on her back watching the muscles in his arms cradle her ears. “Make up your mind, Starbuck.” Now he’s teasing her. Taunting, really, soft touches and just enough depth to make her really want, but she can’t get the leverage to take back control and Helo’s not going to let her. She’s getting what she wants, but his way. Not hers.
He slides against her, using his whole body to touch her. He’s holding himself up not with his hands, which are touching the sensitive skin under her ears, but on his flat forearms, and he’s surrounded her completely, filled her utterly. How strong must he be to do this, Kara wonders, dazed, but then he’s moving, a long, teasing glide, and it’s his show. He shifts himself and hooks an arm under one of her legs and then he’s away and it’s the same kick as a freshly launched Viper into space.
“Raptor,” he says against her ear, not even breathing hard. “I don’t do Vipers. I hit my head on the canopy.”
“Shut up, Helo,” Kara growls, and drags his mouth to hers. She still hates him.”
He’s breathing pretty hard himself in the bathroom, and it takes a moment of stern attention to hockey scores, cold showers, and his sisters walking in on him, or god forbid, Eddie or Mary and he’s good. Mostly.
“Not bad,” she says from beyond the door, and as he opens it he notices that her skin’s a little flushed. “Ready?”
And there’s another one of those little moments when it balances on a pin; a nudge one way or another and a decision’s been made, but he gets it back. Porn’s one thing, but because of fanfiction? He’d never live it down inside his own head.
He places his hand on the small of her back as they leave the room. It’s gentlemanly, and courteous, and he’s now completely sure no papers are hidden under her dress. You never knew; he might want those for later.