FIC: Heaven Grows Black (1/1) NC-17 BSG
TITLE: Heaven Grows Black
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Helo/Cain
RATING: NC-17, non-con
SUMMARY: Weight on the whirling spokes
DISCLAIMER: Battlestar Galactica and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta. Written from an ancient request of hers and finished at the command of sionnain.
The hatch to her quarters shuts with a hard finality that he’s never noticed on Galactica, like Pegasus is made differently, manufactured out of different things - things other than metal and fire and electronics. The guards are on the other side of the door, and he wonders who they’re guarding, him or her, and if any of them actually think that, if either of them is determined, they’ll be able to stop the bloodbath.
Not that he wants to kill anyone else. Didn’t really mean to kill anyone in the first place. He was acting on instinct, on gut, and it happened. He’s not sorry it did, would do it again if the situation were to arise, but he’s not looking for more blood on his hands.
“Agathon, Karl C.” She acts like she’s reading it off his personnel file, but something tells him she’s got him memorized inside and out. “Lieutenant, junior grade. Flew recon to Caprica and left yourself behind to save the life of Gaius Baltar. That’s pretty noble of you.”
“Figured he was going to save our asses more than I ever would, ma’am.”
“It’s quite the tale you tell.”
“All I did was stay alive.”
“And impregnate a Cylon. Let’s not skimp on the details, Lieutenant.”
She’s all ice as far as Karl can tell, hard and frozen and painful, sharp enough to cut and rip skin, enough to make you bleed. Cain’s voice is buisinesslike and rough, like his grandmother’s voice used to be, raw from smoking and cold and hard work and rough living. “I figured you had all the details, ma’am, given that you’ve got my file.”
“Quite an impressive array of achievement for a JG ECO.” She tosses his file on the desk and moves around it, coming closer to him. He can sense the smell of blood in the air, uncertain who is predator and who is prey. “You killed one of my best men.”
“He was a rapist. If he was one of your best men, I’d hate to see the dregs of your crew.”
Cain laughs, and it’s not a pretty sound. He imagines she can be pretty, probably is, but all he can see is the glint of steel in her eyes that looks a little too much like madness for his tastes. All the Pegasus crew seem to have it, that glimmer from running without hope, running on the scent of blood. Karl put down a dog once that had that look, tearing into the kill before Karl or his dad could get there, leaving them on the edge of starving for a couple of weeks before Karl had the courage to put a gun to its head.
“You have guts, I’ll give you that, Agathon.” She circles him slowly, her eyes almost like a physical touch on his skin. There are rumors about the Academy, about hazing and about the things that go on during a Black Flag in the fleet, but Karl’s always been big enough to get by without the worst of it. He’s seen the people in the aftermath, if you can call them that still, and he thinks this must be what it’s like to be on the other end, crawling across the floor with the rest of the world sidestepping the bloody trail you’re dragging behind as if it doesn’t even exist. As if you don’t. “You should hear how they talk about you. They call you Helo like the sun shines out of your ass.”
“I don’t think anyone does that, sir.”
He feels the gun before he realizes she draws it and he can see down the length of her arm to the smile on her face. Cold steel digs into his skin just below his ear and he wonders if it’s his breathing or hers that he hears. “Are you contradicting me, Agathon?”
“No, sir.”
“It sounds like you’re contradicting me.” He can hear the hiss of power, from the air, from the gun, from her. “I’ve killed men for less.”
“So I’ve heard, Sir.” He closes his eyes, leaning into the pressure of the gun slightly. “It’s a wonder you’ve got any crew left.”
The butt of the gun hits his temple and he sways slightly, trying to shake it off. She hits him again and he goes down to his knees, struggling to remain upright. She walks around and stands in front of him, the gun pressed against his mouth, digging into his lips. He can taste blood against his teeth as she grinds it into his flesh. His gums hurt from the pressure on his teeth, but he doesn’t open his mouth until her boot connects with his groin, grinding the heel of her foot down against him.
The gun slides between his bloody lips and he can feel the heavy weight of it against his tongue. She holds it at her hip and he looks up at her. Her dark hair is falling in her face, falling free from the severe style she wears, tendrils clinging like madmen to her face. His hands twitch in their cuffs with the impulse to rake them away, to expose her for what she really is. “Do you know what they say about command, Agathon?”
He can’t answer with the gun in his mouth, not sure he knows what she obviously wants him to say. Instead he shakes his head slightly, metal clicking against his teeth.
“It trickles down.” She twists the gun so he can feel the muzzle against the roof of his mouth. “Like blood.”
She pulls the gun from his mouth and he barely gets the, “Frak you”, out before she nails him across the temple once more and knocks him out. He has the brief thought that she’s right as she breaks the skin and the blood trickles down.
**
When he comes to, he’s draped sideways across a bed. His wrists are cuffed to either end of the bed and the cool metal of the rack is against his bare thighs and his cock. Every hair feels like it’s standing on end, shivering in the ominous cold of the room. Wherever he is, he can’t see anything but the gray walls and the regulation gray blanket that scratches at the bruises on his skin.
“We have a Cylon of our own here. Did you know that?” Her voice is cold, conversational. “She and I were lovers before I found out what she was.”
“More human than you are?” The chain hits his hip, links digging in. He’s not sure if the heat is blood or grease on his skin, but he recognizes the pain.
“She’s not far from here. You should see her. That perfect, pale skin is black and blue now, mottled with yellow. She’s covered in blood and bruises that we put there to remind her. It doesn’t matter how much she bleeds, she’s a machine.” The chain hits again, and this time the manacle lashes his thigh. “How much blood do you think it will take for you?”
“I’m not a machine.”
“Really?” She moves closer and, for the first time since he woke, he can feel her in the room with him. The chain links rest on the cleft of his ass and his body tightens instinctively. “That’s what she said at first. That’s what they all say at first.” The chain twitches and Helo’s body clenches. He huffs out a breath and Cain laughs. “Are you afraid?”
“Frak you.”
Her hand is like ice around his balls, nearly as cold as the manacle she wraps around them and his cock. He hisses, the sound sharp between his teeth, and he can still taste the coppery burn of blood on his tongue. “I don’t think you’ll be frakking anything for a while, Mr. Agathon.” She pulls on the end of the chain, jerking his cock back and pressing the links hard against the crack of his ass. “In fact, I think the only thing you’re going to do is take it. Take it again and again until you beg me to stop, and then you’ll take it some more. Adama can’t save you. Your Cylon whore can’t save you. The only person who can save you is me. And to be honest, Agathon, I’m not feeling the slightest bit of mercy.”
Helo twists his hands, gripping the cuffs that have him held to the metal frame of the bed. The ache in his groin magnifies with every yank of the chain and she braces herself as she lifts it, her foot against his ass, grinding the metal links between her boot and his skin. Pain cuts through all the centers of his body, and he can feel blood flooding his cock, pulsing heat and more to the base where the manacle digs into his flesh, jerking it back toward the chain.
“Where’s your frakking Cylon now, Agathon? Where’s your ship full of heroes?”
Helo can’t breathe through the pain. His eyes close, and his head explodes with colors like a ship blown out of the sky. Sickness rises in his gut, the retch of radiation filling his throat like it had so many times on Caprica. He bites his tongue and tries to swallow it down, drowning in his own bile. He can feel her tugging on the chain as she hangs onto the top rack with one hand, all of her weight balanced on the flesh she’s scraped raw.
“You think they give a frak about you?” Cain hisses, shifting her weight so there’s a moment of respite before it hammers down on him again. “You’re my prisoner now. As far as Galactica is concerned, you’re a dead man. And as far as Pegasus, you’re only alive as long as I keep you that way. I’m your judge, jury and executioner, Agathon.”
“No, Admiral.”
Cain drops the chain and it lands hard on Helo’s back. Her boot slides across his skin and he can feel something hot against the numbness of his skin and he knows it’s blood, maybe worse. Her boots hit the floor with a metallic thud and her laugh is even colder than Helo feels. “You have no authority here, Adama.”
Lee. Helo’s brain tries to wrap itself around the concept of rescue, but his brain’s as numb as his balls and he just lets his head fall onto the bed. There’s too much blood there suddenly, and the colors all go to black and he passes out, wondering if he’ll be lucky enough to die before he wakes up.
**
He wakes up to bright lights and distant noises, and the fact that everything is white tells him he’s either fallen into his mother’s old beliefs and ended up on Olympus, or Cottle’s been over him with a fine-toothed comb and he’s somewhere that’s close enough to safe. His ass doesn’t hurt and he can’t feel his balls, so either he’s lost all of his genitalia, which doesn’t sound so bad right now, or he’s drugged to the eyeballs.
“Drugged to the eyeballs.”
He turns his head to see Lee standing by the cloth wall that separates him from everyone else. “What?”
“You were talking out loud. You’re drugged to the eyeballs. Maybe even the hairline. Cottle gave you the good stuff.”
“Surprised she let Cottle near me.” His voice sounds funny, slurred with narcotics and the underlying throb of pain he can feel fighting their effects.
“She’s a smart woman. She isn’t going to let you be permanently damaged before she tries to kill you.” Lee rubs his jaw and Helo follows the motion of his hand, hypnotized by it. “You’re safe here. For a while.”
“Pegasus is still calling my name, huh?”
“Don’t worry. Admiral Cain's got more on her mind right now. There's a lot to be done.” Lee’s looking at him, but Helo’s pretty sure he’s not seeing him. “We need every man. The rapists, the insane and the murderers.”
“Which am I?" Helo shakes his head. He's not sure he wants an answer to that question. "Did you tell her that?”
“I’ve told my dad.” Lee gives Helo a smile and sketches a salute. “I’m afraid that’s all I can do.”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Helo/Cain
RATING: NC-17, non-con
SUMMARY: Weight on the whirling spokes
DISCLAIMER: Battlestar Galactica and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta. Written from an ancient request of hers and finished at the command of sionnain.
The hatch to her quarters shuts with a hard finality that he’s never noticed on Galactica, like Pegasus is made differently, manufactured out of different things - things other than metal and fire and electronics. The guards are on the other side of the door, and he wonders who they’re guarding, him or her, and if any of them actually think that, if either of them is determined, they’ll be able to stop the bloodbath.
Not that he wants to kill anyone else. Didn’t really mean to kill anyone in the first place. He was acting on instinct, on gut, and it happened. He’s not sorry it did, would do it again if the situation were to arise, but he’s not looking for more blood on his hands.
“Agathon, Karl C.” She acts like she’s reading it off his personnel file, but something tells him she’s got him memorized inside and out. “Lieutenant, junior grade. Flew recon to Caprica and left yourself behind to save the life of Gaius Baltar. That’s pretty noble of you.”
“Figured he was going to save our asses more than I ever would, ma’am.”
“It’s quite the tale you tell.”
“All I did was stay alive.”
“And impregnate a Cylon. Let’s not skimp on the details, Lieutenant.”
She’s all ice as far as Karl can tell, hard and frozen and painful, sharp enough to cut and rip skin, enough to make you bleed. Cain’s voice is buisinesslike and rough, like his grandmother’s voice used to be, raw from smoking and cold and hard work and rough living. “I figured you had all the details, ma’am, given that you’ve got my file.”
“Quite an impressive array of achievement for a JG ECO.” She tosses his file on the desk and moves around it, coming closer to him. He can sense the smell of blood in the air, uncertain who is predator and who is prey. “You killed one of my best men.”
“He was a rapist. If he was one of your best men, I’d hate to see the dregs of your crew.”
Cain laughs, and it’s not a pretty sound. He imagines she can be pretty, probably is, but all he can see is the glint of steel in her eyes that looks a little too much like madness for his tastes. All the Pegasus crew seem to have it, that glimmer from running without hope, running on the scent of blood. Karl put down a dog once that had that look, tearing into the kill before Karl or his dad could get there, leaving them on the edge of starving for a couple of weeks before Karl had the courage to put a gun to its head.
“You have guts, I’ll give you that, Agathon.” She circles him slowly, her eyes almost like a physical touch on his skin. There are rumors about the Academy, about hazing and about the things that go on during a Black Flag in the fleet, but Karl’s always been big enough to get by without the worst of it. He’s seen the people in the aftermath, if you can call them that still, and he thinks this must be what it’s like to be on the other end, crawling across the floor with the rest of the world sidestepping the bloody trail you’re dragging behind as if it doesn’t even exist. As if you don’t. “You should hear how they talk about you. They call you Helo like the sun shines out of your ass.”
“I don’t think anyone does that, sir.”
He feels the gun before he realizes she draws it and he can see down the length of her arm to the smile on her face. Cold steel digs into his skin just below his ear and he wonders if it’s his breathing or hers that he hears. “Are you contradicting me, Agathon?”
“No, sir.”
“It sounds like you’re contradicting me.” He can hear the hiss of power, from the air, from the gun, from her. “I’ve killed men for less.”
“So I’ve heard, Sir.” He closes his eyes, leaning into the pressure of the gun slightly. “It’s a wonder you’ve got any crew left.”
The butt of the gun hits his temple and he sways slightly, trying to shake it off. She hits him again and he goes down to his knees, struggling to remain upright. She walks around and stands in front of him, the gun pressed against his mouth, digging into his lips. He can taste blood against his teeth as she grinds it into his flesh. His gums hurt from the pressure on his teeth, but he doesn’t open his mouth until her boot connects with his groin, grinding the heel of her foot down against him.
The gun slides between his bloody lips and he can feel the heavy weight of it against his tongue. She holds it at her hip and he looks up at her. Her dark hair is falling in her face, falling free from the severe style she wears, tendrils clinging like madmen to her face. His hands twitch in their cuffs with the impulse to rake them away, to expose her for what she really is. “Do you know what they say about command, Agathon?”
He can’t answer with the gun in his mouth, not sure he knows what she obviously wants him to say. Instead he shakes his head slightly, metal clicking against his teeth.
“It trickles down.” She twists the gun so he can feel the muzzle against the roof of his mouth. “Like blood.”
She pulls the gun from his mouth and he barely gets the, “Frak you”, out before she nails him across the temple once more and knocks him out. He has the brief thought that she’s right as she breaks the skin and the blood trickles down.
**
When he comes to, he’s draped sideways across a bed. His wrists are cuffed to either end of the bed and the cool metal of the rack is against his bare thighs and his cock. Every hair feels like it’s standing on end, shivering in the ominous cold of the room. Wherever he is, he can’t see anything but the gray walls and the regulation gray blanket that scratches at the bruises on his skin.
“We have a Cylon of our own here. Did you know that?” Her voice is cold, conversational. “She and I were lovers before I found out what she was.”
“More human than you are?” The chain hits his hip, links digging in. He’s not sure if the heat is blood or grease on his skin, but he recognizes the pain.
“She’s not far from here. You should see her. That perfect, pale skin is black and blue now, mottled with yellow. She’s covered in blood and bruises that we put there to remind her. It doesn’t matter how much she bleeds, she’s a machine.” The chain hits again, and this time the manacle lashes his thigh. “How much blood do you think it will take for you?”
“I’m not a machine.”
“Really?” She moves closer and, for the first time since he woke, he can feel her in the room with him. The chain links rest on the cleft of his ass and his body tightens instinctively. “That’s what she said at first. That’s what they all say at first.” The chain twitches and Helo’s body clenches. He huffs out a breath and Cain laughs. “Are you afraid?”
“Frak you.”
Her hand is like ice around his balls, nearly as cold as the manacle she wraps around them and his cock. He hisses, the sound sharp between his teeth, and he can still taste the coppery burn of blood on his tongue. “I don’t think you’ll be frakking anything for a while, Mr. Agathon.” She pulls on the end of the chain, jerking his cock back and pressing the links hard against the crack of his ass. “In fact, I think the only thing you’re going to do is take it. Take it again and again until you beg me to stop, and then you’ll take it some more. Adama can’t save you. Your Cylon whore can’t save you. The only person who can save you is me. And to be honest, Agathon, I’m not feeling the slightest bit of mercy.”
Helo twists his hands, gripping the cuffs that have him held to the metal frame of the bed. The ache in his groin magnifies with every yank of the chain and she braces herself as she lifts it, her foot against his ass, grinding the metal links between her boot and his skin. Pain cuts through all the centers of his body, and he can feel blood flooding his cock, pulsing heat and more to the base where the manacle digs into his flesh, jerking it back toward the chain.
“Where’s your frakking Cylon now, Agathon? Where’s your ship full of heroes?”
Helo can’t breathe through the pain. His eyes close, and his head explodes with colors like a ship blown out of the sky. Sickness rises in his gut, the retch of radiation filling his throat like it had so many times on Caprica. He bites his tongue and tries to swallow it down, drowning in his own bile. He can feel her tugging on the chain as she hangs onto the top rack with one hand, all of her weight balanced on the flesh she’s scraped raw.
“You think they give a frak about you?” Cain hisses, shifting her weight so there’s a moment of respite before it hammers down on him again. “You’re my prisoner now. As far as Galactica is concerned, you’re a dead man. And as far as Pegasus, you’re only alive as long as I keep you that way. I’m your judge, jury and executioner, Agathon.”
“No, Admiral.”
Cain drops the chain and it lands hard on Helo’s back. Her boot slides across his skin and he can feel something hot against the numbness of his skin and he knows it’s blood, maybe worse. Her boots hit the floor with a metallic thud and her laugh is even colder than Helo feels. “You have no authority here, Adama.”
Lee. Helo’s brain tries to wrap itself around the concept of rescue, but his brain’s as numb as his balls and he just lets his head fall onto the bed. There’s too much blood there suddenly, and the colors all go to black and he passes out, wondering if he’ll be lucky enough to die before he wakes up.
**
He wakes up to bright lights and distant noises, and the fact that everything is white tells him he’s either fallen into his mother’s old beliefs and ended up on Olympus, or Cottle’s been over him with a fine-toothed comb and he’s somewhere that’s close enough to safe. His ass doesn’t hurt and he can’t feel his balls, so either he’s lost all of his genitalia, which doesn’t sound so bad right now, or he’s drugged to the eyeballs.
“Drugged to the eyeballs.”
He turns his head to see Lee standing by the cloth wall that separates him from everyone else. “What?”
“You were talking out loud. You’re drugged to the eyeballs. Maybe even the hairline. Cottle gave you the good stuff.”
“Surprised she let Cottle near me.” His voice sounds funny, slurred with narcotics and the underlying throb of pain he can feel fighting their effects.
“She’s a smart woman. She isn’t going to let you be permanently damaged before she tries to kill you.” Lee rubs his jaw and Helo follows the motion of his hand, hypnotized by it. “You’re safe here. For a while.”
“Pegasus is still calling my name, huh?”
“Don’t worry. Admiral Cain's got more on her mind right now. There's a lot to be done.” Lee’s looking at him, but Helo’s pretty sure he’s not seeing him. “We need every man. The rapists, the insane and the murderers.”
“Which am I?" Helo shakes his head. He's not sure he wants an answer to that question. "Did you tell her that?”
“I’ve told my dad.” Lee gives Helo a smile and sketches a salute. “I’m afraid that’s all I can do.”