BSG fic: Resonance
Well, I gotta give y'all props; when I ask for porn prompts, you certainly deliver. And my, what a varied group they are. You're all a big old bunch of pervs!
/loves you
Looks like I'm going to be busy for the foreseeable future.
Title: Resonance
Author: Widget
Characters: Tyrol/Anders
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be (otherwise Lee would be dressed in that towel permanently! Mmmm…towel). No money is being made.
Spoilers: Season 3, up through “Exodus, part 2”
Summary: Like called to like
Notes: First porn ficlet for thepouncer. She requested "Sam Anders/Galen Tyrol. Angsty, my woman was taken by the Cylons porn." Thanks to romanticalgirl for the beta.
“Chief?”
No answer.
Sam frowned, his eyes taking in the man’s slumped posture and haggard expression as well as the nearly empty jar of rotgut. He knew what this was, knew it too frakking well, in fact. Dropping the canvas flap behind him, Sam walked over to the table and settled into the chair facing the other man.
“Tyrol?” Sam pitched his voice low, reaching over to gently rest his hand on the other man’s arm. Despite his care, Tyrol jumped. He looked up at Sam, blurry-eyed, guilt and grief etched into his features as if carved from his flesh with a knife.
“Sam?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, it’s me. Any word?”
Tyrol shook his head before dropping it into his hands. “No.” The single word came out strangled and it was almost as painful to hear as he knew it had been for Tyrol to say. Almost.
“I spoke with Gaeta,” Tyrol continued, voice low and gruff. “Thought maybe he might know something about Cally, but he didn’t. Said he’d try to find out.”
“Do you trust him?” Sam asked cautiously.
Tyrol raised his head and shrugged, the gesture half-hearted, as if his shoulders bore lead weights. “Does it matter? Right now he’s the only one who can help. I left a message at the drop point, but I haven’t heard anything from our guy inside.”
Sam nodded, more to himself than for the sake of the other man who was as good as a thousand miles away. Tyrol seemed to come back to himself with a shudder, his eyes falling on the jar of moonshine before him. He blinked, staring down at it as if he’d never seen it before, then took a long pull. He pushed it towards Sam.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sam took the jar and drank as well, grimacing at the vile taste. He didn’t say anything, just watched and waited. After all, what could he possibly say?
“How do you do it?”
Sam, blinked, startled out of his reverie to find Tyrol looking at him, his gaze oddly intent.
“Do what?” Sam asked.
“Cope without her. With not knowing where she is, or if she’s even alive?”
Tyrol’s words slammed into him like a punch to the gut.
Kara
They didn’t talk about her. It was an unspoken rule: no one mentioned Kara unless Sam brought her up first. After she disappeared, Sam had hunted frantically for her, but to no avail. Kara had simply vanished without a trace despite the best efforts of Sam and the nascent resistance to find her. It was as if she’s never existed, as if she was just some fever induced hallucination. She wasn’t, of course; Kara was real, as real as Sam, but with each day that passed a little of the hope faltered to be replaced by anger and self-loathing.
Kara hadn’t given up on him. She’s come back for him, against all odds. And Sam had failed her. He didn’t know where she was, what had happened to her. Sam didn’t know if she was still alive; hell, for all he knew, she was up on one of those basestars, hooked up to one of those frakking baby machines, tortured, violated, lost…
Not going back to one of those farms, Sam. I'm not.
The memory curdled inside him, twisting his gut like acid. Sam shook his head to dispel the memory as much as the feeling of despair and disgust that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t do this, not now. He needed to stay strong, stay focused. He couldn’t allow himself to wallow when so many people were depending upon him to be strong. Grabbing the jar, Sam drank deeply, all but polishing off the remnants in a single go.
He could almost pretend that it was the burn of alcohol, not grief and self-pity that sparked the sting of tears at the back of his eyes.
“How do you do it?” Tyrol asked again, his voice high and plaintive, like a heartbroken child, his words cracking the painful, brittle silence stretched between them. “I can’t…I don’t know if I can do this without her.”
Sam could see the sheen of tears in the other man’s eyes, could see the raw hurt as his face crumpled. Sam watched as Tyrol’s sturdy frame folded in on itself as the weight of realization pressed in on him, bowing him to the point of breaking. Sam could feel Tyrol’s pain as if it was his own. Because it was his own, fresher and sharper but achingly familiar. Sam could see the sympathetic echo of the loss and rage and guilt and grief that had been living inside him for the past four months. He’d tried so hard to keep it in check, keep it buried down deep, to just keep going, keep functioning. And he’d done it. Until now.
Before he even realized it, Sam was moving. Grasping Tyrol’s jaw, Sam crushed his mouth roughly to the other man’s. Tyrol froze for a moment before he surged forward, his mouth every bit as fervent and needy as Sam’s.
There was no tenderness in the kiss and very little comfort. There was too much anger, too much guilt and self-recrimination to leave much room for kindness. But there was understanding, the awareness of a pain shared. Like called to like and Sam could feel the shudder that raced through him, could feel the answering tremor in Tyrol’s body as they both surrendered to their pain.
Sam could taste salt on his lips, grief and desperation mingling together, nothing like the sweetness of Kara’s kisses. He was keenly aware of the way Tyrol’s beard rasped against his cheeks, his chin, the way Tyrol’s hands curled tightly around his arms, his grip fierce enough to leave bruises. Sam welcomed the pain, welcomed the reminder that they were alive. He pulled Tyrol to his feet, stumbling as they grappled for balance before falling heavily to their knees, the impact jarring them both through.
There was no time for niceties even if they were so inclined. No time for courtesy or gentleness as they tore at one another’s clothing, chilled hands burrowing beneath heavy sweaters, once clever fingers tugging awkwardly at belts and zippers, wanting, needing more.
When Sam slid his hand beneath the worn elastic of Tyrol’s boxers, he wasn’t at all surprised to find the other man already hard. Sam curled his hand around Tyrol’s erection, groaning as Tyrol’s hand wrapped around his cock, the two of them mirror images of one another. Sam stroked Tyrol roughly, felt Tyrol mimic his rhythm, their hands moving in unison and sympathetic lust. He pulled Tyrol in for another kiss, their teeth clashing, snarls torn from both their lips as they pushed and pressed and demanded more, demanded to feel something beyond the gaping emptiness inside. Sam quickened his pace, pulling harshly at Tyrol’s flesh, perversely satisfied at the edge of pain when Tyrol matched him stroke for stroke, tugging brutally as him in turn.
It was Tyrol who came first, warm wetness spilling across Sam’s fist as he sobbed out his release. Tyrol collapsed against him, his body heavy and solid, fresh tears soaking the fabric stretched across Sam’s shoulder as he trembled and shook from climax rather than grief. Tyrol’s hand twitched and tightened instinctively around Sam’s cock, the sensation enough to push Sam forcibly over the edge. His body spasmed and jerked as he came, spattering Tyrol’s hand and belly before the tightness in his body dissipated, replaced by a pleasant lethargy he hadn’t felt in months, not since Kara had disappeared and with her the capacity to feel anything beyond her loss.
Sam felt Tyrol draw a shuddering breath before he drew back, red eyed and tear stained. “All right?” he asked, his voice gravelly in his ears.
Tyrol swallowed and nodded before turning away to pull his clothes together once more. Sam turned away, granting him what privacy he could while he did the same.
Sam rose slowly, wincing at the twinge of protest his back gave. He extended his hand to Tyrol, pulling the man to his feet. Instead of releasing the other man, he tightened his clasp of Tyrol’s forearm. Tyrol gaze up at him, his expression cautious.
“We’ll find them, Chief. I don’t know how, but we will. We aren’t giving up on them. Not while we’re still sucking air.”
Tyrol nodded crisply, his expression grim. He still looked like hell to Sam’s practiced eye, but the creases lining his face and weren’t etched as deeply as before, and there was something like a fragile sense of peace in his gaze when before there’d been nothing but despair. Sam didn’t need to look at his own reflection to know the same could be said of him.
“One way or another, we’re getting them back. You’ve got my word on it.”
He turned on his heel and slipped through the tent flap. And for the first time in months, Sam realized he could breathe again.
Finis
/loves you
Looks like I'm going to be busy for the foreseeable future.
Title: Resonance
Author: Widget
Characters: Tyrol/Anders
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be (otherwise Lee would be dressed in that towel permanently! Mmmm…towel). No money is being made.
Spoilers: Season 3, up through “Exodus, part 2”
Summary: Like called to like
Notes: First porn ficlet for thepouncer. She requested "Sam Anders/Galen Tyrol. Angsty, my woman was taken by the Cylons porn." Thanks to romanticalgirl for the beta.
“Chief?”
No answer.
Sam frowned, his eyes taking in the man’s slumped posture and haggard expression as well as the nearly empty jar of rotgut. He knew what this was, knew it too frakking well, in fact. Dropping the canvas flap behind him, Sam walked over to the table and settled into the chair facing the other man.
“Tyrol?” Sam pitched his voice low, reaching over to gently rest his hand on the other man’s arm. Despite his care, Tyrol jumped. He looked up at Sam, blurry-eyed, guilt and grief etched into his features as if carved from his flesh with a knife.
“Sam?”
Sam nodded. “Yeah, it’s me. Any word?”
Tyrol shook his head before dropping it into his hands. “No.” The single word came out strangled and it was almost as painful to hear as he knew it had been for Tyrol to say. Almost.
“I spoke with Gaeta,” Tyrol continued, voice low and gruff. “Thought maybe he might know something about Cally, but he didn’t. Said he’d try to find out.”
“Do you trust him?” Sam asked cautiously.
Tyrol raised his head and shrugged, the gesture half-hearted, as if his shoulders bore lead weights. “Does it matter? Right now he’s the only one who can help. I left a message at the drop point, but I haven’t heard anything from our guy inside.”
Sam nodded, more to himself than for the sake of the other man who was as good as a thousand miles away. Tyrol seemed to come back to himself with a shudder, his eyes falling on the jar of moonshine before him. He blinked, staring down at it as if he’d never seen it before, then took a long pull. He pushed it towards Sam.
After a moment’s hesitation, Sam took the jar and drank as well, grimacing at the vile taste. He didn’t say anything, just watched and waited. After all, what could he possibly say?
“How do you do it?”
Sam, blinked, startled out of his reverie to find Tyrol looking at him, his gaze oddly intent.
“Do what?” Sam asked.
“Cope without her. With not knowing where she is, or if she’s even alive?”
Tyrol’s words slammed into him like a punch to the gut.
Kara
They didn’t talk about her. It was an unspoken rule: no one mentioned Kara unless Sam brought her up first. After she disappeared, Sam had hunted frantically for her, but to no avail. Kara had simply vanished without a trace despite the best efforts of Sam and the nascent resistance to find her. It was as if she’s never existed, as if she was just some fever induced hallucination. She wasn’t, of course; Kara was real, as real as Sam, but with each day that passed a little of the hope faltered to be replaced by anger and self-loathing.
Kara hadn’t given up on him. She’s come back for him, against all odds. And Sam had failed her. He didn’t know where she was, what had happened to her. Sam didn’t know if she was still alive; hell, for all he knew, she was up on one of those basestars, hooked up to one of those frakking baby machines, tortured, violated, lost…
Not going back to one of those farms, Sam. I'm not.
The memory curdled inside him, twisting his gut like acid. Sam shook his head to dispel the memory as much as the feeling of despair and disgust that threatened to overwhelm him. He couldn’t do this, not now. He needed to stay strong, stay focused. He couldn’t allow himself to wallow when so many people were depending upon him to be strong. Grabbing the jar, Sam drank deeply, all but polishing off the remnants in a single go.
He could almost pretend that it was the burn of alcohol, not grief and self-pity that sparked the sting of tears at the back of his eyes.
“How do you do it?” Tyrol asked again, his voice high and plaintive, like a heartbroken child, his words cracking the painful, brittle silence stretched between them. “I can’t…I don’t know if I can do this without her.”
Sam could see the sheen of tears in the other man’s eyes, could see the raw hurt as his face crumpled. Sam watched as Tyrol’s sturdy frame folded in on itself as the weight of realization pressed in on him, bowing him to the point of breaking. Sam could feel Tyrol’s pain as if it was his own. Because it was his own, fresher and sharper but achingly familiar. Sam could see the sympathetic echo of the loss and rage and guilt and grief that had been living inside him for the past four months. He’d tried so hard to keep it in check, keep it buried down deep, to just keep going, keep functioning. And he’d done it. Until now.
Before he even realized it, Sam was moving. Grasping Tyrol’s jaw, Sam crushed his mouth roughly to the other man’s. Tyrol froze for a moment before he surged forward, his mouth every bit as fervent and needy as Sam’s.
There was no tenderness in the kiss and very little comfort. There was too much anger, too much guilt and self-recrimination to leave much room for kindness. But there was understanding, the awareness of a pain shared. Like called to like and Sam could feel the shudder that raced through him, could feel the answering tremor in Tyrol’s body as they both surrendered to their pain.
Sam could taste salt on his lips, grief and desperation mingling together, nothing like the sweetness of Kara’s kisses. He was keenly aware of the way Tyrol’s beard rasped against his cheeks, his chin, the way Tyrol’s hands curled tightly around his arms, his grip fierce enough to leave bruises. Sam welcomed the pain, welcomed the reminder that they were alive. He pulled Tyrol to his feet, stumbling as they grappled for balance before falling heavily to their knees, the impact jarring them both through.
There was no time for niceties even if they were so inclined. No time for courtesy or gentleness as they tore at one another’s clothing, chilled hands burrowing beneath heavy sweaters, once clever fingers tugging awkwardly at belts and zippers, wanting, needing more.
When Sam slid his hand beneath the worn elastic of Tyrol’s boxers, he wasn’t at all surprised to find the other man already hard. Sam curled his hand around Tyrol’s erection, groaning as Tyrol’s hand wrapped around his cock, the two of them mirror images of one another. Sam stroked Tyrol roughly, felt Tyrol mimic his rhythm, their hands moving in unison and sympathetic lust. He pulled Tyrol in for another kiss, their teeth clashing, snarls torn from both their lips as they pushed and pressed and demanded more, demanded to feel something beyond the gaping emptiness inside. Sam quickened his pace, pulling harshly at Tyrol’s flesh, perversely satisfied at the edge of pain when Tyrol matched him stroke for stroke, tugging brutally as him in turn.
It was Tyrol who came first, warm wetness spilling across Sam’s fist as he sobbed out his release. Tyrol collapsed against him, his body heavy and solid, fresh tears soaking the fabric stretched across Sam’s shoulder as he trembled and shook from climax rather than grief. Tyrol’s hand twitched and tightened instinctively around Sam’s cock, the sensation enough to push Sam forcibly over the edge. His body spasmed and jerked as he came, spattering Tyrol’s hand and belly before the tightness in his body dissipated, replaced by a pleasant lethargy he hadn’t felt in months, not since Kara had disappeared and with her the capacity to feel anything beyond her loss.
Sam felt Tyrol draw a shuddering breath before he drew back, red eyed and tear stained. “All right?” he asked, his voice gravelly in his ears.
Tyrol swallowed and nodded before turning away to pull his clothes together once more. Sam turned away, granting him what privacy he could while he did the same.
Sam rose slowly, wincing at the twinge of protest his back gave. He extended his hand to Tyrol, pulling the man to his feet. Instead of releasing the other man, he tightened his clasp of Tyrol’s forearm. Tyrol gaze up at him, his expression cautious.
“We’ll find them, Chief. I don’t know how, but we will. We aren’t giving up on them. Not while we’re still sucking air.”
Tyrol nodded crisply, his expression grim. He still looked like hell to Sam’s practiced eye, but the creases lining his face and weren’t etched as deeply as before, and there was something like a fragile sense of peace in his gaze when before there’d been nothing but despair. Sam didn’t need to look at his own reflection to know the same could be said of him.
“One way or another, we’re getting them back. You’ve got my word on it.”
He turned on his heel and slipped through the tent flap. And for the first time in months, Sam realized he could breathe again.
Finis