BSG Fic - Never Frak with Starbuck
Title: Never Frak with Starbuck
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Part: 1/1
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Starbuck/Hot Dog. Yup.
Genre: Pornination.
Warnings: Uh, the pairing?
Word Count: 2000+
Summary: ...she was smiling now, a bone chilling smile that had him wanting to reach for his crotch to make sure he hadn’t pissed himself.
Disclaimer: Not my sandpit.
Notes: I didn’t post this when I first wrote it because I was super embarrassed that I’d even written it. But then, what else am I going to do with it? Until very recently I thought I was the only person alive who even thought these two could happen. Unfortunately, LJ if full of creeps and apparently there is someone else who likes these two. This is set after UB, for the sake of my own sanity I’m going to say it happens after Kara and Lee make sweet, achey, bloody, reconciliatory love.
Also? I’m not saying he caught the rash from Starbuck, but if he did? She was probably worth it.
Never Frak with Starbuck
Cottle had told him to expect dizziness, nausea and vomiting.
Cottle had also said that it wasn’t half of what he deserved for being stupid enough to try and take on Starbuck.
Brendan might have agreed if he hadn’t already resolved to plead short-term memory loss and forget the whole clusterfrak.
Hell, it wasn’t a complete loss, the dance was over and he had twenty-four hours medical clearance to sit on his arse and do sweet frak all. He shouldered his way into the bunkroom and glanced around. The bunkroom was empty and that should have been all he needed to make him turn around and haul his mangled arse right back the way it had come.
“Dog it,” Starbuck’s voice cut through the air, it was too late to turn back and, even if he had the time, he hardly had the presence of mind to do so. Instead his knees buckled and his left nostril twitched as mental images of Kara grinning at him across the ring and then knocking him flat converged into some sort of living nightmare, still very much attached to the sensory memory of her handing him his own arse in short order.
He dogged the hatch and turned back into the bunkroom. She’d been easily missed. She was stretched sideways across his rack, her feet propped up on a chair while her hands were crossed behind her head. She might have looked comfortable if it weren’t for the fact that she was bleeding onto his bedding and breathing through her mouth due to a painfully broken nose. “Clearly,” she cleared her throat noisily and spat blood down onto his pillow, he might have minded but she was such a mess that he figured she probably needed to clear her throat so that she could breathe, “I’ve been remiss in training my nuggets. What did I teach you, Hot Dog?”
He shuffled closer to his rack and dropped a sweaty towel down onto the table before turning to look at her. He briefly wondered how far enough away from her he’d need to keep to be safe. But as safe distances went, he could be sitting on a beach in Caprica and he was sure he’d still be feeling her boot up his arse. “Never leave your leader,” he mumbled through swollen lips.
“And?” she was smiling now, a bone chilling smile that had him wanting to reach for his crotch to make sure he hadn’t pissed himself.
“Never disobey an order.”
“And?”
“Uh, that you’re God?”
“Now you’re just telling me what I want to hear. How about this: Never, ever, frak with me.”
Brendan shifted on his feet, feeling a little dizzy as he did so, before venturing to speak, “I thought there were no ranks in the ring, uh, Sir.”
“Oh come on, Costanza. You don’t ask the prettiest girl at the dance,” she smiled through blood caked lips and black eyes at her own little joke, “To waltz without some sort of consequence.”
Confusion flashed across his face. Wasn’t concussion consequence enough? How about mortification? How about practically having “property of Starbuck” written on his forehead? “What did you have in mind, Sir?” Gods, he was afraid to ask.
“Well, I tend to find these things are best dealt with quickly.”
Hot Dog reached up and dragged off his tank to display an impressive array of bruises, “I think you did.”
She tried to purse her lips as she shrugged, “Maybe, but a good officer can’t have any animosity from lower ranks. And I find these things are best cut off at the roots. After all, who knows who’ll decide to take a shot at me next?”
“By the look of you, Sir,” he ventured with something touching on a surly tone, “Somebody has already taken that shot.”
“Yeah,” she sniffed and maybe grinned, “Not everybody sucks as hard as you do. And that one’s been neutralized. Didn’t think you were top of my shit list didja? Come on, Hot Dog, if I were worried I wouldn’t have let you land a single jab. Consider this a courtesy call, because if I have to come for you again? You’ll find me a little less courteous.”
Frak it, it had been for fun. It wasn’t meant to be personal. Just a joke. “You won, didn’t you?”
“I lost the second one of my nuggets even imagined that he could take me.” She seemed to fall into a thoughtful contemplation. Either that or her injuries were catching up with her. Brendan wondered if it was appropriate to remind Kara that it had been decades since any of the colonies had seen any form of totalitarianism. She looked pretty bad, but then he wasn’t looking great either and he didn’t want to underestimate her twice in one day.
“You, uhm, need to see Cottle?” he asked, hoping to the Gods that he had enough strength in him to get her there. It would be pretty frakking embarrassing to offer and not be able to drag her half way to the Life Station. But it didn’t matter because she wasn’t paying attention to him anyway. Instead her fingers were sliding across his sheets and darting under his mattress to retrieve, “Please, n-”
“Hunh, do they pull you aside and tell you to keep it here? Helo and Zak did it too,” she flicked open the pages, “Ever been with a girl, Costanza?” she asked as she turned the glossy pages over in her hands. The magazine was in pretty poor shape. For one, it had been torn into sections and distributed amongst a couple of the others and for another thing, well, it hadn’t come to him in the best shape either. But porn was porn and it was becoming a precious commodity, because no one wanted the electronic stuff the Gaeta was into.
Had he ever been with a girl? “Of course, all the time. You know,” he postured as well as any injured man could, “with girls.”
“‘Virgins shouldn’t fight wars’. That was in a midday movie I saw once. You know, this cabaret girl on Picon gave this young flyboy a pity frak so he wouldn’t die a virgin.”
“I don’t plan on dying,” he said in a small voice, hoping that the omission didn’t confirm the virgin thing for her.
“Well, then you should probably avoid getting tangled with me, Hot Dog. Cylons are bad enough, you do not want me on your six.”
“Duly noted,” he muttered to the floor, wishing she’d just get out of his bed and leave him to his embarrassment.
“You see,” she dropped the pages to the floor and held her hands wide as she uncrossed her ankles, pulled herself more fully into his rack and moved onto her back, “I don’t think it is. You need to feel like a man, Costanza? Don’t do it in my airspace. Don’t do it in my ring and sure as frak don’t measure your cock up against mine in public because you will always come up short.”
“Then where? Huh?” he approached his rack and braced his hands against the frame above his bed as he started down at her, “I washed out once, Sir, everyone knows it. No one jokes about you, Starbuck - not to your face - and if they do, well they don’t do it twice. But I got jack, I’m just the guy that got lucky because the real pilots died. To them I’m not a pilot, I’m not a man. I’m nothing until I can prove otherwise.” He leaned in close, waiting for her to give him some sort of answer. Instead she just regarded him with watery eyes as she reached up and crackled strands of hair that had dried with blood. She lifted her spare hand and ran two fingers down the front of his pants.
“Next time someone says you aren’t a pilot? Send them my way, I’ll put them in a Viper and see if they do a better job than you do. Your flying was never the problem, Costanza, just your general attitude.” She pressed a little harder as she ran her two fingers back up and down his thigh.
“And how do I fix that?” he snapped as he grabbed her hand and stilled it.
“This shit is all in your head, kid. So if you need to prove that you’ve got stones? Do it here,” she reached down and undid the top button of her cut-offs, “And do it now.”
Brendan’s eyes bugged a little, “Are you going to kill me?”
She undid her fly, “No, I’m going to frak you. After this, I don’t get any more shit from you.”
“No, Sir.”
She winced as she shimmied out of her shorts and panties, “And this doesn’t mean frak.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She hissed as she reached up and pulled off her sports bra, “You don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“No, Sir.”
“You dogged the hatch?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I know that sex is a new thing for you, but I do have to get medical attention at some point today, so I’ll give you a hint and tell you that this is the part where you get naked.”
Brendan looked around the room wondering is Anders, her husband, was maybe hiding in a nearby rack preparing to rip his frakking head off. “Are you serious?”
“I’m naked, it doesn’t get much more serious. This is your one and only shot at round two, Hot Dog. Take it or leave it.”
He took it. As far as Brendan was concerned, it was pretty frakking awesome. She was bloody and sweaty, he was bruised and swollen. She didn’t smell great, but he couldn’t tell. He was a little fast starting, but that was okay because she was a little impatient. He stopped half way through just to look down into her eyes, because it seemed like the polite thing to do and when she whispered “come closer” he thought he was onto something.
But then he leaned in and she smacked him alongside the head and muttered, “Don’t waste your time, champ.”
He shrugged, as much as a man balls deep in his most twisted and dangerous wet dream can, and leaned in as he snaked his arms underneath her back and pulled her chest up as he dropped his hip to one side and rolled her on top of him. She was right, it was his time and he wasn’t going to waste it. “Ride,” he groaned, not at all concerned how close he was to death by strangulation. Fortunately, her indulgent streak was running in his favor and she braced her hands against his chest - frak, those bruises were really colouring up - and began to ride her young pilot with a steady rhythm. He gripped her hips and just held on, wondering if she was expecting to come… and if she was, how the frak did he make that happen? Or was she just waiting for him to finish?
He cracked open one swollen eye and watched as she tried not to bite her lip. A second later she tried not to moan. His chest puffed with pride and - ow. Had she broken a rib? Cottle hand’s said he’d broken anything and -
Starbuck grabbed his wrists and dragged them above his head, her short nails almost digging into his skin. Her toes fought for purchase of the bed sheet either side of his hips as she rode out the first and last moments of her reluctant climax, before saddling up and driving him let go of his own.
Afterwards, as she gathered her clothes, she turned back to the rack and looked down at him. “Feel better?”
He leaned back against his pillow and tried to pretend that his balls weren’t dancing with joy, he shrugged. “A bit.”
Before he knew it she had him by the dog tags and had half dragged him from his rack, “What very vital lesson did I just teach you?”
He braced his hands against the floor and rolled himself back into his rack as he spoke, “Never, ever, frak with Starbuck,” he stated. Satisfied, she let him go and it wasn’t until he heard the hatch close behind her a few minutes later that he added with a self-satisfied grin, “Unless you’re frakking with Starbuck.”
Authors: volatile/becisvolatile
Part: 1/1
Rating: NC-17
Characters: Starbuck/Hot Dog. Yup.
Genre: Pornination.
Warnings: Uh, the pairing?
Word Count: 2000+
Summary: ...she was smiling now, a bone chilling smile that had him wanting to reach for his crotch to make sure he hadn’t pissed himself.
Disclaimer: Not my sandpit.
Notes: I didn’t post this when I first wrote it because I was super embarrassed that I’d even written it. But then, what else am I going to do with it? Until very recently I thought I was the only person alive who even thought these two could happen. Unfortunately, LJ if full of creeps and apparently there is someone else who likes these two. This is set after UB, for the sake of my own sanity I’m going to say it happens after Kara and Lee make sweet, achey, bloody, reconciliatory love.
Also? I’m not saying he caught the rash from Starbuck, but if he did? She was probably worth it.
Never Frak with Starbuck
Cottle had told him to expect dizziness, nausea and vomiting.
Cottle had also said that it wasn’t half of what he deserved for being stupid enough to try and take on Starbuck.
Brendan might have agreed if he hadn’t already resolved to plead short-term memory loss and forget the whole clusterfrak.
Hell, it wasn’t a complete loss, the dance was over and he had twenty-four hours medical clearance to sit on his arse and do sweet frak all. He shouldered his way into the bunkroom and glanced around. The bunkroom was empty and that should have been all he needed to make him turn around and haul his mangled arse right back the way it had come.
“Dog it,” Starbuck’s voice cut through the air, it was too late to turn back and, even if he had the time, he hardly had the presence of mind to do so. Instead his knees buckled and his left nostril twitched as mental images of Kara grinning at him across the ring and then knocking him flat converged into some sort of living nightmare, still very much attached to the sensory memory of her handing him his own arse in short order.
He dogged the hatch and turned back into the bunkroom. She’d been easily missed. She was stretched sideways across his rack, her feet propped up on a chair while her hands were crossed behind her head. She might have looked comfortable if it weren’t for the fact that she was bleeding onto his bedding and breathing through her mouth due to a painfully broken nose. “Clearly,” she cleared her throat noisily and spat blood down onto his pillow, he might have minded but she was such a mess that he figured she probably needed to clear her throat so that she could breathe, “I’ve been remiss in training my nuggets. What did I teach you, Hot Dog?”
He shuffled closer to his rack and dropped a sweaty towel down onto the table before turning to look at her. He briefly wondered how far enough away from her he’d need to keep to be safe. But as safe distances went, he could be sitting on a beach in Caprica and he was sure he’d still be feeling her boot up his arse. “Never leave your leader,” he mumbled through swollen lips.
“And?” she was smiling now, a bone chilling smile that had him wanting to reach for his crotch to make sure he hadn’t pissed himself.
“Never disobey an order.”
“And?”
“Uh, that you’re God?”
“Now you’re just telling me what I want to hear. How about this: Never, ever, frak with me.”
Brendan shifted on his feet, feeling a little dizzy as he did so, before venturing to speak, “I thought there were no ranks in the ring, uh, Sir.”
“Oh come on, Costanza. You don’t ask the prettiest girl at the dance,” she smiled through blood caked lips and black eyes at her own little joke, “To waltz without some sort of consequence.”
Confusion flashed across his face. Wasn’t concussion consequence enough? How about mortification? How about practically having “property of Starbuck” written on his forehead? “What did you have in mind, Sir?” Gods, he was afraid to ask.
“Well, I tend to find these things are best dealt with quickly.”
Hot Dog reached up and dragged off his tank to display an impressive array of bruises, “I think you did.”
She tried to purse her lips as she shrugged, “Maybe, but a good officer can’t have any animosity from lower ranks. And I find these things are best cut off at the roots. After all, who knows who’ll decide to take a shot at me next?”
“By the look of you, Sir,” he ventured with something touching on a surly tone, “Somebody has already taken that shot.”
“Yeah,” she sniffed and maybe grinned, “Not everybody sucks as hard as you do. And that one’s been neutralized. Didn’t think you were top of my shit list didja? Come on, Hot Dog, if I were worried I wouldn’t have let you land a single jab. Consider this a courtesy call, because if I have to come for you again? You’ll find me a little less courteous.”
Frak it, it had been for fun. It wasn’t meant to be personal. Just a joke. “You won, didn’t you?”
“I lost the second one of my nuggets even imagined that he could take me.” She seemed to fall into a thoughtful contemplation. Either that or her injuries were catching up with her. Brendan wondered if it was appropriate to remind Kara that it had been decades since any of the colonies had seen any form of totalitarianism. She looked pretty bad, but then he wasn’t looking great either and he didn’t want to underestimate her twice in one day.
“You, uhm, need to see Cottle?” he asked, hoping to the Gods that he had enough strength in him to get her there. It would be pretty frakking embarrassing to offer and not be able to drag her half way to the Life Station. But it didn’t matter because she wasn’t paying attention to him anyway. Instead her fingers were sliding across his sheets and darting under his mattress to retrieve, “Please, n-”
“Hunh, do they pull you aside and tell you to keep it here? Helo and Zak did it too,” she flicked open the pages, “Ever been with a girl, Costanza?” she asked as she turned the glossy pages over in her hands. The magazine was in pretty poor shape. For one, it had been torn into sections and distributed amongst a couple of the others and for another thing, well, it hadn’t come to him in the best shape either. But porn was porn and it was becoming a precious commodity, because no one wanted the electronic stuff the Gaeta was into.
Had he ever been with a girl? “Of course, all the time. You know,” he postured as well as any injured man could, “with girls.”
“‘Virgins shouldn’t fight wars’. That was in a midday movie I saw once. You know, this cabaret girl on Picon gave this young flyboy a pity frak so he wouldn’t die a virgin.”
“I don’t plan on dying,” he said in a small voice, hoping that the omission didn’t confirm the virgin thing for her.
“Well, then you should probably avoid getting tangled with me, Hot Dog. Cylons are bad enough, you do not want me on your six.”
“Duly noted,” he muttered to the floor, wishing she’d just get out of his bed and leave him to his embarrassment.
“You see,” she dropped the pages to the floor and held her hands wide as she uncrossed her ankles, pulled herself more fully into his rack and moved onto her back, “I don’t think it is. You need to feel like a man, Costanza? Don’t do it in my airspace. Don’t do it in my ring and sure as frak don’t measure your cock up against mine in public because you will always come up short.”
“Then where? Huh?” he approached his rack and braced his hands against the frame above his bed as he started down at her, “I washed out once, Sir, everyone knows it. No one jokes about you, Starbuck - not to your face - and if they do, well they don’t do it twice. But I got jack, I’m just the guy that got lucky because the real pilots died. To them I’m not a pilot, I’m not a man. I’m nothing until I can prove otherwise.” He leaned in close, waiting for her to give him some sort of answer. Instead she just regarded him with watery eyes as she reached up and crackled strands of hair that had dried with blood. She lifted her spare hand and ran two fingers down the front of his pants.
“Next time someone says you aren’t a pilot? Send them my way, I’ll put them in a Viper and see if they do a better job than you do. Your flying was never the problem, Costanza, just your general attitude.” She pressed a little harder as she ran her two fingers back up and down his thigh.
“And how do I fix that?” he snapped as he grabbed her hand and stilled it.
“This shit is all in your head, kid. So if you need to prove that you’ve got stones? Do it here,” she reached down and undid the top button of her cut-offs, “And do it now.”
Brendan’s eyes bugged a little, “Are you going to kill me?”
She undid her fly, “No, I’m going to frak you. After this, I don’t get any more shit from you.”
“No, Sir.”
She winced as she shimmied out of her shorts and panties, “And this doesn’t mean frak.”
“Yes, Sir.”
She hissed as she reached up and pulled off her sports bra, “You don’t breathe a word of this to anyone.”
“No, Sir.”
“You dogged the hatch?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I know that sex is a new thing for you, but I do have to get medical attention at some point today, so I’ll give you a hint and tell you that this is the part where you get naked.”
Brendan looked around the room wondering is Anders, her husband, was maybe hiding in a nearby rack preparing to rip his frakking head off. “Are you serious?”
“I’m naked, it doesn’t get much more serious. This is your one and only shot at round two, Hot Dog. Take it or leave it.”
He took it. As far as Brendan was concerned, it was pretty frakking awesome. She was bloody and sweaty, he was bruised and swollen. She didn’t smell great, but he couldn’t tell. He was a little fast starting, but that was okay because she was a little impatient. He stopped half way through just to look down into her eyes, because it seemed like the polite thing to do and when she whispered “come closer” he thought he was onto something.
But then he leaned in and she smacked him alongside the head and muttered, “Don’t waste your time, champ.”
He shrugged, as much as a man balls deep in his most twisted and dangerous wet dream can, and leaned in as he snaked his arms underneath her back and pulled her chest up as he dropped his hip to one side and rolled her on top of him. She was right, it was his time and he wasn’t going to waste it. “Ride,” he groaned, not at all concerned how close he was to death by strangulation. Fortunately, her indulgent streak was running in his favor and she braced her hands against his chest - frak, those bruises were really colouring up - and began to ride her young pilot with a steady rhythm. He gripped her hips and just held on, wondering if she was expecting to come… and if she was, how the frak did he make that happen? Or was she just waiting for him to finish?
He cracked open one swollen eye and watched as she tried not to bite her lip. A second later she tried not to moan. His chest puffed with pride and - ow. Had she broken a rib? Cottle hand’s said he’d broken anything and -
Starbuck grabbed his wrists and dragged them above his head, her short nails almost digging into his skin. Her toes fought for purchase of the bed sheet either side of his hips as she rode out the first and last moments of her reluctant climax, before saddling up and driving him let go of his own.
Afterwards, as she gathered her clothes, she turned back to the rack and looked down at him. “Feel better?”
He leaned back against his pillow and tried to pretend that his balls weren’t dancing with joy, he shrugged. “A bit.”
Before he knew it she had him by the dog tags and had half dragged him from his rack, “What very vital lesson did I just teach you?”
He braced his hands against the floor and rolled himself back into his rack as he spoke, “Never, ever, frak with Starbuck,” he stated. Satisfied, she let him go and it wasn’t until he heard the hatch close behind her a few minutes later that he added with a self-satisfied grin, “Unless you’re frakking with Starbuck.”