FIC: ...With Benefits
Title: ...With Benefits
Author: Amy (alexia@innergeekdom.net)
Fandom: BSG/Desperate Housewives
Spoilers: Pre-"Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down"
Disclaimer: Ron Moore and Marc Cherry. Which, really, kind of speaks for itself.
Ship: Edie Britt/Ellen Tigh
Summary: Edie is a slut.
Notes: Back-up fic for femslash06 for sheepfairy. tellitslant and jennyo were, as per usual, forced into audiencing.
1,223 words
If someone had asked her, six months ago, where she'd like to end up after an attack on Picon, Edie might have chosen The Rising Star herself. It was, after all, one of the nicest liners in the fleet, and Edie worked real estate. She had developed a good eye for living spaces- and for the people who lived in them.
Edie knew what most people would choose. Susan Meyer, who had lived down the street from her back home, had fought to get on one of the flashier liners, the ones with nothing but neon and sparkles. But those were surface-ships, the kind that would experience engine failure within three months, and then where would they be?
Edie liked her room on the Rising Star, a tiny one with a bed and a dresser and not much else. She didn't have anything to store, and there was more than enough room at night for herself and, if circumstances allowed, a companion. There wasn't much else she could ask for.
She kept a small altar for the gods in one corner of her room. She had never been much for prayer back home- that had been Bree's place- but here it seemed important. Everyone had heard the whispering, that something was going on far beyond the control of mere luck. People talked about the gods as though they were close personal friends, as though they could come visit the ship at any moment.
But it didn't take long for Edie to realize that the gods had deserted them long before they had time to break into ships in a greater fleet.
They were going to die in the middle of nowhere, trapped in outer space without a home, and she wasn't even getting regularly frakked in the process.
***
Edie had always had a thing for the military uniform. Each ship in the fleet, even non-military vessels, had their share of guards, and sometimes Edie would find a nice seat and just watch. The Rising Star had a gym, and some of the officers would go for hours. They were inevitably toned, and they wore their traditional workout clothes, all tight and dark and perfectly form-fitting. Most of them would be dripping with sweat before they left the gym.
It was the best part of watching.
Something about the end of the world had made Edie far less picky. The other women from Wisteria Lane had always been happy to point out that Edie was a slut, but that had never meant that she wasn't discerning. She had a type- not a very specific one, granted, but she had it. Something about the apocalypse made that type disappear. Fat or thin, short or tall, man or woman- she didn't care, as long as she was getting frakked hard and well.
And the members of the military on the Rising Star? They were stressed, they were overworked, and they were also stuck on a civilian ship, with no Cylons to fight to speak of, which meant that they were full of energy to burn. Edie didn't know why no one else seemed to be so fascinated by this, but it did mean that she became one of their regulars, and it didn't take long before there wasn't an officer on the ship who hadn't discovered that the cute blonde at the gym was mostly there to watch them sweat and then make them sweat more. She was, in fact, a regular.
Her and one other woman.
She saw her as competition, at first. Blonde hair, good body, slightly insincere laugh, and a fondness for ambrosia? If her dye job were a little better, she could have been Edie. As it was, she was certainly getting more than her fair share of the best men and women the fleet had to offer.
Against all odds, they became fast friends.
She wouldn't give her name. She said she couldn't remember enough details about her life before the Cylon attack, and felt better not sharing anything until she knew more. Edie was almost jealous; she wished she had a memorable story like that.
Of course, everyone knew Edie. They only knew the other woman as "the hot blonde" or, occasionally, "Edie's friend".
The two of them never doubted for a moment that they were discussed behind their backs. That was, after all, how these things worked. It wasn't like they were any different; within a week they found themselves comparing notes on their most frequent late-night visitors. This one scratched; this one liked to bite; this one had the thickest cock; this one couldn't get a woman off with a map and a working vibrator; this one liked it when you put a finger right there. It was, Edie thought, a beneficial relationship for everyone; everyone was getting frakked, and frakked well, and Edie, for the first time, had a female friend.
It was a new thing for her. She'd never had one. Women were people who hated her for sleeping with the men they were interested in. Or dating. Or married to. A close female friend, someone to talk with about shopping (a surprisingly popular topic, considering there were no more stores) and sex, was amazing in and of itself.
Edie wasn't entirely sure that most women slept with their close female friends. But they had never been the most orthodox of people anyway.
It wasn't intentional. They had both been planning to sleep with someone else that night. But then there had been some crisis or other, some frakking thing involving Cylons and explosions and death, and no one was there at the right time.
And. Well. They were bored, they were turned on, and both of them had excellent breasts.
As it turned out, they had many excellent things. Frakking half the ship had yielded certain skills that were impressive by anyone's measure. Edie had never met anyone as good with their tongue, and neither of them were covered in gym sweat.
One night became several. They'd drink, they'd gossip, and then they'd frak each other silly, both enjoying the knowledge that half the ship would want to be in their place right then.
They'd found cigarettes, once, or bartered them or bought them or something; Edie just knew that she came to and there was a pack next to them and a match was being struck.
"That was good sex," she said.
"Better than usual," her friend agreed.
"Better than my boyfriend back home," Edie said with a short laugh.
"Better than my husband."
There was a long pause, while Edie fingered the pack of cigarettes, trying to find the right words. She finally settled on one.
"Husband?"
***
Edie saw the picture in the papers, same as everyone else. All the most important people in the fleet, smiling tightly at the camera people like they wanted everyone to really believe they had nothing to hide.
Edie had to look at the photo closely, sure that she was seeing things wrong. But she wasn't.
Laura Roslin. William Adama. Other people, the aides and second- and thirds- in command. And then, the last names on the list: Colonel Saul Tigh and his wife. Ellen.
Edie ran a finger over the picture, then shook her head.
"Frak," she muttered. "Frak."
Then she went down to the gym.
Author: Amy (alexia@innergeekdom.net)
Fandom: BSG/Desperate Housewives
Spoilers: Pre-"Tigh Me Up, Tigh Me Down"
Disclaimer: Ron Moore and Marc Cherry. Which, really, kind of speaks for itself.
Ship: Edie Britt/Ellen Tigh
Summary: Edie is a slut.
Notes: Back-up fic for femslash06 for sheepfairy. tellitslant and jennyo were, as per usual, forced into audiencing.
1,223 words
If someone had asked her, six months ago, where she'd like to end up after an attack on Picon, Edie might have chosen The Rising Star herself. It was, after all, one of the nicest liners in the fleet, and Edie worked real estate. She had developed a good eye for living spaces- and for the people who lived in them.
Edie knew what most people would choose. Susan Meyer, who had lived down the street from her back home, had fought to get on one of the flashier liners, the ones with nothing but neon and sparkles. But those were surface-ships, the kind that would experience engine failure within three months, and then where would they be?
Edie liked her room on the Rising Star, a tiny one with a bed and a dresser and not much else. She didn't have anything to store, and there was more than enough room at night for herself and, if circumstances allowed, a companion. There wasn't much else she could ask for.
She kept a small altar for the gods in one corner of her room. She had never been much for prayer back home- that had been Bree's place- but here it seemed important. Everyone had heard the whispering, that something was going on far beyond the control of mere luck. People talked about the gods as though they were close personal friends, as though they could come visit the ship at any moment.
But it didn't take long for Edie to realize that the gods had deserted them long before they had time to break into ships in a greater fleet.
They were going to die in the middle of nowhere, trapped in outer space without a home, and she wasn't even getting regularly frakked in the process.
***
Edie had always had a thing for the military uniform. Each ship in the fleet, even non-military vessels, had their share of guards, and sometimes Edie would find a nice seat and just watch. The Rising Star had a gym, and some of the officers would go for hours. They were inevitably toned, and they wore their traditional workout clothes, all tight and dark and perfectly form-fitting. Most of them would be dripping with sweat before they left the gym.
It was the best part of watching.
Something about the end of the world had made Edie far less picky. The other women from Wisteria Lane had always been happy to point out that Edie was a slut, but that had never meant that she wasn't discerning. She had a type- not a very specific one, granted, but she had it. Something about the apocalypse made that type disappear. Fat or thin, short or tall, man or woman- she didn't care, as long as she was getting frakked hard and well.
And the members of the military on the Rising Star? They were stressed, they were overworked, and they were also stuck on a civilian ship, with no Cylons to fight to speak of, which meant that they were full of energy to burn. Edie didn't know why no one else seemed to be so fascinated by this, but it did mean that she became one of their regulars, and it didn't take long before there wasn't an officer on the ship who hadn't discovered that the cute blonde at the gym was mostly there to watch them sweat and then make them sweat more. She was, in fact, a regular.
Her and one other woman.
She saw her as competition, at first. Blonde hair, good body, slightly insincere laugh, and a fondness for ambrosia? If her dye job were a little better, she could have been Edie. As it was, she was certainly getting more than her fair share of the best men and women the fleet had to offer.
Against all odds, they became fast friends.
She wouldn't give her name. She said she couldn't remember enough details about her life before the Cylon attack, and felt better not sharing anything until she knew more. Edie was almost jealous; she wished she had a memorable story like that.
Of course, everyone knew Edie. They only knew the other woman as "the hot blonde" or, occasionally, "Edie's friend".
The two of them never doubted for a moment that they were discussed behind their backs. That was, after all, how these things worked. It wasn't like they were any different; within a week they found themselves comparing notes on their most frequent late-night visitors. This one scratched; this one liked to bite; this one had the thickest cock; this one couldn't get a woman off with a map and a working vibrator; this one liked it when you put a finger right there. It was, Edie thought, a beneficial relationship for everyone; everyone was getting frakked, and frakked well, and Edie, for the first time, had a female friend.
It was a new thing for her. She'd never had one. Women were people who hated her for sleeping with the men they were interested in. Or dating. Or married to. A close female friend, someone to talk with about shopping (a surprisingly popular topic, considering there were no more stores) and sex, was amazing in and of itself.
Edie wasn't entirely sure that most women slept with their close female friends. But they had never been the most orthodox of people anyway.
It wasn't intentional. They had both been planning to sleep with someone else that night. But then there had been some crisis or other, some frakking thing involving Cylons and explosions and death, and no one was there at the right time.
And. Well. They were bored, they were turned on, and both of them had excellent breasts.
As it turned out, they had many excellent things. Frakking half the ship had yielded certain skills that were impressive by anyone's measure. Edie had never met anyone as good with their tongue, and neither of them were covered in gym sweat.
One night became several. They'd drink, they'd gossip, and then they'd frak each other silly, both enjoying the knowledge that half the ship would want to be in their place right then.
They'd found cigarettes, once, or bartered them or bought them or something; Edie just knew that she came to and there was a pack next to them and a match was being struck.
"That was good sex," she said.
"Better than usual," her friend agreed.
"Better than my boyfriend back home," Edie said with a short laugh.
"Better than my husband."
There was a long pause, while Edie fingered the pack of cigarettes, trying to find the right words. She finally settled on one.
"Husband?"
***
Edie saw the picture in the papers, same as everyone else. All the most important people in the fleet, smiling tightly at the camera people like they wanted everyone to really believe they had nothing to hide.
Edie had to look at the photo closely, sure that she was seeing things wrong. But she wasn't.
Laura Roslin. William Adama. Other people, the aides and second- and thirds- in command. And then, the last names on the list: Colonel Saul Tigh and his wife. Ellen.
Edie ran a finger over the picture, then shook her head.
"Frak," she muttered. "Frak."
Then she went down to the gym.