Shagathon fic #1
Title: You Had Me At Helo
Author: rebelliousrose
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5200
Spoilers: Up to season 3.
Disclaimer: belongs to NBC Universal, no profit being made, please don't sue.
Author's note: Written for the very patient carpenyx, and this is really the second part of her prompt, the smutty part. I'm still wrestling with the first part and the lack of days off to finish it. I may add more to this if people are amused enough to care. I should also mention that I have shouted out like a zillion people's amazing fics in this vignette, because they are good and wonderful.
You Had Me At Helo
Helo moans, deep in his throat, trying to be quiet. Other pilots and ECOs are sleeping, and peace is rare enough on Galactica that he’ll do his level best to not disturb them, even though right now he’s vibrating like a tuning fork, every nerve ending on fire, and the possibility of discovery adding to the….mmmm. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip and his hands are clenched into fists, and in an effort to distract himself, he thinks back, back to when he could still say that he’d been totally faithful to Sharon. Mentally faithful was never in doubt, and when it came right down to it, he’d trade his oncoming orgasm for even a kind look from her, but she was still refusing to talk to him, or to even look at him, and when comfort and gentle touch was offered, he’d been unable to turn it down. Of all the things that have happened to Helo, being alone in the middle of crowds has been the worst. Kara might understand, since she’s the most damaged person he knows, but how do you start that conversation, even with someone who loves you?
He wishes he could stop thinking and just enjoy the sensation, feeling the caress of lips and tongue, slowly sliding up and down on him, not hurrying. Enjoying his taste and scent, and the texture of his hard flesh against softness. It’s been so long, and this is really good, but he’s still thinking, and it’s causing him to be unresponsive. He wants to be back in a rainy Caprican forest, where the only thing in his mind is how good Sharon Valerii’s lithe body feels moving hotly against him.
As soon as he thinks about Sharon, it’s gone. The moment, his arousal, his erect…..
“Hey!” Helo’s voice is indignant, velvety timbre pitched to yelp. “I can live with the cheating on Sharon part, because that’s at least something that might have happened, if I were being written by, say, Michael Angeli, but that last part? Not happening. Ever. It’s like that story “Calling the Shots”? You know, the one where the writer put Apollo and I up to getting Racetrack pregnant, and then she had me not lasting as long as Apollo. Remember, I always do the right thing, and that includes not leaving a woman hanging, so to speak.”
“Who said it’s a woman?”
Helo sighs. “Is this another one of those Gaeta ones? Because when his actor said he wanted to frak a daggit, he was joking. Honest.”
“I haven’t decided who just yet. My prompt was for carpenyx, and I have this other thing that’s turning into a character piece more than a Shagathon. I’m supposed to hook you up with the Chief.”
Helo shudders. “Chief’s a good guy, but he’s kind of, well, hairy. Isn’t there someone… smoother?”
“Lee and you have been done to death, Helo. The thought of trying to get you naked with Tigh or Adama creeps me out, clearly Gaeta’s not working for you, and HotDog has the clap. That leaves Baltar or Billy, or a Cylon male. Or Doc Cottle.”
“Gods, not HotDog. Or Cottle. Frak. If I have to be with a someone who isn’t Sharon, can’t it be someone we don’t really know?”
“Like that big Asian guy with no lines and no name? Because if the fans think I’m MarySueing you, it’ll get ugly.”
Helo shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind a Mary Sue, I guess, but you do have that prompt. Chief’s okay. Can it be with alcohol, though? So I can handwave it as I was drunk?”
Helo groans, deep in his throat. Chief’s hard, calloused hands are on him, and Chief’s mouth tastes of the latest batch of “solvent” from his still. Too much of the solvent, really, since inhibitions seem to be what dissolved away. Somehow, the conversation turned from Fleet gossip and the engine parts Chief desperately needs, to sex, and then somehow Chief’s tongue was in Helo’s mouth and Helo was in the Chief’s hand, his flightsuit unzipped all the way, Chief’s bulk holding him against the wall as his fist slides up and down along Helo’s flesh. Helo is getting a beard burn, and his more tender skin is being slightly abraded by Chief’s callouses. He pushes Chief away for a moment and grabs Cally’s hand lotion bottle that she keeps in the toolroom. It smells girly, but he’s damn near desperate for relief. Chief has him more wound up than he ever thought another man could, for a man who likes women as much as Helo does. He dollops the lotion into his own palm, then covers Chief’s with his, spreading the slick stuff over both their hands. Chief strokes Helo once, hard, and the lotion warms, and so does Helo. He sinks his teeth into the Chief’s neck, tasting salt under his teeth, and fights the buckles of Chief’s belt. Chief is pumping him firmly and the lotion is easing any discomfort as Helo feels himself grow taut and heavy, ready to...
“Hey, buddy. This is nice and all, but when does Sharon come in? Don’t get me wrong, this is going pretty good, considering, and the lotion thing is pretty frakking hot, but aren’t we supposed to have a threesome or something like that?”
“Actually, Chief, the prompt was for friendship but something a little smutty, and I can’t seem to fit smut into all the pre-existing issues. So I went for character vignette smut. I thought it might work okay.”
“And why is he getting off but not me? Is this one of those deck versus pilot things? Because wings don’t equal orgasms, not in this toolroom.”
“Well,” Helo says reasonably in the Chief’s direction, “It is MY fanfic challenge. You get plenty at frakbuddies.”
“I still think that we should have a Sharon, or two.”
“Last time this happened, you punched Helo in the face and then tried to kill him with a wrench. I can’t be trying to make poor Helo be turned on hot by someone who kicked him around the hangar deck like a backstranded turtle.”
“Gods. I went to Brother Cavil and we talked about that. I’m dealing better now. Roslin’s cutting back on the airlocking, I stopped beating up people I like.”
“Helo, what do you want to do?”
“Gods. I always want Sharon, Athena-Sharon, that is. Boomer-Sharon is sort of, um, Sharon Lite, you know?”
Helo is kissing Boomer, at long last, and it’s amazing. Lost strip poker bet or not, this is what he’s wanted for as long as he can remember, from the first time the pretty little Aerolon rook peered up at him through her bangs and bit her lower lip. Helo’s never managed a day since without that lip, and the things he’d like to do to and with it running through his head at least once.
And now he’s kissing Boomer, and they are both very drunk. Drunk enough that the audience of hooting fellow drunks, composed primarily of pilots and the odd mechanic or two who crashed the party, aren’t slowing him down at all. And Boomer is kissing him back, deep, full kisses like she wants to swallow his soul. Helo knows he’s a goner, just as he knows if she steps away from him, everyone in the mess is going to know that his pilot gives him more than orders. And he can’t stop, because Boomer’s tongue is on his, and her hands are on his waist, slipping slowly into the band of his pants and down, and in a minute he’s going to mortify himself in front of the whole squadron and just cry, because this isn’t real, it’s a fantasy, and she belongs to the Chief, who is no doubt not taking this well, even though he and Boomer are fighting as usual.
Sometimes it really sucks to be the guy who does the right thing. Helo breaks the kiss, breaks Boomer’s hold and moves her away from him gently and tries to ignore the way that her lips cling and hold his until the length of his arms is what breaks them apart, not any intention of stopping. Helo excuses himself to go to the head, ignoring Starbuck’s pointed look at his crotch. He can’t hide it anyway, and the rest of the pilots will just chalk it up to his reputation with the women. Or as the reason for the reputation, he hopes.
Helo leans tiredly against the wall of the head; he has it to himself, and suddenly a cold shower seems like the solution to a lot of things. He strips off his tanks, and unbuckles his belt. When he bends to untie his boot laces, his ass comes into sudden contact with something warm, and soft, and it smells a lot like Boomer. Helo thinks about drowning himself in the shower, because he’s just weak enough to blame the booze and take what he’s yearned after for so long.
And then her tongue slides the length of his spine and Helo abandons his boots and comes around, one hand fisting into her hair as his mouth slants across hers, and the other hand pressing her into him as tightly as he can. They are grinding into each other, and Boomer shoves him back, toward the sinks. He’s always amazed at how strong she is, but he doesn’t waste any time thinking about it, since Boomer’s attacking his pants with one hand while she shoves him onto the cold metal with the other. His ass is now freezing, and Helo tries to shift, but Boomer is urgent, and she’s got him in both hands, and Helo’s trying not to humiliate himself permanently, because Pyramid scores have deserted him entirely and….gods.
His head falls back. He’s in her mouth and it feels just as good as he always thought it would, his fingers tangling in her thick hair, hers stroking the crease of his thighs with firm pressure. He looks down at her and thinks that being tall is just about perfect for bathroom sex, because he can see her sliding him in and out and her tongue tormenting the underside and then he can’t think at all, as the waves of pleasure convulse him up and over.
Helo’s gasping and he knows it. His mouth is wide open and he’s sucking air like he’s been running. Boomer keeps moving gently, caressing now, as opposed to stimulating. Comforting, almost. He’s sensitive, but she’s easy enough that it feels good. He loosens his hands and raises her head. The moist sound her mouth makes leaving him makes Helo shudder again, and he kisses her, making sure it’s a deep kiss and that he’s tasting himself in her. Some women don’t care for doing what Boomer’s just done to him and he always makes a point of kissing them as soon as his vision clears, to make it clear that it’s a thank you.
Boomer’s kissing him back, though, still hot and urgent, and her own hands are pulling her tanks up and off. Helo runs his hands down her sleek back, over her damp skin. Somehow he has one cheek in the sink and the other on the counter, and it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, so he picks Boomer up, and she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he walks them into one of the showers, shifting her enough that hot water is now steaming from the showerhead onto already slick flesh and unfortunately soggy pants.
Helo tries to unwrap her legs, but Boomer is still kissing him and moving hard against his body. Helo pulls back and unwinds her, big hands engulfing her slim body in long slow sweeps as he goes to his knees in front of her. Her wet belt would be a challenge even if Boomer weren’t tracing her nails along the shaved back of his neck, and Helo rests his head against her hip for a moment, shivering with each sensual scrape. He can’t wait, though. He’s greedy for this, because at any moment they could come to their senses and sober up, or someone, probably Starbuck with a camera, could come through the door and then he’ll be back to thinking about Boomer’s lower lip, but worse, because now he knows how it felt wrapped around him.
Her pants are a sodden mass, and Helo strips them off, making sure to follow the paths with his hands and tongue. Boomer puts one hand on his shoulder to balance as she steps clear, and Helo takes her foot in his hand and hooks it around his back. She reaches up and wraps her hands around the showerhead, and she’s open to him, the way he was to her. Helo leans in, rubbing his cheek against her concave belly.
“Is this an ‘Officers-Only’ shower hour?” The Chief’s voice is an icy rumble and Helo feels Boomer stiffen above him, and a sudden lack of stiffness below.
“That’s so cliché.” Boomer whines. “Having someone walk in. Everybody does that.”
“Um, could we maybe not have me losing the…moment twice in one story? I mean, I’ve got a legend to uphold…oh frak, there it is again.” Helo says plaintively.
“Hey, buddy, I’ve been counting. The score is you two, the rest of us nothing but air so far. You’ve got nothing to complain about, ‘Captain The Fics Are All About Me’ Agathon.” Chief scratches his head. “Are the plot bunnies ever going to get to the actual prompt? ‘Cause you left me hanging in that other story. You know, the serious one?”
“Yeah, and what about me, the Sharon-lite?”
“No one’s seen me yet in this story,” Athena says, resting her hand on Helo’s shoulder. Boomer pouts in Athena’s direction. “I’d like some time as well.”
Helo covers her hand with his and rubs his thumb across her fingers. “There’s always later, babe.”
“What do you want me to do? The only time the four of you are all together in one place is either when Boomer visits Galactica and has the staredown with Tigh, or when Sharon’s in a cell and someone’s going to need to come down with a serious case of necrophilia! I’m TRYING!”
Athena looks thoughtful. “I forgot about that. Could you go AU?”
“No, I really can’t. I’ve tried, but I am a canon traditionalist. I can’t seem to AU, even in my own Mary Sue fantasies.”
Helo hangs his head. “I’m sorry to be such a problem. It’s just so many people hate me, and it’s nice to get my own ficathon.”
“You aren’t the problem, Helo. It’s the damned timeline. Of course, the way the writers retcon everything...”
Athena whispers to Boomer in the background, and Boomer nods. Smiles break across both of their faces. Chief flinches, and Helo perks up. “I think you might have forgotten something…”
Author: rebelliousrose
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 5200
Spoilers: Up to season 3.
Disclaimer: belongs to NBC Universal, no profit being made, please don't sue.
Author's note: Written for the very patient carpenyx, and this is really the second part of her prompt, the smutty part. I'm still wrestling with the first part and the lack of days off to finish it. I may add more to this if people are amused enough to care. I should also mention that I have shouted out like a zillion people's amazing fics in this vignette, because they are good and wonderful.
You Had Me At Helo
Helo moans, deep in his throat, trying to be quiet. Other pilots and ECOs are sleeping, and peace is rare enough on Galactica that he’ll do his level best to not disturb them, even though right now he’s vibrating like a tuning fork, every nerve ending on fire, and the possibility of discovery adding to the….mmmm. His teeth are sunk into his lower lip and his hands are clenched into fists, and in an effort to distract himself, he thinks back, back to when he could still say that he’d been totally faithful to Sharon. Mentally faithful was never in doubt, and when it came right down to it, he’d trade his oncoming orgasm for even a kind look from her, but she was still refusing to talk to him, or to even look at him, and when comfort and gentle touch was offered, he’d been unable to turn it down. Of all the things that have happened to Helo, being alone in the middle of crowds has been the worst. Kara might understand, since she’s the most damaged person he knows, but how do you start that conversation, even with someone who loves you?
He wishes he could stop thinking and just enjoy the sensation, feeling the caress of lips and tongue, slowly sliding up and down on him, not hurrying. Enjoying his taste and scent, and the texture of his hard flesh against softness. It’s been so long, and this is really good, but he’s still thinking, and it’s causing him to be unresponsive. He wants to be back in a rainy Caprican forest, where the only thing in his mind is how good Sharon Valerii’s lithe body feels moving hotly against him.
As soon as he thinks about Sharon, it’s gone. The moment, his arousal, his erect…..
“Hey!” Helo’s voice is indignant, velvety timbre pitched to yelp. “I can live with the cheating on Sharon part, because that’s at least something that might have happened, if I were being written by, say, Michael Angeli, but that last part? Not happening. Ever. It’s like that story “Calling the Shots”? You know, the one where the writer put Apollo and I up to getting Racetrack pregnant, and then she had me not lasting as long as Apollo. Remember, I always do the right thing, and that includes not leaving a woman hanging, so to speak.”
“Who said it’s a woman?”
Helo sighs. “Is this another one of those Gaeta ones? Because when his actor said he wanted to frak a daggit, he was joking. Honest.”
“I haven’t decided who just yet. My prompt was for carpenyx, and I have this other thing that’s turning into a character piece more than a Shagathon. I’m supposed to hook you up with the Chief.”
Helo shudders. “Chief’s a good guy, but he’s kind of, well, hairy. Isn’t there someone… smoother?”
“Lee and you have been done to death, Helo. The thought of trying to get you naked with Tigh or Adama creeps me out, clearly Gaeta’s not working for you, and HotDog has the clap. That leaves Baltar or Billy, or a Cylon male. Or Doc Cottle.”
“Gods, not HotDog. Or Cottle. Frak. If I have to be with a someone who isn’t Sharon, can’t it be someone we don’t really know?”
“Like that big Asian guy with no lines and no name? Because if the fans think I’m MarySueing you, it’ll get ugly.”
Helo shrugs. “I wouldn’t mind a Mary Sue, I guess, but you do have that prompt. Chief’s okay. Can it be with alcohol, though? So I can handwave it as I was drunk?”
Helo groans, deep in his throat. Chief’s hard, calloused hands are on him, and Chief’s mouth tastes of the latest batch of “solvent” from his still. Too much of the solvent, really, since inhibitions seem to be what dissolved away. Somehow, the conversation turned from Fleet gossip and the engine parts Chief desperately needs, to sex, and then somehow Chief’s tongue was in Helo’s mouth and Helo was in the Chief’s hand, his flightsuit unzipped all the way, Chief’s bulk holding him against the wall as his fist slides up and down along Helo’s flesh. Helo is getting a beard burn, and his more tender skin is being slightly abraded by Chief’s callouses. He pushes Chief away for a moment and grabs Cally’s hand lotion bottle that she keeps in the toolroom. It smells girly, but he’s damn near desperate for relief. Chief has him more wound up than he ever thought another man could, for a man who likes women as much as Helo does. He dollops the lotion into his own palm, then covers Chief’s with his, spreading the slick stuff over both their hands. Chief strokes Helo once, hard, and the lotion warms, and so does Helo. He sinks his teeth into the Chief’s neck, tasting salt under his teeth, and fights the buckles of Chief’s belt. Chief is pumping him firmly and the lotion is easing any discomfort as Helo feels himself grow taut and heavy, ready to...
“Hey, buddy. This is nice and all, but when does Sharon come in? Don’t get me wrong, this is going pretty good, considering, and the lotion thing is pretty frakking hot, but aren’t we supposed to have a threesome or something like that?”
“Actually, Chief, the prompt was for friendship but something a little smutty, and I can’t seem to fit smut into all the pre-existing issues. So I went for character vignette smut. I thought it might work okay.”
“And why is he getting off but not me? Is this one of those deck versus pilot things? Because wings don’t equal orgasms, not in this toolroom.”
“Well,” Helo says reasonably in the Chief’s direction, “It is MY fanfic challenge. You get plenty at frakbuddies.”
“I still think that we should have a Sharon, or two.”
“Last time this happened, you punched Helo in the face and then tried to kill him with a wrench. I can’t be trying to make poor Helo be turned on hot by someone who kicked him around the hangar deck like a backstranded turtle.”
“Gods. I went to Brother Cavil and we talked about that. I’m dealing better now. Roslin’s cutting back on the airlocking, I stopped beating up people I like.”
“Helo, what do you want to do?”
“Gods. I always want Sharon, Athena-Sharon, that is. Boomer-Sharon is sort of, um, Sharon Lite, you know?”
Helo is kissing Boomer, at long last, and it’s amazing. Lost strip poker bet or not, this is what he’s wanted for as long as he can remember, from the first time the pretty little Aerolon rook peered up at him through her bangs and bit her lower lip. Helo’s never managed a day since without that lip, and the things he’d like to do to and with it running through his head at least once.
And now he’s kissing Boomer, and they are both very drunk. Drunk enough that the audience of hooting fellow drunks, composed primarily of pilots and the odd mechanic or two who crashed the party, aren’t slowing him down at all. And Boomer is kissing him back, deep, full kisses like she wants to swallow his soul. Helo knows he’s a goner, just as he knows if she steps away from him, everyone in the mess is going to know that his pilot gives him more than orders. And he can’t stop, because Boomer’s tongue is on his, and her hands are on his waist, slipping slowly into the band of his pants and down, and in a minute he’s going to mortify himself in front of the whole squadron and just cry, because this isn’t real, it’s a fantasy, and she belongs to the Chief, who is no doubt not taking this well, even though he and Boomer are fighting as usual.
Sometimes it really sucks to be the guy who does the right thing. Helo breaks the kiss, breaks Boomer’s hold and moves her away from him gently and tries to ignore the way that her lips cling and hold his until the length of his arms is what breaks them apart, not any intention of stopping. Helo excuses himself to go to the head, ignoring Starbuck’s pointed look at his crotch. He can’t hide it anyway, and the rest of the pilots will just chalk it up to his reputation with the women. Or as the reason for the reputation, he hopes.
Helo leans tiredly against the wall of the head; he has it to himself, and suddenly a cold shower seems like the solution to a lot of things. He strips off his tanks, and unbuckles his belt. When he bends to untie his boot laces, his ass comes into sudden contact with something warm, and soft, and it smells a lot like Boomer. Helo thinks about drowning himself in the shower, because he’s just weak enough to blame the booze and take what he’s yearned after for so long.
And then her tongue slides the length of his spine and Helo abandons his boots and comes around, one hand fisting into her hair as his mouth slants across hers, and the other hand pressing her into him as tightly as he can. They are grinding into each other, and Boomer shoves him back, toward the sinks. He’s always amazed at how strong she is, but he doesn’t waste any time thinking about it, since Boomer’s attacking his pants with one hand while she shoves him onto the cold metal with the other. His ass is now freezing, and Helo tries to shift, but Boomer is urgent, and she’s got him in both hands, and Helo’s trying not to humiliate himself permanently, because Pyramid scores have deserted him entirely and….gods.
His head falls back. He’s in her mouth and it feels just as good as he always thought it would, his fingers tangling in her thick hair, hers stroking the crease of his thighs with firm pressure. He looks down at her and thinks that being tall is just about perfect for bathroom sex, because he can see her sliding him in and out and her tongue tormenting the underside and then he can’t think at all, as the waves of pleasure convulse him up and over.
Helo’s gasping and he knows it. His mouth is wide open and he’s sucking air like he’s been running. Boomer keeps moving gently, caressing now, as opposed to stimulating. Comforting, almost. He’s sensitive, but she’s easy enough that it feels good. He loosens his hands and raises her head. The moist sound her mouth makes leaving him makes Helo shudder again, and he kisses her, making sure it’s a deep kiss and that he’s tasting himself in her. Some women don’t care for doing what Boomer’s just done to him and he always makes a point of kissing them as soon as his vision clears, to make it clear that it’s a thank you.
Boomer’s kissing him back, though, still hot and urgent, and her own hands are pulling her tanks up and off. Helo runs his hands down her sleek back, over her damp skin. Somehow he has one cheek in the sink and the other on the counter, and it’s not the most comfortable thing in the world, so he picks Boomer up, and she wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck as he walks them into one of the showers, shifting her enough that hot water is now steaming from the showerhead onto already slick flesh and unfortunately soggy pants.
Helo tries to unwrap her legs, but Boomer is still kissing him and moving hard against his body. Helo pulls back and unwinds her, big hands engulfing her slim body in long slow sweeps as he goes to his knees in front of her. Her wet belt would be a challenge even if Boomer weren’t tracing her nails along the shaved back of his neck, and Helo rests his head against her hip for a moment, shivering with each sensual scrape. He can’t wait, though. He’s greedy for this, because at any moment they could come to their senses and sober up, or someone, probably Starbuck with a camera, could come through the door and then he’ll be back to thinking about Boomer’s lower lip, but worse, because now he knows how it felt wrapped around him.
Her pants are a sodden mass, and Helo strips them off, making sure to follow the paths with his hands and tongue. Boomer puts one hand on his shoulder to balance as she steps clear, and Helo takes her foot in his hand and hooks it around his back. She reaches up and wraps her hands around the showerhead, and she’s open to him, the way he was to her. Helo leans in, rubbing his cheek against her concave belly.
“Is this an ‘Officers-Only’ shower hour?” The Chief’s voice is an icy rumble and Helo feels Boomer stiffen above him, and a sudden lack of stiffness below.
“That’s so cliché.” Boomer whines. “Having someone walk in. Everybody does that.”
“Um, could we maybe not have me losing the…moment twice in one story? I mean, I’ve got a legend to uphold…oh frak, there it is again.” Helo says plaintively.
“Hey, buddy, I’ve been counting. The score is you two, the rest of us nothing but air so far. You’ve got nothing to complain about, ‘Captain The Fics Are All About Me’ Agathon.” Chief scratches his head. “Are the plot bunnies ever going to get to the actual prompt? ‘Cause you left me hanging in that other story. You know, the serious one?”
“Yeah, and what about me, the Sharon-lite?”
“No one’s seen me yet in this story,” Athena says, resting her hand on Helo’s shoulder. Boomer pouts in Athena’s direction. “I’d like some time as well.”
Helo covers her hand with his and rubs his thumb across her fingers. “There’s always later, babe.”
“What do you want me to do? The only time the four of you are all together in one place is either when Boomer visits Galactica and has the staredown with Tigh, or when Sharon’s in a cell and someone’s going to need to come down with a serious case of necrophilia! I’m TRYING!”
Athena looks thoughtful. “I forgot about that. Could you go AU?”
“No, I really can’t. I’ve tried, but I am a canon traditionalist. I can’t seem to AU, even in my own Mary Sue fantasies.”
Helo hangs his head. “I’m sorry to be such a problem. It’s just so many people hate me, and it’s nice to get my own ficathon.”
“You aren’t the problem, Helo. It’s the damned timeline. Of course, the way the writers retcon everything...”
Athena whispers to Boomer in the background, and Boomer nods. Smiles break across both of their faces. Chief flinches, and Helo perks up. “I think you might have forgotten something…”