(no subject)
"Hey."
"Hey."
Boomer sat cleaning her gun again. This was her third aborted suicide attempt that week. Gaeta had walked in rather daintily, closing the hatch softly behind him, almost as if not to upset her.
"So," he started. "What are you doing?" "Just cleaning my gun." "So you aren't....busy?" "Nope." There was an awkward pause. "Heard you and the Chief called it quits."
Boomer tried not to wince. "Old news Gaeta." She resumed her attempts to appear normal. There was further silence. She knew that Gaeta wanted her. It was stupid. She was broken and
(poorly-made)
obviously going insane. On Colonial Day, he had asked to dance with her over and over again. And she had complied, liking Felix Gaeta, liking his attention. And for a little while, she hadn't felt ready to implode.
"This whole suicide thing...it's really frakking stupid." She looked at him, shocked. "Oh don't think everyone doesn't know!" he said snidely. "You're a walking advertisment for nervous collapse!" "And why the frak shouldn't I just pull the frakking trigger then?!" she almost screamed it. She didn't know what answer she expected from him. He looked shy all of a sudden and it was a stark contrast to his sudden outburst a moment before. "Me."
"You? You and your school boy crush? You and a dress and a couple of drinks and dances. All of that just makes the rest of the universe go away?"
The look on his face told her that he wanted it to. More then anything. And the truth was, she did too.
Before she knew what was happening, they were pressed up against the bulkhead, kissing fiercely. He nipped at her bottom lip before tracing a path down her neck to her collarbone. His hands massaged her breasts, while she fumbled with his belt buckle, her hand slipping into his pants, groping at him. She could feel him hardening against her palm.
She quickly undid her pants and stepped out of them when they fell to the floor. She wasn't wearing any panties. "Sharon-" he gasped into her neck. She pulled at his underwear, sliding them down just enough to let his erection slide free. She slung her leg around his hip, her hands on his shoulders. He pressed her more firmly against the bulkhead, pushing into her. He dropped his hand between them, rubbing at her clit with his thumb. She moaned, kissing him again. She hissed his name into his ear. The way he thrust into her was angry.
"You were going to leave me." He said it clearly. She looked over his shoulder at her service pistol, laying abandoned on the floor. He flicked her clit again and she came, the black metal reflected in her eyes. When he finished, they lay down in her rack. Her chest was to his back and her arm was slung across his side. Boomer whispered into his ear "I would have said goodbye."
"No." He said it sleepily. "You wouldn't."
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Beyond Time
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She's known since she had woken up and been tasked with impersonating Boomer that Felix Gaeta has always watched her. He's always called her Sharon, albeit tentatively at first.
She knows that he has a scar on his lower back from falling out of a tree. She remembers the story vaguely; Boomer had been drunk at the time. Something about tangled roots. And pirates. She still giggles at the memory.
She knows that in bed, he's all about foreplay. She can recall specifically the feel of his mouth on her breasts. His hair was short and curly, it tickled her collarbone and she had run her hands through it.
He's a good kisser. Better then the Chief, who was all spur of the moment sloppy. She remembers that Gaeta knew how to take his time.
She knows that when he's drunk, he tends to put his socks on his hands and impersonate Colonel Tigh and himself with them. She knows that Boomer asked him why he did that once and he had refused to explain.
She remembers that once at a big military ceremony in Caprica City (a statue beind dedicated or some such thing), Boomer had given him quite the rubdown while he was in his dress blues. She had loved his overly disciplined stance and had been just itching to make him squirm when the utmost decorum and dignity was not only important, it was demanded. They had then whirled into the Starbright Hotel, not the snazziest joint but nice enough for what they wanted and Gaeta had tied her to the bedposts and gone down on her while she shrieked with laughter about the face Colonel Tigh had made at them during the officious preceding event.
She remembers the look on his face when she told him that she and the Chief were probably going to get married. She remembers the distance that grew and grew and grew between them. But the brief glances, the smiles, were always there.
And now, as she enters the CIC, shackles on her hands, she sees that he is the only one who sees her as remotely human. She asks him for the cable. "Here, Sharon."
She wishes, for only a moment, that she were someone else.
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