Fandom: new Battlestar Galactica
Rating: PG13/R, sexual situations, language, kissing
Notes: This is written for terias_mcklay, and is a late and belated pinch-hit for getyourtoaster. I apologize for how long it took, but I kept trying and just coming up BLANK for anything to write. And then I had almost all of it last night and had to go to bed, as there was this thing called work.
by ALC Punk!
"I know a girl," Helo says, gesturing across the crowded bar in a complicated manner that has Starbuck snickering.
Which leaves Boomer to quip, "You always know a girl." and roll her eyes at him.
It's a lame comeback, and Helo sticks his tongue out at her and shoves off from the bar. Which leaves her with Starbuck, and twenty new pilots and deck crew, the ranks mixing like there's not anything to keep them apart. Once, Boomer would have been stiff and to the side, uncertain of herself. But she's been on Galactica for six months, now, and she knows the ropes. So she smirks at the rooks and leans closer to Starbuck, hoping to catch her attention before some idiot does.
"What?" Starbuck shouts back, tilting sideways to grab the drink from the nearest rookie. She just smirks at the boy's surprised look and half-downs it before giving Boomer a little more of her attention.
"Let's get out of here!" It's a suggestion that has merit. It gets them away from this crowd, from the young kids who really can't be old enough to be drinking. It gets them alone together, though Boomer refuses to consider why that has a certain appeal. Not yet, anyway.
She doesn't exactly remember what happened the first time she took leave planet-side, with Starbuck in charge of her group of rookies. Boomer's not so sure she wants to remember, given the headache she had in the morning. But she's pretty frakking sure she wasn't as fresh-faced and innocent as this crop.
The bar suddenly gets noisier before she can answer, drowning any reply Boomer can make. Somewhere down the bar, a rook is chugging six ambrosias in a row to the delight of everyone around him. The echoes of "chug, chug, chug," sound vaguely familiar. Not that she cares. She's got no immediate answer to 'why?', not when Kara Thrace is half-laughing and staring at her with those dark eyes. For an instant, Boomer thinks about what Kara would do if she leaned forward and kissed her.
Probably laugh it off, like she laughs everything else off.
The sound dies down a little and Boomer shouts, "Rookies are boring!"
"Not what you said the last time!" Starbuck shouts back, but she's already half-off her stool, "C'mon, Boomer, let's show 'em how to have a good time!"
That isn't really what she wants, but it's almost good enough. Boomer's half a step behind her, but the first one to shout and start moving the newbies back out into the street. The fleet'll catch the tab. It always does for first-years.
Two bars later, the newbies are listing and falling over each other. Three of them ran out to puke in a nearby alley, and Boomer's seriously considering killing Helo for escaping with his redhead as she hauls a fourth one into the head and shoves Specialist Henderson into a stall. "Head down!" she barks, before the girl half falls into the wall and loses her last four drinks into the open toilet.
"Pace yourself," Boomer says over the sound of the younger woman coughing and sputtering. "If you've got six people handing you drinks, take one. Sip."
"But, Starbuck--" the Specialist says, gagging a moment before she straightens, hand wiping her mouth before she shoves past Boomer and hits the sinks. "She says to drink fast, because--"
"First rule, Specialist. Don't listen to Starbuck when she's handing out drinking advice."
Boomer wanted to call her a cadet, she's so young and squeaky-clean looking. Not that much younger than her, but Boomer feels like she's aged a year for every month she's been hitting Galactica's flight deck with her less than perfect landings.
"That's stupid," Henderson says rudely before she rinses her mouth out and spits.
"It'll keep you from a repeat of this," Boomer contradicts, pointing over her shoulder at the toilet.
Grimacing, Henderson moves to leave.
Letting her get away with it this once, Boomer flushes for her and follows.
It's Nico who starts the fight, punching some civvie, probably for running her mouth off, maybe for turning him down. The bar's been primed for this since the pilots and crew descended upon it, buzzing with an electric feel that gets under Boomer's skin. If she weren't as seasoned, she'd be standing up and diving in, punching a few people herself.
"Let 'em punch it out," Starbuck calls, though she's up a second later and worming her way to the bar after telling Boomer to stay where she is.
The sound of the siren isn't loud enough to cut through most of the melee, but as the locals hear it, they start bailing out. Pretty soon, the only ones fighting are fleet personnel and Starbuck starts yelling at them, calling them every name in the book and a few she's probably made up. Boomer joins her in hauling men and women apart and then everyone's marched outside.
"Go on ahead, I've got to settle with the locals," Starbuck says, patting her on the ass as Boomer shouts at the rookies to keep frakking moving, NOW.
Boomer doesn't know what she's going to say, or how many palms the fleet will grease come morning, but it doesn't matter. She doesn't remember everything about her first night out with the Galactica crew, but she sort of remembers this part.
Starbuck rejoins them at the next bar, giving them all a lecture that stops halfway through as she starts laughing. "I'll let Tigh get 'em when we're back," she tells Boomer, leaning into her.
It's hard not to notice that Starbuck smells good. Well. Smells like flight suit, sweat, alcohol and Starbuck. Boomer thinks it's a good smell, and it's one of the things she remembers from that long ago night. She remembers something else, too, "Hey, can I ask you something?"
Boomer's had about six drinks by now. Spaced pretty good, but still, six. The world is feeling a little fuzzy and she's not going to hurt until the morning if someone punches her. "You kiss all the rooks?"
Not quite the answer she wants, but Boomer almost lets it slide. Almost. Something about the booze, the late night, something about Kara Thrace, draped against her and almost snuggling makes her turn her head and kiss her. It's awkward and sideways and Kara's breathing out while Boomer's breathing in and the cigar smoke almost makes her cough--
But then Starbuck's moving, standing in front of her and leaning in again and Boomer's bending a little and for a moment, the kiss is almost perfect.
It stops after a minute and Boomer's the one pulling back. Feeling flustered and uncertain, she grabs for the nearest drink and downs it in Starbuck-time, while Kara drifts off to deal with a problem somewhere. At least, that's what the shouting sounds like. A problem.
Most of the rooks are leaning against each other, or the walls. Dawn's beginning to break somewhere over Caprica City, and Boomer wishes it wasn't time for the night to end. In half an hour raptors from Galactica will ferry them all back up, and this little stolen time will be gone.
Starbuck's been avoiding her since the kiss at the bar five hours ago. Maybe Sharon should blame her for that, maybe she should blame the alcohol.
It's definitely the ambrosia and the light-headedness that makes Boomer grin back at her when Starbuck saunters up and suggests they need to do something that isn't standing around. Boomer lets Kara get into the head before shutting the door and shoving her fellow pilot into the largest stall. Pressed up against one of the walls, Starbuck lets out a laugh, the sound getting caught in Boomer's mouth when they kiss.
This time it's not awkward. This time, it's everything kissing should be (at least in Boomer's mind), teasing little licks and nips, mouths sliding sideways and almost too-big for the contact, teeth clicking and laughter from both of them when they pull free.
Something she can get used to, Boomer thinks in hazy patches, memorizing the feel of Kara's mouth, the way she makes low noises when Boomer sucks at her lower lip, the way Starbuck's hands settle at her waist. And maybe she's waiting for Boomer to make the next move. That thought surprises Boomer a little, before she discards it. Kara's hands are sliding up her sides, pulling the fabric of her shirts up.
Boomer laughs a little, pulling her mouth free and shifting, pressing her leg between Starbuck's, listening and feeling for that little shift, that moment when Starbuck presses back.
Just outside the head are a flock of rookies, milling and almost-sick. If they walked in, both Starbuck and Boomer would be on report for dereliction of duty and fraternization (though Boomer's heard rumors the old man might look the other way, as long as you don't get caught).
Starbuck kisses her mouth again, then her neck, teeth and tongue finding the spot that makes Boomer's breath catch. Hell, Sharon's pretty damned sure she felt that first kiss all the way down to her toes.
In retaliation, she tugs Starbuck's tanks out of the way and slides her hands up and under the band of her sports bra. Shit. She's been wanting to get her hands on these all night. For a moment, she savors the feel of Kara's nipples hardening against her palms, then she shifts her hands and brushes her thumb over one, loving the way Starbuck hisses out a breath.
"You doing anything tomorrow night?" Boomer asks, not really thinking about it, but certain that if they don't get to finish this now, she wants a later. At least ten minutes of later. Or five minutes, with her hand down Starbuck's pants and Kara squirming and begging. Not that she really thought Starbuck ever begged.
"I don't do long-term, Boomer," Starbuck laughs against her neck, kissing the spot again before drifting back to her mouth.
Boomer doesn't have the words right then to tell her that's all right. Long-term isn't something she's planning for yet, if ever. Right now, she's taking what she can get. And what she can get is Kara Thrace. Sharon's pretty sure she could spend the next five days making out with Kara Thrace, getting a little more inside her pants until she's ready to beg for it. Articulating that would take too long and possibly just make her mock Boomer.
Either way, Starbuck seems to have different ideas about this, seems to want it, NOW.
She rocks into Boomer's leg, kissing her mouth again, "Boomer, we don't got--"
"Yeah?" Smug, Boomer gets one hand down the front of Starbuck's pants, fingers sliding beneath her regulation-issue underwear. "Gonna put me on report if I take my time, lieutenant?"
It's that first stroke that's always the best. Either you hit it right or you don't, but it's the gauge for everything that comes after. Boomer grins as Starbuck grabs her shoulder, then shifts, slipping and sliding, listening to Starbuck's mutters and growls to find the right spots, the right rhythm.
Boomer's buzzing, herself. She wants Starbuck, wants to go on her knees (or Starbuck on her knees, and that visual sends a spike down her spine that makes her curse under her breath), then come back up and kiss Starbuck until the taste of her is gone completely. But there's not enough time for that. There's barely enough time for this, and Starbuck's twisting her hips and humping her hand and panting, her head back against the wall.
The opportunity to watch Starbuck come is more important than tasting, and Boomer's frakking smug when she finds the right spot and presses up and inwards harder, stroking and turning her fingers. She pinches a nipple, rolling it, feeling Starbuck twitch.
"Gods, there-" Starbuck gasps before her back arches and her eyes close.
Boomer leans in, taking her weight as she goes boneless against the wall, shuddering with orgasm. She kisses Starbuck's mouth, trails down to her neck and sucks at the spot next to her ear. Starbuck's too gone to notice what she's doing, and Boomer almost laughs when she does notice and grabs the back of Boomer's head.
"We should go."
Pulling her fingers free, Boomer flexes them and nods, head spinning and body buzzing. Right here and now, she'd like to stop and take the edge off. But the siren goes, and she leads the way out of the stall, wiping her fingers on her flight suit and tanks, cursing the timing of things.
But then again, she thinks, as Starbuck shouts at the rooks as though she didn't just come hard on Boomer's fingers, maybe this is the way Starbuck likes it. No complications.
The flight back is full of laughter, stories that can't be true, and Starbuck leading the pack with an unlit cigar clamped between her lips.
Staggering back onto the flight deck is almost better than a cold shower. Boomer's leaning against Starbuck, laughing at the looks on the rooks' faces as they face Colonel Tigh and his glare. Careful not to attract his attention, Starbuck slings an arm around her shoulder and tugs her away from the dressing-down and behind a raptor.
Helo's there, leaning against a stack of crates someone stopped unloading and distributing so they could go watch the show.
"You have fun?" Kara calls, her voice a taunt.
Trying to look way more cool than he actually is, Helo gives an elaborate shrug and pops a lollipop into his mouth, "I never kiss and tell, Starbuck. You know that."
"Guess you never kiss, then," Boomer teases him, slapping his shoulder before pulling free of Starbuck's arm and heading for the showers. The dressing-down and the sight of the newbies scouring the deck with toothbrushes might be a good wake-up call for veterans like Starbuck, but Sharon liked a good shower. Besides, she had a few things to take care of, and with everyone down here, she'd have time.