BSG fic: Drowning on Dry Land (NC-17)
Feb. 13th, 2008 11:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
grammarwomanTitle: Drowning on Dry Land
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
grammarwoman
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1086
Summary: Helo comes in from the rain.
Author's notes: Written forinlovewithnight's Helo ShAgathon 2008, at the request of raincitygirl. Her prompt was "Helo/right hand, Times Helo got there by himself (please include an incident set on Old Caprica in S1 or early S2 if possible)". I hope this satisfies.
A ton of thanks tosabaceanbabe for beta services and hand holding. Any aura of awkwardness still hanging around this is completely my fault.
Frak.
The next time I pull some gods-damned hero act, I'll be sure to pack for it. I was lucky the emergency kit from the Raptor had some basic meds and painkillers. There's nothing like hobbling away from an angry mob at top speed to make you appreciate the good drugs. Judging by the way my leg is healing, I think I missed getting a bad infection. Don't know how much longer the radiation meds are going to last, though. Scrounging for food is getting really old, too; I've managed to hit a couple of small towns for some supplies, but dodging the toasters has been a lot of work on a bum leg.
Hey, Helo, how many ways to die can you think of? Infection, radiation poisoning, starvation, Cylons, or just exposure. Is it ever going to frakking stop raining?
Gods, I’m tired of being wet. And hungry…so damned hungry. I’m starting to hallucinate green-apple suckers sprouting from the trees and mess-hall slop instead of the mud puddles on the ground.
There’s gotta be some kind of grim joke, here, that I'm running for my life, probably one of the last humans on the planet, and I’m thinking about food. Sitting down to a plate full of Mom's biscuits and gravy, with a gallon of coffee and sunshine coming in the window. Not that I've gotten a good look at myself for a while, a pool of water here or there, a quick glance in a mirror as I'm raiding a house for supplies, but I can tell by the fit of my flight suit that I'm dropping weight. Easy living on Galactica gave me a little to spare – frak Starbuck and her "gone soft" sneers – but I bet Mom would hardly recognize her baby Karl now, her darling boy lost in the wilderness.
If she's still alive. I don't think it's really hit me yet. I can just hear her now: "Oh, son, there you go again, moping and sighing like it's the end of the world. This is about some girl, isn't it? Your brains just go right out the window when a pretty girl smiles at you."
Ah, Mom, I think you would have liked Boomer. Sharon. Frak it, it's not like I have to be careful now. I can call her whatever or think about her however, whenever I want. Think about what an idiot I was to never tell her how I felt. To have kept turning a blind eye on her and the Chief, just like everyone else. Helo, you dumbass, if you want to get the girl, you have to stick around after the big show of martyrdom. Gods know she probably forgot about you just as soon as she landed back on Galactica.
It's not full dark yet, but I'm getting tired, and that little shack up ahead looks like a palace right now. It's been three? four? days since I slept with a roof over my head, and right now I would take on a squadron of toasters to be dry for a couple of hours.
Praise the Gods – it looks like the roof is intact, and there's even a pile of blankets in the corner. One of my last ration bars for dinner, and it'll be the best night since the fifth of Pain, sometime last week or before. Another oversight in the supplies, not including a calendar: between the agony of running on my leg, the adrenaline of getting away from an insane crowd and then dodging Cylons, I lost track of the date, so I decided to make up my own. The second of Despair, the fourth of Dire…I'm hoping to claw my way up to the first of Ouch.
It's probably a stupid risk to take off my clothes, but I am so frakking sick of being damp. The blankets are far from fresh, but it feels so good to be warm and dry that it's almost a turn-on.
Oh… scratch that 'almost'. Judging by the hard-on I'm sporting here, it's evidently the hottest damn thing since the first time I caught a glimpse of Boom- Sharon in the showers.
Gods, she was beautiful: all long, lean muscles, with just the right curves on top and bottom. _Tits_ and _ass_, you idiot: Gods, Starbuck was right about you being a girl. That perfect caramel skin that I bet tasted just as good as it looked. I wanted to curve my hands over her breasts and roll her nipples in between my fingers. I’d drag my tongue around the shell of her ear and suck the lobe into my mouth, teasing it with my teeth. I would bite her shoulder as I pulled her back against me and rubbed my cock up and down into the crease of her ass. I wanted to hear her moan my name as I slipped a hand down between her legs. I’d circle her clit with my fingers and feel her start to shake. Then I'd spin her around to kiss her, lick and bite at her lips until she opened up to chase my tongue with hers. Her hand would grip my cock and slowly start to jack me, twisting and stroking, and I'd keep working her clit with my thumb as I slid a finger into her. She'd be so tight, so warm, gripping my finger, moaning for more, that I'd add another, moving in and out. "Frak me, Helo!" she'd groan, curling a leg around my hip. I'd grab that magnificent ass, lift her up against the wall and guide my cock right into her. She'd wrap those long legs around me and let me pound into her, screaming my name as I sucked on her nipples and tasted every bit of skin I could get my mouth on…
I can feel it building and building, like a Raptor shuddering and burning through the atmosphere. I flash on Sharon gasping out her climax and looking at me like I'm the only guy in the world, and I can't hold it back anymore. I come like the flood outside, gushing over my hand.
It takes a while for my breathing to slow down. I guess even solo sex in survivor mode will rev up the engines. The blankets aren't exactly dry anymore, but it won't matter. I can feel sleep pulling at me, so I spread out my clothes and curl up under the blankets.
Here’s hoping I'll get lucky and dream of Sharon again.
Author:
grammarwomanRating: NC-17
Word count: 1086
Summary: Helo comes in from the rain.
Author's notes: Written for
inlovewithnight's Helo ShAgathon 2008, at the request of raincitygirl. Her prompt was "Helo/right hand, Times Helo got there by himself (please include an incident set on Old Caprica in S1 or early S2 if possible)". I hope this satisfies. A ton of thanks to
sabaceanbabe for beta services and hand holding. Any aura of awkwardness still hanging around this is completely my fault.Frak.
The next time I pull some gods-damned hero act, I'll be sure to pack for it. I was lucky the emergency kit from the Raptor had some basic meds and painkillers. There's nothing like hobbling away from an angry mob at top speed to make you appreciate the good drugs. Judging by the way my leg is healing, I think I missed getting a bad infection. Don't know how much longer the radiation meds are going to last, though. Scrounging for food is getting really old, too; I've managed to hit a couple of small towns for some supplies, but dodging the toasters has been a lot of work on a bum leg.
Hey, Helo, how many ways to die can you think of? Infection, radiation poisoning, starvation, Cylons, or just exposure. Is it ever going to frakking stop raining?
Gods, I’m tired of being wet. And hungry…so damned hungry. I’m starting to hallucinate green-apple suckers sprouting from the trees and mess-hall slop instead of the mud puddles on the ground.
There’s gotta be some kind of grim joke, here, that I'm running for my life, probably one of the last humans on the planet, and I’m thinking about food. Sitting down to a plate full of Mom's biscuits and gravy, with a gallon of coffee and sunshine coming in the window. Not that I've gotten a good look at myself for a while, a pool of water here or there, a quick glance in a mirror as I'm raiding a house for supplies, but I can tell by the fit of my flight suit that I'm dropping weight. Easy living on Galactica gave me a little to spare – frak Starbuck and her "gone soft" sneers – but I bet Mom would hardly recognize her baby Karl now, her darling boy lost in the wilderness.
If she's still alive. I don't think it's really hit me yet. I can just hear her now: "Oh, son, there you go again, moping and sighing like it's the end of the world. This is about some girl, isn't it? Your brains just go right out the window when a pretty girl smiles at you."
Ah, Mom, I think you would have liked Boomer. Sharon. Frak it, it's not like I have to be careful now. I can call her whatever or think about her however, whenever I want. Think about what an idiot I was to never tell her how I felt. To have kept turning a blind eye on her and the Chief, just like everyone else. Helo, you dumbass, if you want to get the girl, you have to stick around after the big show of martyrdom. Gods know she probably forgot about you just as soon as she landed back on Galactica.
It's not full dark yet, but I'm getting tired, and that little shack up ahead looks like a palace right now. It's been three? four? days since I slept with a roof over my head, and right now I would take on a squadron of toasters to be dry for a couple of hours.
Praise the Gods – it looks like the roof is intact, and there's even a pile of blankets in the corner. One of my last ration bars for dinner, and it'll be the best night since the fifth of Pain, sometime last week or before. Another oversight in the supplies, not including a calendar: between the agony of running on my leg, the adrenaline of getting away from an insane crowd and then dodging Cylons, I lost track of the date, so I decided to make up my own. The second of Despair, the fourth of Dire…I'm hoping to claw my way up to the first of Ouch.
It's probably a stupid risk to take off my clothes, but I am so frakking sick of being damp. The blankets are far from fresh, but it feels so good to be warm and dry that it's almost a turn-on.
Oh… scratch that 'almost'. Judging by the hard-on I'm sporting here, it's evidently the hottest damn thing since the first time I caught a glimpse of Boom- Sharon in the showers.
Gods, she was beautiful: all long, lean muscles, with just the right curves on top and bottom. _Tits_ and _ass_, you idiot: Gods, Starbuck was right about you being a girl. That perfect caramel skin that I bet tasted just as good as it looked. I wanted to curve my hands over her breasts and roll her nipples in between my fingers. I’d drag my tongue around the shell of her ear and suck the lobe into my mouth, teasing it with my teeth. I would bite her shoulder as I pulled her back against me and rubbed my cock up and down into the crease of her ass. I wanted to hear her moan my name as I slipped a hand down between her legs. I’d circle her clit with my fingers and feel her start to shake. Then I'd spin her around to kiss her, lick and bite at her lips until she opened up to chase my tongue with hers. Her hand would grip my cock and slowly start to jack me, twisting and stroking, and I'd keep working her clit with my thumb as I slid a finger into her. She'd be so tight, so warm, gripping my finger, moaning for more, that I'd add another, moving in and out. "Frak me, Helo!" she'd groan, curling a leg around my hip. I'd grab that magnificent ass, lift her up against the wall and guide my cock right into her. She'd wrap those long legs around me and let me pound into her, screaming my name as I sucked on her nipples and tasted every bit of skin I could get my mouth on…
I can feel it building and building, like a Raptor shuddering and burning through the atmosphere. I flash on Sharon gasping out her climax and looking at me like I'm the only guy in the world, and I can't hold it back anymore. I come like the flood outside, gushing over my hand.
It takes a while for my breathing to slow down. I guess even solo sex in survivor mode will rev up the engines. The blankets aren't exactly dry anymore, but it won't matter. I can feel sleep pulling at me, so I spread out my clothes and curl up under the blankets.
Here’s hoping I'll get lucky and dream of Sharon again.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-14 08:04 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-14 08:58 pm (UTC)Now that I've reassured you, do you think you can write more shiny Helo-goodness like this one? :P :D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-14 09:00 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-02-14 09:24 pm (UTC)