07/28/2007: "BSG fic: Opportunity (Helo/Tyrol; R)"

Title: Opportunity
Pairing: Helo/Tyrol
Rating: Hard R
Words: About 800
Summary: There's an advantage to frakking with someone who's also in the fleet.
Notes: I told jayneaintagirl that I'd write her some smut. Set pre-miniseries.

There's a fight going on in the bar, loud and noisy, and maybe two drinks ago, Karl would have joined in. Just for the hell of it. He's not drunk, but he's too mellow to get worked up about ship rivalries and some stupid fight. Right now, he's got something else in mind, something better.

Tyrol's right behind him, so close Karl's sure he can feel breath on his neck. He hadn't expected to see a friendly face in this cesspool of a bar, and he hadn't expected Tyrol's offer, but Karl knows an opportunity when he sees one. Even if he's been drinking beer – watery and bland – for a few hours.

The hallway is empty, everyone else caught up in the fight, or watching it, or betting on the outcome. And Karl was headed for the back alley, but who knows what's going on out there. Inside's just as good, better even, so he stops, turns, and shoves Tyrol back into an alcove.

Tyrol's hands are already fisted at Karl's side, light pressure, and Karl leans in, kissing Tyrol hard. He tastes beer and spit and Tyrol just grunts into Karl's mouth. Teeth graze Karl's lips, and Tyrol's fists press a little harder, sliding down to Karl's cock. It's not enough – Karl wants more than this. He wants skin against skin, Tyrol's hand around his cock. "Frak, come on," he mutters against Tyrol's mouth. He can feel Tyrol grin in response, fingers already unbuttoning Karl's pants.

There's an advantage to frakking with someone who's also in the fleet – they all wear the same uniform, easy to get into, no fumbling with unfamiliar fastenings. Karl's hands curve inside Tyrol's pants – wrapping around warm, solid hips – just as Tyrol shoves his own hand inside Karl's pants, and frak, that's what Karl wants. He thrusts up, breathing hard, as Tyrol jerks him off in fast, strong strokes.

It's like that for a few moments – Tyrol's hand moving, his mouth hard against Karl's, and Karl just holding on, eyes squeezed shut, letting it wash over him. Frak, it's good, Tyrol's hand just the right pressure, slowing down a bit to circle his thumb, before settling back into a good rhythm.

And then he slows, stops, hand now too loose around Karl's cock. He pulls his mouth away slightly, and says, "Am I the only one doing any work here?" His breath is hot against Karl's mouth, and Karl's pretty sure Tyrol's grinning a little.

"Maybe," he says, because he's the one who went out looking for something, he's the one who got asked.

Then again, seems like Tyrol was looking too. "What do you want –" he starts to ask, and then shakes his head, mouth sliding against Tyrol's briefly. Maybe Tyrol's hand feels fantastic on Karl's cock, but suddenly, Karl wants more than the taste of watery beer against his tongue.

He hits the floor a little too hard, knees jarring, but he doesn't care, because he can hear the way Tyrol's breath hitches; he likes the way Tyrol's hand settles on his head, lightly, barely there. He doesn't even have to move his hands – Tyrol scrambles a little, shoving his pants and underwear down, low on his hips.

This is what he was looking for, Karl thinks, leaning forward, grateful that the dim lighting lets him see a little bit of what he's doing. He doesn't need light – he's got scent and touch, and when he opens his mouth, yeah, he's got taste, sharp and welcome, cock heavy against his tongue – but it's nice to glance up, once, and see Tyrol watching him, eyes lidded.

Karl grins as best he can and slides his mouth down.

Out in the bar, the sound of the fighting gets louder, shouts and crashes that just mix with Tyrol's harsh breathing, his muttered encouragements.

Karl takes it all in.

*

After, Tyrol hauls him up, shoves him against the wall, and jerks him off, hard, fast, his mouth saying things that Karl can't quite make out. He doesn't care, because Tyrol says them against his neck, perfectly mixing the light pressure there with the way he moves his hand.

When it's over – almost too soon – Karl just leans back against the wall, catching his breath. Tyrol is already pulling away, though his hand settles on Karl's shoulder. "All set there, L.T.?" he asks, with a half-smile.

"Frak, yeah," Karl says, grinning back. "Sounds like the fight is breaking up out there."

"Sounds like. So," Tyrol says, fastening his pants, "hear they're going to stick you with a new rook next week."

Frakking knuckle draggers always get the gossip quickly. "Training, yeah," Karl answers, rolling his shoulders back, feeling everything settle into place.

"Good luck with that." Tyrol half turns. "You want another drink?"

Yeah. He does.

End.




	Home Archives July 2007 BSG fic: Opportunity (Helo/Tyrol; R) [Previous entry: "BSG fic: Cylon Detection Made Charming and Easy (BSG/Doctor Who crossover; PG)"] [Next entry: "BSG fic: When you've got it, you've got it (Helo/everyone; PG-13)"] 07/28/2007: "BSG fic: Opportunity (Helo/Tyrol; R)" Title: Opportunity Pairing: Helo/Tyrol Rating: Hard R Words: About 800 Summary: There's an advantage to frakking with someone who's also in the fleet. Notes: I told jayneaintagirl that I'd write her some smut. Set pre-miniseries. There's a fight going on in the bar, loud and noisy, and maybe two drinks ago, Karl would have joined in. Just for the hell of it. He's not drunk, but he's too mellow to get worked up about ship rivalries and some stupid fight. Right now, he's got something else in mind, something better. Tyrol's right behind him, so close Karl's sure he can feel breath on his neck. He hadn't expected to see a friendly face in this cesspool of a bar, and he hadn't expected Tyrol's offer, but Karl knows an opportunity when he sees one. Even if he's been drinking beer – watery and bland – for a few hours. The hallway is empty, everyone else caught up in the fight, or watching it, or betting on the outcome. And Karl was headed for the back alley, but who knows what's going on out there. Inside's just as good, better even, so he stops, turns, and shoves Tyrol back into an alcove. Tyrol's hands are already fisted at Karl's side, light pressure, and Karl leans in, kissing Tyrol hard. He tastes beer and spit and Tyrol just grunts into Karl's mouth. Teeth graze Karl's lips, and Tyrol's fists press a little harder, sliding down to Karl's cock. It's not enough – Karl wants more than this. He wants skin against skin, Tyrol's hand around his cock. "Frak, come on," he mutters against Tyrol's mouth. He can feel Tyrol grin in response, fingers already unbuttoning Karl's pants. There's an advantage to frakking with someone who's also in the fleet – they all wear the same uniform, easy to get into, no fumbling with unfamiliar fastenings. Karl's hands curve inside Tyrol's pants – wrapping around warm, solid hips – just as Tyrol shoves his own hand inside Karl's pants, and frak, that's what Karl wants. He thrusts up, breathing hard, as Tyrol jerks him off in fast, strong strokes. It's like that for a few moments – Tyrol's hand moving, his mouth hard against Karl's, and Karl just holding on, eyes squeezed shut, letting it wash over him. Frak, it's good, Tyrol's hand just the right pressure, slowing down a bit to circle his thumb, before settling back into a good rhythm. And then he slows, stops, hand now too loose around Karl's cock. He pulls his mouth away slightly, and says, "Am I the only one doing any work here?" His breath is hot against Karl's mouth, and Karl's pretty sure Tyrol's grinning a little. "Maybe," he says, because he's the one who went out looking for something, he's the one who got asked. Then again, seems like Tyrol was looking too. "What do you want –" he starts to ask, and then shakes his head, mouth sliding against Tyrol's briefly. Maybe Tyrol's hand feels fantastic on Karl's cock, but suddenly, Karl wants more than the taste of watery beer against his tongue. He hits the floor a little too hard, knees jarring, but he doesn't care, because he can hear the way Tyrol's breath hitches; he likes the way Tyrol's hand settles on his head, lightly, barely there. He doesn't even have to move his hands – Tyrol scrambles a little, shoving his pants and underwear down, low on his hips. This is what he was looking for, Karl thinks, leaning forward, grateful that the dim lighting lets him see a little bit of what he's doing. He doesn't need light – he's got scent and touch, and when he opens his mouth, yeah, he's got taste, sharp and welcome, cock heavy against his tongue – but it's nice to glance up, once, and see Tyrol watching him, eyes lidded. Karl grins as best he can and slides his mouth down. Out in the bar, the sound of the fighting gets louder, shouts and crashes that just mix with Tyrol's harsh breathing, his muttered encouragements. Karl takes it all in. * After, Tyrol hauls him up, shoves him against the wall, and jerks him off, hard, fast, his mouth saying things that Karl can't quite make out. He doesn't care, because Tyrol says them against his neck, perfectly mixing the light pressure there with the way he moves his hand. When it's over – almost too soon – Karl just leans back against the wall, catching his breath. Tyrol is already pulling away, though his hand settles on Karl's shoulder. "All set there, L.T.?" he asks, with a half-smile. "Frak, yeah," Karl says, grinning back. "Sounds like the fight is breaking up out there." "Sounds like. So," Tyrol says, fastening his pants, "hear they're going to stick you with a new rook next week." Frakking knuckle draggers always get the gossip quickly. "Training, yeah," Karl answers, rolling his shoulders back, feeling everything settle into place. "Good luck with that." Tyrol half turns. "You want another drink?" Yeah. He does. End.