07/28/2007: "BSG fic: When you've got it, you've got it (Helo/everyone; PG-13)"

Title: When you've got it, you've got it.
Pairings: Helo/everyone
Rating: PG-13
Words: About 1400
Summary: Everyone wants Helo. Everyone.
Notes: Er. Just some silly fun.

Kara hears them as she comes around a corner.

"—hot, oh yeah, and have you seen that ass?" Racetrack sounds like she's been drinking, although not quite enough.

Kara stops, moves into the shadows, and settles in to listen. This oughta be good, and she can always use the intel.

"Frak, yeah," Kat says, and there's the sound of a bottle hitting metal, a muffled curse. "I've seen it. Just not close enough. Haven't been able to get my teeth into it, if you know what I mean."

They go on like that for a while – ass, abs, the way the uniform stretches across his shoulders, and yeah, OK, Kara gets it. She doesn't need the impromptu half-poem Kat composes (although she memorizes it quickly, for later blackmail use), or Racetrack's giggles. She just needs a name. Gods, who is it? Lee? Or Hotdog? Maybe Gaeta? Frak, they'd better not be talking about Tigh.

Although that would make her intel even more valuable.

"And that mouth," Racetrack mutters, "was made for licking."

Kat moans, low and needy. "Too frakking bad he's only interested in licking the cylon."

Racetrack snorts. "Maybe it's like licking an electrical socket. He's hooked on the buzz."

And that's maybe the best explanation of the whole situation that Kara's heard.

*

Felix watches Baltar leave the CIC just as Apollo walks in. He can't help but shake his head at both of them, and at himself. How long did he sweat it over Apollo? How much did he fawn over Baltar? He's been a frakking idiot, always wanting something he can't have.

Even worse, the hot ones always seem to be neurotic, controlling assholes, or self-absorbed, awkward hotshots.

Or both.

"Sir," he nods to Apollo.

"Gaeta," Apollo nods back, pretending he never used to see the way Felix once looked at him. And it's not like Felix could be blamed for looking – Apollo had been new blood, a new distraction.

But Apollo – and even Baltar – doesn't matter any more, because Felix has his eye on someone else.

Pretending to focus on the consol, Felix mentally lists off attributes – the guy has fantastic abs (Felix has seen him work out, shirtless), the tightest ass in the Fleet (the head isn't exactly private), and the best story of post-attack survival. Felix has always had a thing for survivors and heroes. Especially when they have collar bones that beg to be bitten.

Helo. Felix can't stop thinking about him, about the way he frowns when someone mentions cylons, or how his fists clench when Admiral Cain's name gets brought up.

Felix makes sure to mention her as often as feasible – not all that often, sadly – just to watch those hands tense.

Sure, Helo's in love with a woman. Sure, he got her pregnant. Felix isn't disputing that. But he's heard the stories – Helo's flings with Tyrol, back before the attacks; Helo's history with Apollo, back during flight training.

Felix knows.

And if Helo's only interested in cylons? Well, Felix has an answer for that, too.

*

Billy first sees him on Kobol. Amid the excitement – the president, the admiral trying to kill a cylon, the reunion – Billy still notices the tall man, someone he's never seen before.

Nice ass, he notes as his eyes linger. And then he catches himself, and abruptly turns his thoughts to Dee and her sweet smile.

But still, his eyes keep sliding to the side, watching the man – Helo, Billy later finds out – and the way he moves in the forest, like he's sure, like he's done this kind of thing a hundred times.

He really does have a great ass, although Billy doesn't understand Helo's choice of girlfriend.

Oh well. His mother always did say that the sexy ones usually turned out to be dumb, or gullible, or both.

*

"You're really very sexy," Ellen murmurs, grabbing the young man's ass. "What did you say your name was? Hero? Hellno?" She squeezes. "Mmmhmm, though I guess I'm not all that interested in names, now am I?"

His eyes widen, he tries to step back. "Ma'am –" he starts.

It makes her frown. "Ma'am is for old women." She leans down, her dress slipping to show her cleavage. "Now do I look old to you?"

"Mrs. Tigh," he says, "have you been drinking?"

"Just call me Ellen," she smiles her sexiest smile, "it's so much more intimate, don't you think?"

"Ellen, maybe you should sit down." He's gesturing at the floor, and yes, sitting down sounds wonderful, it sounds perfect. As long as she's sitting on him. She's about to say so when she hears it.

"Ellen?" Saul's calling from down the hall. "Ellen? Where the frak did you go?"

"Frak," she mutters, letting go, straightening her dress. "Another time, sexy," she says, tossing her hair.

But he's already gone. Military training – it's impressive.

*

"She's unworthy of this assignment," Six mutters. Below her, Sharon and Helo are moving quietly, carefully, Helo pathetically unaware that he's being observed, recorded.

"You're just jealous," Doral says, his mouth twitching.

Six manages not to scowl, and manages to keep her hands from snapping his neck. He'd just come back to bother her again. "I'm not made for babies." The thought makes her shudder.

Glancing at her, Doral smirks. "That's not what I'm talking about." He nods his head towards Helo and Sharon.

She looks down again, noting how Helo's uniform pants pull against his ass as he bends over, picks something up. She closes her eyes against the image. "I don't know what you're talking about, But don't tell me you're not wishing your model couldn't have been used for this."

Doral laughs silently, and Six thinks he looks pathetic, officious. "I've seen you staring at him."

"Hmmm. No less than you."

She frowns again. Jealousy is for the weak, and she must remember that.

*

"So," Galen says, waving a bottle in Helo's face. "You wanna," he gestures, vague, but Helo will know what it means, "for old time's sake?"

Because Galen remembers those old times – back before Sharon transferred aboard, back when Helo would stumble into the hangar deck, drunk, looking for company, and finding Galen.

And sure, maybe things have changed – frak, what hasn't? – but that doesn't mean they can't do this. "Just once?" he adds, hopefully. Because he'd loved Sharon – still does – but he's missed Helo's mouth.

So here he is, offering. He's even brought out the best of his hooch. Cally calls it the vintage stuff because it's more than two weeks old.

But Helo shakes his head. "Don't think I can."

Ah, frak. "You sure?"

"Yeah. It just feels wrong."

Frak wrong, Galen wants to say, but it isn't worth it. It's not like he can't find someone else. "Your loss," he says, stepping back, turning around.

His frakking loss.

*

Desire. The human models do not believe the raiders can feel it. But we do. We feel it in different ways – desire for the kill, desire to fly, desire to live. Some of us feel more.

I remember the first time I saw him. I fired at his Raptor, deliberately missing a direct kill. We had an agent on board, and she had to survive. She had a purpose. So, he got to live too.

He does not know I saw him, of course. He cannot know we can see through their ships, when we are close enough, that we can read their energy signatures. Each human has a slightly different one – though I rarely care to notice. But this time I did. I noticed, and something about it imprinted itself on my memory banks.

The second time I saw him I was flying patrol over the human planet Caprica. He was running, his clothing pulling closely against his skin.

I pretended I did not see him. I did not report the sighting, although I played the recorded footage of him over and over again. Perhaps, if I can think of a plan, he will learn to trust me, to come with me somewhere I can keep him safe.

Mine.

Obsession, a human model would say, is not worthy of a cylon. The human models are pretentious and self-important, that's what we raiders say.

He leaves Caprica, with a human model, and I double my efforts to track down the human fleet. It's the only way to see him again.

When we find the human settlement – little planet, hidden away – I search for him.

He's nowhere to be found.

My heart – protected from radiation and weapons and so many other things – begins to malfunction in a way that I do not understand. I leave the fleet, silently slipping away, back into space.

Perhaps I can track the human ships, and find him again.

End.




	Home Archives July 2007 BSG fic: When you've got it, you've got it (Helo/everyone; PG-13) [Previous entry: "BSG fic: Opportunity (Helo/Tyrol; R)"] [Next entry: "BSG fic: Wear a Human Face (Twelve, Chief, Boomer, Seelix, Chief/Boomer; PG)"] 07/28/2007: "BSG fic: When you've got it, you've got it (Helo/everyone; PG-13)" Title: When you've got it, you've got it. Pairings: Helo/everyone Rating: PG-13 Words: About 1400 Summary: Everyone wants Helo. Everyone. Notes: Er. Just some silly fun. Kara hears them as she comes around a corner. "—hot, oh yeah, and have you seen that ass?" Racetrack sounds like she's been drinking, although not quite enough. Kara stops, moves into the shadows, and settles in to listen. This oughta be good, and she can always use the intel. "Frak, yeah," Kat says, and there's the sound of a bottle hitting metal, a muffled curse. "I've seen it. Just not close enough. Haven't been able to get my teeth into it, if you know what I mean." They go on like that for a while – ass, abs, the way the uniform stretches across his shoulders, and yeah, OK, Kara gets it. She doesn't need the impromptu half-poem Kat composes (although she memorizes it quickly, for later blackmail use), or Racetrack's giggles. She just needs a name. Gods, who is it? Lee? Or Hotdog? Maybe Gaeta? Frak, they'd better not be talking about Tigh. Although that would make her intel even more valuable. "And that mouth," Racetrack mutters, "was made for licking." Kat moans, low and needy. "Too frakking bad he's only interested in licking the cylon." Racetrack snorts. "Maybe it's like licking an electrical socket. He's hooked on the buzz." And that's maybe the best explanation of the whole situation that Kara's heard. * Felix watches Baltar leave the CIC just as Apollo walks in. He can't help but shake his head at both of them, and at himself. How long did he sweat it over Apollo? How much did he fawn over Baltar? He's been a frakking idiot, always wanting something he can't have. Even worse, the hot ones always seem to be neurotic, controlling assholes, or self-absorbed, awkward hotshots. Or both. "Sir," he nods to Apollo. "Gaeta," Apollo nods back, pretending he never used to see the way Felix once looked at him. And it's not like Felix could be blamed for looking – Apollo had been new blood, a new distraction. But Apollo – and even Baltar – doesn't matter any more, because Felix has his eye on someone else. Pretending to focus on the consol, Felix mentally lists off attributes – the guy has fantastic abs (Felix has seen him work out, shirtless), the tightest ass in the Fleet (the head isn't exactly private), and the best story of post-attack survival. Felix has always had a thing for survivors and heroes. Especially when they have collar bones that beg to be bitten. Helo. Felix can't stop thinking about him, about the way he frowns when someone mentions cylons, or how his fists clench when Admiral Cain's name gets brought up. Felix makes sure to mention her as often as feasible – not all that often, sadly – just to watch those hands tense. Sure, Helo's in love with a woman. Sure, he got her pregnant. Felix isn't disputing that. But he's heard the stories – Helo's flings with Tyrol, back before the attacks; Helo's history with Apollo, back during flight training. Felix knows. And if Helo's only interested in cylons? Well, Felix has an answer for that, too. * Billy first sees him on Kobol. Amid the excitement – the president, the admiral trying to kill a cylon, the reunion – Billy still notices the tall man, someone he's never seen before. Nice ass, he notes as his eyes linger. And then he catches himself, and abruptly turns his thoughts to Dee and her sweet smile. But still, his eyes keep sliding to the side, watching the man – Helo, Billy later finds out – and the way he moves in the forest, like he's sure, like he's done this kind of thing a hundred times. He really does have a great ass, although Billy doesn't understand Helo's choice of girlfriend. Oh well. His mother always did say that the sexy ones usually turned out to be dumb, or gullible, or both. * "You're really very sexy," Ellen murmurs, grabbing the young man's ass. "What did you say your name was? Hero? Hellno?" She squeezes. "Mmmhmm, though I guess I'm not all that interested in names, now am I?" His eyes widen, he tries to step back. "Ma'am –" he starts. It makes her frown. "Ma'am is for old women." She leans down, her dress slipping to show her cleavage. "Now do I look old to you?" "Mrs. Tigh," he says, "have you been drinking?" "Just call me Ellen," she smiles her sexiest smile, "it's so much more intimate, don't you think?" "Ellen, maybe you should sit down." He's gesturing at the floor, and yes, sitting down sounds wonderful, it sounds perfect. As long as she's sitting on him. She's about to say so when she hears it. "Ellen?" Saul's calling from down the hall. "Ellen? Where the frak did you go?" "Frak," she mutters, letting go, straightening her dress. "Another time, sexy," she says, tossing her hair. But he's already gone. Military training – it's impressive. * "She's unworthy of this assignment," Six mutters. Below her, Sharon and Helo are moving quietly, carefully, Helo pathetically unaware that he's being observed, recorded. "You're just jealous," Doral says, his mouth twitching. Six manages not to scowl, and manages to keep her hands from snapping his neck. He'd just come back to bother her again. "I'm not made for babies." The thought makes her shudder. Glancing at her, Doral smirks. "That's not what I'm talking about." He nods his head towards Helo and Sharon. She looks down again, noting how Helo's uniform pants pull against his ass as he bends over, picks something up. She closes her eyes against the image. "I don't know what you're talking about, But don't tell me you're not wishing your model couldn't have been used for this." Doral laughs silently, and Six thinks he looks pathetic, officious. "I've seen you staring at him." "Hmmm. No less than you." She frowns again. Jealousy is for the weak, and she must remember that. * "So," Galen says, waving a bottle in Helo's face. "You wanna," he gestures, vague, but Helo will know what it means, "for old time's sake?" Because Galen remembers those old times – back before Sharon transferred aboard, back when Helo would stumble into the hangar deck, drunk, looking for company, and finding Galen. And sure, maybe things have changed – frak, what hasn't? – but that doesn't mean they can't do this. "Just once?" he adds, hopefully. Because he'd loved Sharon – still does – but he's missed Helo's mouth. So here he is, offering. He's even brought out the best of his hooch. Cally calls it the vintage stuff because it's more than two weeks old. But Helo shakes his head. "Don't think I can." Ah, frak. "You sure?" "Yeah. It just feels wrong." Frak wrong, Galen wants to say, but it isn't worth it. It's not like he can't find someone else. "Your loss," he says, stepping back, turning around. His frakking loss. * Desire. The human models do not believe the raiders can feel it. But we do. We feel it in different ways – desire for the kill, desire to fly, desire to live. Some of us feel more. I remember the first time I saw him. I fired at his Raptor, deliberately missing a direct kill. We had an agent on board, and she had to survive. She had a purpose. So, he got to live too. He does not know I saw him, of course. He cannot know we can see through their ships, when we are close enough, that we can read their energy signatures. Each human has a slightly different one – though I rarely care to notice. But this time I did. I noticed, and something about it imprinted itself on my memory banks. The second time I saw him I was flying patrol over the human planet Caprica. He was running, his clothing pulling closely against his skin. I pretended I did not see him. I did not report the sighting, although I played the recorded footage of him over and over again. Perhaps, if I can think of a plan, he will learn to trust me, to come with me somewhere I can keep him safe. Mine. Obsession, a human model would say, is not worthy of a cylon. The human models are pretentious and self-important, that's what we raiders say. He leaves Caprica, with a human model, and I double my efforts to track down the human fleet. It's the only way to see him again. When we find the human settlement – little planet, hidden away – I search for him. He's nowhere to be found. My heart – protected from radiation and weapons and so many other things – begins to malfunction in a way that I do not understand. I leave the fleet, silently slipping away, back into space. Perhaps I can track the human ships, and find him again. End.