Disclaimer: Not mine.
Pairing: Karl Agathon/Sam Anders, with Sharon Agathon/Karl Agathon, and referencing Kara Thrace/Sam Anders (and Kara/Helo, too, iirc)
Rating: R/18 Warnings: sex, adult situations, innendo, language Length: 2100
Set: A day or two after Collaborators, in season three. Vague spoilers, etc.
Written for alizarinnyc, for the Second Annual Helo Shagathon
Notes: I can't speak for everyone else, but I would like to note that getting Helo to have sex with anyone NOT Sharon was far more difficult than I'd ever anticipated. This was my fourth attempt at both my prompts. My apologies for not posting this earlier, but my roommate and I went out to get comics and got lost in the blizzard (or at least, New Berlin).
by ALC Punk!
There used to be a saying about pilots and ECOs and how you could tell which was which by the amount of alcohol they could consume. Helo remembered hearing it a lot, when he was in flight school--he and the five others who'd graduated top of their class in electronic counter-measures, used to cat-call the pilots, saying it was only the ECOs who'd keep them from crashing, in the end.
Now, though, a lot of people drank. Some drank for the fun, some drank because there was nothing else to do, and some drank to forget.
Karl figured Sam fell into the latter category while he fell into the former. He liked alcohol, but he didn't see a point in drinking until he couldn't see. Sam Anders, on the other hand, was halfway to that goal, if not further.
Luckily, he could still talk, and the two had spent the evening drinking companionably. Sam was easy to talk to--had been since they'd first met on Caprica, when Karl had been worried about Sharon and still uncertain how he fit into this new world where Cylons were human and still the enemy. Of course, he hadn't exactly expected to spend half the night scoring the women and men of Galactica, but the more drunk Sam got, the more he seemed to think about sex.
It was easy to guess that Kara had caused the obsession--Sam wasn't wearing the dog tag anymore, and rumor had it, he was planning a move to the Persepolis, which was taking refugees who wanted a job to do.
"Racetrack," Karl suggested, taking his mind off Starbuck. Again. He wondered if Sam had a problem forgetting her. He was, vaguely, pretty sure that his wife would mock the shit out of him for his current plan of distraction. And then she'd probably join in, knowing Sharon.
"Eight point five."
Karl frowned, "Nine. What're your points off for?"
"Great legs, no ass," Sam replied, sucking down a mouthful of booze with a cough at the end.
Instead of telling Sam to go easy, Karl tossed out another name, "Tory Foster."
"Too short," Karl rebutted, then tossed a peanut at Anders. "Your turn."
"Felix Gaeta." Sam replied, smirking a little.
"Not an eight?"
"Too short," Sam tipped his empty glass at Karl, and deadpanned, "Tigh."
Karl hooted, "Which one?"
Something flickered across Sam's face and then was gone. "Ellen was definitely a nine. Saul, though... five."
Pouring Sam another shot in apology for what, he didn't know, Karl wondered if there was anyone he wasn't allowed to suggest. "Apollo."
Sam made a strangled noise, then laughed and downed the entire glass in one gulp. He didn't cough afterwards. "Seven. Two points deducted for the stick up his ass."
"He hates me, so I suppose there's a certain appeal... Nah. Five." The game was getting even more silly, Karl decided. They had to be pretty damned drunk. It wasn't exactly the conversation he'd expected to have that morning, though, so he had to give Sam points for surprising him. "Chief Tyrol."
"Oh, Galen's definitely a nine. All that big, burly man..." Sam's eyes slitted in contemplation for a moment.
Shit. The conversation was more than a little surreal, too. Throwing caution to the wind, Karl said, wondering what Sam would say. "Starbuck." She was the topic they'd avoided all night, after all. And maybe Sam was drunk enough to face her.
"Ten." Sam replied without hesitation.
Karl's eyebrows went up, "Even now she's dumped your ass?"
"Even now," eyes glittering, Sam leaned across the table towards him. "Sharon's a nine and a half."
Grinning, glad he'd survived instead of having Anders rip his balls off, Karl nodded. Maybe he was just getting stupid in his drunken state. "Ten."
"Nah. She likes you. Nine and a half."
Karl snorted, "That bad, huh?"
"Hell yeah. Gods, I'm drunk," Anders reached for the bottle Helo was keeping on his side of the table, missed it and knocked it over. He stared at the spilling alcohol and started laughing, his whole body thrown into the motion, like it was the funniest frakking thing he'd ever seen.
"Shit. Damn." Karl jumped up to avoid getting ambrosia (or what passed for it, these days) spilled on his lap. He grabbed the bottle before it could empty completely. "Great job, Anders."
"You were hoggin' the bottle," defended Anders, still laughing as he leaned back in his chair.
"You knocked it over, clean it up."
"Frak, no. I ain't that drunk." Sam snickered again and then tugged his shirt off. "Here," he dropped the sweat-stained shirt on the table and started attempting to clean the puddle up. It sort of succeeded, pushing the ambrosia around until more spilled onto the floor.
"Pity. Watching you lick that up would be kinda hot."
Karl blinked. Where the frak had that come from? Sure, it was true that watching Sam use his tongue on the table would be--actually, it would be kinda sick. But Sam's mouth and tongue were hot. He rubbed a hand over his face. Obviously, he needed to stop drinking and go home. Maybe Sharon would even still be awake.
A snicker escaped Sam and he dropped his now-soaked shirt onto the puddle on the floor. "I ain't lickin' it up. Not unless you spill some on yourself." He leered, giving it a good go.
The leer got pretty good marks from Karl. He shifted, suddenly very aware that the storage room they'd appropriated for their talk and drink session was a little warm. "See somethin' you like, Anders?"
"Well, you gotta have some good, since Sharon likes you." Anders moved closer to him, tilting his head and squinting. "Like, maybe a five."
"I'm just a five?" Feeling like he needed another drink, and maybe his sweatshirt off, Karl reached up and tugged at his collar.
"Maybe a six. Dunno until I kiss you."
Sam pounced. That was the only word Karl could later use. One second, the man was halfway across the room, the next, he was right there, hands on Karl's face, pulling him in, mouth brushing his. Sharon--Karl thought before he found himself kissing Sam back.
It wasn't a great kiss. It was sloppy and Sam tasted like ambrosia and some horrible thing that had probably come from Galactica's cafeteria.
But Karl didn't care, for an instant.
It was Sam who pulled back, hands dropping. "Not interested?"
"At least you kiss better than Starbuck," Karl blurted.
He couldn't have chosen better words to kill Sam's interest in kissing him again. The man blinked and rocked back slightly before laughing harshly, "Good to know my wife's been here first, too."
"Not recently, though," Karl said, and wondered why the frak he'd said that.
"Always good to know."
Wondering, suddenly, if he could goad the other man, Karl asked, "Do you think she'll find Earth for us?"
Starbuck wasn't exactly his favorite person at the moment, but he couldn't deny there was something special about her. She'd cheated death more than once, and Karl had the feeling she'd do it again. Finding Earth would be child's play, for her.
"If we're gonna talk about wives, maybe Sharon will find it first."
"Nah. Kara's special, Sam. You know that. Or you used to."
A shudder went through Anders and he moved, pushing Karl back until he slammed into the wall. "Don't, Karl."
"Don't what, Sam?" Suddenly serious, he reached out and grabbed Sam's collar, holding him there, "Don't make you feel something other than sex and booze?"
The only answer he got was non-verbal. Sam's lips smashing into his, mouth demanding and angry at once.
Several things went through Karl's brain. The thought that over-ruled all of them was that Sharon would be taking pictures, egging them on and then asking if she could join. The hotness of that mental image was too much and Karl moaned into Sam's mouth, knowing he was already hardening.
A breathless laugh escaped Sam. He pulled back slightly and smirked before nipping at Karl's mouth, "You hard-up, man? Your hand not doin' it for you anymore?" He was careful not to mock Karl's wife, maybe sensing that was a place he shouldn't go.
"Been busy," Karl defended. It was true. Being XO meant doing far too much paperwork and having far too little sex.
"Mmm." Sam's hand dropped down, cupping him through his pants, "You're already hard off two kisses, Karl." He slid his mouth around to Karl's ear, whispering, "Are you just a little slut, Karl? Does Sharon make you beg, sometimes?"
Karl laughed--the suggestion was ludicrous and hot, all at the same time. He swallowed, "No, she doesn't."
Not the best answer, but Sam didn't seem to care. He licked a line down Karl's throat, then came back up for his mouth again. "Do you want me to suck you off, Karl?" Sam asked, voice low and taunting as he bit at Karl's mouth with his own.
Karl shivered and reached out to push Sam away, but the movement only made Sam laugh before he was dropping to his knees, leaning in to rub his face against Karl's shirt. Stop, Karl thought, but what came out was a shaky, "Please."
Another laugh from Sam, and then he was doing as Karl had asked, unzipping and tugging him free, mouth lazily swallowing him.
Frak. Frak frak frak. Sam was way better at this than anyone he'd met--ever. Sharon was good, but Sam was talented, like his mouth had been put to a lot of use. He could give lessons. Karl's head dropped back against the wall with a thump and he fisted his hands, trying not to drag his fingers through Sam's hair.
Gods. Trying to think about reports and paperwork, pilot assignments and the half-dozen repairs Galactica was still due did nothing to stop what Sam's mouth was doing to him.
Sam pulled his mouth off Karl's cock with a wet sound that made Karl groan, "Not feelin' it?" He licked the underside of his head, looking up at Karl, eyes dark.
"I'm feelin' it," rasped Karl.
"Then act like it. I know you want to put your hands on my head, and pull my mouth down hard." Sam's voice was low and taunting, "Or are you afraid you'll like it too much, Karl? Do you like frakking my mouth and thinking of Sharon?"
He hadn't been, though, not until Sam suggested it, and Karl didn't have time to reply because Sam's mouth was back on him.
Sharon would watch. Sharon would be sitting on the table, legs splayed, toying with herself and making suggestions. And probably mocking Anders' technique. Karl let out another moan, hands touching Sam's head before he slid his fingers into his hair, pulling just enough.
A sound hummed up from Sam, the vibration adding to the sensation of mouth, tongue and hands.
Karl's eyes dropped closed as he imagined Sharon walking up behind Sam, leaning over and kissing him, her mouth hot and wet against his. He moaned. Pulling hard at Sam's hair, he rocked his hips into Sam's mouth, feeling the climax hit him before he was ready.
Swallowing, Sam sucked at him, slowly pulling off of him as he turned limp again.
Karl dropped his hands from Sam's hair, panting and still on the edge. Shit. He needed Sharon bad enough he could taste her in his mouth. If he closed his eyes, he might feel her against him.
The sound of the bottle clinking made Karl's eyes fly open, and he realized Sam was leaning over the table, back coated in sweat and looking like something out of a porno. Sam swallowed a second shot, then set the glass down and looked back at him, "You should get home to your wife, Helo. She's probably wondering where you are."
Drawing in a breath, Karl nodded. He could feel his brain slowly shutting down. A little hazy from the climax and the ambrosia and Sam's presence. He sucked in another breath and pulled his pants up, closing them. He licked his lips, "Anders. You'll be ok?"
"Hey," Sam laughed, holding up the bottle, "I got a great cure right here."
"Right." Feeling oddly uncomfortable, Karl moved to the hatch and pulled it open. He glanced back before he left, though, and caught a slump in Anders' shoulders that disturbed him. "Sam?"
"Go, Karl. Before we both regret this."
The words weren't comforting. Karl already regretted it. But he went, pulling the hatch closed behind him, and wondering what Sharon would say to his little fantasy turned partial reality. Probably nothing.
But then again, maybe he'd be sleeping on the floor for the rest of his life.