Conquests

It had started to seem that there were no boundaries anymore, that right and wrong had no bearing and all that mattered was his pleasure. His conscience had abandoned him, it seemed, whether the nebula had removed her from him or she'd left of her own volition was not something he cared to speculate. Now he lived from one high to the next, whether it be morpha, stims, alcohol, or sex, but it began to unsettle him how much he had begun to need, from one woman to two, one pill to five, and it was never enough. So the part of him that was left aware craved ever more. Indeed, he'd tried rekindling his affair with Former Lieutenant Gaeta; his attempts to lure him into violence worked infrequently, but those provided him with a clarity and an ecstasy that he ceased to find from his indulgences. Like everything else, it was feeding a larger desire, and he knew from his recent appetites that it wouldn’t satisfy for long.

In daydreams, no, altered states seen through the haze of passable distraction, he focused more and more on past glories, on lovers that that seemed magnified in retrospect. He’d been toying with the idea of writing a memoir, and had a document full of potential titles. Conquests, was one. My Triumphs, My Mistakes, was another. Underneath, pages were devoted to names of those conquests, or rather, failed attempts to remember the names of his lovers. Half-remembered phrases scattered the sheets, words he’d have moaned during lovemaking instead of using any more specific titles. A few of those lovers he could only describe; the brunette he’d bedded the day before the invasion hadn’t meant enough to even get a nickname.

One name in particular eluded him, and as his pen lazed across the page, leaving blots and sputters of the precious resource, he found his hand tracing out the letters T y r o l. But it wasn’t so strange. The two did have certain similarities, more so than anyone else he knew lived on New Caprica. He sensed a certain unrefined quality in the Chief, something that aroused him in a primal way, which reminded him of the men he’d known back on Aerilon. The types that drank and brawled, in their rough hewn accents. The ones that would never admit to being homosexuals, but would solicit men in dark rooms, back alleyways for rushed and needy sex so primal it could hardly be considered intimacy. And here it came. He let his mind play over a scene that was particularly rosier in his memory than any of the real events.

The girls in Cuttle’s Breath Wash had been religious, or at the very least that had been their excuse. Any lusty fumblings had been cut short, his hands rejected from under skirts and blouses. The ones he’d been allowed to bring back home had stormed out of the barn, leaving him to tend to himself. He’d taken almost as much pleasure in that as in his conquests, and had masturbated unabashedly when he was alone, and covertly when he wasn’t. He hadn’t been as subtle as he’d thought, however; an older boy from the stables took to watching him. On a day on the bridge by the Euclid river, he’d fancied himself alone and had been taking more liberty in his pleasures, audibly expressing himself. The boy caught him with his pants around his knees and held him down in the sand as he first teased him, catching his wrists and holding him helpless, and then had his way with him. It had been so strange, being violated, but he’d been thrilled to abdicate responsibility for his pleasure to someone else, to let someone control him. There had been discomfort, he remembered that, but pleasure too; the boy mocked him for coming during their coupling, as if he enjoyed something he wasn’t allowed to.

“Baltar, I need your signature on- Gods, not again.”

Gaius looked up from his rather deep reverie to catch the former Lieutenant eyeing him with distaste. Surely he noticed the pills strewn across the neglected presidential documents, because he’d moved behind the desk to start collecting them into his hand.

“I told you not to call me that. You’re to address me as Mr. President.”

“I think I’ll call you that when you act like it. You need to move on this item. This is one thing I can’t do for you.”

Mm, Mr. Gaeta was testy today. If only he could remember his first name, perhaps he could be gentler with him, try to coo him into placation. But no, he found the other man take his hand and force the document into it, making him look at it. Hm, was the Union clamoring again? He hadn’t noticed.

“Couldn’t you brief me? I thought that was your job.” Gaius rolled his eyes as he tried and failed to read the printed words in front of his face.

The other man was silent a moment, and then he snatched up the bottle of pills and the one of ambrosia from the table, demanding, “Sober up. You do have a job to do some days. And take your hand out of your pants,” before stalking out.

Gaius made it a point to stare at his aide’s ass as he left the president’s chambers aboard Colonial One. It was too bad he’d had to stop wearing that uniform when he’d rescinded his post on the Galactica. The civilian clothes really did nothing for him.

-

Without his access to distraction, Gaius found himself pacing instead, document still in his hand. His more sexual thoughts about the union leader made the document tolerable, though none of the conditions were anything he felt that he should entertain at this moment. As far as he was concerned, industry had been nationalized in a time of war, and even though Laura had made some plans to move back to currency standards, the transition hadn’t really happened and cash money was still worthless. There was nothing he could offer in the way of compensation, except for perhaps increased rations, which seemed like a fairly insulting offer. So that was out, clearly, unless he put in all the work of developing a currency system, which seemed like an utterly futile prospect, and would really result only in Laura’s smugness. Now, shorter hours he could negotiate, because it hardly mattered to him what was produced beyond his food supply and the tylium to keep the Colonial One running. Really, most of the items seemed fairly inconsequential to him, and his denying them was really more an issue of whim.

His substitute conscience knocked briefly, and asked, “Gaius, are you decent?” before entering the presidential office. Gaius couldn’t discern if his appearance had changed any from before, as he hadn’t been in a mood to notice, but now he seemed to be calm, less anxious about his fresh stack of paperwork. “Oh, good, you’re actually doing something.”

“You know, I wanted an aide, not a mother.” Gaius took the paperwork out of his aide’s hand, flipping through the documents idly. Quorum requests, mostly, one for increased military attention (unnecessary), one for cabinet elections (useless, with so few citizens), one about the poor conditions (entirely beyond his control) and… oh, the exact same copy of the union document again. He dropped the three Quorum briefs on the desk and brandished the other, turning to look at Gaeta. “You left me with this one earlier.”

“Oh, good. You did read it.” Gaeta couldn’t hide a smirk.

“Are you playing games with me now, Lieutenant?” He returned the expression, slinking close to him, circling to stand behind him, murmuring into his ear, “because I don’ advise it. I take it you like your job?”

“I’m not sure you could find anyone else to fill it.”

Gaius brushed his lips up his neck, but the other man held his ground, not relenting.

“Mr. President, we do have something to accomplish today.”

“Which is….?” He moved his mouth down his neck to suck at his shoulder, nibbling just a little.

“Chief Tyrol wants a meeting with you tomorrow, and-“

“I know what I’m going to say to Mr. Tyrol. I’m almost prepared for that meeting.”

The Lieutenant tensed a little and murmured, “Oh?” The suggestion that Gaius had actually been attending to his presidential duties seemed to please him, and he relaxed a little under his lips, tilting his head back over his shoulders. “Tell me.”

“I’m ready,” a kiss on the neck, “to negotiate hours…” one higher up, under his ear, “and hiring procedures,” a lick behind the earlobe, “but not compensation.” A hand slid from his waist over the fly of his pants wasn’t denied. “I think the Quorum should back off on issues I can do nothing about.”

The personal attention seemed to win him over, the conversation, and the Lieutenant murmured, “Mm. Okay. As long as you’re prepared,” allowing Gaius’s hand to sneak its way inside his pants, to start teasing him. He’d been neglecting this for a while, so it was just a little easier, his assistant was just a little more pliable. And he’d start undressing him, ending conversation.

He decided not to push for what he really wanted, at this moment, and led him into the bedroom behind the office instead of luring him into sex on the desk. He was gentle with him, thorough, considerate even; aware of his pleasure. He’d even moan out, “Lieutenant…” against his ear as he finished, the pet name he’d given him back on the Battlestar, when they’d fraked in the laboratory. Gaeta had been more willing to please him, then, more attentive to his personal fetishes and kinks, but there was something incredible about pleasing him, too, about his breathless little moans, feeling him tighten around his cock.

-

“Mm, Lieutenant,” he purred against the back of his neck as they cuddled, post-coitus.

“My name is Felix,” he was reminded gently. “Look. The tattoo. It’s a cat. A feline. Felix. You can remember that, can’t you?”

“Mm. Felix.” He rolled the name off his tongue, liking the sound of it. Yeah, he was unlikely to remember that. “What do you know about Chief Tyrol?”

“What do you mean?” He hadn’t moved quite yet. He didn’t suspect. Gaius teased a hand over his hip to prolong his realization.

“Just… curious, really. I’ve only met him a few times. You might recall that disastrous trip to Kobol. I imagine you know him better than I do.”

“Yeah, I guess so. Chief’s a fair guy. He’s, uh… good.” He was a little distracted by the touch, especially as he teased his hand down. “If he makes a promise, he’ll go through with it.”

Gaius purred against his neck, “Mm, good. That’s not what I wanted to know.” He nipped softly at his earlobe, and asked, “Have you fraked him?”

Felix’s whole body tensed up, sudden, and he protested, “Gaius.”

“No, its not what you think. Have you? I’m just curious,” he cooed, stroking his fingers over him.

“No, I’m not…” he pulled away to reach for his pants, sitting on the edge of the bed to tug them back on, “gonna talk about this, not now.”

“So you tried, and he turned you down.”

The Lieutenant looked exasperated. “No.”

Gaius smirked knowingly.

“Okay, I did. Once or twice. Look. He’s got a wife, don’t frak that up for him. He’s a good guy.”

He just chuckled. “Oh, I didn’t mean I wanted you to seduce him.” He just lazed there, closing his eyes for a moment, enjoying how nice the mattress was.

There were no more words from the other man, just sounds of dressing, and then the door.

-

Felix waited until the Chief was traveling between the union tent and his personal quarters, late in the evening. It was dark, and that was better.

“Hey.” Tyrol was quiet, worn. “Meeting still on?”

“Yeah. About that.” He glanced around, making sure no one was listening. “Look, the President is up to something. He’s been asking weird questions. I don’t know what he’s thinking.”

Chief regarded him with a long, slow look, a frown. “What do you mean?”

“There’s something wrong with him.”

A thick sigh. “Yeah. Felix, I know. If you can’t tell me something useful…”

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”