Pentathlon fic: Menage a Trois a Deux
Title: Menage a Trois a Deux
Word count: 600
Rating: MA
A/N: For the "cylon" ship requirement of the bsg-epics fic pentathlon. Four down, one to go...
It’s fairly boring and a little bit lonely out here on the rogue basestar. Enough that some of us are willing to consider doing things we normally wouldn’t. I close the door and wonder if this bed is big enough for all of us.
“Call me Leo,” he says.
“Call me Ben,” says the other.
“Then I guess we better call me Two,” I joke to my companions.
It doesn’t matter what we call each other; we all wish we were with Kara instead of ourselves. She's embedded in our circuitry like a bad hack, the memory of her burned into each of the Twos to have downloaded since New Caprica. But neither the Sixes nor the Eights would fault us for seeking this nearly humanizing release. There’s little else to occupy us, and there’s something so interesting about the idea of making love to yourself. Selves.
We’re all in different clothing; Leo’s black button-down has metallic stripes running through it. Ben’s ensemble is more utilitarian and reminds me of what we wore back on New Caprica, blending into the grey of the planet and the dark shadows of that dollhouse apartment I’d hoped, futilely, to brighten with love. I wince and reflexively touch my neck at the memory of that place, then notice that my companions have gotten ahead of me; their shoes and pants are off, and they’re making their way onto the bed. I yank the t-shirt up over my head, shuck off my pants, and hurtle into the center of the wide, bouncy mattress surrounded by the low lights that the hybrid uses to communicate with different parts of the ship.
“Two comes first,” I say, stretching out on my back with my hands behind my head. I take a minute to admire them as they approach; it’s like looking in a three-way mirror, seeing myself at these different angles. Then Leo says “relax,” like it’s just that easy, and when he runs his hand through my short blond hair, it is, and I do.
Soon four hands are wandering over my chest, my legs, pulling off my briefs, cupping my balls. Then there’s a mouth on my cock, and when I moan at the sensation, a cock thrusts between my own parted lips. I swirl my tongue around it, intrigued by the taste of myself. It’s mostly recycled air-- space stink-- with a faint hint of something loamy that pleases me. And him, and him.
My desire heightens, and we all feel it, an electric surge of encompassing feeling, a sense of knowing ourselves.
We take turns pleasuring each other; I accept my oral release, then turn over and push up onto all fours for Ben while Leo watches and strokes himself. The minutes pass, the lights flicker, and when Ben calls out to warn of his release, we are all right there with him. Two comes twice.
Leo produces a small towel from beside the bed somewhere, and cleans himself before handing it to Ben. I guess I’m on my own, but I’m too sated to really care. My eyes drift shut for a few moments, as I feel our hearts beat in time with the hybrid’s.
When the stale air starts to cool on my skin I lift my head and look at us, a sweaty heap of tangled limbs. This closeness is nice, I think. Kara would never relax against me the way I can relax into myself.
Ben murmurs unintelligibly as he falls asleep, and Leo shushes him. “This is not all that we are,” he whispers under his breath.
No, it’s not all that we are. We are more than three of the same; Leo, Ben, and Two. We are seekers. We are guiders.
But as we hurtle through space toward Kara and her destiny, it’s good enough. For now.
Word count: 600
Rating: MA
A/N: For the "cylon" ship requirement of the bsg-epics fic pentathlon. Four down, one to go...
It’s fairly boring and a little bit lonely out here on the rogue basestar. Enough that some of us are willing to consider doing things we normally wouldn’t. I close the door and wonder if this bed is big enough for all of us.
“Call me Leo,” he says.
“Call me Ben,” says the other.
“Then I guess we better call me Two,” I joke to my companions.
It doesn’t matter what we call each other; we all wish we were with Kara instead of ourselves. She's embedded in our circuitry like a bad hack, the memory of her burned into each of the Twos to have downloaded since New Caprica. But neither the Sixes nor the Eights would fault us for seeking this nearly humanizing release. There’s little else to occupy us, and there’s something so interesting about the idea of making love to yourself. Selves.
We’re all in different clothing; Leo’s black button-down has metallic stripes running through it. Ben’s ensemble is more utilitarian and reminds me of what we wore back on New Caprica, blending into the grey of the planet and the dark shadows of that dollhouse apartment I’d hoped, futilely, to brighten with love. I wince and reflexively touch my neck at the memory of that place, then notice that my companions have gotten ahead of me; their shoes and pants are off, and they’re making their way onto the bed. I yank the t-shirt up over my head, shuck off my pants, and hurtle into the center of the wide, bouncy mattress surrounded by the low lights that the hybrid uses to communicate with different parts of the ship.
“Two comes first,” I say, stretching out on my back with my hands behind my head. I take a minute to admire them as they approach; it’s like looking in a three-way mirror, seeing myself at these different angles. Then Leo says “relax,” like it’s just that easy, and when he runs his hand through my short blond hair, it is, and I do.
Soon four hands are wandering over my chest, my legs, pulling off my briefs, cupping my balls. Then there’s a mouth on my cock, and when I moan at the sensation, a cock thrusts between my own parted lips. I swirl my tongue around it, intrigued by the taste of myself. It’s mostly recycled air-- space stink-- with a faint hint of something loamy that pleases me. And him, and him.
My desire heightens, and we all feel it, an electric surge of encompassing feeling, a sense of knowing ourselves.
We take turns pleasuring each other; I accept my oral release, then turn over and push up onto all fours for Ben while Leo watches and strokes himself. The minutes pass, the lights flicker, and when Ben calls out to warn of his release, we are all right there with him. Two comes twice.
Leo produces a small towel from beside the bed somewhere, and cleans himself before handing it to Ben. I guess I’m on my own, but I’m too sated to really care. My eyes drift shut for a few moments, as I feel our hearts beat in time with the hybrid’s.
When the stale air starts to cool on my skin I lift my head and look at us, a sweaty heap of tangled limbs. This closeness is nice, I think. Kara would never relax against me the way I can relax into myself.
Ben murmurs unintelligibly as he falls asleep, and Leo shushes him. “This is not all that we are,” he whispers under his breath.
No, it’s not all that we are. We are more than three of the same; Leo, Ben, and Two. We are seekers. We are guiders.
But as we hurtle through space toward Kara and her destiny, it’s good enough. For now.