FicWad

Scratching the Cat
by ingrid

Every time Lt. Gaeta's tattoo itches, he thinks about sex.

He doesn't know why this is except that he was stinking drunk when he received it from a burly, half-naked man in the back decks of Cloud Nine -- a man who had the disconcerting habit of licking his lips every time he sunk the needle into a fresh piece of Gaeta's flesh.

They didn't do anything past that -- getting the tattoo turned out to be erotic enough -- but now he's stuck with an itchy piece of body art giving him a perpetual hard-on and when your uniform is fitted to your exact proportions ...

Damn it. He tries thinking about boring things, like scanning deep space for hours on end or listening to fuel reports over the wireless.

He shifts in his seat, attempting to make himself flaccid through sheer force of will alone.

When that doesn't work, he figures he'll run to the latrine and take care of it, but just as he's about to make a dash for it, Dr. Baltar waltzes over to his post, seemingly out of thin air.

"I need you," he says, in that strange tone he gets when something is upsetting him. "I need you very badly."

Gaeta's eyes widen. His cock twitches, the tattoo feels like it's on fire and he's having a very hard time forming a coherent reply.

Not that it matters. Dr. Baltar's arm snakes around Gaeta's shoulders, pulling him away from his post. He glances to every side as they walk out of the bridge, "Commander Adama," Baltar whispers. " ... is questioning my, uh, work on the blood samples. For the Cylon detector." A nervous laugh. "He seems be under the impression that I might have purposefully been reporting incorrect results."

"Oh," Gaeta replies with a swallow. He pulls at the too-tight collar of his uniform. "Well, he was shot by cleared personnel."

"Yes, yes, yes," Baltar mutters irritably. "But you know as well as I do this is a new science we're dealing with. Mistakes ... minor oversights ... false negatives ... all are inevitable. You do understand that, don't you?" He runs a shaking hand through unkempt hair. It's obvious Dr. Baltar's been quite distracted as of late. "What am I saying? Of course you understand. You're a scientist. You know all about the unreasonable pressures they put on us. This constant need for us to be perfect and right and pull answers out of our ass while they can frak up all they please, waiting for us, the scientists to come up with the solutions to the problems they create."

Gaeta nods. He does know about pressure and about making mistakes while under it. He also knows that his cock is protesting at its confinement in the most unseemly way, even as Dr. Baltar rattles on, his hand waving in fluttering circles, all of it coming to a abrupt halt as Baltar turns on Gaeta, his eyes narrow. "Are you all right?"

"Uh, yes?" Gaeta stutters, taking a small step back. Gods, if only he could take a quick run to the latrine ...

"You seem rather quiet."

"I'm listening. To you. That's all."

Baltar examines him with a sweeping look. Up and down, then up again, stopping at Gaeta's crotch. "Ah," Baltar says knowingly. He smirks. "I caught you in the middle of a 'moment', eh? Know all about that, I do. Very inconvenient. Do you have someone to help you with those?"

If a man could die of embarrassment, Gaeta's pretty sure his corpse would be on its way to the airlock right about now. "No," he chokes. "I ... don't."

"Poor fellow." Baltar leans in close, so close Gaeta can see tiny bloodshot veins whirling around his irises. "Never fear. You take of my little problem and I'll take care of yours. What's your preference? Blondes? Brunettes? Not a lot of red heads in this neck of the woods, but I'll see what I can do."

"I .... I ... don't ..."

Baltar blinks, but his mind -- and mouth -- are on one of their unstoppable rolls. "You prefer gentlemen?" He thinks for less than a second. "Tell you what. Instead of me procuring someone for you, I'll be glad to help you out myself. Less controversial, as long as we're discreet, eh? What do you say?" Baltar's look grows wild -- panicked. "Say yes, Lt Gaeta. Please ... Say ... Yes."

What in Hades can Gaeta say to that? His head is spinning in twenty different directions, his cock is practically jumping up and down at the thought and he really, really needs to get away from Gaius Baltar before he pukes from stress.

"Excuse me," he cries, taking off to the back decks as fast as he can, ignoring Baltar's loud appeals for him to return.

Upon reaching the latrine, Gaeta leaps into a free stall and rips the zipper on his trousers to get at his cock. It doesn't take long, less than a minute before he's leaning back against the door, panting hard, sweat pouring down his neck and face.

"Gods," he groans. "Why me?"

The gods don't answer, so Gaeta ends up having to hold his pants together as he hobbles from the latrine and back to his quarters. He's red and embarrassed and miserable and he's going to take Dr. Baltar up on his offer the second he can figure out some way to explain why the Cylon detector gave a false green light to Sharon without malicious intent.

Not that he believes Dr. Baltar did it on purpose.

Or, at least, that's not what his penis believes.

~*~

At Baltar's inquisition, Commander Adama listens to Gaeta's findings with his usual stern gravity. He nods in all the proper places, he quirks his lips at others ... at one point he takes off his glasses to clean them and it's at this moment when Gaeta is quite sure he's got him convinced of Dr. Baltar's innocence in the Great Cylon Detector Frak-Up.

He knows The Old Man's tics better than he knew his late father's. Once the glasses come off, that means the gloves are too and Dr. Baltar is safe.

At least until his next screw-up.

Gaeta's sweating bullets by the time the meeting is over, but Baltar is ecstatic. "Well done," he cries, slapping Gaeta on the back. "You are amazing, you know that?"

"I dunno." As much as he hates to admit it, he's tired. Sleep is almost as attractive as sex at this point. "I was simply stating the facts, Dr. Baltar."

Baltar doesn't seem to notice Gaeta's doubts. "Right. And I bet you're even more amazing in other ... more private ... situations," he whispers lasciviously. "What do you say to meeting, oh, later on this evening, in my quarters? Drop by at whatever hour they decide to unchain you from that dreary booth in the bridge, all right?"

Now Gaeta's tired and annoyed. Keeping a watchful eye on that "dreary booth" has saved the fleet more times than any man could count, but Gaeta doesn't mention that obvious fact. His logical brain wants to give Dr. Baltar a polite 'thanks, but no thanks' but every cell below his waist won't hear of it. His cock is wide awake and embarrassing him again, right in front of Col. Tigh, who smirks at Gaeta with undisguised amusement.

Damn. For a drunkard, that guy sure is on the ball, he thinks sadly.

What the hell, everyone is more aware than the Senior Officer of the Watch is, it seems. "I'll try to be there at 2200," he murmurs back between clenched teeth. "But I can't make any promises."

"Wonderful! See you then," Baltar replies cheerfully. He practically bounces out the conference room door, lab coat tails flapping.

"Great," Gaeta sighs, gathering up his materials. He wonders if he can request a double shift. Doubtful as that would raise all of the Old Man's suspicions and he'd end up receiving a day-long furlough instead. He wonders what he should wear -- not that he has that many choices, beyond three basics, one dress uniform and an ill-fitting set of civvies, bought right after he ate his way through exam stress in freshman year of university. He wonders if Baltar really wants this, if he even wants this, no matter what his body is insisting.

He wonders if being a virgin is as problematic as it appears, at least to him.

~*~

Even walking slowly, Gaeta arrives at Dr. Baltar's quarters at 22:02, just shy of being both desperate and pathetic.

The door is open. He knocks gently anyway before entering, amazed to see the lavish decor Dr. Baltar has somehow acquired during their trek away from disaster. The sleep area is positively decadent -- big, thick mattress, warm bedspread, real sheets -- he has curtains on the porthole, for Hera's sake. There's a small desk and lamp, books stacked up and a pile of laundry -- actual laundry -- in the far corner, proving Baltar owns more clothing than the President of the Colonies herself.

It's a nicer room than the Commander's quarters. Gaeta can't help but gape, even as Baltar smirks at him from his desk chair. Slowly, he swivels in it, back and forth and his intent stare makes Gaeta flush hotly.

"I'm glad you made it." His voice is smooth. "Would you like a drink?"

Gaeta nods gratefully.

Baltar rises to pour the ambrosia. Gaeta notices he's not wearing socks, which strikes him as a very hot thing indeed. The military has over a dozen rules on socks -- how to fold them, how to store them, how you must never, ever be caught alive or dead without wearing some -- so this seems like an outrageously sexy breach of protocol aboard a battlestar, even for a civvie.

Yeah, that's hot all right and gods, it's sad at how little it takes to turn Gaeta on.

Baltar places the drink in his hand, smiling lightly. He raises his own glass in a toast. "To friendships you can count on. A rare and wonderful thing in these terrible times."

"Yeah," Gaeta replies, slugging down the entire drink in one gulp. "Listen, Dr. Baltar ..."

"Gaius, my friend. Please, let's not rest on formalities all the time. It's very dull."

"I don't know if you really want to go through with this."

"Why not?" Mild curiosity. "Didn't catch anything nasty from that tattoo needle, I hope?"

"No, no ... I ... you see," Gaeta stumbles before reaching over and grabbing the ambrosia bottle up from Baltar's desk. He hurriedly pours himself another glassful and gulps it down. Takes a deep breath past the tightness in his throat and ... "I've never done this before. With anyone."

There, it's out. The terrible secret of exactly how much he's missed out in life due to wanting to be nothing more than a scanner watcher on a battlestar. He half expects Baltar to escort him out, half excepts him to laugh, but to Gaeta's surprise, the good doctor does neither.

He seems ... delighted. "That's fabulous!" Huge smile, until he notices Gaeta's stricken look. He sobers slightly. "I mean, I'm very happy that you'd choose me. That's quite an honor." Peering at Gaeta, he moves in closer, until they are almost nose to nose. "Wait a moment, are you ... frightened? Is that what's causing all this tension?"

Gaeta swallows hard before nodding. What the hells. He is scared, more of being a total clumsy idiot, making a whole bunch of stupid mistakes than of anything else. He's been making a lot of mistakes lately ... he doesn't want his first time to be just one in a series of dumb, dumb things he's done.

Baltar's expression softens with compassion. "There's no need to be afraid. Come," he says, plucking the empty glass away before taking Gaeta by the hand and leading him to the well-appointed rack. "Sit down. Take off your coat, stay awhile." He helps Gaeta take off the constricting dress jacket, which predictably gets caught a couple of times before conceding its removal. "Now, I know it's easy to tell you to relax and a lot of good that ever does, so if you must be nervous, feel free to be nervous. I don't mind."

"Thanks," Gaeta murmurs, staring at his hands. They are trembling. "I feel incredibly stupid."

"Why?" Gentle tone, as if he's talking to a skittish animal. Carefully ... slowly ... he reaches up and starts rubbing Gaeta's back, his palm traveling in soothing circles. "Everyone has a first time. It's not that uncommon to experience it later in life."

"At my age? Please," Gaeta scoffs. He feels the doctor's touch, but instead of sending him jumping through Galactica's titanium roof, it feels exactly as it should ... good. Really good. "I wasted a lot of my life getting to be here, in this position. I didn't think I'd end up never being able to do anything else."

"I think that eventuality took all of us by surprise. By the way, I did enjoy your interview in the documentary. Very ... revealing."

Gaeta groans. Not that again; he was never going to live it down. "I was still drunk from the night before. The reporter dragged me into the chair straight from my rack. I think she did it on purpose. The guys haven't stopped making fun of me yet. Even the Old Man laughed at me. He never laughs at /anyone/."

"The ladies were less inclined to mockery, I'm betting. How many offers did you get afterwards?"

Gaeta's squints, thinking. "Um, a few. I had an assignment aboard the Astral Queen and some girls did come over to me. I didn't know what to say. They were really nice and all, but ..."

"Not your thing. I understand. Although you might want to learn to be less rigid in your tastes eventually. I have a feeling we'll all have to improvise in the years to come."

Improvise. What a strange way of putting it, so very Baltar, and Gaeta can't help but chuckle. The drinks are starting to warm him and Baltar's hand is still moving in smooth circles over his back, sometimes touching a patch of bare skin on his neck and shoulders, making them tingle. Suddenly, he's happy to be there, happy that Baltar is touching him and when he dares to glance up, the kind grin he's met with makes his heart leap, in the best way possible.

He could still leave, really, he could, but instead Gaeta closes his eyes, tilts his head and waits.

"But tonight's not for that," Baltar whispers between kisses to the corner of Gaeta's mouth. "Tonight you can have whatever it is you think you've missed."

The kiss reaches his lips. It's warm, tasting like illegally-good ambrosia. He tries not to make too much noise when Baltar's tongue touches his own, but it's useless, for a moment later, he's moaning and fumbling at Baltar like a schoolboy. Unfair how hot he's getting, how /needy/, so Gaeta decides to take a chance, pushing him onto the bed (gods, it's really not a rack, is it?), feeling his body beneath his, hot and long and utterly relaxed.

"My, my ..." Baltar breathes, between Gaeta's harsh kisses. "We're as much a tiger as our tattoo, aren't we?"

"Um ... yeah ..." Gaeta mutters back, the buttons of Baltar's well-pressed dress shirt slipping out between his fingers in the most infuriating way.

Not to worry, though, as Baltar flips Gaeta onto his back and takes off his own shirt in what seems like a single smooth move. He's not as pale as most of the guys Gaeta's been looking at in the showers on occasion, but then again, they've been in space without a drop of sunshine, sometimes for years. Baltar still possess some of his well-toned Caprica tan and Gaeta runs his hands reverently over the warm skin, touching in a way, the last vestiges of sunlight from his lost home world.

Baltar's nipples perk with interest beneath Gaeta's thumbs. He takes a chance, stretching up to lick and bite at them, enjoying how the doctor loses some of his strained composure. "Frak ..." he murmurs, mouth setting into a hard line. "You want this, don't you?"

Of course he wants it. He's been waiting years for it, but nothing prepares Gaeta for the way it feels when Baltar reaches down and massages him through his pants before yanking them off, not getting flustered in the slightest when they tangle around his ankles.

Pull, tug, two shakes and they are gone along with his socks. The underwear stuck around his knees gets shucked as well and Gaeta finds that it feels perfectly fine being nude, especially when Baltar's tongue is exploring his mouth, his hands ever busy, running along his sides, fingers brushing along his cock.

"You're not naked enough," Gaeta complains with a gasp, trying to squirm in such a way so as to make Baltar's pants disappear, magically, if need be.

Baltar just laughs and shimmies out of them without breaking contact, proving once and for all that the Doctor is a talented man indeed. More kisses, until he says, "Since this is your first time, it's your choice. What would you like?" A nip to Gaeta's jaw. "I could frak you, you could frak me, or we can just do this ..." Pulling up Gaeta's fingers, he sucks one in, swirling his tongue along the pad before pulling off with an exaggerated 'pop'. He laughs at Gaeta's shocked expression. "Or we can be old-fashioned about it, if you'd like."

With that, he grinds his hips down, cocks touching, making Gaeta gasp and arch his back. "Gods!"

The sweat starts to bead on Baltar's smooth chest, his forehead. He's smiling that sly, crooked smile Gaeta sometime sees, but is rarely directed at him except that everything's for him now and all he can do is hold on as Gaius wraps his fist around both their cocks, pumping in time with the rhythm of their hips.

It's slippery and awkward and possibly the very best thing in the universe. All Gaeta can do is close his eyes and let his body take over until he comes, messily, between them.

When he opens his eyes again, he sees Baltar is still jacking his cock. It takes only another few seconds for Baltar to get himself off, something Gaeta -- and the entire ship -- knows he's had a lot of practice at.

But it's different somehow, watching him here, just the two of them ... doing it because Gaeta's made him horny enough to need it.

It's hot. Really, really hot. And when Baltar shoots all over Gaeta's stomach he can't help but touch his fingers to the come pooling there. Warm and sticky and when he raises his hand to his mouth to taste, Baltar's eyes widen.

"Some novice we are," he chuckles. "Are you sure that isn't just some line you use to get what you want?"

Gaeta blinks at him. "No. I'd never lie like that."

Baltar rolls off of him, laughing. Fumbles for something beneath the bed and a minute later, a pack of cigarettes appears in his hand. "Care for one?"

Gaeta wonders where he's gotten an entire pack of cigarettes from -- the going rate for one smoke is over a hundred cubits or an excellent hand of triad -- but he doesn't ask questions. He's feeling more than a little smug and what's better than lighting up after sex?

Because he did have sex. Exactly three minutes and fifty-five seconds ago. With Dr. Baltar.

With Dr. Baltar ... and suddenly, Gaeta's stomach lurches, even as Baltar patiently holds the match for him.

"Hello, it burns, Felix," he admonishes as the flame gets closer to his fingertips.

"Oh, sorry." Gaeta quickly puffs and does his best to hide the initial choke these things always give him. It's been getting easier, smoking, and Gaeta wonders if that's a good thing. Smoking is the last habit he needs, especially since he's pretty sure he's developed an addictive new one, as of ... wait ... four minutes and twelve seconds ago.

The need to have sex with Gaius Baltar. Repeatedly.

Shit he thinks, as Baltar smokes quietly besides him, his unruly hair spread out over the shared pillow. This is a one-time deal and here he is wasting his time smoking a stupid cigarette when he could be doing so many more interesting things with his hands ... his mouth.

Taking a last draw, Gaeta tamps down the cigarette, making sure it's out before laying it down on the nightstand. "That's a very expensive two drags you took there," Baltar says, but quickly shuts up when Gaeta slides down his body and takes his cock into his mouth, sucking until the doctor is hard and smiling again.

"I like the way you think, lieutenant," Baltar says, taking a leisurely drag on his cigarette. He puts his other hand on the back of Gaeta's head, guiding his motions. "I really do."

Gaeta's pretty sure he's doing it all wrong, but Baltar doesn't seem to mind, if his loud moans are any indiction. "Yes ... yes ... that's it," he grinds out, his fingers tightening in Gaeta's short hair.

A few pleas to the gods later, Baltar's orgasm comes with shocking suddenness, squirting hotly down Gaeta's throat and he's pleased to discover that swallowing is a lot easier than smoking.

He's loathe to take his mouth away, but he does, wiping off his chin with the back of his hand. "Okay?" he asks shyly.

"Since you made me drop my cigarette ... somewhere ... I'd say that's better than 'okay'," Baltar replies, scrambling up and looking around for the still-lit smoke. "Damn it."

Gaeta sees it on the floor. He bends down to pick it up and takes a drag before handing it back to Baltar.

"Thanks," he says, reaching for his pants. "I had a really nice time."

Baltar looks ... stunned. "You have to go already?"

Good old Gaius -- looking so honestly disappointed. But Gaeta thinks he knows better. "Yes. My shift's up in two hours. I might have to wait that long to get a shower."

"Oh. All right, I guess."

The doctor's pout is cute, too cute to resist, so Gaeta kisses it. "Thank you. This was fantastic. I'll never forget it." Quickly, he scrambles to get back into his uniform. It doesn't take long -- it never does -- and Gaeta gives Gaius a little wave before quietly sliding out the door. "Good night."

"Felix ..."

Gaeta doesn't wait around to listen to Baltar's goodbye. Why ruin an otherwise perfect evening?

The halls are quiet and a part of Gaeta is giddy at losing his virginity, while another wonders if the people around him can tell that he's just gotten laid.

Another part of him wonders how much he'll miss Baltar's hands on him, his kisses, hell, his cock against his tongue ... but that's the part he is going to ignore because wondering that will probably drive him crazier than he already is.

Because he knows it's going it's going to be a slow ride to Hades before he ever gets a chance to do those things again.

~*~

In the end, the only person who could tell he got laid is Dualla and she's delighted, bouncing up and down behind her console in the bridge. "How was it ... sir?"

"How was what?"

"You know what," she replies teasingly. "Was it /magical/? Did you see supernovas? Tumble from the peaks of Mt. Olympus itself?"

Gaeta rolls his eyes. "Where'd you get those stupid sayings? The last romance novel left in Cloud Nine's library? If you ask me, tumbling from the peak of Mt. Olympus sounds more painful than fun."

"Ecstasy is pain," she says, dramatically clasping her hands together and closing her eyes. "Oh, the wonder of two bodies entwined in Aphrodite's warm embrace, floating together on the sea of passion, hoping never to see shore."

Someone hands him a piece of paper. Gaeta accepts it without looking. "You're scaring me, Dee. Seriously scaring me."

She snorts with laughter, then points to the note in his hand. "That's a love letter isn't it?"

"Oh, sure. Because the coordinate monkeys love me so much," he replies unfolding it, expecting to see nothing more than a few lines of code or a dull series of numerals.

What he sees is none of the above. Instead, it's the familiar scrawl of one Dr. Gaius Baltar, practically unreadable except to someone who's had practice at deciphering it and Gaeta's had a lot of that.

What he sees nearly makes his heart stop.

I need you. Again. And again. And again. Yours, GB.

Gaeta's mouth drops, as a hot flush of ... embarrassment? Desire? Ecstasy that made him feel like he was falling from the peaks of Mt. Olympus, fills his face. Mouth hanging open, he glances up at Dee, who claps her hands gleefully.

"It is a love note!" she squeaks. "I can't wait to find out who it is."

"Um ..."

"Never mind," she says, smacking him on the shoulder. "Go, get a make-out session in. I'll cover for you."

"But ..."

"No buts. Go," she orders, as if she's the officer in charge, adding "sir" as an afterthought. "Hurry up!"

Against all his better judgement, Gaeta obeys her. He starts out walking, but as the full implication of the note hits him, he speeds up until reaching a full-paced jog. As as he runs down the hallway to Dr. Baltar's office, he reaches up to scratch at his tattoo out of habit.

He's surprised to discover that it doesn't itch anymore. "How odd. How oddly wonderful," he thinks, knocking on Baltar's door and letting a new world open up with the creaking of a hinge.

~*~
the end!

All comments are very welcome. Thanks for reading. :D