"Why?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. Because it's you, I guess."
"I don't think it's a good idea."
"Why not?"
"Well, Starbuck, I'm not worried about you, it's me. I don't know if I can just watch."
He considers my response. "Yeah, you're right."
Gods, even talking like this gets me all keyed up, my heart racing a little in anticipation. It's absolutely true, what they told me so long ago on Caprica: addictions never completely go away, they just wait for a weak moment and roar back with a vengeance.
We've been talking about my past, about my more shameful experiences; at least, according to my father that's what they were. An addict for a son - oh, not the Great Adama, how would that be possible? But I spent a good 2 yahrens as just that: an addict, and a Captain, until one interfered too much with the other.
My pleasure was an intense little concoction appropriately named 'Bliss'. It turned you inside-out; it showed you visions of heaven; it made you strong and calmed your anger. And it lingered, giving you clarity and control amongst insanity of war.
But it would also kill you if you let it, a form of death not beyond temptation. I know. I thought about it.
"You can get some yourself," I say to Starbuck.
"But I don't know what to do with it."
Ever since I admitted to Starbuck that I wasn't as squeaky clean as he thinks I am, he's been obsessed with this part of my life, coming back to it in private conversation. He asks what my father did (secretly packed me off to rehab), how it affected my command (didn't, until near the end), how many officers I knew used it (too many). In fact, it was the worst kept secret in the whole Colonial Defence Force. People would joke about how Bliss was 'basic equipment.'
Did I still crave it (sometimes). Have I used it since (no).
Can I get it on the Galactica (probably).
"All you do is pop it in the hypospray and find your jugular," I say. "Nothing to it."
We've shared many experiences, Starbuck and I, growing very close. Perhaps he feels he's shown me all his vices, while I've guarded mine, only reluctantly releasing this information. "So, you do have a past," he said when I told him, inordinately pleased with my imperfection. "I guess you're more like the rest of us than anybody realized."
I only stopped using because I made a mistake one day. And I'm not even convinced this mistake was due to Bliss. I might have screwed up in the same way completely sober, but it's easy to blame the addiction, and everyone thinks that if the addiction is taken away, you won't fuck up again. Simplistic. Very, very simplistic. I miss my days of clarity, where decisions were easy. That particular day, my last day being completely alive, I made the wrong choice, and my squadron came within a hair of being annihilated. We all got back safely, but there was an investigation, and then my father stepped in and made a deal that got me shipped to Caprica and a facility in the Tylo Mountains. Lovely scenery, I remember. Almost as good as the Bliss.
Now I suppose my drug of choice is Starbuck. Can't get enough of him, he leaves me hungry every time. Our friendship grew into physical attraction, a need to touch each other, taste each other, to be lovers.
"Well, don't worry about it, Apollo," he says. "It's okay."
He kisses me, his tongue sliding between my lips. My body has never responded this way to anyone, and he giggles as his hand slides down to touch my growing erection.
"You ever make love while on Bliss?" he asks.
"Oh - yeah."
"What's it like?"
His tongue tickles my earlobe.
"Beyond the best sex dream you've ever had."
Starbuck rolls me onto my side so he's behind me. I feel slick fingers pushing inside, and my breathing becomes ragged as he handles me.
"I really want to do that," he whispers, nibbling on my shoulders and the back of my neck. "I want to fuck you while I'm on it." His fingers come out, replaced by the head of his penis. "I want to know what feels better than this."
He pushes inside, moaning, while his hand reaches around to grab my cock. His heavy leg rests over my hip and he starts thrusting, his hand matching the rhythm. In my ear is the sound of laboured breathing punctuated with small cries. Pleasure radiates from where he's touching me, pleasure that builds nearly to the point of pain -
I come. He catches it in his hand, smears it across my stomach. He presses me forward so I roll flat onto my front, and he does what he likes best, fucks me hard from behind. His forearm cuts into my shoulder blades where it supports all his weight, and he slams against me, as if he's punishing not pleasuring. But I like it. I like not being able to breath; it transports me. My vision darkens, strange images float across my mind.
"Fuck! Oh, fuck!" he cries as he comes, holding himself flush against me, his arms shaking from the strain.
Collapse. First down onto my back, making me deliciously warm, then beside me on the bed.
"This is better than any sex dream I ever had," he murmurs, stifling a yawn.
***
I have some. Bliss, I mean. I bought it earlier today, knew exactly where to go to get it, and the tiny vial stares at me from across the room.
On Caprica, they'd tell me I'm opening that cell door once again. I can easily be back inside the prison of my addiction, it's just one hypospray away.
But you know what? There are times I think this sober life is the prison, and that vial is the key to escape it. Bliss made me free, and I have never felt free since it was taken away.
My father would… actually, I don't know what he'd do if he knew I bought it. He's convinced that I am 'cured', that that unpleasant episode in my life is over and forgotten. He never asked me why I started taking Bliss; he just ordered me to stop. Weakness, he must have assumed. Some weakness in my character. Some weakness that threatened to shame the family and get me disgracefully discharged from the forces.
He didn't believe me when I told him I functioned better with it. And perhaps I was lying to myself a little bit too, for the drug was taking its toll, physically. I got the shakes. I had an irregular heartbeat. My liver and kidneys weren't flushing all the toxins from my body that they should have. That's how you die on Bliss: you poison yourself, but not with the drug, with all the proper, healthy stuff you ingest. Everything has a by-product that must be purged. Bliss inhibited those processes, overloading your cells with waste.
"Where do you get such ideas?" my father demanded, horrified by what I was saying. "Obviously, the drug's still in you, making you speak nonsense."
"No, it's because it's not in me that I can say these things. I know what I'm missing."
"I can see they have a lot of work to do on you."
"Are you ashamed of me?"
I surprised him. "Well, I," he stammered, "you're sick, Apollo. There's no shame."
"So that's why nobody knows I'm here?"
"It's to protect your career! It's for your own good."
"No guarantees, Dad," I said. "When I get out of here, I might go right back."
I didn't, though. Those people on Caprica got their claws far enough in me that I couldn't shake them off for a long, long time.
Until now. The first step towards finding myself again has been taken. But this is actually for Starbuck. If he wants to know so bad, I can't refuse him. And you don't get addicted after one hit, so he'll be safe.
Why didn't I go back? Truthfully, a tiny, nagging part of me wonders if it did affect me that day, endangering my squadron. No matter how hard I try to stamp out this doubt, it will not leave me.
The irony is, if I was on Bliss, I wouldn't feel this way. No doubts, only calm certainty. Sure, I made a mistake, but we all survived, so no harm done. That's its beauty and its danger.
***
Starbuck holds the vial in the palm of his hand, uncertainty in his eyes.
"But I thought you said you couldn't," he says.
"Well, I have to learn if I'm the master of it, or if it still masters me. I figure if I can handle giving it to you, then I'm okay."
He closes his fingers around the vial and nods. "Let's do it, then."
I get a hypospray and snap the vial into the bottom.
"You want sex, or do you just want to go for a ride this time?" I ask.
"What do you think?"
"Maybe you better just ride. Give you something to look forward to."
"Will I remember it afterwards?"
"Bits and pieces. But I've got to warn you, Bucko. This can give you heaven, but it can also call up your worst demons."
"Yeah, all right."
"No, I'm telling you, and I want you to listen. You'll never be so terrified. I can't promise what results you'll get."
He frowns. "If that can happen, then what's the draw?"
"Some people are into that," I reply. "They're only happy with the nightmare scenario."
"What did you like?"
I smile. "A little of both. Go lie down on the bed."
He does, and I sit beside him, noting his nervousness. I kiss him, then feel for the vein, pressing the hypo against it.
"Last chance," I say.
"Do it."
A small hiss, and his eyes roll back, showing me their eerie whites. I watch him, but really there's nothing to see as consciousness ebbs and flows. He moves a little, makes a small 'uh' sound. I look at him, still fully dressed, splayed on the bed. It's very tempting to play with him while he's in this condition. And it would add an element to where ever he is, now. I know, I've had this done to me.
Besides, it's either that or stick the hypo against my own neck and hope there's a little residue inside.
No, put it down, Apollo. Now.
"Oh, Commander," I mutter as I pull Starbuck's boots off, "if only you knew what I'm doing to one of the men…"
His pants now, which come down after a bit of a struggle, Starbuck essentially dead weight on the bed. There he is, in all his glory, but not very magnificent at the moment. He moves again, and his eyes snap open, but he's not seeing me or anything in this room.
His tunic now, I'll just open it.
"Starbuck," I softly call, "I have a surprise for you."
I touch him, gently tickle his testicles, wrap my fingers around his soft penis and squeeze it, feeling it begin to fill with blood. Starbuck's eyes follow something, he blinks slowly, his mouth drops open and he emits the softest sigh. He's hard now, and instinctively he opens his legs a little, or maybe someone in his hallucination also touches him like this. I slip out of my uniform, wondering just how far I should go. I told him no sex, but, looking at him, I don't know if I can stick to that. I'm sure he wouldn't mind.
Carefully, I lie on top of him, and gaze down at his delirious face. His blue eyes brush over me, but his body responds. His hips move, grinding against mine. His legs part a little more. Starbuck, I think you do want it, and I'm only too happy to oblige.
The lube is always handy, and I finger him gently. I don't want there to be any pain, as that can flip your dreams from heaven to hell in an instant. He's shaking, one trembling hand reaches out before him, moving in a lazy pattern, until it finds me, landing on my head. Fingers in my hair, then the hand slides forward to my face and down to my mouth. I kiss the palm, then the hand drops to touch himself.
"Oh no, you don't," I say, moving it. "That's for me."
Indeed. Into my mouth slides Starbuck's penis, and from him escapes gibberish, a stream of sounds. I suck him in deep, while my fingers stroke, my own cock painfully protesting that it's being ignored, and in the middle of all this, I realize something: I do have a new addiction, and his name is Starbuck. How else would you explain what I'm doing to an unconscious man?
More lube on my cock, Starbuck's heavy legs on my shoulders, and I slowly push inside him. He's quiet now, his mouth open forming one big 'O', and I don't think he's breathing. Then suddenly, he takes a gasping breath, and I start to pump in and out, letting his legs slide down. Some primal awareness makes him wrap them around my waist, and he pulls me closer. Oh my god, this is nearly as good as being fucked while high, this giving it to somebody else. I pump harder, watching his lids drop over his glazed eyes, lips moving soundlessly. He comes, his hot juice shooting out, hitting both of us, and a micron later it's my turn, emptying into him, one big spasm of sweetest ecstasy.
I lie beside him and cover us both with a blanket. His eyes are closed, and his breathing even, like he's asleep. This is the second stage of Bliss: a bit of rest. I could use a bit myself.
***
"How do you feel?" I ask.
"Fantastic."
It's the next day, and Starbuck has undergone a personality change. Bliss has made him a little more serious, a little more thoughtful, but he's not complaining. He does feel fantastic, I can tell.
When he woke up and found himself with no clothes on, he knew what had happened. And he knew why, too.
"So, you had to fuck me to keep from using, too, is that it?"
"Something like that, yeah. Are you mad?"
"Just sorry I missed it. Well, I sort of missed it. I knew something was going on."
"How'd it feel?"
He answered with a small, secret smile, then rolled on top and kissed me, which led to more kissing, which led to... other things... so that we were nearly late for our shifts this morning.
"How long will this last?" he asks now.
"Maybe 'til the end of your shift."
"You have any more?"
"No."
"Probably shouldn't right away. We'll save it for special occasions."
I smile. "All right."
He walks away, to head out on patrol with Boomer, and my smile fades. I lied. I do have more, waiting for me, in my quarters, in a drawer, with a hypo. I don't want it bad enough yet to take it, but it's comforting to know it's there, should things get too rough for me again.
Should Starbuck ever leave me, I mean.
Unrepentant addicts I knew used to say: "It's the one thing that always there for you and won't let you down. You can turn to it with any of your problems and it'll make 'em go away."
Freedom or prison, you choose which.
THE END