Apollo and Starbuck came out of decontamination, and took the lift out of the docking bay. They were careful not to look at each other as they exited the lift and strode down the corridor to Apollo's quarters.
It was like this after a firefight lately. Once inside, the locking mechanism set, Apollo grasped the front of his wingman's flight jacket.
"Dear Lords of Kobol! I thought you were gone!" His mouth crushed down on Starbuck's, while his hands simultaneously pulled at said jacket.
"Mmmpf!" Starbuck replied, assisting in the effort. The jacket landed somewhere in the vicinity of the kaffe table.
"I could see Boomer and Jolly, but you were gone! Damn you!"
"Take it easy, Pol! I just ducked behind that asteroid so I could surprise the tincans that were tailing you. And I didn't answer because I suspect they can monitor all of our frequencies, scrambled or not." Starbuck managed to say all of this only because his Captain was busy undressing both of them.
"Put that in your report, lieutenant," Apollo said sternly. He propelled his lover toward the bedroom, leaving the carnage of clothing on the floor in the outer room.
Starbuck flopped onto the bed and folded his arms behind his head, a sly grin on his face. Gods, how Apollo loved that saucy, smug grin! His eyes traveled lower. Oh my, how ready he was!
"You scared me, Bucko!" he growled, placing one knee on the bed. In one quick move, he flipped Starbuck onto his stomach.
"I'm sorry!" Starbuck's apology was muffled. He turned his head on the pillow enough to be able to breathe. Apollo was really heated up this time. And Starbuck *was* sorry for upsetting him; he just didn't feel that he had a choice at the time. He was definitely *not* sorry about what he knew was coming.
"I should spank you!" Apollo grumbled, reaching into the bedside cabinet for the jar of lubricant.
Starbuck wriggled his hips invitingly. "I have a better idea, Pol." He couldn't see what Apollo was doing, which added spice to the anticipation. He wondered if he'd mind if Apollo really did spank him. In fun only, of course. He'd had a few women who had enjoyed being spanked as a prelude to sex. He had accommodated them because it was his nature to please; he probably wouldn't have done it of his own volition.
"Oh, yeah? If it doesn't involve piston-like motions on my part, I'm not interested." Apollo still sounded peeved, but Starbuck could tell that his first rush of fright and anger had passed. His fingers were gentle as they smoothed the thick, cool lubricant between his buttocks. Starbuck sighed happily. He had been a little worried too, seeing that second batch of Raiders coming upon them from nowhere.
"Oooh, piston-like - that sounds like fun, Pol!" Starbuck lifted his hips, scrooching up onto his knees just a bit. Apollo's fingers were sliding easily inside him, stretching him carefully. He cried out when those fingers deliberately massaged his prostate. He was so close, so close to coming; it was often like this with his Pol, so good that he scarcely had any control of himself. "Please," he begged, half into the pillow, "come inside me now, Pol!"
He grunted as his lover complied. The little twinge of pain passed quickly, and then it was all centon after centon of deep and intimate pleasure, yielding entirely to the implacable column of flesh inside him. Apollo. His beautiful, green-eyed Pol. Starbuck laughed, ecstatic with delight.
"Are you laughing at me, Star?" Apollo demanded. He gripped his lover's hips and practiced some piston-like movements.
"Not at you, Pol. It's just so - so good!" Starbuck wasn't sure he was being coherent, and he didn't care. "Gods, it's never been this good!"
"You always say that," Apollo panted. A bead of sweat trickled from his hairline down to his jaw.
"It's always true," Starbuck responded breathlessly. He howled as Apollo's fist, slick with lubricant, enclosed his cock, pumping it to the same rhythm as the piston that was moving in his rear. Lords, it was always true! He came with another series of howls, the spasms sharper with each stroke of Apollo's cock against his prostate. And then he could feel Apollo coming too, shouting, shooting like laserfire inside him.
"If it's always true, you'd better not do this with anyone but me," Apollo whispered in his lover's ear. Somehow, they had ended up curled on their sides, Apollo behind Starbuck, both sticky with sweat and semen.
"I don't plan on it," Starbuck assured him in a dry tone.
"You'd better not." Apollo repeated the warning along with a kiss to his wingman's shoulder. "And don't scare me like that ever again!"
"I'll try not to." Starbuck chuckled. "But if you reward me like this, I might keep doing it."
"You're worse than Boxey!" Apollo complained. "Felger! What time is it? We have to pick him up from Instructional Period. They were going to learn about Winter Solstice celebrations today."
Starbuck glanced at the wall chrono. "We have fifteen centons. Let's move our butts!"
****
After Boxey had been put to bed, Apollo brought out the instructions that had been sent home from Boxey's teacher.
"I think we need Athena to help us with this," Apollo groaned. "Look at this list of things we have to buy!" He read aloud:
1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, softened
1 cup firmly packed light brown sugar
1 large egg
1 cup dark molasses
2 tablespoons cider vinegar
5 cups all-purpose flour
2 teaspoons ground ginger
1 1/2 teaspoons baking soda
1 1/4 teaspoons cinnamon
1 teaspoon ground cloves
1/2 teaspoon salt
Icing:
1 1/3 cups confectioners sugar
3 - 4 tsp milk
Consumable colorings
Starbuck leaned over his shoulder and scanned the page. "It says we're supposed to make the dough and chill for several hours. We don't have a refrigeration unit. And the teacher is sending a pastry bag and a cutter home with Boxey tomorrow? What in hells is a pastry bag?"
"This teacher, Mistress Lamia, has it in for me," Apollo sighed. "The same one who voiced the opinion that a single Warrior couldn't be a fit parent. Notice that this is Boxey's project. The other children have different projects. And I'm sure they have much easier projects than this. Look at these measurements! They're archaic! Where in all the hells did she dig this up from? Some tomb on Kobol, probably."
"Don't worry," Starbuck soothed. "I'll get the computer to print them out in a more understandable format. I'm not on duty tomorrow. And you're only in the duty office for a few centars. We have three cycles before Boxey needs to take the finished product in. We'll make up some first, as a trial run, in case we make mistakes."
"I still think we should ask Athena about this. 'Gingerbread Men' - do you think Mistress Lamia is making a little joke at our expense? And what's an electric mixer?"
****
"Well, I guess we could modify a mid-speed drill to be the motor for this electric mixer you need." The tech that Apollo had asked was one that he didn't know well; his own flight crew was off-duty. He seemed to recall that the man's name was Lance. He was tall, gangly, red-haired and geeky, but he hadn't even given Apollo an odd glance when he explained what he needed.
"That might work, Captain," Lance nodded, obviously turning over the problem in his head. "I have a friend in Facilities who might be able to help me. We'll make sure you have something within the next six centars - can't let your kid down, can you?" He gave Apollo a goofy grin.
"Thanks, Corporal. I'll owe you one."
****
"What do you mean I can't just buy a few eggs?" Starbuck asked the poulterer on the Livestock Ship.
"I sell eggs by the dozen, and it'll cost you thirty cubits. You get 'em cheaper if you buy in bulk. Or if you feel like pulling the eggs out of the nests yourself, I'll give you a five-cubit discount." The old man showed his nearly toothless gums in what Starbuck assumed was a smile.
"If I get the eggs out myself, I'll give you twenty cubits," he bargained.
To his surprise, the old man agreed. One dozen eggs and countless scratches and pecks later, Starbuck understood why. He'd had no idea that hens were so nasty! Or that his typical charm would have no effect on them.
The rest of the items were somewhat easier to obtain, if you knew where to look. Ginger, cinnamon and cloves were rare and highly prized, but Starbuck had once dated a Taurean spice-merchant, and she as more than willing to help him out for old times' sake. He hadn't even hinted at renewing their relationship, really he hadn't. It still cost him forty cubits for three tiny jars. Fortunately, Apollo had given him fifty cubits to add to his own spending stash; at this rate, he was going to have to win a few hands of Pyramid to pay for these 'Gingerbread Men'.
Apollo and Boxey were both waiting for him when he returned. Starbuck quickly handed his bags of purchases to Apollo over Boxey's head, anticipating the over-enthusiastic-kid attack.
"There's eggs in there," Starbuck warned, swinging Boxey into the air. "Hello, kiddo! We've got everything we need to make these 'Gingerbread Men', I think. Well, almost everything," he revised as he saw Apollo shake his head.
"Where are we going to keep these eggs, Bucko? And the butter and milk?" Apollo looked tired and disheartened. "The eggs might be all right for a day or two, but -"
"Not a problem. There's a storage bin right at the end of the docking bay - believe me, it's cold enough there!" Starbuck put Boxey down and ruffled his hair. "Now what did you do for an 'electric mixer' - take Muffit to Dr. Wilker for a mixer attachment?" Starbuck aimed an air-kiss at his lover over Boxey's head.
"No, silly Uncle Starbuck! Not Muffit!"
"Too bad! I thought maybe Muffit would have found a purpose in life."
Apollo put the purchases on the kaffe table, careful to keep the eggs upright, and picked up the makeshift mixer that Lance had proudly presented with a centar to spare. He pressed one of the buttons and the blades at the end started whirring. Starbuck jumped back, and Boxey giggled.
"Holy frack! That looks more like a weapon than a - a cooking implement!"
"Doesn't it though?" Apollo examined it with a critical eye. "You know, if we had attachments like these - big ones, with sharp blades - on our Vipers, we could cut up Cylons into little pieces. For really close combat - hey, it might work."
"We could cut up ourselves with them, too," Starbuck pointed out.
****
Because it was still early, they decided to try mixing the first batch of dough with Boxey awake to 'help' them. Apollo had borrowed all of the appropriate utensils, measuring devices and baking sheets from Athena, who had snickered when he told her that he and Starbuck wanted to try this project themselves; she had offered to act as back-up if anything went horribly wrong.
"In a large bowl, with an electric mixer cream the butter, add the sugar, and beat the mixture until fluffy. Beat in the egg, the molasses, and the vinegar." Apollo read aloud. Starbuck handed Boxey half of the butter to put into the big metal bowl. Then they measured the sugar together while Apollo tried to set the drill-mixer on it's slowest speed. After a few adjustments - and several globs of flying butter - a semblance of mixing was achieved.
"This is a pretty interesting gadget," Apollo commented proudly, lifting it slightly out of the mixture. Starbuck immediately covered the bowl with his hands.
"Dad!" Boxey squealed. "Stop!"
"Don't do that while it's running!" Starbuck cried. "It's spattering everywhere!"
"Frack, Starbuck, what happened to your hands?" Apollo had only just noticed the raw-looking scratches. Of course, Boxey had to look, too.
"Eww! It looks like something gnawed on your hands, Uncle Starbuck!" The unnatural child seemed delighted at the prospect.
"It was chickens," he replied. "They didn't want to give up the eggs. Now get the other bowl, Boxey, and measure the flour, the ginger, the baking soda, the cinnamon, the cloves, and the salt into that bowl and mix it all around." Starbuck watched carefully to make sure the measurements were exact. Apollo continued to play with his new toy, making it whir to various rhythms against the side of the metal bowl.
"It says stir the dry mixture into the butter mixture, a little at a time," Boxey read. He dumped about a third of the dry ingredients into the bowl with the drill-mixer from hell in it. A puff of flour was flung back in his face, and all over Starbuck's uniform pants. Apollo gave them both an apologetic grin.
"That's it - I'm taking charge of that - that weapon!" Starbuck asserted. He soon discovered that it was harder to control that he'd thought, but somehow the three of them managed to get all of the ingredients blended.
"It says that the dough will be soft," Apollo continued reading. "Divide the dough into fourths, dust it with flour, and wrap each piece in waxed paper. Luckily, Athena had waxed paper. Flatten the dough slightly and chill it for at least 3 centars."
They followed the instructions, somehow managing to fling even more flour over themselves, and eventually ended up with four neatly-wrapped packages of dough.
"What happens next?" Boxey asked. "When do we get to put on the icing?"
"There are more steps before we get to the icing," Apollo told him. "Right now you need to go to bed - after I clean you up a bit. I'll meet you in the turbowash." After Boxey had stumbled off, Apollo sighed. "Star, would you mind taking the dough and the perishables to the docking bay? And when you come back, we need to figure out how to roll out and bake these things."
****
Boxey was safely in bed by the time Starbuck returned. Apollo was attempting to clean up the mess they'd made, wondering if he shouldn't have just let his sister take care of all this.
"Everything stowed away?" he asked.
"Yes, and no," Starbuck replied. "Cree just better make it back safely from his patrol."
"What?" Apollo turned. He had flour in his hair and on his cheek.
"The storage bin that I was thinking of was almost full. I fit everything in it except the dough. So I gave the dough to Cree to take on patrol with him. You know how cold it is inside a Viper - enough to chill dough, I think."
Apollo laughed. "You are so - inventive at times, Star. And, of course, Cree will do anything for you - even carry dough on patrol!" He dried his hands and picked something up from the table, dangling it in front of his lover.
The blue eyes went wide. "What the frack is that?"
Apollo erupted into giggles - or as close to a giggle as he ever got. "This is the pastry bag, complete with interchangeable tips! It's for decorating baked goods with icing, Star. What did you think it was?"
"You don't want to know." Starbuck smiled that wicked little smile of his that showed only a hint of teeth, just enough to suggest that he might bite.
****
After a short sleep period, Starbuck met Cree in the docking bay to retrieve the chilled dough. The younger pilot smiled as he turned the packages over.
"You know, the inside of a cockpit never smelled so good, Starbuck. All the pilots are going to want to carry this stuff, once word gets out."
"How many of the finished product do you want, Cree?" Starbuck asked innocently. "Will six do?"
Cree nodded eagerly. "Thanks, Starbuck!"
****
Since Boxey had the next two cycles off from Instructional Period, Apollo juggled their patrols so that he and Starbuck could help him finish the 'Gingerbread Men'. Boxey was still sleeping when Starbuck returned with the chilled dough.
"We're going to have to use Athena's cooker, since mine is too small," Apollo said. "She won't be there - since she's on duty - so it'll be just like doing it ourselves."
Starbuck set the packages of dough on the table and flung an arm about his captain's shoulders. "You know, Apollo, there are many things that I've dreamed of doing with you." He nibbled at his lover's earlobe. "But baking with you was never one of them." He laid his finger over Apollo's lips when he opened them to protest. "Don't worry, I'll reserve judgement until we get to the icing and the pastry bag."
"Give it up with that pastry bag, Bucko! You have a perverted mind!"
Starbuck smiled benevolently. "And you love it, Pol. Why did you make it a point to show me that thing anyway, hmm?" He nuzzled the side of Apollo's neck. "It's time to wake the imp before we need to send the dough on patrol again."
While Apollo went to wake his son, Starbuck read the next part of the instructions:
"Roll out the dough, 1 piece at a time, 1/4-inch thick on a floured surface and cut out shapes with a 4-inch gingerbread man cutter dipped in flour. Transfer the gingerbread men with a spatula to buttered baking sheets, arranging them 2-inches apart, and bake them in the oven at 375 degrees F. for 6 to 8 centons or until no imprint remains when they are touched lightly with the fingertip. Transfer the gingerbread men with the spatula to racks and let them cool." He calculated the measurements in his head. "Okay, how hard can this be?"
They ended up using an ambrosa bottle to roll out the dough. Cutting out the shapes was Boxey's job, which he took very seriously. Every one had to be perfect. Starbuck made a mental note to keep an eye on that tendency; he was sure that Apollo didn't mean to foster the same type of rabid perfectionism in his son that had been fostered in him, but maybe it was just an Adaman parenting trait. What did he know? He didn't even recall any parents whom he would have attempted to please at all costs.
They received some odd stares as they trooped to Athena's quarters with five baking sheets, but it was obvious that no one wanted to ask what they were doing. Starbuck didn't wonder at that. Since Apollo had made their relationship very public via IFB, and Starbuck himself was now hosting a controversial IFB program, many people seemed to feel uneasy talking to them. As though their 'oddity' might rub off or something. Of course, there were just as many people who had come forward to support them, although most of these were not of the military population.
With the written instructions that Athena had left for them, plus the calculations that Starbuck had done, they managed to bake all of the 'Gingerbread Men' and remove them from the baking sheets without a single casualty. There were 48 of them. When they had cooled enough, they marched back through the corridors, and once back in Apollo's quarters, began to plan the icing phase.
"I want blue and pink and green decorations!" Boxey insisted. "That's what the picture shows!"
"I think we can do that. The little bottles of consumable colorings come in blue, green, red and yellow," Starbuck said. "And we can make the icing as soon as I get the milk from the docking bay. I may as well bring up the butter too, since we have to make another batch."
Apollo cast him a horrified glance. "Why do we need to make another batch, Bucko? What am I not understanding here? Boxey needs to take 45 'Gingerbread Men' in on Seconday. We have 48."
Starbuck grimaced. "I promised six of them to Cree for chaperoning the dough."
"Oh, goody! We get to make more 'Gingerbread Men'!" Boxey was jumping up and down with glee.
Apollo pounded his fist into the palm of his other hand, demonstrating what he'd like to do to Starbuck at that moment. "Maybe not, Boxey. Maybe we'll just watch Uncle Starbuck make the 'Gingerbread Men' all by himself."
"That's no fun!" Boxey went over to Starbuck and tugged on his hand. "I'll help you, Uncle Starbuck - Dad can watch and be mad if he wants."
Apollo, faced with two pairs of pleading eyes - one blue, one brown - gave in with scarcely a struggle. "All right - I have to wield the drill-mixer from the seventh hell, after all."
****
Decorating with a pastry bag required some skill and practice, as they discovered. Of course, since they had made the extra batch anyway, they could afford to eat their mistakes. Apollo put a halt to that after Boxey's fourth 'mistake'.
"You are going to be sick, young man!" he said sternly. "No more until tomorrow. And no more icing either!" He heard Starbuck take a breath, as if to speak - and he quickly forestalled him. "You too! No more! I don't want to be holding anyone's head over the turboflush tonight, is that clear? In fact, we should all go to the OC and get some dinner. We can finish up the decorating when we get back."
Boxey led the way, and Starbuck took advantage of the momentary privacy to surreptitiously pat his captain's butt. Apollo jumped a bit, and glared.
"Lighten up, Pol. You're not on duty. Neither of us is even in uniform, for obvious reasons. And your son is far ahead of us." He smiled. "Will you let me have two 'Gingerbread Men' to decorate myself if I promise not to fondle your butt in public?"
"If that's all it takes, yes, take several of them." Apollo glanced at his wingman, then, suddenly wondering what he was up to. "Starbuck, this doesn't have anything to do with the pastry bag, does it?"
"Well, I'll need to use it to decorate them." Starbuck seemed too entirely innocent. "And no, you can't watch."
****
Amazingly enough, many of the pilots had heard of the Gingerbread Men by the time Apollo and Starbuck entered the OC. And Boxey was telling them of the different Winter Solstice celebrations he had learned about.
"You need two mirrors and a candle, and you look for the seventh reflection at the Winter Solstice, and you'll see your future. And on Sagittara, long ago, when there were slaves, on the day of the Winter Solstice the slaves would become the masters. My favorite is the old Virgon story about how when there was too much darkness at the Winter Solstice, the Great Stag would bring the Sun back between his horns."
Apollo and Starbuck glanced at each other.
"I never heard that one," Starbuck whispered.
"I have." Apollo smiled. "You've always brought me back."
****
Apollo and Starbuck both accompanied Boxey to Instructional Period along with the required 'Gingerbread Men'. The teacher, Mistress Lamia, swarmed up to Apollo with a fatuous smile.
"Captain, it's so nice of you to take time out from your duties to bring Boxey's project to us." She seemed to totally ignore Starbuck, who was setting the trays of 'Gingerbread Men' on some desks at the back of the room. The children, however, were anxious to meet him, after hearing Boxey talk about him so much.
"It's the least I can do - as a single parent," Apollo said stiffly.
"Maybe it's time you remedied that situation," Mistress Lamia suggested, simpering.
""Oh, I plan to. As soon as I get up the nerve."
"You have someone in mind, then?" She seemed disappointed.
"I certainly do." Apollo frowned. "You don't watch IFB programs much, do you?"
"Of course I watch the educational programs..." Her voice trailed off as her eyes focused on Starbuck. "Oh, it's - it's that vulgar man who does the sex program."
Starbuck chose that moment to saunter over to where Apollo and Mistress Lamia were standing. He held out something wrapped in a napkin, and he was smiling his most devastatingly charming smile.
"I made these especially for you, Mistress Lamia," he said.
She unwrapped the little package, and Apollo caught a glimpse of two anatomically correct 'Gingerbread Men', without pants, but neatly decorated with flight jackets, tiny insignia and boots.
Starbuck waited for the woman to gasp in shock, then delivered the coup de grace in a deadly whisper: "We're keeping the pastry bag."
THE END