It had been a bad day, starting with a hangover and ending with his being docked a secton's pay and confined to the Galactica. Starbuck sighed as he looked around the Officer's Club: no easy marks. He squared his shoulders and walked over to the out-of-the-way table where Apollo sat alone, nursing a small goblet of ambrosa. "Hi?" he said to the Captain, uncertain of his welcome.
"Lieutenant," Apollo acknowledged neutrally.
"Ah, may I join you?" Starbuck asked as meekly as he knew how to.
In answer, Apollo kicked out a chair.
"Thanks," Starbuck murmured. An orderly approached as Starbuck asked, "Don't suppose you could spot me for an ambrosa. I'll pay you back in..."
"Two sectons?" Apollo finished for him, arching an eyebrow. "I don't think so."
Starbuck pulled cubits out of his pouch and counted them, sighing again. "Grog - small," he told the orderly.
Apollo held up a finger, forestalling the orderly. "And another ambrosa for me - large." Apollo smiled innocently at Starbuck.
"Very good, Sirs," the orderly murmured as he moved away to fill their orders.
"That was low, Apollo," Starbuck grumbled before the orderly returned with their drinks.
The orderly placed the large goblet full of ambrosa down carefully in front of Apollo and handed the small glass of grog to Starbuck, asking, "Shall I run a tab for you, Lieutenant?"
Starbuck sighed a third time and shook his head, tossing his cubits onto the orderly's tray. "Nah, this'll be it for me. Keep the change." The orderly murmured his thanks and moved away as Starbuck took a very small sip of his grog, trying to make it last as long as possible. "I think Tigh's fining me a whole secton's pay was a bit much," he began, voicing his frustration at his current situation to Apollo, hoping for a sympathetic ear who could possibly do something to extricate him.
"For pouring an entire mug of grog over Bojay's head?" Apollo asked. "I don't think so."
"He deserved it," Starbuck muttered.
"Should I be worried?" Apollo teased, nodding at the almost untouched glass of grog in Starbuck's hand.
Starbuck was not in a joking mood. "Frak it, Apollo!" he snarled, slamming his glass down. Whatever else he was going to say was lost as the impact jarred the table, sloshing ambrosa onto Apollo's shirt. The goblet teetered for a micron, then fell over, pouring the remainder of its contents onto Apollo's lap.
"I guess I should have been worried," Apollo commented dryly. "Well, Lieutenant, since you can't afford to have my uniform cleaned, I guess that leaves us with two choices."
"Two choices?" Starbuck echoed.
"Yes," Apollo confirmed. "I could report you, like Bojay did." He continued as Starbuck began sputtering about accidental versus intentional dousing. "You'd be fined another secton's pay and probably ordered to get anger management counseling before you could pilot again. And I'd be issued a new uniform. Not a bad deal for me." He paused.
"Or?" Starbuck prompted, not liking his end of the first alternative at all.
"Or you could clean up the ambrosa yourself." Apollo let the statement hang in the air between them.
"You mean like 'by hand'?" Starbuck queried.
Apollo looked around. They were in a shadowed area of the Officer's Club and no one was seated near them. "I was thinking more like by mouth," he said.
Starbuck stared at him, speechless.
"Your choice," Apollo said with a shrug. "You did say you wanted an ambrosa."
It was Starbuck's turn to look around and note the relative privacy they had. Without a word, he slowly slipped down in his chair until he disappeared under the table.
Apollo felt his knees being nudged apart, then a warm sucking sensation enveloped his groin. "You know," he remarked conversationally to the blond head in his lap, "I've heard that creamed ambrosa is excellent. Would you care to try some?"
Starbuck had noticed that Apollo's lap was getting firmer and changing shape. Now he delicately opened Apollo's fly and licked and sucked diligently until the hot cream flowed down his throat. He suctioned the last drops into his mouth, savoring them, then tongued Apollo clean and nuzzled him back into his uniform, carefully nipping the cloth into place.
Starbuck had just crawled back to into his seat when he heard Apollo call, "Hey Boomer! Wait a micron and I'll walk to the Duty Office with you. He looked at the red-faced blond opposite him. "Care to join us?"
Starbuck, barely refraining from panting, his uniform painfully tight across his lap, bit back a whimpered groan and shook his head no.
"Ah, well, some other time then. Thanks for the clean-up," Apollo said cheerfully, smoothing his trousers as he rose from his seat. He noticed that they were somewhat wrinkled, but that only served to hide the ambrosa stain in shadows. He leaned over and dabbed the edge of Starbuck's mouth with a napkin before he strode away.
Starbuck sat for a few centons until his breathing, if not his body, was under control. The orderly approached, having noticed Apollo's sudden departure. "Will you be covering the Captain's tab?" he asked.
"What will you take in place of cubits?" Starbuck asked without much hope.
"Really, Lieutenant!" the orderly said, affronted. "We're not that kind of establishment." He looked pointedly at Starbuck's lap. "And I'm not that kind of man. I think you'd better leave before I call Security."
'Great. Now my reputation's ruined along with my finances,' Starbuck thought, gesturing his acquiescence leave. "Well, I'll leave, but I have no cubits. You'll have to put the ambrosa on the Captain's account."
As the orderly marched away in a huff, he reflected, 'No wonder the Captain left so hurriedly,' he thought. 'I wonder that he allows the man to be a Warrior, as indiscreet as he obviously is.'
'Can this day get any worse?' Starbuck wondered, looking down at his erection, obvious as it strained against his tight trousers.
"Watch where you're going, Lieutenant," a too-familiar voice snapped.
Apparently it could get worse, Starbuck realized miserably. "Sorry, Colonel," he said softly, trying to step around him.
"Just a micron!" the Colonel said, halting him. "Turn around. Lieutenant - and you may not wear that title much longer - you are a disgrace to the uniform. Your trouser knees are dirty, you've a fresh stain on your shirt..." His eyes raked up and down the blond's body, seeming to strip off the uniform as they went. "...and you're obviously not fit for duty." The entire Officer's Club was watching with interest. Tigh dismissed them with a fiery glance and everyone turned back to their drinks, although Starbuck was sure they were listening intently. "Come with me to my office - no, in your present ... condition ... we'd better go to my quarters, they're closer - and we'll discuss what remains of your career." He turned on his heel with military precision and marched out of the Officer's Club, Starbuck following, eyes on the floor. The only way the day could get worse now was if Commander Adama was waiting in Tigh's quarters. Or Sheba.
The end??