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2020-11-05
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What's His

Summary:

A first time challenge gone horribly wrong. :) Yet another fic set after the episode, "Valley of Darkness", a drunken Tigh reacting to Apollo's leadership and heroism. Lots of things implied. No Smut.

Work Text:

What's His

By Rispa Cooper
Rating: Mature audiences, but no smut.
Pairing: Implied Apollo and Tigh. That's right, Tigh.
First, this was for the first time challenge on ShagtheCag@LJ.com. Then it was meant to be a silly bit of kinky hatesex. Now...it's just plain ole non con. Personally, I blame Tigh. (Actually, my apologies to the actor who plays him. Michael Hogan? Sorry, dude).
Non-con. Language. Drinking. Bondage. M/M. Fun Stuff.
AN: I forget spelling of their random-ass measurements of time. Centon seemed good to me.
Disclaimer: They don't belong to me.
For Pookers.

 

"Just where do you think you're going?" That the words were obviously slurred was not a good sign, and frankly, they were also the last thing Lee needed to hear at the moment. It had been a long shift and it promised to be a long night without much sleep; visions of his father fallen on the bridge behind his eyes whenever he tried to close them, the restless babbling murmurs of the President's dreams leaving his stomach churning, and worst of all the tight, sick way his skin seemed to be stretched, itching with the need to wash.

Days later and he could still feel the blood.

The marines flanking him had stood at attention moments before, still respectful of the chain of command though the stink of whatever rotgut Tigh had found being brewed in the ship's cargo holds filled the corridor. His uniform was probably soaked with the stuff, and Lee didn't bother to keep much of the frown from his face as he turned to face the Galactica's acting Commander.

It didn't even take a centon to observe the wrinkled lines of what ought to have been a clean and pressed shirt, the dark stains dotted down the chest and the flushed face above the partly opened collar.

Jaw clenched, Lee raised his hands, displaying his handcuffs as though his destination were not obvious.

"My shift is over." The terms of his parole were clear enough. Even a drunkard should have been able to recall them. His father would have remembered. But then his father wouldn't have been drunk.

His father also wouldn't have paroled him, no matter how desperate the need for pilots. Tigh was weak with need.

"An easy punishment for a traitor," Tigh scoffed, too loudly for the narrow corridor, his chin lifted in challenge even if his gaze was unfocused. Too bright, too hot, too much for this space but not enough for this ship, for his father's ship, and if the man had been quieter he might have heard the uneasy shuffle of the guards' feet behind him. But he was deaf to it, senseless to everything that mattered.

"Shouldn't you be in bed?" One deep breath allowed Lee to speak evenly, his teeth pressed hard together as he watched Tigh swallow, breathing hard and heavy through his nostrils. Weeks of no sun had turned an already pale figure white, making the shiny red of his cheeks and nose grotesque, obscene above the insignia at his collar. His father had put those there too, every frakking piece of metal.

His own throat felt bare, and he swallowed, feeling the stiff leather of his coat against his skin, no heavier than the bars around his wrists. The folded steel cuffs were more a statement than a punishment. A reminder.

His eyes narrowed and somehow Tigh's head was back up, his dark gaze approaching sober for a moment as he looked Lee over. A sudden step forward brought him directly in front of Lee's face, homemade whiskey stinging hot in his breath.

"Don't give me any frakking orders, mister." Tigh's whisper ordered him to nod to his EXO and accept his place, his proximity a threat of what would happen if he didn't obey. Tigh would strike a restrained prisoner. Lee had no doubt he would with a few shots in his belly, even in full view of guards. And still he did not look away, glaring with his jaw tight and his empty stomach turning. "You're not Bill Adama."

Vomit burned at the back of Lee's throat, acid dripping down his tongue though his mouth was dry. "Neither are you." They had said this before, the rapid beat of his heart reminded him, with every smile and salute exchanged. He had never meant a damn one of them, and if he hadn't been Lee Adama, Tigh would never have returned them.

"My quarters." Only by a jerk of his head did Tigh indicate the two marines still standing guard at Lee's back, watching them.

"I'm tired. My shift is over." Lee bit out each word, not moving his feet though Tigh was already stepping away. "New orders can wait a few hours." It was close to insubordination, and he had his shackled hands up the moment the words left his mouth.

It was a stupid thing to say. But it had been even more stupid to try to defend himself like this. If he hadn't had his feet planted, the punch might thrown him back onto the marines. As it was his head went back, his lower lip throbbing where it had been pushed into his teeth. Lee smiled around the pain.

He blinked once or twice until the faint stars at the edge of his vision were gone, and then he was bringing his arms up to dab at his mouth with the back of his hands. His jaw ached, but there wasn't much bleeding for now.

Shaking his head, Lee glanced back to Tigh, exhaling to see the new rush of color across the older man's cheekbones that was not from the liquor, the averted gaze as Tigh fought to control his anger. His hands curled into fists and then relaxed, one set of knuckles bruised and red.

As though sensing his thoughts, Tigh rubbed one palm across his other hand, slowly, shaking, back and forth when not even water would wipe away the marks. And Lee's smile widened, his fingers digging into his palms.

A buzzing filled his ears, echoing through his mind, and Lee shook his head again. His muscles were locked tight, waiting. Tigh had only to look up.

And still the faint hum of words pressed for attention. The marines had been whispering, he realized abruptly. He had forgotten them waiting behind him. But they had been startled, maybe shocked to see the two of them like this.

They were going to tell others, report the abuse to anyone who would hear. Their buzzing nothing to the murmurs of others, the glances of the bridge crew.

For the first time since Tigh had spoken, Lee moved. He swallowed, and knew his rage was still in his voice.

"After you, Colonel."

The quirk at the corner of Tigh's mouth might have been a smirk, too drunk to think of why Lee might have given in so quickly, and Lee let him have his moment, dropping his eyes as they walked. The marines were silent now, and Lee ignored them as well, only looking up when the Colonel stopped to open a door.

"Outside until you're needed," Tigh addressed the guards and then turned back to Lee, his hand still working over his bruised knuckles. Lee paused at the threshold, then aimed his gaze away from Tigh.

"Thanks for waiting," he spoke to one marine and then looked straight ahead as he walked into Tigh's quarters, not bothering to look at Tigh.

It was a mess inside, and somehow he wasn't surprised, walking around in a small circle and then stopping in front of the unmade bed. Ellen was gone and that was a surprise, but Lee just raised his eyebrows as he turned around, holding his palms out and shrugging a little in obvious impatience even if his stance was correct.

"You always were Bill Adama's brat." Tigh spoke before he had fully closed the door, shooting him a harsh glare before propping one foot up on a chair and lifting one leg of his trousers. He pulled out a silver flask with a soft grunt and unscrewed the top the moment he was standing again.

"That's right." Lee glanced to the side as Galactica's commander took a swig and then looked back. Their eyes met over the top of the flask and then Tigh lowered it, high color staining his cheeks, his mouth wet with liquor.

"The Old Man has done nothing but forgive and you repay that by betraying him. Trying to take what's his." Tigh's voice was shaking.

"I think you have us confused." He could hear Tom Zarek mocking him for his arrogance as he answered back, but Lee didn't bother to adjust his footing first this time, just lifted his head and waited.

The back of Tigh's hand hit the other side of his chin, knocking him back onto the edge of the bed.

Tigh seemed determined to break his jaw today, Lee reflected and forced his mouth open to see if he still could. After a moment he decided it wasn't any worse than going a few rounds with his father, but winced when his short smile pulled at his torn lip.

He fastened his gaze on Tigh as he sat up, watched carefully but didn't bother to rise as the man stepped closer. The man's eyes were star-bright and wet but he stopped before reaching the bed and frowned and took another long drink. Not his first sip at the flask, obviously; he tossed it aside the moment it was empty and only then did he look back at Lee.

Tigh was breathing hard, color creeping down his neck, mottling his face, and Lee looked up and then away when the older man started to speak. His jaw was throbbing now, and he ground his teeth together, letting the pain spike and then recede.

"Great hero of the fleet..." Tigh popped open his collar, exposing more flushed skin before he waved his hand around in the air. He looked as though he needed another drink, but he stumbled with the grand gesture, scowling as he found his feet once more. "Do you think to play the hero with him gone? You and that...woman."

A toss of his head in the vague direction of the brig to indicate President Roslin, and then Tigh turned from him, shoving aside papers on his desk until he found another flask and drained that too.

"What the frak are you talking about?" If Lee breathed through his nose, all he could smell was the poor quality whiskey Tigh had been drinking and the scent of hot blood, from his lip or perhaps staining the Colonel's hand.

He darted out his tongue to lick at his lips as Tigh abruptly turned back. "You've lost your frakking mind, Colonel."

"Have I?" Tigh sipped at his new flask and nodded to himself, his eyes widening suddenly before he nodded again and curved his mouth into a smile. "You're about as trustworthy as that thing locked away in the hold."

Lee flinched backward, knew he did and couldn't help it. He let his mouth fall open, tried to take deeper breaths when his vision blurred, see something other black and red and how pale his father had suddenly seemed laying across that table. He didn't know he was on his feet until Tigh's hand was locked around the metal of his restraints and using those to shove him backward.

His knees hit the bed and he was sitting again, looking up into Tigh's red face and feeling as though his own skin would burst with the force of the blood pounding in his veins.

"Shut. The. Frak. Up." His body was nothing but sickness, pain holding him in place more than any force from Tigh.

"No Cylon is going to tell me what to do." Tigh's mouth shaped a sneer as the older man reached out once more, trying to hold Lee in place with one hand on his shoulder. "Not human..." Tigh continued, squeezing his shoulder as though he wanted to crush the bone or pull away the flesh to expose a metal frame. His hand was hot, as hot as his breath, both too close.

Lee jerked free and Tigh just grabbed him again, pulling Lee closer to his body until the dark cloth of his uniform was all he could see. "No human would have done that to him. Let him down for that woman." Tigh was leaning, listing unevenly on his feet yet his hand was like iron. "Ought to lock you away with it, down there..." His hatred was nothing like his father's quiet condemnation and Lee lifted his hands and used the weight of the handcuffs to shove Tigh back.

The other man stumbled, hitting the desk with an exclamation of pain and surprise, and then he looked up, directly into Lee's eyes and his were gleaming.

"What do you think this is, Colonel?" Lee asked as Tigh straightened up, stepping back to him. He had betrayed his father, but there was no way he was going to be interrogated. Tigh was not in control here.

"How do you think your Toaster friends get treated?" Tigh's voice was so rough he might as well have been growling. Lee knew his eyebrows went up; a momentary shock at what the Colonel was letting slip evident on his face. But Tigh couldn't see it, not this close.

"And when he wakes up?" Lee had to whisper, to keep the anger from his voice, glancing up once and seeing just the satisfied smirk on Tigh's face.

"Still hiding behind the Old Man." It wasn't a question, and Lee narrowed his eyes, looking straight ahead into the black fabric of Tigh's trousers. They were faded and wearing thin now, nearly blue at the inside of his thighs, around the crotch. So frakking smug. Too frakking smug, and Lee shifted a bit as he might have if he'd been preparing to go a few rounds with his father.

"Who else is going to clean up your mess?" He let himself sound smug too, knowing the truth as well as anyone with eyes, one startled breath escaping as Tigh's hand curved over his skull, fingers yanking at his short hair, pulling him closer to the worn patch of fabric.

"Shut your mouth, mister, or I'll stop it for you." Tigh spoke slowly, his words weaker than they should have been, his breathing uneven. It was the Colonel's turn to shift, spreading his legs for a steadier stance, clutching at Lee's head to hold himself up.

The hand holding him was trembling, fine tremors that someone watching probably wouldn't have seen. But Lee could feel them, and shivered when a slow rasping sigh drifted down, warm on the back of his neck.

The man had been ready to pass out for some time now. It was only Lee keeping him on his feet.

Lee shut his mouth, working his jaw and never once taking his eyes from the worn patch of fabric, straining every time Tigh shifted. After a moment he spoke, slowly and slyly letting his gaze creep back up. If they had been a few paces apart, Tigh's humiliation would have made him laugh.

"You want everything of my father's, don't you?" He hadn't thought Tigh knew of his father's feelings, about Lee's stupid attempts at defiance. But of course they shared everything, the Commander and his EXO. "You brought me here for something."

Denial was evident in the way Tigh's body twisted. His chest was turned away, but his feet had not moved back one inch. "Shut your damned mouth."

"Is that what you really want?"

It was not Lee who would wake up in a few hours with a sick stomach and a head aching with memories of what he had done. There was no point in charges, even if Lee could have dealt with the looks his crew would have been giving him, with Kara's response, if she ever came back. But Tigh's guilt would still be there.

It was of course, not the sort of thing one let go unpunished on a battlestar, unless of course it happened to Commander Adama's only remaining son.

And still Tigh had not moved, and Lee leaned his head forward, smiling even though he didn't think anyone would have understood it, even had they been able to see it.

His lips parted as he sighed, his own breath warm across his face as fingers curled tightly against his skull, fingernails hard points in his skin.

"You're no Bill Adama." Tigh's answer was shaky, weak, and Lee nodded as he closed his teeth around the slider of Tigh's zipper. He closed his eyes as he tugged on the metal, a slow hiss from Tigh drowning out the familiar whisper.

No. He wasn't.

 

The End (for now)