eradicating evil was always on my to-do list (cerebel) wrote in cerebel_fics,
eradicating evil was always on my to-do list
cerebel
cerebel_fics

Fic: Honey, Baby, Sweetheart (Battlestar Galactica)

Pairing: Gaeta/Doral
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: 1st season
Disclaimer: They're not mine.
Summary: Someone is in Felix's head.

-  -  -

It’s the day of the decommissioning ceremony, and Felix stirs awake at the feel of a hand gliding down his arm, breath tickling the skin on his shoulder. “Mmmm,” and he turns his head into a long, lazy kiss, turning on to his back as the warm presence in his bed shifts above him, a hand next to his head.

 

Finally the kiss breaks, and Felix’s eyelids flutter open, to see Aaron Doral gazing down at him. “Morning, love,” Doral greets softly, brushing his lips across Felix’s again. Felix makes a soft noise into Doral’s mouth, and his tongue slips along Doral’s, gentle and teasing and ever so nice.

 

“Remind me,” Felix says into Doral’s mouth, “why we don’t do this more often?”

 

Doral laughs, and he nips Felix’s ear, his fingers running up Felix’s ribs. “You are so hot,” he murmurs.

 

Felix grins and he shifts, pinning Doral to the bed beneath him. “I’m sorry, what was that?” he asks. “I didn’t quite hear you.”

 

Doral moves up for a kiss, but Felix pulls back, just out of range, holding Doral’s shoulder down. “Felix,” Doral says, exasperated.

 

“No, I didn’t hear you,” Felix insists, the grin dancing around his mouth belying the words. “You’re going to have to repeat yourself.”

 

Doral quirks an eyebrow.

 

Felix feels Doral’s hand shift, and he tries to catch Doral’s wrist, but Doral wraps his hand around Felix’s cock, slides it up towards the head in a kind of massaging glide. “Oh,” Felix breathes, finding it suddenly difficult to think. Or breathe.

 

And now it’s Doral’s turn to shift them, rolling Felix on his back, but never taking his hand away, and Felix just loves this.

 

Doral brushes their noses together, in a tease, holding back on the kiss, dancing just out of reach, until Felix groans softly. Doral seals their lips together, dragging the kiss so deep, and when he pulls back, he moves down to Felix’s ear and whispers, “You are so hot.”

 

Felix makes a pleading noise, and now Doral’s mouth clashes with his, the temperature in the room rising.

 

When Doral is inside him, Felix curled up, Doral’s eyes are dark, and he murmurs, “I would stay like this forever.”

 

Felix gasps, and his back arches, and he would too.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

Felix is tired, so tired. It seems like he’s been awake forever. He wonders when he’s going to hit his limit, if he’s going to go crazy and have to be dragged to sickbay. He wonders if he’s simply going to collapse from exhaustion, because he can’t move anymore.

 

He runs his fingers along the stubble on his face.

 

“Wake up,” a voice snaps in his ear, and Felix snaps his head up. To his chagrin, he realizes the nav computer finished its calculations. When he last checked, it was at fifty percent…he must have dozed off – Felix looks around for whoever woke him up, but there’s no one there.

 

The voice sounded almost like –

 

He hasn’t seen Doral since before the jump past the red line. Since they left him on Ragnar Anchorage. He was a Cylon, Felix has to remember.

 

His stomach twists, and twists badly.

 

Felix swallows the rush of feelings, and he inputs the coordinates into the nav computer. The Galactica has to be ready to jump, on Adama’s command. Again.

 

He rubs the bridge of his nose, and the world seems to sway around him.

 

“Ssh,” comes a gentle reassurance, and a hand slides onto Felix’s cheek. He looks up into Aaron’s eyes. “We’ll come for you,” murmurs Aaron, in Felix’s ear. “We’ll kill you all.”

 

“What?” Felix breathes.

 

“Mister Gaeta.”

 

Felix snaps his attention to the Colonel. “Sir,” he acknowledges.

 

“Prepare the ship for FTL jump,” orders Tigh.

 

Felix nods, and begins jump procedure, still shaking off the illusion.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

Doral shows up again just after the jump is over, easing on to the edge of Felix’s console, crossing his legs. “I know you can see me,” Doral says.

 

“Go away,” Felix hisses.

 

“I’ll be here,” Doral says softly, “whenever you need me. Lover.”

 

The nav computer beeps; the next jump is finished calculating.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

After this jump, Felix relaxes into his chair.

 

And he jumps back up immediately as a hand caresses the back of his neck. “Check the draydis again,” Doral says in his ear, an edge of…laughter? in his voice.

 

Felix runs his eyes over the blips, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary. No unidentified ships, or unknown interference patterns…wait…

 

Dualla’s voice floats from the other side of the bridge. “Strike my last,” she says, “one ship missing and unaccounted for.”

 

Now Felix sees it – a gap. A ship – the Olympic Carrier, by Dee’s word, is gone.

 

Doral laughs. “Bound to happen eventually,” he says. “You lost one.”

 

Felix gets to his feet, and moves over to the conversation between Dee, Tigh and Adama, hoping to leave Doral behind, but the illusion follows him. “You know,” Doral says conversationally, “your friend as good as killed everyone on that ship.”

 

“It might not have been her fault,” Felix cuts in.

 

“Imagine how scared they must have been,” Doral continues. “Lambs to the slaughter.”

 

“We’ll never know now, will we?” Tigh snaps.

 

Gaeta shivers as he sits back down at his console.  

 

“I’m curious,” says Doral. “What exactly do you think I am?”

 

My imagination, Felix thinks, but he doesn’t say it.

 

“Ever occur to you,” and Doral lifts Felix’s chin, so Felix is meeting his eyes, “that I might not be a delusion?”

 

Felix swallows the rush of panic.

 

“What if I’m broadcasting straight into your head?” That secretive smile that Felix always found so alluring before now just seems to dig the pit in his stomach deeper. “What if,” and Doral leans closer, “you’re a Cylon?”

 

Felix shakes his head, wishing the illusion would go away. He’s not delusional; it’s just his imagination. He can will it away if he wants to.

 

Doral strokes his cheek – it feels so real – and he kisses Felix on the forehead. “Do you know what they’d do to you,” another kiss, to his temple, “if they found out,” and on his cheek this time, “who you were sleeping with?” This time Doral brushes his lips across Felix’s.

 

Felix focuses on the nav computer. Thirty minutes and counting.

 

“They’ll KILL YOU!” Doral shouts in his ear, all of the sudden.

 

Felix jerks away, violently, and he nearly falls off his chair. He’s almost certain everyone in CIC noticed that. Frak.

 

On the up side, at least he’s a little more alert than he was before.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

When Adama finally dismisses Felix, to go get some sleep, Felix is surprised that he’s actually able to make it all the way to his rack under his own steam. He collapses on the bed without showering or changing, just with the knowledge that he has to sleep, now.

 

He feels a delicate kiss pressed to the back of his neck. “Rough day at the office, huh?”

 

“Leave me alone,” Felix manages, in a whisper.

 

“Ssh.” Doral’s stroking touch is comforting, so comforting. “Go to sleep, I’ll take care of you.”

 

Felix drifts off almost immediately, soothed by the warm presence against him.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

It’s been days since Felix saw his Doral-illusion, and he’s almost ready to write it off as a dream, in his overexhausted half-conscious state. He’s had so much to deal with – the loss of the fleet’s water supply, the management of coordinates for fifty different FTL drives – that he’s managed to push Doral out of his mind almost entirely.

 

The hurt is still there, though, the question – was it something real, or was he manipulating Felix the whole time?

 

After his shift in CIC, Felix takes the daily reports to the Commander’s quarters. Once he’s inside, Adama nods for him to close the door.

 

“I’m assigning you to Doctor Baltar,” Adama tells him, “to assist with the research he’s doing, on a way to distinguish between humans and Cylons in human form.” He looks up and regards Felix carefully, watching for his reaction.

 

“Ah, thank you, sir,” Felix says.

 

“Did you really just thank him for giving you more work?” comes a voice from the corner. Felix freezes. No, no, no, no…

 

“I expect you to give him all the assistance he needs,” Adama continues, “but don’t let it interfere with your duties.”

 

Felix gives a sharp nod. “I’ll do my best, sir.”

 

Doral steps towards Adama, behind him. “You’ll do whatever Baltar says,” Doral accuses. “You’ll be his little lapdog.” Doral’s stare seems to penetrate past Felix’s neutral expression, and Felix feels his heartbeat start to come faster.

 

“No,” Felix says, and then his mind races, “I don’t believe it will interfere with my duties, sir.”

 

Adama nods. “Dismissed.”

 

Felix throws a salute.

 

In the hallway, Doral follows him. “Did you think I was gone?” Doral asks, a smile dancing around his mouth.

 

“You’re not real,” Felix mutters, under his breath.

 

“I’m insulted,” Doral says, “truly wounded.” He looks over to Felix. “But, you’re wrong. You will.”

 

“I’m no one’s lapdog,” says Felix, in the same low tone, hoping to the Lords that no one is watching him right now.

 

“You are,” Doral says, confidently. “Because you know you can’t afford Baltar’s attention. Not with me hanging around all the time.” When Felix glances over, Doral smirks at him. “Not if there’s any possibility that you might be a Cylon.”

 

“I’m not a Cylon,” Felix says through gritted teeth, coming to a halt to face Doral.

 

“Maybe you aren’t,” Doral says, “but you don’t know for sure.”

 

Belatedly, Felix realizes that coming to a stop might not have been the best idea, especially considering he’s now arguing with midair. He steps back and leans against the wall.

 

He’s going insane. It’s the only explanation.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

Even so, he does just as Doral says. He shows unbridled enthusiasm at the prospect of working for Baltar, explained his intention to get more schooling through the military extension program – and, to his surprise, he begins to believe it. Baltar is a brilliant scientist, isn’t he? He deserves Felix’s admiration.

 

And Felix is privileged to be able to work on a project that will have such a huge impact on the state of the fleet. A surefire way to root out the spies…and, a voice in his mind adds, a surefire way to make sure that my blood never gets tested.

 

When Baltar curtly dismisses him with a very unsubtle, “Don’t let me keep you”, Felix steps back out into the hall.

 

Doral is leaned against the wall of the corridor, gazing at him.

 

Felix hesitates for a second, but that’s the corridor he needs to use, so he steps past Doral.

 

Doral stops him, drags him around. “Remember,” Doral hisses in his ear, “you might work with him, but you belong to me.”

 

In the next instant, Doral is gone.

 

Felix manages to turn the aborted motion into a stumble, making it look like clumsiness. No one nearby seems to notice anything out of the ordinary. But he’s shaken; he’s badly shaken, and he can’t stop looking over his shoulder, all the rest of the day.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

That night, after Felix shuts the curtains on his rack, Doral curls on top of him and seals his lips to Felix’s, sliding his tongue into Felix’s mouth.

 

To his distant surprise, Felix doesn’t protest. He doesn’t try to push Doral away or even try not to respond to the kiss. The last few weeks, everything has just been too shocking, and Felix’s body hungers, his pulse threads, and he needs this touch. Doral senses it, and he strips Felix’s clothing off with a gentle ferocity, an easy familiarity that’s strange, too, all at the same time.

 

This isn’t the Doral that Felix fell in love with, Felix thinks, but it’ll do.

 

Doral swallows him, deep, with a press of tongue and a hand firmly holding Felix in place. Felix squirms, trying desperately for more, anything more, but Doral rubs him so slowly, so gently, just a hint of suction. When Felix finally reaches peak it’s something amazing and blinding, electrifying every cell in his body, and it’s long, the sensations gripping him for interminable seconds.

 

Doral shifts upwards, on top of him, and Felix lets Doral slip into his mouth, Doral’s hands tangled in his hair. He lets Doral frak his mouth, short, abortive strokes, acquiescing to Doral’s demands – not vocal, because Doral doesn’t speak during any of this, but the little touches and nudges that somehow become orders.

 

The gasp of pleasure is all the reward Felix needs, somehow, and Doral, relaxed and spent, moves down next to Felix. The warmth of his presence, again, lulls Felix to sleep.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

In the lab, Felix is alone, perusing the Cylon technology that Aaron – his Aaron – put on the draydis console in CIC, when he feels arms slip around his waist.

 

“Go away, I’m working,” Felix tells the empty air.

 

“You’re always working,” Doral murmurs. “Even when you’re asleep.” He bites Felix’s neck, a little roughly.

 

“Aaron!” Felix untangles Doral’s arms, and he dodges away.

 

“What?” Doral cocks his head. “I thought you liked that.”

 

“I’m on duty,” says Felix.

 

“I always had a thing for a man in uniform,” Doral tells him, a smile quirking the corners of his mouth.

 

“Go have a thing for someone else in uniform,” Felix shoots back. “I’m busy.”

 

Doral leans against the desk, and he crosses his legs, giving Felix a sly, come-hither kind of look that makes the room seem like it has a lot less air in it than, strictly speaking, is normal aboard a spaceship. “You don’t think I can help, at all?” Doral asks.

 

“Okay, fine,” Felix concedes. “I give up. What is it?”

 

Doral examines the device, with a cultured look of distaste. “What, realistically, do you think it could be?” Doral asks, returning his gaze to Felix.

 

Felix shrugs, moving back over towards the table. “It could be anything,” Felix admits, “a listening device, some kind of bug…?”

 

Doral shakes his head. “Do you see any kind of external pickups?”

 

“I don’t know what Cylon audio pickups look like,” Felix retorts.

 

Doral cocks an eyebrow.

 

“Okay,” Felix sighs, and he picks up the device. “Planted aboard the Galactica,” he considers aloud. “By a Cylon agent.”

 

“Me,” Doral adds helpfully.

 

Felix sends him a glare. “Presumably,” Felix continues, “all the other Battlestars in the fleet got the same treatment.” He bites his lip. “It doesn’t seem like it’s a bomb,” he says carefully, “otherwise the Cylons would have used it.”

 

“Go on,” Doral encourages.

 

“Some kind of transponder?” Felix asks. “To keep tabs on the location, maybe—”

 

The door, behind Felix, clanks shut. Felix jerks, startled, and he spins—

 

—to see Gaius Baltar, clipboard in his hand. “Were you just talking to someone?” Baltar asks.

 

“Ah, no,” Felix says, “but I think—”

 

“Very nice,” Baltar cuts him off. “Now, there was a problem in the latest batch of radiation tests.”

 

“What kind of problem?” Felix asks, his mind already turned to the new challenge.

 

“They don’t make any frakking sense,” Baltar snaps, “that kind of problem.”

 

“I see,” Felix says diplomatically.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

Felix is dealing a game of cards in the mess, playing against Starbuck and Apollo, Dualla and Crashdown and Baltar, when Doral slips into an empty chair on Felix’s right.

 

“Do you want children?” Doral asks.

 

Felix accidentally gives Starbuck two cards. “Sorry,” he apologizes, taking one of them and passing it to Dualla.

 

“Wow, Felix,” jests Dualla, “we really trust the fleet to a guy who can’t count cards?”

 

Felix rolls his eyes at her. “I’ll have you know,” he returns, “that I am fantastic at counting cards.”

 

“Not as good as me,” says Baltar. “Start at fifteen.”

 

Crashdown whistles. “Fifteen?”

 

“Raise you five,” says Starbuck.

 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Doral persists. “Do you want children?”

 

“Ah,” says Felix, and he shoots Doral a dirty look. He wishes Doral wouldn’t try to talk to him around people like this; it made them think he was weirder than they already did.

 

“You raising, Felix?” Crashdown asks.

 

“Nope,” says Felix, and he doesn’t. His hand is awful, but it would be humiliating to back out so early; and he doesn’t really need the cubits, anyway. He just likes playing – he likes being around the other players.

 

“Why not?” Doral asks. “Can you imagine, a little girl, with your eyes…” Doral trails off. “How beautiful she would be.”

 

Felix bites his lip and he puts it up to another strange quirk of behavior from Doral.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

Felix doesn’t think anything of it when, one day, Doral brushes past him in the hallway, hardly giving him a glance. It’s just like Doral to ignore him that way.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

When Felix hears the explosion, he’s in CIC, on duty, and he looks up to see some of the fire control lights on the repeater display go red, all at once. The intercom leaps into his hand, almost of its own accord, and he starts snapping orders. Fire control teams, damage report, medics – his training takes over.

 

It’s only later that he learns the blast came from a suicide bomber. A Cylon suicide bomber.

 

One who looked just like Aaron Doral.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

Doral appears again when he’s alone in his rack, curtain closed, the soft sounds of conversation barely filtering through. Felix feels himself being pulled up against Doral’s chest, and Doral’s hand moves to wrap around Felix’s throat – not squeezing, just touching.

 

Felix swallows.

 

“I can’t do this anymore,” he says quietly.


Doral stirs. “What do you mean?” He sounds – shocked, almost.

 

“It’s too dangerous,” in a whisper. Gods, sometimes he wonders if the other people around him, who sleep in the same room, hear him speaking to Doral, speaking to himself.

 

Doral strokes his cheek. “You love me,” Doral says. “You can’t just turn that off.”

 

Felix closes his eyes. “I never loved you,” he lies.

 

Doral’s hand tightens, briefly, on Felix’s neck. Then, in the space of time between one heartbeat and the next, Doral is gone.

 

Felix curls into himself, and he squeezes his eyes shut. This is better. It’s better this way.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

When he’s working on the photo enhancement algorithm, to determine whether Gaius Baltar is a traitor, he turns his head to the side. He wants to say something, but then he realizes that Doral isn’t there, and the statement he was about to make dies in his throat.

 

Instead, Felix slips another bit of food inside his mouth. He eats his meal in there, because somehow, he just doesn’t want to go outside.

 

He’s alone in the lab for a long time.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

Felix moves quickly, too quickly, half-jogging along the hallways. Baltar had cornered him – in the bathroom­, no less – and had begged, pleaded for Felix to let him in to help with the results. No way, no way.

 

“My reputation is at stake,” Baltar insisted.

 

“So is mine,” Gaeta returned, but Baltar kept talking, talked right over him.

 

So is mine.

 

How could he?

 

Felix can’t explain his irritation. He’s so upset, inexplicably upset, over Baltar’s behavior, and there doesn’t seem to be any concrete reason why.

 

Felix hears later, about how Baltar pulled the fire alarm and tried to destroy the evidence. He’s a traitor. A traitor. Felix’s trust in him is misguided, completely misguided. Felix returns to the lab only to finish enhancing the picture, to finish damning another person who meant something to him.

 

Felix lets his head rest in his hands. He feels so lost.

 

-                       -                       -                       -

 

He hugs his knees to his chest, in his rack.

 

It’s better this way. He doesn’t have any conflicts, Doral can’t try and manipulate him for Cylon goals, he’ll know if another Doral tries to invade the ship—

 

But the pictures are circulated now, so will everyone else—

 

No, no. He’s better off without him, he should be better off.

 

But he’s not.

 

Gods help me.

 

“I love you,” he whispers, and a tear falls, the first time he’s cried since long before the destruction of the colonies. “I love you,” he says again, “I’m so sorry. Aaron,” and the single drop is joined by another, and another, like the floodgates from all the grief he’s had to endure have been thrown open, suddenly and violently.

 

There’s a violent wrenching inside Felix’s chest, because what if he had lost Doral forever? How could he deal with that?

 

But then, “Oh, Felix,” breathed from above him, and a soft, cool touch wiping the tears away. Felix shuts his eyes tighter, afraid that the vision is going to disappear, and then he feels lips press against his. Felix kisses back, hoping that somehow he can telegraph how much he needs through the simple touch, and Doral’s hand moves to cup his cheek.

 

Doral pushes Felix’s legs open. Felix bites back a groan, because he thinks he knows what Doral wants to do, and he hasn’t done it, not since before Aaron was left behind in Ragnar Anchorage.

 

“Ssh,” Doral murmurs, and he forces his fingers inside.

 

Felix arches his back, because it’s too much, too quickly, but Doral doesn’t seem to have any intention of slowing down. He has a frown of concentration on his face, and seems intent on having this, doing this with Felix.

 

It’s been months, though, and Felix is tight, he’s tightened up since the last time with Aaron, and so the give of his body hurts. But he has to be quiet, so quiet, because there are people around, going to sleep or reading or whatever it is those people are doing, and they can’t know, not about Doral—

 

And then Doral starts to push inside, tough and rigid and he’s splitting Felix open, it feels so strange, so different. Felix tries to turn his head, muffle the noises that he just can’t hold back, but Doral turns his head back forward. Felix twists, struggling all of the sudden, but Doral slides his hand over Felix’s mouth.

 

“They won’t hear you like this,” Doral says intently, his eyes locking with Felix’s in such a way that Felix can’t, he just can’t look away. “Relax.”

 

It’s an order, not a suggestion, and so Felix consciously unclenches his spine, and Doral pushes in all the rest of the way, buried inside.

 

Felix spares a thought for the way he must look, what’s real and what’s not, right now – is he imagining the sensations inside him? Is there really a hand over his mouth? –does it even matter?

 

And then Doral starts moving, rocking Felix with the force of his rhythm, and this, this is perfect, bliss. There’s a rough edge to Doral’s touch, but it’s infinitely tender, at the same time. Felix is in love, and he has no idea how he could ever live without this.

 

When Felix cries out, Doral’s mouth is there to muffle it, to make sure no one hears.

 

“Check the enhancement results again,” Doral says in Felix’s ear, and then he’s gone.

 

The results.

 

Felix is filled with sudden hope, and he gathers up his clothes, trying to ignore the throbbing ache inside him.

 

You’re mine.

 

With eyes alight from Aaron Doral’s touch, Felix steps out of the room he shares, hurrying to the lab to figure out what, precisely, was wrong with the picture and how he could prove Gaius Baltar’s innocence to everyone.

 

He doesn’t even spare a thought for why Doral might want it that way.
Tags: battlestar galactica, bsg: gaeta/doral
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