InsaneJournal

[bsg fic] the skin and salt in you
Title: The skin and salt in you
Fandom: BATTLESTAR GALACTICA (RDM)
Pairing/Characters: Sharon Valerii (Boomer)/Galen Tyrol
Word Count: 346
Summary: The name sticks.
Author's Notes: I attempted to write a drabble for Petra's meme. It didn't work out very well.

The first time the Chief approaches Sharon it's the day after she crashes the Raptor, unable to compensate for the unusually perky gimbal in time to keep the piece of crap from scraping a layer of paint from the deck, overshooting the pad by a few crucial feet. She spins it, her copilot sitting next to her with his long face pinched tight, and gets it in position finally, but she catches hell from half the launch bay for the rest of the day. They could hear the screech of metal on metal through the deck. Tyrol comes down on her hard, his entire face furrowed in pitched frustration. It would be easier to take from anyone but Tyrol, and Sharon snaps back at him before stalking off to get out of her flightsuit, because she knows she won't be let up into one of the birds for the rest of the day after word of this frakup reaches the CAG.

He finds her in the halls, a shot glass and some brand of whiskey Sharon only knows by reputation in his hands. It's outside her means, and should be outside the Chief's too, but he cups her shoulder with his arm; her eyes flick to the glass, and she shifts under his gaze and decides maybe the Chief isn't such a hardass after all. His arm is warm through her uniform, and she wonders about the feel of his grease-stained fingers on her skin.

After half the bottle, their hands tangle in each other's hair on the bed in Tyrol's quarters (surprisingly soft against Sharon's weight after a month of sleeping on hard pilot's beds); the Chief's hands are rough and callused as they press against her, but they brush lightly against her pubic hair like oxygen hissing through a flightsuit, and she thinks she understands now how Tyrol can get the finicky machines in the hangar to do whatever he wants.

He runs his hand along the shape of her jaw, smiling, and calls her Boomer.

The name sticks even after nothing else does.