It can be really hard to find a bit of privacy on a battlestar that's carrying roughly twice its normal troop compliment as well as a large number of civilians. Fortunately, I was really good at finding places to be alone and quiet. Even so, finding the time to just slip away and be alone was incredibly difficult.

Take now, for instance. I'd had to schedule this afternoon off three sectons ago, and even with the advantage of controlling the schedule, I'd almost gotten roped into an extra patrol when Sheba had called off her duty shift. She'd claimed to be unwell, but I rather think that was nothing but pure rot. Starbuck had mentioned seeing her in the chancery on the Rising Star last night (while I'd been putting in a bit of overtime, trying to work out how we were going to keep as many Vipers flying as we needed despite the current fuel shortage), drinking with Bojay and a couple others of the Pegasus crowd.

Wait a minute. I came here to get away from all that. Relax, look around, smell the flowers... well, whatever. So there aren't any flowers here in the main hydroponics bay. Rather, there were mosses and broad-leafed green plants, several different varieties that flourished in the artificial lighting of a battlestar. They were strictly practical, not at all ornamental like my mother's gardens, but I still found the plants restful. I moved through the rows to my favorite spot, a small bench secreted among the rows of plants, like someone's secret retreat. As always, I wondered who had left it here, in this quiet island of tranquility. I sat and leaned back against the wall, surrounded by life, and closed my eyes. I could feel the stress starting to peel off me, one layer at a time.

Surely this utilitarian garden was as far as possible from paradise, but I always felt like it was my own corner of the mythical garden where life began. I was free here, safely away from society and responsibility and... what was that?

My eyes flew open, then I made a face at the unmistakable sounds of someone intruding on my paradise. I was about to get up and leave, when I heard something that froze me in place.

"Are you sure it's safe here?" a youngish male voice asked.

"Abso-frackin'-lutely," replied a voice I knew as well as my own. Starbuck! "Nobody ever comes here this time of day. Something to do with the plants and their air-scrubbing cycle."

Starbuck would never let on exactly how much he'd learned about plants back in his days at the orphanage. It embarrassed him, for some reason.

"Good," replied the other guy, sounding satisfied. "I certainly wouldn't want to get spotted in your disreputable company."

They both chuckled, and I started again to stand up. I really had no clue what they were doing here, or why secrecy was so important, but whatever it was I didn't want to eavesdrop on.

"Disreputable, my astrum!" Starbuck chuckled, anticipation in his voice. What the—? "You wouldn't be here if not for my reputation, would you?"

There was no answer to this, at least not a verbal one. I heard rustling sounds, then a small "mmm" noise... and then it hit me. The noises coming from a couple rows over sounded like kissing.

My stomach did a slow roll and dive to the left. That couldn't be right, Starbuck wasn't like that, everyone knew he loved the ladies a bit too much... Lords, he'd slept with my sister, of course he wasn't like that...!

But the sounds were unmistakable. And so were the words that followed.

"You really are a good kisser," whoever-it-was said, somewhat breathless. "Exactly as advertised."

"Advertised?" Starbuck's tone of mock-outrage would have made me laugh if I wasn't so busy trying to regain my equilibrium after the shock I'd just gotten. "Who's advertising me? Surely quality speaks for itself!"

"Of course it does," and I could practically see the grin in his voice. I could also hear the sounds of uniforms being unfastened. "But you have quite the reputation, if one knows who to ask."

"As long as it's not broadcast on IFB, I suppose I can deal with being famous," Starbuck said.

There was a longish pause, filled with heavy breathing and more kissing sounds. I actually got up to leave, wondering if my face was as red as it felt, when Starbuck spoke up again.

"I just don't word getting back to my Captain."

I froze again, heart in throat.

"Why not? Afraid he'd bust you back a couple ranks for fraternizing with the likes of me?"

I strained my ears to hear the reply.

"Nah," he chuckled. "You're good-looking, and of legal age, which is more than I can say for some of the, er, incidents he's turned his back on. The thing is, my dear Captain is straighter than straight, and I've never given him reason to believe I'm not. Wouldn't want to upset his morality, or anything like that."

"You mean you're not...? I thought, everyone always assumed you and he—"

"Nope," Starbuck interrupted. "I wouldn't complain at all if we were, but his tastes just don't run to my type. Now," and Starbuck's voice slid into a tone that was so frankly sensual I felt like some kind of pervert for listening in, "haven't we talked enough?"

I wanted to leave, I really did. But I couldn't. I had to sink noiselessly back into my chair and listen to the sounds of my best friend engaging in sexual activity with another man. And worse yet, the other man wasn't me.

I was numb, literally numb with the shock. Starbuck had always been such a ladies' man, although I was one of the privileged few who knew that he didn't frack every girl he took out. In fact, I'd long suspected that was a good portion of his popularity with women. They certainly seemed to enjoy the company of a man who knew how to accept no for an answer.

But he was still very obvious about enjoying the company of ladies. I've been jealous of his ease with women for yahrens, wishing I could deal with the so-called fairer sex as naturally as he could. I was lucky if I could have a ten centon conversation with a woman without getting slapped.

And here he was, the original ladies' man, moaning and panting as some other man did unknown, but obviously pleasurable, things to his body. Every moan, every slight intake of breath, every murmur of "oh, yeah" or demand for "more!" cut through me like a knife.

Starbuck had been the subject of my secret desires and dreams for as long as I'd had such feelings, but I'd always thought he was straight. And why bother risking everything—career, family, friends, even my home—on someone who would be offended by an improper advance? It seemed certain that letting Starbuck know about my wayward fantasies would only lead to rejection and humiliation. Why risk it?

"You're so hot," whoever-it-was breathed, "so very hot. I want to frack you. Would you like that?"

"Oh, yeah, give it to me," Starbuck's voice replied.

I might not know what every one of the sounds coming from over there actually corresponded to, but my imagination had no problem conjuring up images to fit with them. Once again I tried to leave, only to find that my legs were too unsteady to support me reliably. I could just imagine the scene if I were to trip and fall, like a great clumsy bovine, and likely knock a rack of hanging plants directly on top of the two of them. So I stayed where I was, squeezing my eyes shut in a vain attempt to shut out the scene in front of my mind's eye.

Fortunately for me (although Starbuck might not have seen it as fortunate at all), the other guy had very little endurance. I winced at his cries of pleasure, unable to ignore the fact that it was my Starbuck he was enjoying so much. But it was over quickly. And better yet for me, he was up and getting dressed barely two centons after he'd finished.

"You coming with?" he asked Starbuck.

"Nah, you go on ahead. I'll catch up with you later."

"Suit yourself."

I heard him leave. Whew! What a relief. But I felt sorry for Starbuck, left all alone, and probably naked as a babe, laying there on the cold, damp floor. I heard the sounds of clothing rustling, then he pulled out a fumarillo and lit it. I restrained myself from jumping up and reminding him of the no smoking rule in hydroponics. Somehow, I didn't want to hear what he'd have to say if he knew I'd been listening in on his fun, like some demented old perv mother used to warn us about.

"Wish it had been you, Apollo," he said aloud, then I heard him getting dressed.

I let my head fall back against the wall again as he left. So do I, Starbuck. So do I.

 

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