Disclaimer: I don't own it, if I did I would entertain myself differently.

Author's Note: So, there are a lot of little throwaway things that sort of don't get mentioned again in BSG. Some are important, (uh, hello, Hera's-blood-as-a-cure-for-cancer?) and some are less so. And there's at least one that probably makes intimate moments really kind of awkward.

Red-Light District

He grins, and lies back in the bed, his hands tucked lazily underneath his skull. She likes seeing him like this, relaxed and happy, and the flexing of his impressive arms doesn't hurt either. "Come on," he goads her. "Do it again."

"I told you, I can't," she rolls her eyes at him, but she's smiling. "It doesn't work that way."

He props himself up on his elbows, giving her puppy dog eyes. She grabs the pillow and whacks him solidly in the kisser, and he goes down sputtering. She laughs as he gives her the stink eye. "All right," he says warningly. "Now you've done it!"

"Wait—Karl—nooo!" She shrieks with laughter as he grabs her around the waist and tosses her down to the bed, tickling her madly. She writhes and yells as she tries halfheartedly to push him off, and then finds fingerholds of her own, and now he's in trouble because he's even more ticklish than she is. They collapse in a laughing heap on the bed, breathing hard.

Their chuckles fade, and they lie peaceably side by side in the dark room. She can't help but think of how gods-damned lucky she is. A change in plans and she never would have met him, never would have been presented with choices, never would have come this far, found this acceptance as an individual. (The word still tingles in her brain, every time she thinks of it.) She's content.

"Come on." She looks over at him, startled by his breaking the silence. He's looking at her across the pillow, and he's still playful, but also serious. "I really do like it when you do that. It's cool. Like being with a hooker."

That makes her sit straight up. "What?" she asks him, not believing what she's just heard. "Excuse me?"

"Frak!" he sits up too, waving his hands frantically like they can stop his mouth from going off. "That's not what I meant! Sharon!"

"Then I think you'd better explain what you did mean, and pretty fast if you're smart about it." She wants to laugh, but at the same time she really is a little offended.

"I mean—" he runs a hand through his hair, unusually flustered. "You know how they used to call them Red-Light Districts? Where the hookers were? Not that I'd ever been to one, of course,"

"Starbuck tells it differently."

He eyes her. "Starbuck tells it however will get the biggest laugh at my expense. As far as I knew, that girl was an Art History student."

"All nudes, I bet." She sniggers.

He rolls his eyes, the tension is seeping out of the room. "Yeah, yeah, it's a very funny story of how Cadet Helo threw up on the Gemenese hooker. Tell it in the mess and they can all tell you the ending."

"Tell me the ending."

"I can't, I don't remember it." He kisses her. "Can we get back to my original request, please?"

"I told you a million times, I can't do it on command." She bats her eyes at him. "I need a little help."

He grins again, that schoolboy grin, and leans in to kiss her, long, and deep. She pushes him back against the pillows.

A few minutes later, a soft, pulsating red glow fills their little room as she gasps his name, and he, for his part, leans over her shoulder and stares, excited, at the glow emanating from her spine. "Wow," he says. "Neat!"