Title: Sam and Galen Have Drunken Birthday Sex
Author: upsidedownbutterfly
Summary: Galen helps Sam forget that today isn't really his birthday. Sam/Galen slash. Explicit sex. Set during "The Hub" with vague spoilers for it.
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: They're not mine, people.
Author's Note: This can be read as an expansion of a scene that appears in my earlier fic "Three Plus Two" as well as a sequel to my previous drabble "Happy Birthday" although knowledge of neither of those fics is even remotely required for the understanding of this one.
The two of them stumbled back to Galen's quarters together, barely succeeding in keeping each other upright as they went. "Happy birthday, Longshot!" a nugget whose name Sam probably knew an hour ago called after them, but the words echoed empty in Sam's ears.
Sam had lost track of the exact number of shots he and Galen had downed over the last few hours but he strongly suspected it was somewhere in the double digits. The floor of the corridor was stubbornly refusing to remain still beneath his feet and sometimes when he looked to his right Sam could see at least two more of Galen than he realistically knew that there should be. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd been this drunk. No, wait, yes he could – it was at Baltar's groundbreaking ceremony on New Caprica when he'd ended the night passed out under a table, face down in the sand.
He'd regretted that in the morning and there was currently a tiny little annoyingly sober corner of his mind that kept whispering that he was going to regret this too. The rest of him however didn't care. For now it felt good. Good to forget, if only for a little while, that today wasn't really, couldn't really be, his birthday. That his marriage was in shambles and his entire life was a lie, and that at this very moment a strike team was on its way to retrieve the Number Three that would bring about an end to both of those – his marriage and his life – in short order.
It took Galen three tries to open the hatch before success sent him and Sam tumbling through it, an uncoordinated mess of arms and legs, tripping over their own feet and each other's. How they managed not to end up in a tangled pile on the floor, Sam couldn't fathom. Cylon reflexes, sang an vicious little voice in his head, and Sam silenced it with a mirthless laugh.
Meanwhile Galen had somehow managed to turn himself around and was now reaching to pull the hatch shut behind them, balancing himself against Sam to ensure he didn't topple over in the process. The position brought the right half of his body flush against Sam's, and as Galen pressed closer, stretching his arm toward the door that was just out of reach, Sam suddenly became aware that it wasn't just the alcohol that felt very, very good.
"Sam?" The distant sound of his name insinuated itself into Sam's fuzzy consciousness and Sam realized he'd spent the last gods-only-knew-how-long staring intently at Galen's mouth. Sam's eyes darted up to meet Galen's, but if they held any answers, Sam was too drunk to read them.
It wasn't too late to walk away, Sam knew. Chances were good that neither of them would remember any of this in the morning, or at least would still be able to pretend not to. Turning around and walking away would be the smart thing to do. Except Sam was drunk and that was either making him insanely brave or mind-blowingly stupid or possibly both at the same time.
What did it even matter anyway? In two, maybe three days, the baseship would be back with the Three in tow, and Sam had no illusions that this tentative new alliance would save him and Galen from the airlock. And even if by some miracle, the president failed to execute them both, Sam knew nothing short of divine intervention would save him from Kara and that bullet she had promised for his brain.
Slowly with as much deliberation as he could muster, Sam leaned forwards and pressed his lips to Galen's.
As soon as he did it, he knew it had been a mistake. Cally was barely a few months dead, and Sam had been informed by a steady stream of hushed whispers beginning the moment he stepped foot back on Galactica, that Galen had not been handling her death well at all. Not to mention that Sam was technically still married to Kara no matter how frakked up their relationship had become – or maybe had always been.
He pulled away, stumbling slightly with a slurred apology on his lips. Galen hadn't moved, just stood staring at Sam, his face entirely unreadable.
"Sorry," Sam mumbled again. "Sorry, sorry," he repeated, turning to flee out the still-open hatch before he could do anything else stupid.
He was halfway across the threshold when Galen's hand shot out and grabbed the front of his tanks to haul him around and crash their lips together. The kiss was messy and inelegant, all sliding tongues and clashing teeth, and it tasted of cheap whiskey and desperation.
But it also tasted real and human, even if was neither; in that instant Sam could still pretend.
Sam groaned, his hands disappearing beneath the base of Galen's tanks, running up his stomach to his chest. He felt Galen shift beneath his touch, reaching past Sam to finally yank the hatch closed. Sam wondered briefly if anyone had seen them and then if he even cared. Then Galen's hands were back on him, pushing Sam's tanks out of the way to fumble with his belt. A few moments later, Sam felt it come loose and Galen's hands slip beneath the waistband of his fatigues. Sam gasped, breaking the kiss, as he felt Galen's hand stroke him through his underwear.
For a moment, they remained as they were, Sam's hands on Galen's chest and Galen's hand on his cock, sweaty foreheads pressed together, staring at each other with lust and disbelief shimmering in their eyes.
Sam moved first, withdrawing his hands from beneath Galen's shirt to unzip his own pants, letting them drop to the floor around his ankles. Almost tentatively Galen moved his hand again, and Sam's hips bucked forwards involuntarily, any rational thought that may have remained to him fleeing in that instant.
Suddenly, his lips were back on Galen's, licking into his mouth as he simultaneously tried to pull Galen's tanks over his head and kick off his own boots, succeeding only in becoming tangled in his own pants.
"Easy, easy," Galen laughed into the kiss as Sam stumbled into him, and he broke away to pull off his own shirts. Without the distraction of Galen's mouth on his, Sam finally managed to work his feet free of his boots, stepping forwards out of the pants pooled at his ankles and kicking them violently away for good measure. His hands reached forwards blindly and met Galen's now-bare chest, a finger by pure chance brushing across a nipple and causing Galen to shudder.
Their mouths met again, desperate and hungry, and Sam pressed forwards, pushing Galen backwards in the vague direction of the bed. Galen took the hint, his hands balling in the front of Sam's tanks to pull him along, their mouths never breaking contact. Sam's hands drifted lower as they moved, undoing Galen's belt and unzipping his pants.
Their stumbling progress stopped abruptly as Galen's calves slammed into the edge of his bed. Sam gave a shove and Galen half-sat, half-collapsed onto the edge of the bed. In a movement requiring more coordination than Sam had thought he still possessed, Sam shucked off his shirts and moved to pull off his briefs as well. Galen was moving too, pulling off first his boots and then his pants and underwear together in a single movement.
Suddenly, they were both naked and Sam was struck by how insane, dangerous, and probably horrendously stupid this was and also by how he didn't give a frak.
He all but tackled Galen to the bed, pressing the full length of their bodies together and latching his mouth onto the sensitive skin of Galen's shoulder. Beneath him Galen groaned, his hands sliding between them and down Sam's body. The first touch of Galen's hands of the bare skin of his cock alone was almost enough to make Sam come. As it was, he knew he wouldn't last long.
"Gods. Frak," he gasped against Galen's shoulder as Galen began stroking him in earnest. Turning his head, Sam licked his way up Galen's neck, stubble rough against his tongue, to once again cover Galen's mouth with his own. With his left hand, Sam propped himself up just slightly, enough that his right hand could reach down between them and grasp Galen's cock. Galen moaned as Sam's fist stroked up and down his length.
Then they were thrusting desperately into each other's hands, an inelegant panting pile of sweat-soaked and tangled limbs, half hanging off the side of the bed. Sam's head was spinning from the combination of alcohol and arousal and he wondered wildly and unthinkingly how it was possible that a machine could feel like this.
"Galen," he choked out into the kiss as he felt the tell-tale tightening in his belly, his thrusting becoming faster and irregular. "Galen. Galen." And suddenly he was coming, sticky wetness spreading between them across both their stomachs as Galen's hands continued to stroke him through his orgasm.
"Sam," Galen rasped once and then he was coming too, his cum mixing with Sam's across their hands and stomachs as Sam collapsed bonelessly on top of him.
He wasn't sure how long they lay there, drained but sated, letting their breathing slowly return to normal. Maybe Sam even dozed off, just a little, because by the time he came back to himself, Galen was pushing him onto his side and wiggling his way out from under him. Sam wanted to ask where he was going, but he couldn't muster either the energy or coordination necessary to speak. It didn't matter anyway because a second later Galen had returned and was nudging Sam the rest of the way onto his back and wiping him down with a pair of tanks. Mine, Sam realized fuzzily but he was too damn exhausted to care.
His eyes were already drifting closed again, drawn shut by the combination of alcohol and orgasm. The last thing he remembered – or maybe the first thing he dreamed – was a hand in his hair and Galen's husky voice whispering, "Happy birthday."
Sam almost believed it.