AWD #028: Pillow Talk
Pillow Talk
Summary: Storm and Milkshake take a little comfort in the aftermath of their favorite off-duty activity.
Date: 03/02/2013
Related Logs: None
Holtz Ygraine 
A Linen Closet on Deck 2
It's a closet! Sheets, towels, pillowcases.
AWD #28

Ygraine must have every utility, linen, electrical, and supply closet on decks two and three memorized. Because there is no way otherwise that she could possibly know about this out of the way linen closet. It's not bad as choices to have a tryst go; even if the room wasn't a touch warm, the exercise involved will get them warm enough, and the fact that there are linens means they can actually grab some and stretch out if they want.

Which is how they end up after this latest round. Ygraine is generally one for a bit of amicable if brief chat while getting dressed once all parties have been duly satiated; today is somewhat different. No, she's not demanding cuddles, and she's never ever looked at Kurt with calf-eyes, but post-Aerilon nerves have shaken here, and she's a little slow to sit up when she's fitted so comfortably against him.

Her blonde hair, free of its confining braids (she's learned well enough that aside from some playful application when she's got them plaited, Holtz may actually prefer it loose during such encounters), is draped across his chest and his bicep is a comfortable enough pillow. She doesn't say anything, but there's no air of desparation either; if he asks her to move, she'll do so without complaint.

Holtz does indeed prefer her hair loose, and he idly twists a lock of it around a finger of his free hand as she lies quietly, cradled in his other arm. His eyes slide lazily over her as he collects his breath, his chest rising and falling gently. He seems comfortable enough with the silence, though he does seem a little unaccustomed to it. There's no request for her to move or otherwise extricate herself, though; he simply watches her quietly, his flinty eyes taking it all in as that questing finger moves down to her body, tracing its way up and down her skin.

Her hair smells like strawberries. It has since they left anchorage and will for a few months yet; at least until she runs out of her precious hoard of the sweet smelling shampoo and has to use what's in the ship stores like everyone else. She's silent for a long time, and thought too. Then quietly she asks, "When you were instructin', did you ever have to tell someone they couldn't hack it as a pilot?"

Holtz doesn't answer right away; his expression is still distant, his hand still tracing the contours of her body, but after a few beats, he nods. "Sure. All the time." He takes in a deep breath, taking in the scent of her hair, and lets it out with a throaty sigh. "Sometimes it's not a matter of how hard y' try. There's kids that just don't have a feel for the stick, and there's no amount of training that can fix it. Usually had at least one or two in every class."

Storm shrugs as best he can without disturbing her rest. "It sucks to break someone's dreams, but when the choice is washin' 'em out or sending 'em up in a plane you know they don't know how to handle… ain't a choice at all, really." He peers over at her, his eyes focusing on hers. "That have anything to do with how you've been lately?" So he has noticed. Not that he's one to complain about the uptick in their behind-closed-doors encounters lately, but still, there's definite concern in his tone.

"Mine told me that." she admits, shifting so she's prone on top of him, crossing her arms over his chest and resting her chin on her forearms. He could count every freckle on her face this close, and he could kiss her just by lifting his head. "So they tested me out for the ECO pipeline and apparently my scores were ridiculous." Ridiculously good, she means. "But after Aerilon, when I had to take over for Ceres in the Predator? My landing was textbook. It was textbook. Even I know enough to recognize a perfect landing even when I'm just watchin', or in the backseat. I don't know if I just got lucky, or if somethin' went really wrong in flight school for me, by accident or on purpose. It's been buggin' me."

His gaze sweeps over her features, and a tattooed arm reaches up to wrap itself around her waist. "Forgive me if I'm missin' something here, but I'm not seein' the problem." Holtz' tone is serious as his eyes proceed to lock onto hers. "You got handed a shit situation, and you got back to the deck with yourself, your pilot, and your bird, all in one piece. For which I'm glad." And he does lean forward to kiss her then, as if to quell any doubt as to which of those three he was most glad to have back.

Ygraine kisses him back, of course she does, and when he leans his head back she's grinning. "That was the scariest shit in my life, though." she says. "I mean, I've been chased by a bull, been in combat with raiders like everyone else, been on the ground with centurions breathing down our necks, but when Pie asked me if I could take the throttle on the Pred, I cried like a little bitch." And then she admits, despite it being so incredibly unsexy, "And puked on the deck after we landed." Well, at least she's not the first. "Ya ever have to do somethin' with such big stakes if ya fail after ya got it pounded into your head that you're awful at it? I thought I was gonna get us killed."

"Yeah, I saw. I was there." Holtz manages a thin little smile at the mention of her post-landing pukefest. "Hey, landings ain't easy. Usually the last thing any nugget gets right. And you hacked it like a pro." That hand of his is back to work, running its way ever so lightly up and down her spine. "The thing you gotta take away from it? The thing you really gotta remember? Not that you were scared, not that you embarrassed yourself on the deck, none of that shit. Forget that shit, it doesn't mean frak in the long run. What matters is, when crunch time hit and when lives were at stake, you bent but you didn't break." There's a pause as Holtz considers her question, and then he gives another one of those one-shouldered half-shrugs. "I dunno about the 'awful at it' part, but… you ever hear how I got my callsign?"

The fingers along her spine have her stretching under them like a cat, and she has to bite her lip when he gets to a particular few inches along the small of her back. But she manages to pay attention to what he's saying. "I know it's short for Shitstorm, but I don't know the story behind it, no."

There's a devilish twinkle in his eye and a widening smile on his lips as he watches her reaction to his touch. "Well, that's one of 'em," he says mildly. "I'm back in Flight School on Caprica, and I'm far enough along in training where they let you go on a hop without an instructor, yeah? So it's me and this guy named Sharkey, we're at the ground targeting range practicin' strafing. Finally, our ammo runs dry and we start heading back. He says, 'let's race, last one back buys the first round'. We're zoomin' back, and suddenly we run straight into a storm, this big nasty knot of grey comin' off the waterfront. Came outta nowhere, too, nothin' about it in the weather bulletin that morning."

"Sharkey's ahead of me, and he turns to go around it, but I'm sitting there thinking 'No way in hell I'm losin' to this damn piker'. So I go through the damn thing. I mean, how bad can it be, yeah?" Holtz snorts derisively. "Turns out pretty frakkin' bad. I'm pitchin' and jukin', and finally it's too damn much. Viper goes down and it's about all I can do to keep myself from becoming a smear in the process. I was convinced I was gonna die, and I was so damn scared I couldn't even think to yank the godsdamn ejection handle." Another headshake follows. "Finally, the storm thins out, and SAR grabs me. Told 'em a lightning strike blasted my controls, and Sharkey, gods bless 'im, backed me on it. Still got my ass chewed out, but they kept me flyin'. They were callin' me Stormrider in polite company for weeks, and Shitstorm everywhere else, but it sure as hell beat bein' dead."

He clears his throat. "Anyway, here's the point. "Ain't no one, not even one of us zipper-suited sun gods, is immune to fear. Anyone who claims otherwise is a godsdamn liar and I don't want him flyin' my wing. Point isn't to try and purge the fear, but to work around it. Hell, get angry if you have to, it works for me. And you sure as frak got around it."

"Ain't ever thought I was immune." she insists, thought not with any real heat to her protest. "I just spent the days afterward and now not knowin' what to do with what got left over. If that makes sense." Her grin broadens. "Found a pretty good way to work it off, though."

Ygraine adds, "I think that ranks as one of my favorite callsign stories ever."

Holtz laughs. "As coping mechanisms go, I've seen ones I liked worse, you can bet your pretty little ass on that." Which he proceeds to pat firmly as he gives her a roguish grin. "Glad to entertain." A nod follows as his expression sobers a bit. "Yeah, I know what you mean. Problem I always had with nuggets was, they'd get themselves rattled in the cockpit, and instead of just letting it go, they'd keep it all wrapped up inside, like bein' afraid was some kinda crime, until it started to frak with their flyin'. And that ain't gonna do anyone any good."

"We've picked up a couple so far, from over Virgon and Picon, and they're acting like that." Ygraine admits. "But there's no real good way to tell someone that needin' help and dealin' with their shit is the opposite of cowardly, y'know? Don't know if it's my business to get involved, but I hate seein' anyone like that. Especially if I gotta fly with them."

"Yeah, well, can't say as I blame 'em," Holtz says quietly. "This ain't exactly what any of us signed up for." He snorts. "I might talk a good game, yeah, but I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't have any trouble workin' through this shit after it went down." He purses his lips, his expression turning pensive. "Either they can hack it or they can't. Sometimes you don't know which way it'll fall before you're hip deep in shit." That's probably as close as anyone will ever get to hearing philosophy from Holtz' mouth. "Personally, I'd rather leave it to the shrinks to make that call, but it ain't always an option. Do what you think you gotta do, I guess."

Ygraine reaches up and begins to run her fingernails, in as much as she has them through his hair, gently trailing along his scalp. "Eh. Pie'll do something about it, one way or another. How you been, anyway?" She's not unsympathetic to what he's lost. He's a frakbuddy, but he's also a friend.

A long silence ensues from Holtz, and for a few seconds he just stares at the ceiling. "Eh. I miss my daughter. Hell, I almost even miss my ex-wife. Even she didn't deserve the Cylons." A beat. "But the Cylons sure as frak deserve her." He manages a weak chuckle at that, but his expression sobers quickly. "Could be worse, I guess, considering my CO is MIA, the next in line is sitting in sickbay with a fresh set of holes in 'er, and I'm the one left minding the store until one of 'em is back up," he grunts, referring to Cole, Ceres, and his temporary appointment as SL respectively.

It's mention of his daughter that makes her look briefly solemn, and once he's gone over the rest, she nudges under his chin to give him a kiss and a nip right on the pulse of his throat. Sympathy doled out in the form of affection as she lifts her head again. "It'll be okay. Redux will be out soon enough, and then you can relax. And we'll find Janitor. I don't count the dead til there's proof."

"You and me both," Holtz replies as the kiss breaks, and he gives a contented little shudder as her lips move down to brush against his neck. "It ain't that I'm worried about runnin' things while they're down… I basically ran trainin' squadrons at Nike for four bloody years. I'm just… I'd hate to make a bad call and make things even worse, yeah?" he admits after a long look at Ygraine.

"I don't think there's anybody who wants that to happen on their watch." Ygraine points out. "And you been a leader before. All anyone's gonna ask is for you to do your best to look out for them…within reason. The ones who break down are usually the same folks who think that part of their job is savin' everybody. It ain't. It's makin' sure we can do our best to save ourselves. Sometimes we can't." She shrugs a little now, in echo of his earlier motion.

"Yeah." Holtz can't bring himself to argue with anything she's said. "Yeah, I know, I ain't a nursemaid." His head twitches slightly to the side. "Didn't want the job, but it came to me, and I'll damn well do it."

"Yeah, you will." She grins, favoring him with another, slightly harder nip on his throat. "I'm frakking a squadron leader, even if it's just temporarily." She makes a silly face at him, crossing her eyes. "That's hot."

And her efforts are rewarded with another one of those little shudders. Holtz all too reluctantly extricates herself from her arms a moment later, ducking in for one last peck on the lips as he grabs for his clothes. "Yeah, well, this squadron leader you're frakkin' needs to get down to the ready room for a briefing. Wouldn't be so hot if I was late for my first mission." He winks down at her with a smirk as he pulls on his pants and then his undershirt.

Ygraine lets out a laugh. "Yeah. I ain't such a horndog as to frak up your career, promise." She too sits up, snags her clothes, and starts putting them on. She takes her time, unbothered if he has to dash while she's still righting herself. "See ya, Holtzy."

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