Work Text:
For two full days following the airing of the Galactica documentary, Felix feels the heat of a perpetual blush. He's grateful for his skin tone, grateful that the flush rising up his neck and into his face doesn't show as vividly as it would if he were as fair-skinned as, say, Captain Apollo.
pale and perfect skin flushed with arousal, the livid mark of a love bite on the inner thigh
Not that he's thought about Captain Apollo at all or
taut, hard muscles quivering under velvety skin
about anything at all, really, except for his embarrassment over his segment. What had possessed him to smoke those frakking cigarettes, anyway? It was so obvious he was trying to look cool and manly for the camera, and he isn't. He's just Felix. Former geek. Former bully bait. Still nothing but a pathetic, eager puppy trying to pretend he's a big dog. That his former tormenters are dust is of little comfort when everyone now knows how much of a fraud he is.
Especially since he flashed his tattoo like he was trying to prove he really is cool and tough. He cringes every time he thinks of it. That and the smoldering look he gave the camera. His "intense" face. Gods, what had he been thinking? One look at his tat and suddenly every
genius scientist
hard-bodied CAG
girl in the fleet would suddenly start flinging their panties at his feet?
Captain Apollo has been mercifully absent from CIC, at least while Felix is on duty, but Felix's luck runs out today. He stutters over a report to Colonel Tigh when he catches Captain Apollo's distinctive swagger out of the corner of his eye, and he returns to his station, the flush returning in full force. He can't help remembering
a sculpted body, the jut of hipbone, the slip of a towel revealing too much and not enough
what he saw. He knew about the arms, of course. Captain Apollo had removed his jacket in CIC any number of times, and Felix had noticed the hard curve of his biceps
the vulnerable, pale nape begging to be bitten and licked when he bent his head
but it wasn't anything Felix had ever thought about. It was just there, one more neutral fact about his shipmates. Dee has a pretty smile. Tigh is a drunk asshole. Captain Apollo has nice arms.
But now Felix is aware of what else has been hidden beneath a concealing jacket and layered undershirts and trousers. He thinks about
digging his fingers into an ass that feels like pure steel as a solid, compact body pins him down and powerful hips thrust against his
the things they all have hidden under their clothes. Under their skin. He still thinks Dr. Baltar is one of the handsomest men he's ever known, but he doubts Dr. Baltar is hiding the same secrets that Captain Apollo is.
The heat in his face intensifies when he realizes Captain Apollo has moved nearer to his station. Is, in fact, facing him and might have caught him staring. Hoping the guilt doesn't show in his eyes, Felix lifts his gaze, and he sees he hasn't been caught after all. Captain Apollo is looking at him, but not at his face. At his chest, right about where his tattoo is.
When their eyes meet at last, it's Apollo who blushes and looks away.