Kara's like a hot flash of grease, splattering and spitting from a hot iron pan, burning any skin she touches. She's normally the kind of girl he'd ignore or frak hard and fast, getting her out of his rack and out of his system like a supernova, but Kara's more than that. She gets under his skin and makes him laugh and frak him if all he can think about now is getting burned.

She mocks him incessantly through the games, making fun of his bets and his cards and his bluffs, and he just soaks it all up with a smile, watching her drink more and laugh longer and puff up like one of those chickens on his grandfather's ranch - all air and feathers and just a scrawny little shit underneath. He smiles and she smiles and chews on her cigar, pulling it out long enough to lick her lips as she looks at him.

"Your ass is mine, Agathon."

He nods once - agreement, acceptance, doesn't matter, doesn't care - and lays his cards down, colors high flush and Kara nearly swallows her tongue as she looks at them. Everything he's lost tonight comes sliding back across the table at him and he can't help but grin. Every single Gods-damned bit of her crowing is worth the look on her face.

"What's that you were saying, 'Buck?"

"You son of a…"

"Careful, Kara." He grins and gathers his winnings, letting them fall loudly into his pockets. "You don't even know my momma."

She turns sharply and storms out of the rec, and Helo grins at the rest of the Viper jockeys. It's a rough thing - Kara routinely wipes their asses and yet she's one of them, torn loyalties are a bitch.

"Night, ladies and gentlemen." He offers them all a sloppy salute and heads out of the rec, turning in the direction of the bunk room. He's barely three steps gone when a spitball of fire and lightning slams into him, crashing them both into the bulkhead.

Kara's mouth is as hot as she flies and she frakking climbs him, fingers digging into his skin as she straddles his waist. He groans and his hands slide beneath her ass to support her, but she doesn't relinquish her grip, her fingers digging into his neck and shoulders as she devours his mouth with hers, sucking hard enough on his tongue to make his dick stand at attention.

"Gods, Kara." He groans and turns, pressing her against the cold metal and feeling a shiver run through her overheated skin. He fights with her pants, fumbling with buttons and zippers and cloth, pushing them out of the way until he can find the wet heat through the regulation gray panties. He groans, fingers hard against the fabric, against her skin beneath and she looses a thick moan and grinds down against him. He scratches the wet material out of the way and slides two fingers inside her, burying them inside her. She gasps, head slamming back into the bulkhead and he leans in, biting sharply at the clean line of her neck.

"Frak, Helo," she gasps, her body tightening around his fingers, greedy as he thrusts them deeper. "Frak."

He finds her clit and circles it then runs the bad of his thumb across it. She gasps wordlessly, breathlessly and he does it again, increasing the speed as he thrusts his fingers faster. Her nails dig into his skin, leave marks and cuts even through the layers of his tanks as her muscles coil, everything tightening so the only thing he can feel and see and hear is the cording of her body, until she suddenly snaps and goes slack, her orgasm painting his fingers, wetness warm against his palm.

The second wave of her attack hits him in another kiss, one arm tight around his neck as the other undoes his slacks, shoving them out of the way desperately, her fist wrapping just as tight around his cock. He grunts and shoves her into the bulkhead again, using his weight to hold her there as he fumbles with her pants, shoving them down further before batting her hand away and guiding his cock inside her.

They move like flying, tangled up in clothes and each other, freedom falling around them and seeing stars. He thrusts, stealing heat, coating his cock in her, smelling cigars and ambrosia and Starbuck, high on all three and crashing in one. He sucks at her neck, biting and licking the sweaty skin, marking her, her protests blocked by the rush of blood in his ears.

He jerks inside her, coming hot and hard, like a frakked up landing. He's barely done before she's shoving at him, punching hard and missing her mark as she nearly stumbles to her feet. Her free hand is on her neck, covering the dark red spot that's bleeding across the milky white flesh.

"You frak!"

He laughs, tugging up his slacks and fisting his tanks in his hand, dragging them up to wipe the perspiration from his skin. "What's the matter, 'Buck?" He catches her chin. "Sucks to play by the rules when you're not winning, doesn't it?"

"Frak you, Agathon." She nearly spits his name, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "No marks. Those are the frakkin' rules."

Helo reaches out and traces the dark red mark. "Don't follow your own rules, Kara. Got the scars to prove it. Why the frak should I care if you've got some explaining to do?" He lets his hand slide to the nape of her neck, trails his fingers through the sweat damp hair. "Risk you take, Starbuck, when the stakes are high."

She snarls and he kisses her, hard teeth and the taste of blood. Breaking away, she spits on the metal grating at his feet. "Frak you, Helo."

Helo laughs. "Sucks to lose, doesn't it?" He slaps her ass as she starts to stride off. "See you next game, Lieutenant."