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Being on stims isn't the same as being awake, but it's close. Not close enough. The light is brighter and the noises are louder and the colors are sharper. You hear things like your breathing in the cockpit and the sound of the other pilots shifting in their seats. The uniforms rubbing against skin and vinyl and hair rasping against the comms and you can hear yourself blink and you can hear yourself think and all you can hear is the godsdamned ticking of the godsdamned clock that keeps moving and moving and resetting every fraking time. Being on stims is like being Zak - better, smarter, funnier. The girls all loved Zak. You were too serious, too rule-bound, too uptight. With the heat of the stims keeping your eyes open, your blood pumping, you can feel the false sense of being bigger and better than yourself. You're like Zak and it scares you how much you like it. How much you want it. How much. The Cylons keep coming, so you take the pills like sour candy. Three rotations on, one off and you know you need sleep - four minute to your rack, four minutes back and 25 minutes of sleep to catch up on over five days without. The first three days you did it, but then there were stims - bitter, chalky, dry, fraking stims - and now you can't sleep and you won't sleep and your body's alive even if it's not awake. You and Zak did stims one weekend - party time for pilots in Caprica City - and you both got laid five times the first night. Afterwards you both swore off them, crashing hard on your living room floor and begging the booze to bring you down. You know you're not getting laid on Galactica - not here and not now - and you're sure as frak not getting laid five times, but you are in the shower and alone and naked and your cock is hard because the blood keeps pumping and your hand keeps moving and you've got 20 minutes left. 20 minutes until it's 33 minutes. 33 minutes until it's time to live or 33 minutes until it's time to die, and your hand is tighter and rougher and hotter and your cock is thicker and harder and smoother and you can feel the seconds ticking by on your skin and in your blood. And you think about Kara, because that's what you do. You think about her mad at you, because she's always mad at you. She was one of the ones that loved Zak, loves Zak, and thought and thinks that you're just another CAG with a stick up his ass and an attitude problem. You think about that mouth and how she uses it to insult you and hurt you and every single word stings, but you don't care because now you don't hear the words as your hand scrabbles against the tile and just imagine her shutting up with your cock in her mouth and your hand in her hair. You laugh, because it isn't remotely funny. You laugh about the irony of you and your dad being alive and your mom and Zak being dead and you wonder if the Commander is happy or sad or wishes you'd died. You think that if you hadn't been his son, you'd have been so much Cylon fodder, and you wonder if that wouldn't be better than this. This. This. Frak these stims and frak you, because your cock's just getting harder and all you can think about is what you can do in 33 minutes - 12 minutes now - and what you are. You're the CAG and the son and a hard ass and everyone's best friend and be careful and good hunting and Mom and Dad and Zak and Kara and all those nameless, faceless people who died and are dying and you can feel it building and pushing and your hand moves faster and harder and you're laughing because you can't stop and the water's hot and you're hot and your hand is slick and wet and you shake and you come and you watch it all drain away and you laugh and you laugh and you laugh as you sink to the floor. The water shuts off as soon as you're out of the line of the spray and the laughter turns to tears as you bring your knees up because it's almost 33 minutes and nothing's changed - you're still alive, you still could die, you've still got a frakking hard on and you're still on stims. And it's time for another pill.
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