"Self-Centered" - Battlestar Galactica
Also posted at femslash100, in response to prompt B/Bamboozle of alphabet soup.
Title: Self-Centered
Author: Nia
Rating: PG-13
Show: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Roslin/Roslin
Summary: "It is remarkably self-centered, you think, to push your hands up your other self's thighs, critical and loving."
Self-Centered
It is remarkably self-centered, you think, to push your hands up your other self's thighs, critical and loving. It is remarkably self-centered to not kill her when you see her, to not march yourself to Adama with blood-stained hands, but she understands-it is a gray area. She remembers that first year of teaching, when life lay uncomplicated before you, and she remembers the fear of death, nights spent tracing with fingertips over your chest.
She has never feared death, herself. You wonder if there is something eating beneath her skin, too, or if that is just a flaw in you. You press your hands to her breasts to feel. You kiss her collarbone, push your thigh between her own, and sometimes you do not remember which body is which-the same way she recalls the life you lived, you know how she shivers when your breath is warm against her back. She is rather beautiful when she comes. You push her hair out of your face.
It is remarkably self-centered to keep her here with you, secret, to hold her body that is not dying yet. But you have lost so much-home, friends, Elosha, and Bill Adama is not what he used to be, and Lieutenant Thrace is loyal to him once more. You cannot lose what you still have. You are the prophet, Cylon or not. You do what you must do to be trusted.
You take her below deck, and you put her out the airlock.
Title: Self-Centered
Author: Nia
Rating: PG-13
Show: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Roslin/Roslin
Summary: "It is remarkably self-centered, you think, to push your hands up your other self's thighs, critical and loving."
Self-Centered
It is remarkably self-centered, you think, to push your hands up your other self's thighs, critical and loving. It is remarkably self-centered to not kill her when you see her, to not march yourself to Adama with blood-stained hands, but she understands-it is a gray area. She remembers that first year of teaching, when life lay uncomplicated before you, and she remembers the fear of death, nights spent tracing with fingertips over your chest.
She has never feared death, herself. You wonder if there is something eating beneath her skin, too, or if that is just a flaw in you. You press your hands to her breasts to feel. You kiss her collarbone, push your thigh between her own, and sometimes you do not remember which body is which-the same way she recalls the life you lived, you know how she shivers when your breath is warm against her back. She is rather beautiful when she comes. You push her hair out of your face.
It is remarkably self-centered to keep her here with you, secret, to hold her body that is not dying yet. But you have lost so much-home, friends, Elosha, and Bill Adama is not what he used to be, and Lieutenant Thrace is loyal to him once more. You cannot lose what you still have. You are the prophet, Cylon or not. You do what you must do to be trusted.
You take her below deck, and you put her out the airlock.