Happy birthday, nixmom!
Title: This Flight Tonight
Rating: M
Word count: 3500
Note: My awesome braintwin nixmom asked for a "first time" fic set in canon at a point where it's not usually written. I took it upon myself to apply that directive to the physical location, as well. ♥ ♥ ♥
“That was lovely.”
“They wanted to do that for you, you know.” Commander Adama’s eyes crinkled fondly as he looked out over the hangar deck, where pilots and deck crew alike were admiring Laura’s carbon-fiber namesake.
“Thank you,” Laura said. “None of this would have been possible if you hadn’t trusted the cylon.”
“I took your advice, met on common ground.”
She mulled that over for a moment--while she and the Commander were on much better terms after Kobol, it still felt nice for him to tell her she’d been right-- then asked, “What was that?”
His eyes met hers. “We both wanted to live.”
The words hung heavily in the air. Laura didn’t say anything in response; it was obvious that he wasn’t just talking about the cylon in the brig or the computer virus threat. No, those five words encompassed a lament in response to her earlier indication to him that she wouldn’t be around much longer. Sometimes the returning of a book--a gift--was more than just that.
“Today’s been a day full of triumphs, Commander.” Maybe for the last time, for me. She didn’t have many days left. “Thank you for involving me. But I should really return to my ship.”
He just looked at her, hands clasped in front of him. She could have stayed there for an eternity, lost in his concerned gaze. But she’d been on Galactica too long already, from her appointment first thing in the morning, meetings off and on all day, and time between working in the commander’s quarters.
* * *
earlier
He had cleared off his desk for her and had tea sent down when her detail confirmed she was there. Whether he knew that was how she took her chamalla or not, she wasn’t sure, but she appreciated the gesture either way. She’d half-hoped that he might be there himself while she worked in his comfortable quarters, but he didn’t return until she was packing up to leave.
She did what she’d set out to do, returning his book to him. She thought that his sad reticence might be because of her action, so she smiled at him, even flirted a little bit, let him know that she was sorry to be leaving. For her Quorum meeting, for now; for the Shore, soon enough.
But then he’d gotten the bad news of the cylon computer virus off his broad chest, calmly accepted her advice with a grateful nod, and hurried down to the brig and then CIC to try to deal with this latest crisis. His parting words were a recommendation that she not travel while the logic bomb virus continued to shut down systems in a prelude to an all-out attack. Billy cancelled the Quorum and Laura was left alone in the Commander’s space again. With his things all around her, she felt somewhat comforted at the thought of him competently leading the fleet once she was gone as she sat on his couch, shoes removed, surrounded by her reports and his scent.
* * *
Yes, it had been a long day. She was tired, and she stumbled a little as she summoned up her motivation to start walking. That half-glass of champagne she’d sipped on the hangar deck, handed to her with thanks for not smashing the entire bottle by a blushing Galen Tyrol, had gone straight to her head. Adama reached out to steady her. “Why don’t I accompany you.”
Weeks... Cottle’s grim prognosis echoed in her head.
“I’ll even fly you myself.” He stood up a little straighter, and she could see in his stance and countenance a hint of the proud, hopeful Viper jock he’d once been.
She couldn’t help but tease. “In the Blackbird?”
He held out his arm, and she took it gratefully. Reaching across her to take her bag from her and hoist it over his own shoulder, he said, close to her ear, “Not enough room for two.”
A shiver having nothing to do with her compromised physical state wended down her spine, emanating out to her shoulders and hips. He mistook her tremor for another near-stumble, and he slid his arm out from where it was entwined with hers to support her behind her waist as they walked.
No one took any note as the leaders slipped from the sidelines of the party down to the launch tubes. Adama stopped briefly at a comm on the deck to contact CIC and let them know he’d be taking out a Raptor. He smiled at her as he talked. Probably just from the euphoria of the day’s accomplishments, she decided. It suited him; he’d been so somber all day, the burden of survival weighing down the corners of his lips until it seemed he’d never smile again and she never would either. Finally he hung up the receiver.
“We’re cleared,” he said.
She hummed and took his arm again, letting him help her up the ramp.
* * *
The flight to Colonial One was a short one, but these scant mid-flight minutes seemed precious, here with him. She didn’t want it to end.
“So what did you think of the book?” he asked her. “Dark Day.”
“Oh.” Laura thought back, trying to remember the plot. The influence of chamalla made it difficult to separate fiction from reality sometimes, and their recent existence had been more fantastical than the twistiest novel. “I thought it was wonderful. Prima has such a way with words.”
He nodded slightly but didn’t say anything more.
“I can’t imagine you have much time to read,” she added.
A rueful shake of his head accompanied an affirmative grunt. “Couple of pages before rack time if I’m lucky.”
“Time is in short supply these days,” she said, glancing at him before turning her gaze out to the stars scattered among the infinite vastness of space.
* * *
They landed, his touchdown softer and smoother than her usual pilot’s on the narrow landing bay of Colonial One. She complimented both his facile landing and the ease with which he navigated the tight space, which had been designed for storage of passenger luggage and not the docking of small craft.
“Don’t wanna go back,” she admitted as she unbuckled her harness. “I’ll be ambushed by the Quorum. They’ll want me to tell them everything.”
“Hey.” He unfastened his belt as well and turned to face her. “At least you’ve got some good news to share for once.”
Usually she sat in the rear of the small cabin, closer to the ECO than the pilot, but it had seemed rude to put so much distance between them when Bill was making the effort of flying her himself. “Yes, sir, I do.” She reached out for his hand and squeezed gently. “Your crew was amazing today, Bill. All of them.”
He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, and their joined hands came to rest on her knee. “They’re good kids,” he said.
“They would do anything for you. And by extension, the Fleet,” she said. “Bill, please promise me--”
It wasn’t until he looked at her strangely, with growing concern, that she realized she’d stopped breathing. She withdrew her hand from his and focused on taking a breath.
Her lungs had decided to stop cooperating, reminding her of the x-rays Cottle had shown her: the cancer had begun spread to her chest. She fought through the wheeze and cool, stale air finally brought relief.
“Laura?” He reached out and patted his hand along her back soothingly. “Shh, just breathe.”
“Promise me,” she tried again. “Promise me you’ll keep searching, that you won’t give up.”
“Earth.” He kept rubbing her back. “Laura, why are you saying this?”
“I can’t--”
“You saw Cottle this morning. I know that.”
She glared at him and sat up straighter, setting off a few hacks of a wheezy cough.
“He didn’t tell me anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Hmm. Good.”
“I’m worried about you, Laura.” He moved his hand from her back up to her shoulder, snaked his hand beneath her hair to caress the skin of her neck. He gently rubbed at the hard knots he found there, and she felt herself fairly melt into malleable putty beneath the firm touch. The pads of his fingers were heat-seeking missiles, drawn to the sworls of tense muscle just beneath the skin, destroying the knots on contact. She finally breathed easier. “You’re working too hard.”
“Bill.” She swallowed, trying to get the lump in her throat to diminish the way the knots in her neck just had. “There’s so much to be done, and I just don’t have much time.” The last word was barely a whisper.
He moved his hand away from her neck in order to hit the comm switch. “Raptor One to the bridge. Call off the deck crew. We need a few more moments here.”
“Wilco, Raptor One.”
That task attended to, he stood up and ushered her into the back of the cabin. The front of the spacecraft was facing a bulkhead, but those windows were huge, and the thought of additional privacy appealed to Laura, considering where this conversation was going. He sat down on the first passenger bench and patted the space next to him. She hesitated only a moment before sitting down, close enough that their thighs touched. Hers trembled against his until his big hand came down on it, heavy and soothing.
“How much time, Laura.” He nodded slightly to encourage her. To encourage himself. She recognized that hopeful look. She’d worn it herself: talking to her mother, years ago; talking to Cottle, this morning, before he’d delivered the truthful blow.
“Weeks. Maybe a month.”
Her green eyes were wide, but dry, as the corners of his drooped down while he processed her dire prognosis.
“Laura, I -- no. No.”
He looked distraught, so she did the only thing she could think of in that moment, quiet and alone in a Raptor, for the one person she knew with absolute certainty would miss her when she was gone. She leaned over and kissed him.
Bill was surprised at first; she could tell because his mouth was still open against hers. But as she moved to withdraw, he pulled her to him with a hand that had somehow found its way once more to the back of her neck, sought entry to her mouth with his tongue and was granted the same.
She hummed in pleasure as she experienced the taste of him, still slightly sweet from the swallow of champagne he’d slugged straight from the bottle along with his crew. His hands began to wander, touching the bare skin of her knee and pushing up past her hemline to mid-thigh. He stroked the soft skin he found there for a few moments, gently squeezing her flesh until she was shifting to try to hike her skirt up higher. He chuckled and removed his hands so he could unfasten the buckle at the side of her blazer. His hands spanned her waist under her jacket, and suddenly she found it difficult to breathe again.
“Oh, gods. I feel like I’m sixteen and in the backseat of a car,” she said shyly, taking both his hands in hers. It wasn’t a feeling she would have ever expected to experience again, not at fifty and certainly not after the end of the worlds meant that this Raptor was the closest thing to transportational privacy left in existence.
“I make you feel young?” His eyes lit up, probably imagining them both as smoother, fitter versions of themselves, not yet weighed down by responsibilities and the toll of living.
She giggled and tugged herself closer him on the bench, using his hands for leverage. “Most days I feel very old.” Like she’d aged a decade in five months. “But right now? Yeah. You’re making me feel young, Old Man.”
Thank you, she tells him with her eyes.
“Laura.” He reached out to touch the side of her face, ran his hand through her hair. She leaned into his touch. “I want to make love to you.”
Her eyes flew open and she caught his gaze again. His hand remained tangled in her hair, keeping her close, she suspected, so she couldn’t fly away at his confession. She found that she didn’t want to, anyway. “Since when?”
“Kobol,” he said simply.
“Kobol,” she repeated, remembering the rain beating against the tarp overhead, the cold air and solid ground beneath them seeping into her bones, his arm protectively covering her and keeping her warm as they tried to sleep that anxious night before they found the Tomb. If he’d turned the question around on her, she might have said the brig. Not to say it hadn’t occurred to her on Kobol. “Hmm.”
“I wasn’t exactly up for it then,” he said.
“No,” she said. But we are now.
On this day when so many things proved possible, she can’t fathom a reason why this shouldn’t be among them. Heart racing, she wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear. “Take me here in the backseat, Bill.”
* * *
Their clothes came off efficiently; they both knew that this encounter couldn’t take forever. People would start to look for her, his absence would be noticed. Nevertheless, he moved gently when he unfastened the criss-crossing panels of her blouse, practically reverently when he slipped off her bra and fondled her breasts.
“You won’t hurt me. It feels good,” she assured him.
He laid his jacket over the padded bench and sat down first, then turned her around and pulled her down onto his lap. He pushed aside her hair for better access and bit lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder, eliciting a moan from her. Her hands grasped needily at the sides of his thighs, wanting to feel as much of him as possible.
She whimpered when he caressed her lower belly, making his way to her center. She was already wet, and his fingers slid easily through her folds, spreading her moisture up to her clit. He teased her opening, just barely breaching her, before returning his attentions to circle the tight bundle of nerves and stroke his thumb back and forth over it insistently. She could feel his hardness pressing against her ass, and she burrowed herself even closer into his lap so she could move her heated flesh against his shaft, leaving absolutely no question as to what she wanted.
He tweaked her right nipple just as two fingers slowly slid inside her, and she cried out at the sensation. It had been months since she’d had sex, years since anyone had lavished her with this kind of slow attention, and she felt herself begin to contract around his fingers.
“Mmm, not yet, Bill. Gods, I’m so close already,” she breathed, turning her head to the side so she could nibble his earlobe. He groaned and flexed his hips beneath her.
She gently pushed his hand away. The slow withdrawal of his slightly curled fingers nearly sent her over the edge. She stood up briefly on wavering legs, just long enough to turn around and straddle him. The padding on the bench plus the extra material of his jacket was easy enough on her knees, and he spread his legs wide to help her balance over him.
“Yes,” she said, sinking down slowly. His gaze was fixed intently on the point where they were joined, his member disappearing within her. She leaned in to nuzzle him, rubbing her nose against his as she tried to remind herself to breathe.
He filled her perfectly. She’d known instinctively that he would. Not that she thought about this before. Much. Her eyes closed, and she moaned softly at the throbbing of his cock deep inside her.
“Laura? You okay?” He was waiting for her, she suddenly realized.
“Mmm, fine. Better than fine,” she said, her voice hoarse. She breathed in deeply, then latched her mouth to his as she began to move.
He caught onto her rhythm quickly. Steadily they shifted against each other in unison, both savoring each stroke. All their efforts in learning how to stop fighting one another and work together were well worth it now, as they kissed and slid and slowly built the steamy bubble bulkhead around them that would protect them for this moment from the realities beyond this lone Raptor on the hangar deck of Colonial One; her illness, their responsibilities.
Callused hands wandered, seeking contact that would bring them both pleasure, unable to get enough of the soft pale skin finally bared to him for the first time. He circled her waist, then slid his hands down to cup her ass, helping lift her up and down as she worked herself against him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he buried his face in her neck, whispering promises they both knew he couldn’t keep, but sounded awfully nice nonetheless.
Laura clutched at his dog tags as she rode him with all the energy she could summon. She might not get another chance at this--in fact, she was certain she wouldn’t--and she wanted it to last. Luckily, the Commander was accommodating.
And so was she, she realized, as he pushed even deeper inside, causing her clit to grind against his pubic bone just as the tip of his dick bumped against her cervix.
“Gods, you feel so good,” he said. He squeezed her ass tighter and groaned. “So close--”
“Yes,” she encouraged, finally ready to fall apart in his arms. She moved faster against him, the tired ache in her thighs barely noticeable compared to the expanding blossom of feeling about to burst between them.
They came together, urging each other on. Laura called out to the gods between successive orgasmic spasms, while it was her name Bill shouted as he emptied himself inside of her.
* * *
“I’ll walk you back to your quarters,” he said, handing her blouse to her.
The tremors that had attended her trip over here had returned; she could barely do up the buttons. She needed her evening dose of chamalla. “I’ll be fine. Billy is just inside.” She gave him a long look, wishing it didn’t have to be this way. “Go back to Galactica, Bill.”
He reached out to steady her, but she pushed back at his chest in warning. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Head hung, Bill began buttoning up his jacket and pulled on his pants. He didn’t look at her. The tears she’d successfully staved off earlier that morning in Life Station threatened to return. She took a deep breath and tried to exhale out her regrets.
“Hey.” She waited until he finally raised his eyes to hers. This time she says it out loud, even though she knows it could be construed as goodbye, and that’s not exactly what she wants. Yet. “Thank you.”
Nodding once, he leaned in to kiss her, softly, the barest brush of lips. Then he stood up, and they were once again as they were: the stoic Commander, the professional President.
She touched her lips as she turned to leave, wondering if she’d just received her last kiss.
* * *
Bill sat on the Raptor bench, paralyzed by the war taking place in his mind between melancholy and euphoria, long after Laura had left. The scent of her, of him, of their combined exertions--the remnants of their steamy bubble, popped the moment she’d walked out the hatch--still hung in the air, for now, and he wanted to wallow in it while he could. They’d both let themselves live a little, on this day that so much had seemed possible.
But she was right. Losing her would be even harder, now. Trying to forget about what had just happened would be like trying to force a Viper back into its launch tube.
That thought reminded him that he needed to get back to his command. He made his way up into the cockpit, hit the comm button, and informed the bridge that he was waiting for clearance to take off. Permission granted by an unfamiliar voice, he eased the Raptor back out into space.
As he piloted the Raptor back toward Galactica, his mind was filled with an unexpected melody, the lyrics coming back to him with surprising ease for a song he hadn’t heard in upwards of thirty-five years. The folk singer from Leonis had been popular throughout the Colonies sometime after the war, when he was still a young man.
It was a brooding complaint about the difficulties of inter-Colonial relationships. The refrain echoed through his head, accompanied by images of Laura as he had just seen her and would probably never see her again, but would remember always: uninhibited, peaceful. Beautiful.
My love is going to leave me.
But not tonight.
I shouldn't have got on this flight, tonight.
Rating: M
Word count: 3500
Note: My awesome braintwin nixmom asked for a "first time" fic set in canon at a point where it's not usually written. I took it upon myself to apply that directive to the physical location, as well. ♥ ♥ ♥
“That was lovely.”
“They wanted to do that for you, you know.” Commander Adama’s eyes crinkled fondly as he looked out over the hangar deck, where pilots and deck crew alike were admiring Laura’s carbon-fiber namesake.
“Thank you,” Laura said. “None of this would have been possible if you hadn’t trusted the cylon.”
“I took your advice, met on common ground.”
She mulled that over for a moment--while she and the Commander were on much better terms after Kobol, it still felt nice for him to tell her she’d been right-- then asked, “What was that?”
His eyes met hers. “We both wanted to live.”
The words hung heavily in the air. Laura didn’t say anything in response; it was obvious that he wasn’t just talking about the cylon in the brig or the computer virus threat. No, those five words encompassed a lament in response to her earlier indication to him that she wouldn’t be around much longer. Sometimes the returning of a book--a gift--was more than just that.
“Today’s been a day full of triumphs, Commander.” Maybe for the last time, for me. She didn’t have many days left. “Thank you for involving me. But I should really return to my ship.”
He just looked at her, hands clasped in front of him. She could have stayed there for an eternity, lost in his concerned gaze. But she’d been on Galactica too long already, from her appointment first thing in the morning, meetings off and on all day, and time between working in the commander’s quarters.
* * *
earlier
He had cleared off his desk for her and had tea sent down when her detail confirmed she was there. Whether he knew that was how she took her chamalla or not, she wasn’t sure, but she appreciated the gesture either way. She’d half-hoped that he might be there himself while she worked in his comfortable quarters, but he didn’t return until she was packing up to leave.
She did what she’d set out to do, returning his book to him. She thought that his sad reticence might be because of her action, so she smiled at him, even flirted a little bit, let him know that she was sorry to be leaving. For her Quorum meeting, for now; for the Shore, soon enough.
But then he’d gotten the bad news of the cylon computer virus off his broad chest, calmly accepted her advice with a grateful nod, and hurried down to the brig and then CIC to try to deal with this latest crisis. His parting words were a recommendation that she not travel while the logic bomb virus continued to shut down systems in a prelude to an all-out attack. Billy cancelled the Quorum and Laura was left alone in the Commander’s space again. With his things all around her, she felt somewhat comforted at the thought of him competently leading the fleet once she was gone as she sat on his couch, shoes removed, surrounded by her reports and his scent.
* * *
Yes, it had been a long day. She was tired, and she stumbled a little as she summoned up her motivation to start walking. That half-glass of champagne she’d sipped on the hangar deck, handed to her with thanks for not smashing the entire bottle by a blushing Galen Tyrol, had gone straight to her head. Adama reached out to steady her. “Why don’t I accompany you.”
Weeks... Cottle’s grim prognosis echoed in her head.
“I’ll even fly you myself.” He stood up a little straighter, and she could see in his stance and countenance a hint of the proud, hopeful Viper jock he’d once been.
She couldn’t help but tease. “In the Blackbird?”
He held out his arm, and she took it gratefully. Reaching across her to take her bag from her and hoist it over his own shoulder, he said, close to her ear, “Not enough room for two.”
A shiver having nothing to do with her compromised physical state wended down her spine, emanating out to her shoulders and hips. He mistook her tremor for another near-stumble, and he slid his arm out from where it was entwined with hers to support her behind her waist as they walked.
No one took any note as the leaders slipped from the sidelines of the party down to the launch tubes. Adama stopped briefly at a comm on the deck to contact CIC and let them know he’d be taking out a Raptor. He smiled at her as he talked. Probably just from the euphoria of the day’s accomplishments, she decided. It suited him; he’d been so somber all day, the burden of survival weighing down the corners of his lips until it seemed he’d never smile again and she never would either. Finally he hung up the receiver.
“We’re cleared,” he said.
She hummed and took his arm again, letting him help her up the ramp.
* * *
The flight to Colonial One was a short one, but these scant mid-flight minutes seemed precious, here with him. She didn’t want it to end.
“So what did you think of the book?” he asked her. “Dark Day.”
“Oh.” Laura thought back, trying to remember the plot. The influence of chamalla made it difficult to separate fiction from reality sometimes, and their recent existence had been more fantastical than the twistiest novel. “I thought it was wonderful. Prima has such a way with words.”
He nodded slightly but didn’t say anything more.
“I can’t imagine you have much time to read,” she added.
A rueful shake of his head accompanied an affirmative grunt. “Couple of pages before rack time if I’m lucky.”
“Time is in short supply these days,” she said, glancing at him before turning her gaze out to the stars scattered among the infinite vastness of space.
* * *
They landed, his touchdown softer and smoother than her usual pilot’s on the narrow landing bay of Colonial One. She complimented both his facile landing and the ease with which he navigated the tight space, which had been designed for storage of passenger luggage and not the docking of small craft.
“Don’t wanna go back,” she admitted as she unbuckled her harness. “I’ll be ambushed by the Quorum. They’ll want me to tell them everything.”
“Hey.” He unfastened his belt as well and turned to face her. “At least you’ve got some good news to share for once.”
Usually she sat in the rear of the small cabin, closer to the ECO than the pilot, but it had seemed rude to put so much distance between them when Bill was making the effort of flying her himself. “Yes, sir, I do.” She reached out for his hand and squeezed gently. “Your crew was amazing today, Bill. All of them.”
He ran his thumb over the back of her hand, and their joined hands came to rest on her knee. “They’re good kids,” he said.
“They would do anything for you. And by extension, the Fleet,” she said. “Bill, please promise me--”
It wasn’t until he looked at her strangely, with growing concern, that she realized she’d stopped breathing. She withdrew her hand from his and focused on taking a breath.
Her lungs had decided to stop cooperating, reminding her of the x-rays Cottle had shown her: the cancer had begun spread to her chest. She fought through the wheeze and cool, stale air finally brought relief.
“Laura?” He reached out and patted his hand along her back soothingly. “Shh, just breathe.”
“Promise me,” she tried again. “Promise me you’ll keep searching, that you won’t give up.”
“Earth.” He kept rubbing her back. “Laura, why are you saying this?”
“I can’t--”
“You saw Cottle this morning. I know that.”
She glared at him and sat up straighter, setting off a few hacks of a wheezy cough.
“He didn’t tell me anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Hmm. Good.”
“I’m worried about you, Laura.” He moved his hand from her back up to her shoulder, snaked his hand beneath her hair to caress the skin of her neck. He gently rubbed at the hard knots he found there, and she felt herself fairly melt into malleable putty beneath the firm touch. The pads of his fingers were heat-seeking missiles, drawn to the sworls of tense muscle just beneath the skin, destroying the knots on contact. She finally breathed easier. “You’re working too hard.”
“Bill.” She swallowed, trying to get the lump in her throat to diminish the way the knots in her neck just had. “There’s so much to be done, and I just don’t have much time.” The last word was barely a whisper.
He moved his hand away from her neck in order to hit the comm switch. “Raptor One to the bridge. Call off the deck crew. We need a few more moments here.”
“Wilco, Raptor One.”
That task attended to, he stood up and ushered her into the back of the cabin. The front of the spacecraft was facing a bulkhead, but those windows were huge, and the thought of additional privacy appealed to Laura, considering where this conversation was going. He sat down on the first passenger bench and patted the space next to him. She hesitated only a moment before sitting down, close enough that their thighs touched. Hers trembled against his until his big hand came down on it, heavy and soothing.
“How much time, Laura.” He nodded slightly to encourage her. To encourage himself. She recognized that hopeful look. She’d worn it herself: talking to her mother, years ago; talking to Cottle, this morning, before he’d delivered the truthful blow.
“Weeks. Maybe a month.”
Her green eyes were wide, but dry, as the corners of his drooped down while he processed her dire prognosis.
“Laura, I -- no. No.”
He looked distraught, so she did the only thing she could think of in that moment, quiet and alone in a Raptor, for the one person she knew with absolute certainty would miss her when she was gone. She leaned over and kissed him.
Bill was surprised at first; she could tell because his mouth was still open against hers. But as she moved to withdraw, he pulled her to him with a hand that had somehow found its way once more to the back of her neck, sought entry to her mouth with his tongue and was granted the same.
She hummed in pleasure as she experienced the taste of him, still slightly sweet from the swallow of champagne he’d slugged straight from the bottle along with his crew. His hands began to wander, touching the bare skin of her knee and pushing up past her hemline to mid-thigh. He stroked the soft skin he found there for a few moments, gently squeezing her flesh until she was shifting to try to hike her skirt up higher. He chuckled and removed his hands so he could unfasten the buckle at the side of her blazer. His hands spanned her waist under her jacket, and suddenly she found it difficult to breathe again.
“Oh, gods. I feel like I’m sixteen and in the backseat of a car,” she said shyly, taking both his hands in hers. It wasn’t a feeling she would have ever expected to experience again, not at fifty and certainly not after the end of the worlds meant that this Raptor was the closest thing to transportational privacy left in existence.
“I make you feel young?” His eyes lit up, probably imagining them both as smoother, fitter versions of themselves, not yet weighed down by responsibilities and the toll of living.
She giggled and tugged herself closer him on the bench, using his hands for leverage. “Most days I feel very old.” Like she’d aged a decade in five months. “But right now? Yeah. You’re making me feel young, Old Man.”
Thank you, she tells him with her eyes.
“Laura.” He reached out to touch the side of her face, ran his hand through her hair. She leaned into his touch. “I want to make love to you.”
Her eyes flew open and she caught his gaze again. His hand remained tangled in her hair, keeping her close, she suspected, so she couldn’t fly away at his confession. She found that she didn’t want to, anyway. “Since when?”
“Kobol,” he said simply.
“Kobol,” she repeated, remembering the rain beating against the tarp overhead, the cold air and solid ground beneath them seeping into her bones, his arm protectively covering her and keeping her warm as they tried to sleep that anxious night before they found the Tomb. If he’d turned the question around on her, she might have said the brig. Not to say it hadn’t occurred to her on Kobol. “Hmm.”
“I wasn’t exactly up for it then,” he said.
“No,” she said. But we are now.
On this day when so many things proved possible, she can’t fathom a reason why this shouldn’t be among them. Heart racing, she wrapped her arms around him and whispered in his ear. “Take me here in the backseat, Bill.”
* * *
Their clothes came off efficiently; they both knew that this encounter couldn’t take forever. People would start to look for her, his absence would be noticed. Nevertheless, he moved gently when he unfastened the criss-crossing panels of her blouse, practically reverently when he slipped off her bra and fondled her breasts.
“You won’t hurt me. It feels good,” she assured him.
He laid his jacket over the padded bench and sat down first, then turned her around and pulled her down onto his lap. He pushed aside her hair for better access and bit lightly at the juncture of neck and shoulder, eliciting a moan from her. Her hands grasped needily at the sides of his thighs, wanting to feel as much of him as possible.
She whimpered when he caressed her lower belly, making his way to her center. She was already wet, and his fingers slid easily through her folds, spreading her moisture up to her clit. He teased her opening, just barely breaching her, before returning his attentions to circle the tight bundle of nerves and stroke his thumb back and forth over it insistently. She could feel his hardness pressing against her ass, and she burrowed herself even closer into his lap so she could move her heated flesh against his shaft, leaving absolutely no question as to what she wanted.
He tweaked her right nipple just as two fingers slowly slid inside her, and she cried out at the sensation. It had been months since she’d had sex, years since anyone had lavished her with this kind of slow attention, and she felt herself begin to contract around his fingers.
“Mmm, not yet, Bill. Gods, I’m so close already,” she breathed, turning her head to the side so she could nibble his earlobe. He groaned and flexed his hips beneath her.
She gently pushed his hand away. The slow withdrawal of his slightly curled fingers nearly sent her over the edge. She stood up briefly on wavering legs, just long enough to turn around and straddle him. The padding on the bench plus the extra material of his jacket was easy enough on her knees, and he spread his legs wide to help her balance over him.
“Yes,” she said, sinking down slowly. His gaze was fixed intently on the point where they were joined, his member disappearing within her. She leaned in to nuzzle him, rubbing her nose against his as she tried to remind herself to breathe.
He filled her perfectly. She’d known instinctively that he would. Not that she thought about this before. Much. Her eyes closed, and she moaned softly at the throbbing of his cock deep inside her.
“Laura? You okay?” He was waiting for her, she suddenly realized.
“Mmm, fine. Better than fine,” she said, her voice hoarse. She breathed in deeply, then latched her mouth to his as she began to move.
He caught onto her rhythm quickly. Steadily they shifted against each other in unison, both savoring each stroke. All their efforts in learning how to stop fighting one another and work together were well worth it now, as they kissed and slid and slowly built the steamy bubble bulkhead around them that would protect them for this moment from the realities beyond this lone Raptor on the hangar deck of Colonial One; her illness, their responsibilities.
Callused hands wandered, seeking contact that would bring them both pleasure, unable to get enough of the soft pale skin finally bared to him for the first time. He circled her waist, then slid his hands down to cup her ass, helping lift her up and down as she worked herself against him. Her breasts brushed against his chest and he buried his face in her neck, whispering promises they both knew he couldn’t keep, but sounded awfully nice nonetheless.
Laura clutched at his dog tags as she rode him with all the energy she could summon. She might not get another chance at this--in fact, she was certain she wouldn’t--and she wanted it to last. Luckily, the Commander was accommodating.
And so was she, she realized, as he pushed even deeper inside, causing her clit to grind against his pubic bone just as the tip of his dick bumped against her cervix.
“Gods, you feel so good,” he said. He squeezed her ass tighter and groaned. “So close--”
“Yes,” she encouraged, finally ready to fall apart in his arms. She moved faster against him, the tired ache in her thighs barely noticeable compared to the expanding blossom of feeling about to burst between them.
They came together, urging each other on. Laura called out to the gods between successive orgasmic spasms, while it was her name Bill shouted as he emptied himself inside of her.
* * *
“I’ll walk you back to your quarters,” he said, handing her blouse to her.
The tremors that had attended her trip over here had returned; she could barely do up the buttons. She needed her evening dose of chamalla. “I’ll be fine. Billy is just inside.” She gave him a long look, wishing it didn’t have to be this way. “Go back to Galactica, Bill.”
He reached out to steady her, but she pushed back at his chest in warning. “Please don’t make this harder than it already is.”
Head hung, Bill began buttoning up his jacket and pulled on his pants. He didn’t look at her. The tears she’d successfully staved off earlier that morning in Life Station threatened to return. She took a deep breath and tried to exhale out her regrets.
“Hey.” She waited until he finally raised his eyes to hers. This time she says it out loud, even though she knows it could be construed as goodbye, and that’s not exactly what she wants. Yet. “Thank you.”
Nodding once, he leaned in to kiss her, softly, the barest brush of lips. Then he stood up, and they were once again as they were: the stoic Commander, the professional President.
She touched her lips as she turned to leave, wondering if she’d just received her last kiss.
* * *
Bill sat on the Raptor bench, paralyzed by the war taking place in his mind between melancholy and euphoria, long after Laura had left. The scent of her, of him, of their combined exertions--the remnants of their steamy bubble, popped the moment she’d walked out the hatch--still hung in the air, for now, and he wanted to wallow in it while he could. They’d both let themselves live a little, on this day that so much had seemed possible.
But she was right. Losing her would be even harder, now. Trying to forget about what had just happened would be like trying to force a Viper back into its launch tube.
That thought reminded him that he needed to get back to his command. He made his way up into the cockpit, hit the comm button, and informed the bridge that he was waiting for clearance to take off. Permission granted by an unfamiliar voice, he eased the Raptor back out into space.
As he piloted the Raptor back toward Galactica, his mind was filled with an unexpected melody, the lyrics coming back to him with surprising ease for a song he hadn’t heard in upwards of thirty-five years. The folk singer from Leonis had been popular throughout the Colonies sometime after the war, when he was still a young man.
It was a brooding complaint about the difficulties of inter-Colonial relationships. The refrain echoed through his head, accompanied by images of Laura as he had just seen her and would probably never see her again, but would remember always: uninhibited, peaceful. Beautiful.
My love is going to leave me.
But not tonight.
I shouldn't have got on this flight, tonight.