Fic: more Laura/Kara ficlets
My final set of ficlets for the Ship War. I wrote twenty, all in all! My gawd, apparently I can write after all, if I don't give a shit about quality.
Here for posterity, along with the others.
* * *
Overrated, Laura/Kara, PG
She's leaning against the pillows in that uncomfortable bed in sickbay straining to focus on a book when Kara comes in, closing the curtains with barely a whisper. It always surprises her that the girl is so light on her feet when she wants to be. She always associates Kara Thrace with noise, with bold actions and loud, vibrant laughter, and the soft, gentle, quiet side to her still catches Laura unawares sometimes, even now.
Kara squeezes her foot under the blankets as she moves up to the side of the bed, hopping up to sit on the edge, leaning forward to drop a quick kiss on Laura’s lips.
“I thought you weren’t coming today?" Laura tilts her head, then grimaces a little, masking it as quickly as she can with a smile. All her muscles have been aching recently, and she’s trying to get used to moving as little as she can. “You were ..." she concentrates for a moment, trying to remember. “... flying CAP, meeting with Bill and then getting some sleep. You promised."
“Yeah, well," Kara shrugs and Laura envies her easy movements. “Sleep’s overrated. I wanted to show you what I got for you." She holds out a small, wrapped package, and Laura tentatively reaches out to take it with the hand not hooked up to the IV. “Go on, open it."
The crumpled gift wrapping falls away easily enough, and Laura’s left holding a simple silver bracelet.
“Do you like it?" Kara’s eyes are wide and she looks impossibly young and nervous, trying to gauge Laura’s reaction. “It reminded me of you. Elegant, the way you’re gonna be when you’re better."
Laura wishes she had the girl’s optimism about the effectiveness of the poison flooding her veins, but the gift is beautiful, and she slips it over her wrist, the light catching on it and making it shine.
She reaches out her hand, taking Kara's and squeezing it. “It’s gorgeous."
They don't say any more. Just sit, holding hands, stroking thumbs over soft skin, until Kara moves to curl up on the side of the bed next to Laura, resting her head on her shoulder, closing her eyes and succumbing to some of that overrated sleep after all.
* * *
Sunrise, Laura/Kara, PG
They’re waiting for dawn to arrive before heading off back to the raptors. There's a tiny pink glow on the horizon, but it's dark and cold, and they're huddled next to each other, tucked beneath the same tarp, listening to the sound of snoring and the occasional tweet of birds awakening.
“My mother nearly called me Athena," Laura says, a complete non sequitur, as she looks up at the peaks nearby, hiding the tomb they emerged from just a few hours earlier.
“Yeah?" Kara’s poking a twig into the hard ground, over and over, digging tiny holes in the mud, then scraping the dirt off and starting again.
“Mm. Then she decided to name me after my great grandmother instead. But I’m dedicated to her. Never was much one for temples, though." Laura shifts, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the thin pile of coats and blankets they're sitting on.
“Ironic, huh?" Kara nudges her elbow. “Why'd she change her mind?"
“She decided the stories of what happened to her, the way she leapt to her death after losing everything, would be unlucky." Laura twists her mouth, looking away from the tomb. “Now, that's what I call ironic."
Kara drops the twig and slips her arm around Laura's waist. “Ah, but you see, there's a difference between you and the goddess, Athena."
“What's that?"
“She didn’t have me. You and me, we’ll get shit done, together. Right?"
Laura leans into the warmth of Kara’s side, kissing her shoulder gently as the sun breaks over the horizon
* * *
Love Letter, Laura/Kara, PG
They’re packing up boxes, ready to move Kara out of her old apartment. It's been a long time coming; despite the fact she's barely slept here in months, and even her mail gets delivered to Laura’s now, neither of them have been comfortable with the idea of anything permanent. Anything real. It's only because Kara’s landlord wants to sell the place that they reluctantly sat down one night to sort of, kind of, talk about it in maybes and perhapses and just for nows.
For Kara, it feels like the end of an era. She doesn’t know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. This battered two room apartment has seen it's share of pain and crappiness, and Laura’s place feels more like home than this ever has. But it terrifies the frak out of her to leave it, like she's losing her independence, losing her choices. So of course, she puts on a big show of not being able to get out of the place fast enough, throwing clothes into boxes, old paintings into the back of her truck like she couldn’t care less.
She’s standing in her almost empty bedroom/living room/studio, chilly, wrinkling her nose at the mould along the windowframe she never noticed til now, when Laura comes up behind her. Her hair is pulled back and up, and she’s dusty and sweaty and beautiful in a pair of old jeans and a shirt. Kara wants her, but right now, the last thing she needs is to be touched, to feel smothered.
But all Laura does is put the newspaper down by her hand on the table, folded open to the properties for rent. The lightest touch on Kara’s back, and a murmur near her ear. “I’ll come look at new places with you anytime you want. We might even find somewhere with some new and exciting mould to improve on this place. Add to your collection." The gentle humour in her voice warms Kara.
And then she's gone, taking another box with her, back outside.
Kara looks down at the newspaper, three or four places already circled. And she knows she won’t look at a single one of them, or anywhere else either. But she rips out the page anyhow, tucking it into her shirt pocket next to her heart, thinking as she does so that it's the oddest sort of love note she can think of, but that's exactly what it is.
* * *
Changing Minds, Laura/Kara, PG
The sleek silver dress she's pulled out of the closet is probably too tight and too short, but she really doesn’t give a frak. This is probably all a waste of time anyhow, getting back into dating. Marcy might insist it’s what she needs, but in all honesty, Laura can’t really see herself with anyone right now, or maybe ever again. She doesn’t much want to be doing this, but it gets Marcy off her back at the very least. It’ll probably go horribly wrong. So if a quick frak is the best that's going to come out of it, the dress is perfect.
She’s just checking the bottle of wine chilling on the side is cold enough when the buzzer goes at the door. She doesn’t rush. It’s not like this is going anywhere.
When she opens the door, the first thing she sees is a bouquet of flowers with a pair of legs. Then a face peeks out from behind them, and the flowers are thrust into her arms.
The bouquet introduces herself as Kara: bright hazel eyes, short blonde hair, and a gorgeous body hiding beneath a fitted shirt and neat black slacks. As Laura smiles, stepping back and gesturing the girl into the apartment, Kara nervously wipes the palms of her hands on the thighs, but the look in her eyes as she looks Laura up and down is hungry.
Laura pours wine, and they make small talk as they sip it, about the restaurant Kara booked, their jobs, their likes and dislikes. They stay well away from anything approaching family, and Laura's absolutely fine with that, but there's a quick intelligence and a lot of good humour under the surface in Kara, and she finds herself enjoying the chat.
They get their coats, ready to leave. As Kara opens the door to her car, holding it for Laura to climb inside, Laura makes a decision. If a quick frak is on offer here, Laura's fine with that, but maybe she’ll give this one a chance. Perhaps Marcy’s right after all.
* * *
No Love, No Glory, Laura/Kara, PG
They sit, side by side, on a patch of grass on a cliff overlooking the new settlement. There's a soft breeze blowing, bringing with it the scent of wildflowers, but it doesn’t rustle their clothing or send strands of hair flying.
“It's like watching an ant colony," Kara says, her fingers gently threading through the fall of auburn down Laura's back. “You almost expect to see a little trail of them carrying some dead spider or a giant leaf along to their nest."
“It's life," says Laura. “That’s what we fought for, right?"
“You think they’ll remember us?"
“Maybe. For a while. Some of them, anyhow." Laura leans her head on Kara’s shoulder, nuzzling against her neck. “It doesn’t much matter in the end, though, does it?"
“I guess not." Kara tugs Laura down until they’re lying on their backs on the grass, Laura’s hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Be nice to have a page in the history books though, wouldn’t it?"
Laura smiles. “We might not like what it said. And they’d never get it right anyhow."
“They’ll forget all our great deeds, you mean?" Kara wrinkles her nose, grinning.
“And our awful ones. And all the little, insignificant ones. Better it's forgotten."
“But we’ll remember, right?" Kara says. “I don’t want to forget a moment."
Laura rolls towards her, propping herself up on an elbow, then leaning down to kiss Kara, first on her nose, then her chin, then her lips.
“Yes, we’ll remember."
“Where do you want to go now, then, baby, now you’ve seen that they’re getting on ok?" Kara kisses Laura again, then sits up, then stands, pulling Laura to her feet.
The sun shines down on them, through them, casting no shadows. And as they start to fade, Laura says “How about Kobol again? Let’s go reminisce about that cave..."
* * *
Electricity, Laura/Kara, PG
Power’s out, again. It’d happened often enough in her old place for Kara to be used to it, but that had more to do with unpaid electricity bills than anything else. There’s some problem on the lines, though, and this is the third time this week she and Laura have been huddled in the dark on the sofa, playing triad to the light of candles to entertain themselves.
Not that she minds. Laura’s got a bigger collection of scented candles than Kara’s ever seen, and the air is scented with vanilla this evening. The candlelight in Laura’s hair is enough to put her off her game, and so she drops her cards, pulling Laura closer under the blanket that lives on the back of the couch. Laura grins and kisses her.
Kara thinks maybe she’ll go back to not paying the electricity bills.
* * *
Unsure, Laura/Kara, PG, (babyfic in Miranda!verse)
It’s their first night with her at home. After all the trauma of her early birth, they’re almost experts at dealing with her by now, six weeks later, but still it seems weird to Kara to not have a nurse on call every time she starts to panic about whether she's holding her wrong or feeding her wrong or changing her wrong or just plain being wrong. Now it's just her and Laura and this teeny tiny little creature that they’re suddenly responsible for, all on their own, and she can't sit still, constantly jumping up to check that the nursery still exists or that the crib hasn’t suddenly grown spikes or god knows what else.
Laura’s calmer, sitting in an armchair in the living room, her shirt unbuttoned as she feeds Miranda. But there's a tenseness to her shoulders too. Kara knows she's still unsure about all of that, not convinced she's capable, not convinced her body will work properly. Miranda’s drowsy little face is content, though, as she sucks, and Kara sits down next to Laura, touching the top of Miranda’s head as gently as she can.
“We can do this, right?" she asks, still amazed at just how tiny her daughter is.
Laura doesn’t look at her, but murmurs, “Yeah, we can do this."
And neither of them are sure, but at least they're unsure together.
* * *
Slow, Laura/Kara, M
Kara always likes to rush. She does everything the same way, in a blur, in a hurry, wanting to get it done and over and on to the next thing. Sex is fast and furious; she pushes Laura against walls and lifts her onto tables, tearing at clothes, pressing kisses frantically to skin, forcing legs apart.
Laura remembers being the same way, the fact of the whole world being ahead of her making her rush to experience everything all at once. But somehow, with age comes the need to savour, and she takes Kara's hands and holds them against her waist, nuzzling lightly at her throat, not letting go until she feels Kara stop trying to resist.
And then it’s soft, languid, like smoke curling up to the ceiling, or gentle surf lapping at the sand, something to bask in.
We've got all night she says, trailing a finger along Kara’s stomach. Take it slow.
* * *
All The President's Men, Laura/Kara, M
There are always rumours when you're in the public eye. Laura had experienced it back on Caprica; even a lowly education secretary was talked about once her face first appeared in the papers, and there had always been rumours about Richard.
Now she's president herself, and the rumours fly. She’s heard them all. Supposedly she’s sleeping with Adama to keep him onside, keep him sweet so that he doesn’t turn the might of Galactica on Colonial One and stage a coup. Zarek’s kept happy by her body in exchange for keeping the peace. She's sneaking the young CAG onboard every night to have her way with his youthful good looks. There’s any number of others.
Kara finds it hilarious. She loves to whisper the latest rumour in Laura's ear if she catches her in a spare moment in Galactica’s corridors, or pass her notes under the table at strategy meetings, or kiss them into her skin on the occasional nights they get to spend together.
Maybe once it would have bothered Laura, to be so spoken about, but now she’s grateful that it keeps them from alighting on the person who really shares her narrow bed at night. And Kara starts most of the rumours anyway, inventing new ones even as she pushes Laura's legs apart and renders them all moot.
* * *
Drunk Tank, Laura/Kara, PG
It's not the first time Laura's picked Kara up from the drunk tank. It's the first time she’s done it after Kara tried to drive home, and she’s rigid, her jaw set, her knuckles white around the steering wheel.
Kara leans her head up against the cool glass of the window, and she knows she might have frakked this up for real this time. Her clothes reek of stale alcohol, and her own hands are scratched and bruised.
“I’m sorry," she whispers, not even sure quite who she's saying it to. And Laura doesn’t reply, and Kara resolves that's it. No more booze. Ever.
* * *
Osmosis, Laura/Kara, PG, (babyfic in Miranda!verse)
There's brown slop all over the top of the high chair table. It's supposed to be some kind of stew, but Kara doesn’t even want to think about what it actually smells like. Miranda seems to like it well enough, though, if the way she’s grabbing for the spoon is any indication. She's covered in the stuff, in the dark silky strands of her hair, up her nose, in her tiny eyebrows.
Laura walks past, carrying laundry, as Kara tries to get another spoonful of slop balanced on the spoon, holding it out of Miranda’s reach. Miranda pouts, and then opens her mouth and squawks, reaching up for the spoon with both hands.
“And there you were, worried she might not take after you," Laura chuckles. Kara turns her head to stick her tongue out at her, and Miranda seizes her prize, happily smearing it further up her nose.
Kara groans.
* * *
Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, Laura/Kara, PG
Celebrating the fact that she's going to be stuck with Gaius Baltar as her vice president for the rest of her natural life isn’t really something worth celebrating, Laura, thinks, as she sits at her table, alone, stirring the drink Bill brought over for her before he went off to speak with Lee or Colonel Tigh or who-the-hell-ever.
She could call Billy over and make her escape, claiming tiredness. It wouldn’t be hard; it's been a long few days and she barely gets any sleep anyhow. But now she's found a reason to stay, and it’s standing by the bar, ordering a drink, in a gorgeous blue dress.
Laura waves Billy over, but rather than asking him to order her shuttle ready, she sends him to order her another drink instead.
If nothing else, the view just improved.
* * *
So much fun, guys! Just got to wait to see how we did, now! ♥
Thanks to all of you who joined in, or cheerled, or commented, or anything else :)
Here for posterity, along with the others.
* * *
Overrated, Laura/Kara, PG
She's leaning against the pillows in that uncomfortable bed in sickbay straining to focus on a book when Kara comes in, closing the curtains with barely a whisper. It always surprises her that the girl is so light on her feet when she wants to be. She always associates Kara Thrace with noise, with bold actions and loud, vibrant laughter, and the soft, gentle, quiet side to her still catches Laura unawares sometimes, even now.
Kara squeezes her foot under the blankets as she moves up to the side of the bed, hopping up to sit on the edge, leaning forward to drop a quick kiss on Laura’s lips.
“I thought you weren’t coming today?" Laura tilts her head, then grimaces a little, masking it as quickly as she can with a smile. All her muscles have been aching recently, and she’s trying to get used to moving as little as she can. “You were ..." she concentrates for a moment, trying to remember. “... flying CAP, meeting with Bill and then getting some sleep. You promised."
“Yeah, well," Kara shrugs and Laura envies her easy movements. “Sleep’s overrated. I wanted to show you what I got for you." She holds out a small, wrapped package, and Laura tentatively reaches out to take it with the hand not hooked up to the IV. “Go on, open it."
The crumpled gift wrapping falls away easily enough, and Laura’s left holding a simple silver bracelet.
“Do you like it?" Kara’s eyes are wide and she looks impossibly young and nervous, trying to gauge Laura’s reaction. “It reminded me of you. Elegant, the way you’re gonna be when you’re better."
Laura wishes she had the girl’s optimism about the effectiveness of the poison flooding her veins, but the gift is beautiful, and she slips it over her wrist, the light catching on it and making it shine.
She reaches out her hand, taking Kara's and squeezing it. “It’s gorgeous."
They don't say any more. Just sit, holding hands, stroking thumbs over soft skin, until Kara moves to curl up on the side of the bed next to Laura, resting her head on her shoulder, closing her eyes and succumbing to some of that overrated sleep after all.
* * *
Sunrise, Laura/Kara, PG
They’re waiting for dawn to arrive before heading off back to the raptors. There's a tiny pink glow on the horizon, but it's dark and cold, and they're huddled next to each other, tucked beneath the same tarp, listening to the sound of snoring and the occasional tweet of birds awakening.
“My mother nearly called me Athena," Laura says, a complete non sequitur, as she looks up at the peaks nearby, hiding the tomb they emerged from just a few hours earlier.
“Yeah?" Kara’s poking a twig into the hard ground, over and over, digging tiny holes in the mud, then scraping the dirt off and starting again.
“Mm. Then she decided to name me after my great grandmother instead. But I’m dedicated to her. Never was much one for temples, though." Laura shifts, trying to find a more comfortable spot on the thin pile of coats and blankets they're sitting on.
“Ironic, huh?" Kara nudges her elbow. “Why'd she change her mind?"
“She decided the stories of what happened to her, the way she leapt to her death after losing everything, would be unlucky." Laura twists her mouth, looking away from the tomb. “Now, that's what I call ironic."
Kara drops the twig and slips her arm around Laura's waist. “Ah, but you see, there's a difference between you and the goddess, Athena."
“What's that?"
“She didn’t have me. You and me, we’ll get shit done, together. Right?"
Laura leans into the warmth of Kara’s side, kissing her shoulder gently as the sun breaks over the horizon
* * *
Love Letter, Laura/Kara, PG
They’re packing up boxes, ready to move Kara out of her old apartment. It's been a long time coming; despite the fact she's barely slept here in months, and even her mail gets delivered to Laura’s now, neither of them have been comfortable with the idea of anything permanent. Anything real. It's only because Kara’s landlord wants to sell the place that they reluctantly sat down one night to sort of, kind of, talk about it in maybes and perhapses and just for nows.
For Kara, it feels like the end of an era. She doesn’t know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. This battered two room apartment has seen it's share of pain and crappiness, and Laura’s place feels more like home than this ever has. But it terrifies the frak out of her to leave it, like she's losing her independence, losing her choices. So of course, she puts on a big show of not being able to get out of the place fast enough, throwing clothes into boxes, old paintings into the back of her truck like she couldn’t care less.
She’s standing in her almost empty bedroom/living room/studio, chilly, wrinkling her nose at the mould along the windowframe she never noticed til now, when Laura comes up behind her. Her hair is pulled back and up, and she’s dusty and sweaty and beautiful in a pair of old jeans and a shirt. Kara wants her, but right now, the last thing she needs is to be touched, to feel smothered.
But all Laura does is put the newspaper down by her hand on the table, folded open to the properties for rent. The lightest touch on Kara’s back, and a murmur near her ear. “I’ll come look at new places with you anytime you want. We might even find somewhere with some new and exciting mould to improve on this place. Add to your collection." The gentle humour in her voice warms Kara.
And then she's gone, taking another box with her, back outside.
Kara looks down at the newspaper, three or four places already circled. And she knows she won’t look at a single one of them, or anywhere else either. But she rips out the page anyhow, tucking it into her shirt pocket next to her heart, thinking as she does so that it's the oddest sort of love note she can think of, but that's exactly what it is.
* * *
Changing Minds, Laura/Kara, PG
The sleek silver dress she's pulled out of the closet is probably too tight and too short, but she really doesn’t give a frak. This is probably all a waste of time anyhow, getting back into dating. Marcy might insist it’s what she needs, but in all honesty, Laura can’t really see herself with anyone right now, or maybe ever again. She doesn’t much want to be doing this, but it gets Marcy off her back at the very least. It’ll probably go horribly wrong. So if a quick frak is the best that's going to come out of it, the dress is perfect.
She’s just checking the bottle of wine chilling on the side is cold enough when the buzzer goes at the door. She doesn’t rush. It’s not like this is going anywhere.
When she opens the door, the first thing she sees is a bouquet of flowers with a pair of legs. Then a face peeks out from behind them, and the flowers are thrust into her arms.
The bouquet introduces herself as Kara: bright hazel eyes, short blonde hair, and a gorgeous body hiding beneath a fitted shirt and neat black slacks. As Laura smiles, stepping back and gesturing the girl into the apartment, Kara nervously wipes the palms of her hands on the thighs, but the look in her eyes as she looks Laura up and down is hungry.
Laura pours wine, and they make small talk as they sip it, about the restaurant Kara booked, their jobs, their likes and dislikes. They stay well away from anything approaching family, and Laura's absolutely fine with that, but there's a quick intelligence and a lot of good humour under the surface in Kara, and she finds herself enjoying the chat.
They get their coats, ready to leave. As Kara opens the door to her car, holding it for Laura to climb inside, Laura makes a decision. If a quick frak is on offer here, Laura's fine with that, but maybe she’ll give this one a chance. Perhaps Marcy’s right after all.
* * *
No Love, No Glory, Laura/Kara, PG
They sit, side by side, on a patch of grass on a cliff overlooking the new settlement. There's a soft breeze blowing, bringing with it the scent of wildflowers, but it doesn’t rustle their clothing or send strands of hair flying.
“It's like watching an ant colony," Kara says, her fingers gently threading through the fall of auburn down Laura's back. “You almost expect to see a little trail of them carrying some dead spider or a giant leaf along to their nest."
“It's life," says Laura. “That’s what we fought for, right?"
“You think they’ll remember us?"
“Maybe. For a while. Some of them, anyhow." Laura leans her head on Kara’s shoulder, nuzzling against her neck. “It doesn’t much matter in the end, though, does it?"
“I guess not." Kara tugs Laura down until they’re lying on their backs on the grass, Laura’s hand coming up to shield her eyes from the sun. “Be nice to have a page in the history books though, wouldn’t it?"
Laura smiles. “We might not like what it said. And they’d never get it right anyhow."
“They’ll forget all our great deeds, you mean?" Kara wrinkles her nose, grinning.
“And our awful ones. And all the little, insignificant ones. Better it's forgotten."
“But we’ll remember, right?" Kara says. “I don’t want to forget a moment."
Laura rolls towards her, propping herself up on an elbow, then leaning down to kiss Kara, first on her nose, then her chin, then her lips.
“Yes, we’ll remember."
“Where do you want to go now, then, baby, now you’ve seen that they’re getting on ok?" Kara kisses Laura again, then sits up, then stands, pulling Laura to her feet.
The sun shines down on them, through them, casting no shadows. And as they start to fade, Laura says “How about Kobol again? Let’s go reminisce about that cave..."
* * *
Electricity, Laura/Kara, PG
Power’s out, again. It’d happened often enough in her old place for Kara to be used to it, but that had more to do with unpaid electricity bills than anything else. There’s some problem on the lines, though, and this is the third time this week she and Laura have been huddled in the dark on the sofa, playing triad to the light of candles to entertain themselves.
Not that she minds. Laura’s got a bigger collection of scented candles than Kara’s ever seen, and the air is scented with vanilla this evening. The candlelight in Laura’s hair is enough to put her off her game, and so she drops her cards, pulling Laura closer under the blanket that lives on the back of the couch. Laura grins and kisses her.
Kara thinks maybe she’ll go back to not paying the electricity bills.
* * *
Unsure, Laura/Kara, PG, (babyfic in Miranda!verse)
It’s their first night with her at home. After all the trauma of her early birth, they’re almost experts at dealing with her by now, six weeks later, but still it seems weird to Kara to not have a nurse on call every time she starts to panic about whether she's holding her wrong or feeding her wrong or changing her wrong or just plain being wrong. Now it's just her and Laura and this teeny tiny little creature that they’re suddenly responsible for, all on their own, and she can't sit still, constantly jumping up to check that the nursery still exists or that the crib hasn’t suddenly grown spikes or god knows what else.
Laura’s calmer, sitting in an armchair in the living room, her shirt unbuttoned as she feeds Miranda. But there's a tenseness to her shoulders too. Kara knows she's still unsure about all of that, not convinced she's capable, not convinced her body will work properly. Miranda’s drowsy little face is content, though, as she sucks, and Kara sits down next to Laura, touching the top of Miranda’s head as gently as she can.
“We can do this, right?" she asks, still amazed at just how tiny her daughter is.
Laura doesn’t look at her, but murmurs, “Yeah, we can do this."
And neither of them are sure, but at least they're unsure together.
* * *
Slow, Laura/Kara, M
Kara always likes to rush. She does everything the same way, in a blur, in a hurry, wanting to get it done and over and on to the next thing. Sex is fast and furious; she pushes Laura against walls and lifts her onto tables, tearing at clothes, pressing kisses frantically to skin, forcing legs apart.
Laura remembers being the same way, the fact of the whole world being ahead of her making her rush to experience everything all at once. But somehow, with age comes the need to savour, and she takes Kara's hands and holds them against her waist, nuzzling lightly at her throat, not letting go until she feels Kara stop trying to resist.
And then it’s soft, languid, like smoke curling up to the ceiling, or gentle surf lapping at the sand, something to bask in.
We've got all night she says, trailing a finger along Kara’s stomach. Take it slow.
* * *
All The President's Men, Laura/Kara, M
There are always rumours when you're in the public eye. Laura had experienced it back on Caprica; even a lowly education secretary was talked about once her face first appeared in the papers, and there had always been rumours about Richard.
Now she's president herself, and the rumours fly. She’s heard them all. Supposedly she’s sleeping with Adama to keep him onside, keep him sweet so that he doesn’t turn the might of Galactica on Colonial One and stage a coup. Zarek’s kept happy by her body in exchange for keeping the peace. She's sneaking the young CAG onboard every night to have her way with his youthful good looks. There’s any number of others.
Kara finds it hilarious. She loves to whisper the latest rumour in Laura's ear if she catches her in a spare moment in Galactica’s corridors, or pass her notes under the table at strategy meetings, or kiss them into her skin on the occasional nights they get to spend together.
Maybe once it would have bothered Laura, to be so spoken about, but now she’s grateful that it keeps them from alighting on the person who really shares her narrow bed at night. And Kara starts most of the rumours anyway, inventing new ones even as she pushes Laura's legs apart and renders them all moot.
* * *
Drunk Tank, Laura/Kara, PG
It's not the first time Laura's picked Kara up from the drunk tank. It's the first time she’s done it after Kara tried to drive home, and she’s rigid, her jaw set, her knuckles white around the steering wheel.
Kara leans her head up against the cool glass of the window, and she knows she might have frakked this up for real this time. Her clothes reek of stale alcohol, and her own hands are scratched and bruised.
“I’m sorry," she whispers, not even sure quite who she's saying it to. And Laura doesn’t reply, and Kara resolves that's it. No more booze. Ever.
* * *
Osmosis, Laura/Kara, PG, (babyfic in Miranda!verse)
There's brown slop all over the top of the high chair table. It's supposed to be some kind of stew, but Kara doesn’t even want to think about what it actually smells like. Miranda seems to like it well enough, though, if the way she’s grabbing for the spoon is any indication. She's covered in the stuff, in the dark silky strands of her hair, up her nose, in her tiny eyebrows.
Laura walks past, carrying laundry, as Kara tries to get another spoonful of slop balanced on the spoon, holding it out of Miranda’s reach. Miranda pouts, and then opens her mouth and squawks, reaching up for the spoon with both hands.
“And there you were, worried she might not take after you," Laura chuckles. Kara turns her head to stick her tongue out at her, and Miranda seizes her prize, happily smearing it further up her nose.
Kara groans.
* * *
Can’t Take My Eyes Off You, Laura/Kara, PG
Celebrating the fact that she's going to be stuck with Gaius Baltar as her vice president for the rest of her natural life isn’t really something worth celebrating, Laura, thinks, as she sits at her table, alone, stirring the drink Bill brought over for her before he went off to speak with Lee or Colonel Tigh or who-the-hell-ever.
She could call Billy over and make her escape, claiming tiredness. It wouldn’t be hard; it's been a long few days and she barely gets any sleep anyhow. But now she's found a reason to stay, and it’s standing by the bar, ordering a drink, in a gorgeous blue dress.
Laura waves Billy over, but rather than asking him to order her shuttle ready, she sends him to order her another drink instead.
If nothing else, the view just improved.
* * *
So much fun, guys! Just got to wait to see how we did, now! ♥
Thanks to all of you who joined in, or cheerled, or commented, or anything else :)