Ficlet: Voice of the Narrative
TITLE: Voice of the Narrative
AUTHOR: bibliodragon
RATING: R
PAIRING: Laura/Ellen
KINK: Brig!sex
SPOILERS: Early season 2.
As if even more evidence was needed that little that was left of the world has turned upside down, that she has her tongue down the incarcerated (Ex? Or soon to be ex? It's hard to keep straight at this point, with Saul refusing to move his ass) President's throat has to be the most inadmissible proof imaginable.
It's surprising, and yet not: with that perfect demure little school teacher act she doubts she's the only one to have idly wondered what would happen if she let her hair down, so to speak. Hell, she knows she's not. The topic had come up once when Saul was ranting whenever she had made some damn fool decision or other, until she had to frak him just to get him to shut up as she did not want to spend the little time they got to spend together listening him to bitch about President Schoolteacher.
After, sated and sleepy and almost happy enough for the topic to be funny, lying in bed and wondering whether Laura Roslin's problem was that she didn't get it enough. Saul, Gods bless him, he lacked the woman's intuition to see behind the act, and told her that if she wanted to prove it to go ahead and frak her herself, he wouldn't get pissed off about it. But she could tell he didn't believe her.
He would have insisted he get to watch otherwise.
But still, even she is impressed with the way the President's hands have gotten under her blouse despite the bars in the way, and as expert fingers pinch at her nipples and send a shiver down her spine, she has to admit that she still underestimated her.
Perhaps Madame President is experienced in more than just one way.
Really, if she had known she was this good, she would have gotten her to lose her temper much earlier. One thing she had perfect confidence in was her ability to piss people off. Though if this is how she reacts, it doesn't explain why the great Bill Adama was always so wound up all the time. Then again, maybe throwing her in here was just all part of that game, before brig sexcapade time got interrupted by one secret Cylon with a gun.
Or it could just be that they are really, really kinky.
She and Saul would have to try that sometime. Minus the Cylon shooting, of course. Maybe they could substitute that for more booze.
Damn, those bars are becoming less of a turn on and more of a pain in the ass! She can't get the angle right, she has to untangle one hand from that mess of red hair to grip the metal above her head to keep her balance. It's not very dignified, and no doubt when the guard finally puts in an appearance he'll end up getting an eyeful, but frak it! Damn, she's close! She shifts one leg, and it's all fingers and tongue and cool metal pressure in the right place, and suddenly she is crying out as the she rediscovers the appeal of the bars.
Awake in a cold sweat, Laura could only pray she hadn't cried out. With her heart racing in her chest, she rested her hand against her forehead and she wondered just where the hell that one had come from.
Taking a shaky breath, she briefly considered what frakking Ellen Tigh could possibly mean. Or to be more precise, being Ellen Tigh while frakking herself. That she was a raging egotist, hopefully, any deeper meaning she didn't dare think about.
She hoped Billy would hurry up and find some Chamalla soon.
AUTHOR: bibliodragon
RATING: R
PAIRING: Laura/Ellen
KINK: Brig!sex
SPOILERS: Early season 2.
As if even more evidence was needed that little that was left of the world has turned upside down, that she has her tongue down the incarcerated (Ex? Or soon to be ex? It's hard to keep straight at this point, with Saul refusing to move his ass) President's throat has to be the most inadmissible proof imaginable.
It's surprising, and yet not: with that perfect demure little school teacher act she doubts she's the only one to have idly wondered what would happen if she let her hair down, so to speak. Hell, she knows she's not. The topic had come up once when Saul was ranting whenever she had made some damn fool decision or other, until she had to frak him just to get him to shut up as she did not want to spend the little time they got to spend together listening him to bitch about President Schoolteacher.
After, sated and sleepy and almost happy enough for the topic to be funny, lying in bed and wondering whether Laura Roslin's problem was that she didn't get it enough. Saul, Gods bless him, he lacked the woman's intuition to see behind the act, and told her that if she wanted to prove it to go ahead and frak her herself, he wouldn't get pissed off about it. But she could tell he didn't believe her.
He would have insisted he get to watch otherwise.
But still, even she is impressed with the way the President's hands have gotten under her blouse despite the bars in the way, and as expert fingers pinch at her nipples and send a shiver down her spine, she has to admit that she still underestimated her.
Perhaps Madame President is experienced in more than just one way.
Really, if she had known she was this good, she would have gotten her to lose her temper much earlier. One thing she had perfect confidence in was her ability to piss people off. Though if this is how she reacts, it doesn't explain why the great Bill Adama was always so wound up all the time. Then again, maybe throwing her in here was just all part of that game, before brig sexcapade time got interrupted by one secret Cylon with a gun.
Or it could just be that they are really, really kinky.
She and Saul would have to try that sometime. Minus the Cylon shooting, of course. Maybe they could substitute that for more booze.
Damn, those bars are becoming less of a turn on and more of a pain in the ass! She can't get the angle right, she has to untangle one hand from that mess of red hair to grip the metal above her head to keep her balance. It's not very dignified, and no doubt when the guard finally puts in an appearance he'll end up getting an eyeful, but frak it! Damn, she's close! She shifts one leg, and it's all fingers and tongue and cool metal pressure in the right place, and suddenly she is crying out as the she rediscovers the appeal of the bars.
Awake in a cold sweat, Laura could only pray she hadn't cried out. With her heart racing in her chest, she rested her hand against her forehead and she wondered just where the hell that one had come from.
Taking a shaky breath, she briefly considered what frakking Ellen Tigh could possibly mean. Or to be more precise, being Ellen Tigh while frakking herself. That she was a raging egotist, hopefully, any deeper meaning she didn't dare think about.
She hoped Billy would hurry up and find some Chamalla soon.