5 kisses fanfic
Title: An Emotional Thing
Rated MA
Word count 2900
Contains some graphic sex, angst.
Written for the about_time prompt of 'five times Bill and Laura never kissed, and the one time they did'. Posting here for my master ficlist.
Sex with Bill is always so damn comfortable.
And nice.
Bill is particularly adept at taking it slow.
He likes to frak plain old missionary style. That way he can control the tempo. He knows I like to hurry things along. I don’t explain why, he doesn’t ask. I presume he has his theories. He’s probably right. He knows me.
He’s above me now. He’s inside me and it feels so good. Comfortable. Nice.
I’m going to come soon. I can feel the familiar sensation building within me and I raise my hips, inviting him to lengthen his strokes, speed them up, pound me harder.
He does none of these things. Instead, he keeps his steady pace, his torturously beautiful angle (one that means his cock slides over my clitoris with every stroke) and leans down to kiss me.
This is also why he likes to frak missionary style. He has unlimited access to my mouth. His lips are right there and it’s difficult to avoid them. He knows that I can’t escape the warmth of his kisses when we are face-to-face frakking. He knows I won’t deliberately hurt him by not kissing him back. He knows me.
If I’m on top, I will need to lean down to kiss. Avoidance is so easy.
When he takes me from behind he rains kisses over my back, but I don’t have to respond. Life’s simple.
Oral sex is also a welcome choice. (And one when his predilection for going slow is not something I complain about.)
But like this. I can’t do anything to stop him.
He’s a good kisser. He starts off gently, and then he’s encouraging me to respond, to open my mouth, to meet his tongue. I do. It’s comfortable. And nice.
In fact, it’s very nice.
But it’s intimate. And that’s why I avoid it at all costs.
Having his cock in my mouth is uncomplicated.
Having his tongue in my mouth is frightening.
He loves me. His kisses show me he loves me.
I don’t love him.
He’s my best friend.
I don’t want him to know I don’t love him. I don’t want to be the girl who breaks his heart. If I can tell he loves me from his kisses, I think he’ll know I don’t love him from mine.
For a moment I stop thinking, panicking, regretting as I orgasm. Gods, with Bill, they are always so powerful.
I open my eyes again to see Bill has followed me. I watch him, fascinated.
Whereas I come with a tiny whimper or a slight hum, he roars out my name. Always my name.
His eyes look down at me, shining with tears.
He loves me. Gods, he’s always so obvious about it.
He kisses me again. It proves my point. I feel it. His love. It pulses through me. I feel it stronger than the disease Cottle says is there.
I break off his kiss. I let my head loll to one side under the guise of breathlessness.
He doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to. I’m not sure which.
He settles between me and the bulkhead.
“That was wonderful, Bill.”
Even though it’s true, I still feel like I’m throwing a dog a bone. I remember Cain’s words. Do I treat Bill like a dog?
“It’s always wonderful, Laura.”
It is. We’ve never had bad sex. In all this time, not once.
I let my finger run down his scar.
When we first met I thought he had an impressive body, an interesting face, startling eyes, a sexy voice. But now, everything about him turns me on.
I want him again. Now.
I could blame the cancer for this need. I want to experience sex as many times as I can before the cancer takes hold again. I want to experience sex with Bill as many times as I can before I tell him about the cancer. He probably won’t want sex at all when he finds out. He’ll be too scared of hurting me.
I squeeze his biceps.
Yes, I could blame the cancer, but maybe I just want him. He wants me. He loves me. That’s an aphrodisiac that I have never known before. It’s potent.
I let him pull me into his arms, cradle me, kiss my neck, my shoulder, my ear. It’s comfortable. And nice.
Soon I hear his steady breathing. Bill falls asleep easily. While I lie awake and think too much.
I slide out from under his arm.
I retrieve my clothes and slip into the head where I wash up and dress.
Once my presidential garb is back in place, I walk straight towards the hatch.
I don’t walk back over to Bill to kiss him goodbye.
I don’t turn back.
*
I pull at the sickbay gown. It’s so large it could wrap around me twice. It does nothing to stop the chill spreading through my bones. I always feel cold lately.
The curtain draws back and I raise my eyes, expecting Cottle.
It’s Bill.
He lowers himself into the visitors’ chair and stares at the floor.
“Cottle said Diloxin might work this time.” My voice is a mere whisper. “The tumour…It’s not as…We might have caught it in time.”
“You shouldn’t be under so much stress. The trial-“
“I need to keep busy, Bill. It will help.”
He sighs, but concedes my point.
“Cottle said you have to stay on Galactica after your treatments.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll find you guest quarters.”
“Thank you.”
“If I ask you to stay in my quarters until then, will you be angry?”
I take a deep breath. He thinks I don’t want to stay in his quarters? He knows how much I love it there. It’s comfortable. And nice.
The only reason he can be hesitating is that he thinks I don’t want to be with him. I do, but I don’t.
I look around the room. It’s stark, cold, sterile. I shiver. I give into the temptation of the promised warmth of the Commanding Officer’s quarters.
“I’d love to stay there, Bill. If you’ll have me?”
That sounds ridiculous. He’s had me more than once. I start to giggle at the absurdity of the situation. We’re being so formal. As if we aren’t lovers and friends.
He begins to chuckle as well. It makes me feel warmer already. Our shared laughter is comfortable. And nice. And makes me forget everything.
But then I remember.
“Bill…”
My voice breaks and tears sting my eyes.
He steps closer and gathers me into his arms.
“Let me look after you, Laura.”
“I can’t.”
He will become my nursemaid? I don’t love him, but I don’t seem to be above using him.
“I can’t,” I repeat.
“Yes, you can.”
His fingers gently tilt my chin up. A huge wave of déjà vu overcomes me and I pull away before he can lower his mouth to mine.
I turn away from him, step away, face the plain white wall of sickbay.
I died last time.
There won’t be another miracle cure to resurrect me.
I’ll die this time.
*
I decide to seduce Bill.
It’s the only way I will get him to have sex with me. I know he still wants me. He still thinks I’m attractive. That’s not the problem. The problem is he’s a gentleman, and doesn’t want to push himself onto a sick woman.
I hate that. I hate that he considers me a sick woman. I want him to consider me his friend, his lover, his President even. The sick woman who lives with him is not who I want to be.
We have such a small window of opportunity. Once a treatment begins, it will be two weeks before I can even start to think about sex again. And when I do, it will almost be time to begin the cycle again. There’s no room for the usual reasons couples our age don’t indulge.
When the hatch spins and he enters, I’m already naked, waiting in the rack.
His eyebrows shoot up above his glasses.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please, Bill.”
I consider that conversation foreplay. I can’t afford to dilly-dally.
Bill strips off and soon he is kissing his way down my body.
I had been wet when I’d taken off my clothes. I’d been thinking of Bill and how he would make it good. Comfortable. And nice.
But I’d had to wait for his stint to finish in CIC, and now I’m not as ready as I had been.
I’m sure I’m just thinking about it too much.
I flip him onto his back, straddle him, imitate our lovemaking by rubbing myself along his already-growing length.
He frowns when his fingers press against me on one of my downward attacks.
“You’re not wet yet.”
His thumb finds my clit, circling and teasing. His cock hardens beneath me and I lift up, eager to settle back down onto it.
I feel the pain immediately. I’m still not wet.
Cottle had warned me about this eventuality. He’d said in the normal world, he would have suggested I use the assistance of personal lubricant. In this world…
I cry out and fall next to Bill, frustrated, angry, weak.
“It’s okay, Laura.”
“No it’s not!”
I shouldn’t snap, but Bill, as usual, understands. He knows me.
He lies next to me, touching me everywhere. My healthy breast, its nipple, my thighs, my clit again.
He dips his finger inside me. I don’t need him to tell me I’m still dry. I can feel the lack of natural lubrication myself.
He gently rolls me onto my stomach and he puts those large hands to good use. I am given a massage. It is comfortable to the extreme. And very nice. But afterwards I am still dry.
He hasn’t given up hope. He rolls me back over and probes me once again.
“It’s no use, Bill. Let’s just forget it.”
His erection is pressing into my thigh. I am tossing up between offering him a hand or head job when he hooks my legs over his shoulders.
“You need this, Laura. Let’s give nature’s own lube a try.”
His mouth and tongue go to work. And it works very well. Even in our current vulnerable mindsets, it feels comfortable. And very very nice.
I come hard, pushing myself completely into his face. He just chuckles.
He wriggles up my body and cradles me in his arms as I continue to quiver.
He leans towards me. I lean back, point to his chin and screw up my features.
He chuckles again and goes to the head.
I hear the water running and know if I loved him I wouldn’t have cared less what was on his face and I would have kissed him. Or I would kiss him when he returns. I don’t.
Instead I assist him to masturbate beside me. But I don’t kiss him.
*
Bill’s not late today. He sits and watches as Cottle preps me. He winces as the needle pierces my skin.
Eventually Cottle leaves and it’s just the two of us.
He settles in the chair beside the cot and opens the book.
I close my eyes and escape to Caprica City of approximately 80 years ago. Bill makes the time real, the setting real, the characters real.
Today, there’s no hidden meaning in the words. No apologies, no declarations of love.
We haven’t fought in weeks. We’ve debated regarding Fleet business. We always will. But we haven’t argued over personal reasons. Our personal life is good. Comfortable. And nice.
I regard the day he declared his love from the pages of a book as one of the best days of my life. A needle stuck in my arm, poison being pumped into my vein, cancer taking over my body, my lover telling me he loves me in the most romantic way he knows.
I tilt my head and look at Bill now. He doesn’t know how beautiful he is. Maybe his not knowing makes his beauty even more radiant to me.
Handsome doesn’t seem to suit him. Lee is handsome. Sam is handsome. Bill is beautiful.
I try to imagine what he’d look like in normal civilian clothes. I can’t. I do know what he looks like out of uniform.
I close my eyes, remembering all the times I’ve seen him naked. All the times I’ve touched him.
“Finished.”
It’s not Bill’s voice that whispers this now, waking me from my inappropriate daydreams.
My eyes squeeze open and I realise everyone thinks I was asleep. Maybe I was. Sweet dreams.
Cottle is wrapping a bandage around my arm. Ishay is hovering behind with a wheelchair.
It’s Bill face my eyes rest on though. He’s watching Cottle and Ishay with fear, anxiety, vigilance.
I’m once again using Bill as my protector. He’s still my personal goon squad. He turns his attention to me as I snort at the memory. I smile over at him and his returning smile is full of love.
Once settled in the wheelchair, it’s Bill that pushes me back to our quarters. It’s Bill that undresses me and settles me into the rack. It’s Bill that fetches a glass of water to set within reach, a washcloth to place over my eyes, a blanket to place over my legs.
I hear the beeping of the comm unit and then his low murmurings near his desk.
“I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll come and check on you every half hour,” he promises.
I shoo him. I’m only going to sleep anyway. It’s not like I’ll be company.
“Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”
“No, that’s okay.”
I reach out and give his hand an encouraging squeeze.
“Go.”
“Alright.”
He still lingers beside the rack. His gaze focuses on my mouth. I think he’s going to kiss me goodbye. I close my eyes, hoping to avoid it.
His kiss will be full of love. I don’t love him. My return kiss will be cold. He’s been so good to me. I don’t want to break his heart now. Not yet.
I feel his lips. They graze across my cheek.
I should be pleased. He hasn’t kissed me on the lips.
I am, but I’m not.
It was still a kiss full of love. Its warmth spreads from my cheek through my entire body, to my mind, my heart, my soul.
*
I’m not technically living in Bill’s quarters anymore, but I still find myself drawn here nearly everyday. They’re comfortable. And nice.
I may not be in love with Bill, but I do love his quarters. They are my home. I’m always welcome here.
I decide to rest on the couch. My eyes, head, limited concentration can’t cope with reading.
I’ve been in sickbay for what seems like weeks. The treatments aren’t going well. The cancer isn’t responding as Cottle had hoped.
I remove my headscarf and clutch Emily’s gift close to my heart. Emily’s dead, I’m still having confusing visions, the cancer is spreading.
My eyes drift shut.
I wake when a hand is sweeping across my bare scalp.
It’s Bill. I know his touch, so loving, so gentle, so sure. Comfortable. And nice.
It’s the first time he has seen me without the wig or a headscarf.
I keep my eyes closed and let him explore my new look.
I whimper when I feel his mouth on my neck, under my ear, the crown of my head.
I open my eyes and stare up at him.
“You’re beautiful.”
His head dips, his lips lower towards mine.
I grip his shoulders.
“Oh Gods, Bill! I’m going to be-“
I scramble off the couch, urgent. Finding the kidney dish, I bring up what little contents are left in my stomach.
In this time, Bill has gone to the head and returned with a wet wash cloth that he uses to clean me up.
He takes the dish into the head and I hear the toilet flush, the faucet running.
I start to cry. Not just a few tears, but a torrent. My whole body is convulsing as I gasp out loud sobs.
Bill’s there.
He pulls me into his lap, rocks me, whispers reassurance, holds me.
I feel so helpless. I grasp onto him. I use him as my lifeline, my rock, my one constant.
*
I stand erect, waiting for the Raptor to open.
I know who’s inside.
My loyal, protective, unwavering, caring lover.
My best friend.
A beautiful man.
I try to remember a time when I never loved him. I can’t.
I can’t believe I never admitted the truth to myself even.
He might be comfortable. And nice. But I obviously love comfortable and nice.
His response when I confess my love is such that I realise he has known all along. He’s seen the truth before I have. Of course, he knows me.
I pull back out of his embrace. Tears still stream down my face even though he has tried to kiss them away.
I focus on his lips. I lean forward and I kiss him. I let him feel it. I let it flow through from my lips to his mind, his heart, his soul. All my love. It’s his.
Rated MA
Word count 2900
Contains some graphic sex, angst.
Written for the about_time prompt of 'five times Bill and Laura never kissed, and the one time they did'. Posting here for my master ficlist.
Sex with Bill is always so damn comfortable.
And nice.
Bill is particularly adept at taking it slow.
He likes to frak plain old missionary style. That way he can control the tempo. He knows I like to hurry things along. I don’t explain why, he doesn’t ask. I presume he has his theories. He’s probably right. He knows me.
He’s above me now. He’s inside me and it feels so good. Comfortable. Nice.
I’m going to come soon. I can feel the familiar sensation building within me and I raise my hips, inviting him to lengthen his strokes, speed them up, pound me harder.
He does none of these things. Instead, he keeps his steady pace, his torturously beautiful angle (one that means his cock slides over my clitoris with every stroke) and leans down to kiss me.
This is also why he likes to frak missionary style. He has unlimited access to my mouth. His lips are right there and it’s difficult to avoid them. He knows that I can’t escape the warmth of his kisses when we are face-to-face frakking. He knows I won’t deliberately hurt him by not kissing him back. He knows me.
If I’m on top, I will need to lean down to kiss. Avoidance is so easy.
When he takes me from behind he rains kisses over my back, but I don’t have to respond. Life’s simple.
Oral sex is also a welcome choice. (And one when his predilection for going slow is not something I complain about.)
But like this. I can’t do anything to stop him.
He’s a good kisser. He starts off gently, and then he’s encouraging me to respond, to open my mouth, to meet his tongue. I do. It’s comfortable. And nice.
In fact, it’s very nice.
But it’s intimate. And that’s why I avoid it at all costs.
Having his cock in my mouth is uncomplicated.
Having his tongue in my mouth is frightening.
He loves me. His kisses show me he loves me.
I don’t love him.
He’s my best friend.
I don’t want him to know I don’t love him. I don’t want to be the girl who breaks his heart. If I can tell he loves me from his kisses, I think he’ll know I don’t love him from mine.
For a moment I stop thinking, panicking, regretting as I orgasm. Gods, with Bill, they are always so powerful.
I open my eyes again to see Bill has followed me. I watch him, fascinated.
Whereas I come with a tiny whimper or a slight hum, he roars out my name. Always my name.
His eyes look down at me, shining with tears.
He loves me. Gods, he’s always so obvious about it.
He kisses me again. It proves my point. I feel it. His love. It pulses through me. I feel it stronger than the disease Cottle says is there.
I break off his kiss. I let my head loll to one side under the guise of breathlessness.
He doesn’t notice. Or pretends not to. I’m not sure which.
He settles between me and the bulkhead.
“That was wonderful, Bill.”
Even though it’s true, I still feel like I’m throwing a dog a bone. I remember Cain’s words. Do I treat Bill like a dog?
“It’s always wonderful, Laura.”
It is. We’ve never had bad sex. In all this time, not once.
I let my finger run down his scar.
When we first met I thought he had an impressive body, an interesting face, startling eyes, a sexy voice. But now, everything about him turns me on.
I want him again. Now.
I could blame the cancer for this need. I want to experience sex as many times as I can before the cancer takes hold again. I want to experience sex with Bill as many times as I can before I tell him about the cancer. He probably won’t want sex at all when he finds out. He’ll be too scared of hurting me.
I squeeze his biceps.
Yes, I could blame the cancer, but maybe I just want him. He wants me. He loves me. That’s an aphrodisiac that I have never known before. It’s potent.
I let him pull me into his arms, cradle me, kiss my neck, my shoulder, my ear. It’s comfortable. And nice.
Soon I hear his steady breathing. Bill falls asleep easily. While I lie awake and think too much.
I slide out from under his arm.
I retrieve my clothes and slip into the head where I wash up and dress.
Once my presidential garb is back in place, I walk straight towards the hatch.
I don’t walk back over to Bill to kiss him goodbye.
I don’t turn back.
*
I pull at the sickbay gown. It’s so large it could wrap around me twice. It does nothing to stop the chill spreading through my bones. I always feel cold lately.
The curtain draws back and I raise my eyes, expecting Cottle.
It’s Bill.
He lowers himself into the visitors’ chair and stares at the floor.
“Cottle said Diloxin might work this time.” My voice is a mere whisper. “The tumour…It’s not as…We might have caught it in time.”
“You shouldn’t be under so much stress. The trial-“
“I need to keep busy, Bill. It will help.”
He sighs, but concedes my point.
“Cottle said you have to stay on Galactica after your treatments.”
“Yes.”
“I’ll find you guest quarters.”
“Thank you.”
“If I ask you to stay in my quarters until then, will you be angry?”
I take a deep breath. He thinks I don’t want to stay in his quarters? He knows how much I love it there. It’s comfortable. And nice.
The only reason he can be hesitating is that he thinks I don’t want to be with him. I do, but I don’t.
I look around the room. It’s stark, cold, sterile. I shiver. I give into the temptation of the promised warmth of the Commanding Officer’s quarters.
“I’d love to stay there, Bill. If you’ll have me?”
That sounds ridiculous. He’s had me more than once. I start to giggle at the absurdity of the situation. We’re being so formal. As if we aren’t lovers and friends.
He begins to chuckle as well. It makes me feel warmer already. Our shared laughter is comfortable. And nice. And makes me forget everything.
But then I remember.
“Bill…”
My voice breaks and tears sting my eyes.
He steps closer and gathers me into his arms.
“Let me look after you, Laura.”
“I can’t.”
He will become my nursemaid? I don’t love him, but I don’t seem to be above using him.
“I can’t,” I repeat.
“Yes, you can.”
His fingers gently tilt my chin up. A huge wave of déjà vu overcomes me and I pull away before he can lower his mouth to mine.
I turn away from him, step away, face the plain white wall of sickbay.
I died last time.
There won’t be another miracle cure to resurrect me.
I’ll die this time.
*
I decide to seduce Bill.
It’s the only way I will get him to have sex with me. I know he still wants me. He still thinks I’m attractive. That’s not the problem. The problem is he’s a gentleman, and doesn’t want to push himself onto a sick woman.
I hate that. I hate that he considers me a sick woman. I want him to consider me his friend, his lover, his President even. The sick woman who lives with him is not who I want to be.
We have such a small window of opportunity. Once a treatment begins, it will be two weeks before I can even start to think about sex again. And when I do, it will almost be time to begin the cycle again. There’s no room for the usual reasons couples our age don’t indulge.
When the hatch spins and he enters, I’m already naked, waiting in the rack.
His eyebrows shoot up above his glasses.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, please, Bill.”
I consider that conversation foreplay. I can’t afford to dilly-dally.
Bill strips off and soon he is kissing his way down my body.
I had been wet when I’d taken off my clothes. I’d been thinking of Bill and how he would make it good. Comfortable. And nice.
But I’d had to wait for his stint to finish in CIC, and now I’m not as ready as I had been.
I’m sure I’m just thinking about it too much.
I flip him onto his back, straddle him, imitate our lovemaking by rubbing myself along his already-growing length.
He frowns when his fingers press against me on one of my downward attacks.
“You’re not wet yet.”
His thumb finds my clit, circling and teasing. His cock hardens beneath me and I lift up, eager to settle back down onto it.
I feel the pain immediately. I’m still not wet.
Cottle had warned me about this eventuality. He’d said in the normal world, he would have suggested I use the assistance of personal lubricant. In this world…
I cry out and fall next to Bill, frustrated, angry, weak.
“It’s okay, Laura.”
“No it’s not!”
I shouldn’t snap, but Bill, as usual, understands. He knows me.
He lies next to me, touching me everywhere. My healthy breast, its nipple, my thighs, my clit again.
He dips his finger inside me. I don’t need him to tell me I’m still dry. I can feel the lack of natural lubrication myself.
He gently rolls me onto my stomach and he puts those large hands to good use. I am given a massage. It is comfortable to the extreme. And very nice. But afterwards I am still dry.
He hasn’t given up hope. He rolls me back over and probes me once again.
“It’s no use, Bill. Let’s just forget it.”
His erection is pressing into my thigh. I am tossing up between offering him a hand or head job when he hooks my legs over his shoulders.
“You need this, Laura. Let’s give nature’s own lube a try.”
His mouth and tongue go to work. And it works very well. Even in our current vulnerable mindsets, it feels comfortable. And very very nice.
I come hard, pushing myself completely into his face. He just chuckles.
He wriggles up my body and cradles me in his arms as I continue to quiver.
He leans towards me. I lean back, point to his chin and screw up my features.
He chuckles again and goes to the head.
I hear the water running and know if I loved him I wouldn’t have cared less what was on his face and I would have kissed him. Or I would kiss him when he returns. I don’t.
Instead I assist him to masturbate beside me. But I don’t kiss him.
*
Bill’s not late today. He sits and watches as Cottle preps me. He winces as the needle pierces my skin.
Eventually Cottle leaves and it’s just the two of us.
He settles in the chair beside the cot and opens the book.
I close my eyes and escape to Caprica City of approximately 80 years ago. Bill makes the time real, the setting real, the characters real.
Today, there’s no hidden meaning in the words. No apologies, no declarations of love.
We haven’t fought in weeks. We’ve debated regarding Fleet business. We always will. But we haven’t argued over personal reasons. Our personal life is good. Comfortable. And nice.
I regard the day he declared his love from the pages of a book as one of the best days of my life. A needle stuck in my arm, poison being pumped into my vein, cancer taking over my body, my lover telling me he loves me in the most romantic way he knows.
I tilt my head and look at Bill now. He doesn’t know how beautiful he is. Maybe his not knowing makes his beauty even more radiant to me.
Handsome doesn’t seem to suit him. Lee is handsome. Sam is handsome. Bill is beautiful.
I try to imagine what he’d look like in normal civilian clothes. I can’t. I do know what he looks like out of uniform.
I close my eyes, remembering all the times I’ve seen him naked. All the times I’ve touched him.
“Finished.”
It’s not Bill’s voice that whispers this now, waking me from my inappropriate daydreams.
My eyes squeeze open and I realise everyone thinks I was asleep. Maybe I was. Sweet dreams.
Cottle is wrapping a bandage around my arm. Ishay is hovering behind with a wheelchair.
It’s Bill face my eyes rest on though. He’s watching Cottle and Ishay with fear, anxiety, vigilance.
I’m once again using Bill as my protector. He’s still my personal goon squad. He turns his attention to me as I snort at the memory. I smile over at him and his returning smile is full of love.
Once settled in the wheelchair, it’s Bill that pushes me back to our quarters. It’s Bill that undresses me and settles me into the rack. It’s Bill that fetches a glass of water to set within reach, a washcloth to place over my eyes, a blanket to place over my legs.
I hear the beeping of the comm unit and then his low murmurings near his desk.
“I’m sorry. I have to go. I’ll come and check on you every half hour,” he promises.
I shoo him. I’m only going to sleep anyway. It’s not like I’ll be company.
“Do you want me to stay with you until you fall asleep?”
“No, that’s okay.”
I reach out and give his hand an encouraging squeeze.
“Go.”
“Alright.”
He still lingers beside the rack. His gaze focuses on my mouth. I think he’s going to kiss me goodbye. I close my eyes, hoping to avoid it.
His kiss will be full of love. I don’t love him. My return kiss will be cold. He’s been so good to me. I don’t want to break his heart now. Not yet.
I feel his lips. They graze across my cheek.
I should be pleased. He hasn’t kissed me on the lips.
I am, but I’m not.
It was still a kiss full of love. Its warmth spreads from my cheek through my entire body, to my mind, my heart, my soul.
*
I’m not technically living in Bill’s quarters anymore, but I still find myself drawn here nearly everyday. They’re comfortable. And nice.
I may not be in love with Bill, but I do love his quarters. They are my home. I’m always welcome here.
I decide to rest on the couch. My eyes, head, limited concentration can’t cope with reading.
I’ve been in sickbay for what seems like weeks. The treatments aren’t going well. The cancer isn’t responding as Cottle had hoped.
I remove my headscarf and clutch Emily’s gift close to my heart. Emily’s dead, I’m still having confusing visions, the cancer is spreading.
My eyes drift shut.
I wake when a hand is sweeping across my bare scalp.
It’s Bill. I know his touch, so loving, so gentle, so sure. Comfortable. And nice.
It’s the first time he has seen me without the wig or a headscarf.
I keep my eyes closed and let him explore my new look.
I whimper when I feel his mouth on my neck, under my ear, the crown of my head.
I open my eyes and stare up at him.
“You’re beautiful.”
His head dips, his lips lower towards mine.
I grip his shoulders.
“Oh Gods, Bill! I’m going to be-“
I scramble off the couch, urgent. Finding the kidney dish, I bring up what little contents are left in my stomach.
In this time, Bill has gone to the head and returned with a wet wash cloth that he uses to clean me up.
He takes the dish into the head and I hear the toilet flush, the faucet running.
I start to cry. Not just a few tears, but a torrent. My whole body is convulsing as I gasp out loud sobs.
Bill’s there.
He pulls me into his lap, rocks me, whispers reassurance, holds me.
I feel so helpless. I grasp onto him. I use him as my lifeline, my rock, my one constant.
*
I stand erect, waiting for the Raptor to open.
I know who’s inside.
My loyal, protective, unwavering, caring lover.
My best friend.
A beautiful man.
I try to remember a time when I never loved him. I can’t.
I can’t believe I never admitted the truth to myself even.
He might be comfortable. And nice. But I obviously love comfortable and nice.
His response when I confess my love is such that I realise he has known all along. He’s seen the truth before I have. Of course, he knows me.
I pull back out of his embrace. Tears still stream down my face even though he has tried to kiss them away.
I focus on his lips. I lean forward and I kiss him. I let him feel it. I let it flow through from my lips to his mind, his heart, his soul. All my love. It’s his.