FIC: Flip the Page
Title: Flip the Page
Author: bugs
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: MA
Word Count: 8,000
A/N: For bsg_aussiegirl's birthday, with a shout out to roslin33 on her birthday too. Thanks to frakcancer for her 'research' assistance. I didn't end up using a lot of details, but rather the spirit of the matter in characterization. Then there was lacklusterfic's help. She told me this would never work. So naturally I had to try. I know Aussie's got a forgiving nature for failure. :D
~*~
Laura stumbled along the rocky trail through the pitch dark and rain, cursing the weather, this god-forsaken campground, but most of all, Richard Adar. The pouring rain plastered her hair to her head and her dress to her body and filled her high-heeled boots with water. A stroll to the camp's pond to clear her mind after a heated argument with Richard had seemed like a good idea before this storm had suddenly struck.
Then she slipped and fell on her ass.
"Fuck!" she ranted, managing to pull herself up by grabbing shrub branches, but cutting her palms in the process.
Limping now--she'd landed on a large rock and could feel the bruise rising on her hip--she headed toward a lumpy shape in the dark with the square of light that denoted a window.
A fork of lightning suddenly lit up the mountain sky. A man stood on the cabin's porch. There was a brief glow from the tip of a cigar. The pale orb of the face turned toward her as she hurried toward the shelter.
"Come on!" called out a raspy voice. "Get out of this!"
It couldn't be.
But when she mounted the stairs, the hand that reached out to support her was large and rough-hewn, the expression of discontent familiar and as always, annoying. It was William Adama all right.
She'd been furious with him, sight unseen, when Richard had appointed him to head the Mayor's Office of Community Development.
"Melanie Pritchett is perfect for that position, Richard," Laura had ranted. "She's been an under secretary in the office for years, she'd been on the boards of many charities, everything from the AIDS quilt to Beans' soup kitchen, to Glide Memorial church. Her contacts--"
"Who's the mayor of this city?" Richard's voice was silken but she had heard the arrogance nonetheless.
"Who is this guy? What's he to you?" she'd challenged. Everyone was something to Richard. She was more than the head of the Office of Education, after all.
"Bill's got many connections within the Catholic church--"
"So the Irish and Italian vote, the Filipinos," Laurad had ticked off on her fingers.
"So cynical," Richard had mused, running his finger down her bare arm.
It was never good to argue with Richard while naked in bed.
Meeting William Adama had not changed her opinion. Dressed all in black, his scarred face equally somber, he'd had little to say at the first meetings he'd attended. His gaze always focused on her temple, never meeting her eyes directly.
"What, he got his fashion advice from the clergy?" she'd sneered at Wyatt Simpson, the under-secretary in Finance at the first coffee break.
"Didn't you hear," Wyatt said in his gossipy manner. "He's a priest."
"What?" Laura had nearly dropped her cup of scalding tea.
"Or rather, a former priest." Wyatt lifted his well-manicured eyebrows. "Makes me wonder if he had to leave the priesthood, if you know what I mean."
Laura had turned her speculative gaze back on the newest member of Richard Adar's administration. He stood at the window, staring out over the fog-shrouded city. He wasn't tall, but was stocky, with strength exuding from his broad shoulders and thick limbs. His dark hair was shorn short to bristle off his skull.
He wasn't anything like the priests Laura was accustomed to, from her childhood parish priest, Father Max, with his high, feminine voice and bald pate, to the parade of stoop-shouldered men who'd passed through her mother's hospital room as Judith Roslin desperately sought answers at the end. None of that offered anything but platitudes to Laura's ears, making her more bitter each day.
This Adama's unwillingness to meet her eyes was one thing he shared with those men, though. He was probably disgusted by a independent woman's level gaze--or intimidated.
Then he'd turned quickly from the view, catching her contemptuous look. He'd give the slightest of nods, as though acknowledging her irritation and making her instantly ashamed, then angry at him for her weakness.
Laura had expected it would be easy enough to avoid Adama, but in his perversity, Richard kept putting them on committees together and asking Laura to 'aid' this man as he learned the ropes of city government.
"You're so good with bureaucracy, Laura," he'd said with his usual sharp-edged charm.
"Why do you let him treat you that way?" Bill had asked one afternoon when she'd slammed into his office, telling him disagreeably that Mayor Adar had asked her to show Bill how to fill out his time sheet.
"First, he's my boss. Second, I'd prefer that you not give me your opinion on my interpersonal relationships," she'd fired back.
He'd given that nod again, the one that made it seem as though they were engaged in some larger conversation than her sniping and his monosyllable replies.
It turned out his work hadn't been running bingo games at the neighborhood parish. Over time, she discovered he'd worked with everyone from IV drug users to war refugees. Each discovery showed her a bit more about Bill.
One day she found him in his office in a sweat-soaked tank top, his hands still wrapped from a sparring session.
"You box?" she asked rather breathlessly, hanging into the room by the doorjamb.
"Yeah," he said, ducking his head and starting to pull the wraps from his hands. "It's part of my gang outreach."
An odd reaction--fear for him--rose through Laura's body, making her blush. "I didn't know. Is that safe?"
He gave her a sideways grin and she watched his biceps flex as he quickly rolled the strips of cotton on his thick thigh. "I do okay."
"I don't mean the boxing--the gangs."
"Somebody's gotta try," he said with a shrug. He peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "Don't like boxing?"
She quickly licked her lips. "No, I mean, yes. My father loved the fights. I loved my father, so I became a fan."
This is when he would invite her to go out with him...He turned his back to shove his equipment in a duffel bag. "What can I help you with, Miss Roslin?" he said.
He wasn't just crowding her in the workplace. He faithfully attended every seminar and conference associated with the government. Despite her best intentions to keep a distance, she found herself engaging in short, stilted conversations during breaks.
And then he showed up in her Hayes Valley neighborhood.
"Miss Roslin," he'd said as a greeting one morning from behind her in line at her favorite coffee shop.
"What are you doing here?" was her own greeting.
"Moved in around the corner," he'd said comfortably.
So he was there, at the laundromat, in the bookstore, squeezing tomatoes at the farmers' market. She thought she could ignore him, but he'd offer to carry her groceries home, recommendation a poet, add a quarter to her dryer while she was tied up on the cell phone.
She came to find his conversation, despite it not being verbose, fascinating and entertaining, although she never asked him about his past, nor did he offer any information. Slowly, she came to read and understand his nonverbal cues, from the rumble at the back his throat to the tension of his clasped hands at his waist. Their eyes met more and more during the meetings, carrying on conversations with the raising of an eyebrow or the twitch of the corner of the mouth.
One night, she was finally in his arms. She'd been stumbling sleepily from Richard's hotel room at 3 AM. The last thing she expected was for Bill Adama to be in the corridor, striding purposefully along. She ran smack into him and was wrapped in his embrace before she could stop.
"Sorry," he'd said, but with warmth in his voice showing he had no regret to be cradling her close.
Until his quick gaze took in her misbuttoned blouse, her lack of a bra obvious. Her tousled hair. The smell of sex still on her skin; even a priest must know that odor.
She'd thought his eyes were so blank the day she met him. Then this day came. They engaged in one of their unspoken conversations with recriminations and accusations and a final cold dismissal
She had turned out of his arms and walked away.
"Go on, put on my robe," Bill grumbled, shoving a heavy brown garment into Laura's hands.
"Really Bill, I can just warm up and make it the rest of the way to my cabin," she said through chattering teeth.
Exasperated, he pushed another log into his woodstove, leaving the door open so the heat radiated toward her.
"First, you were going in the wrong direction from your cabin, so if you think you can find it in this storm, you're wrong. Second--" He doused the room's lights. "No one should be out in this electric storm. We shouldn't even have the power on."
"Why the hell does Richard hold these damn team-building shitfests in the middle of bumfuck?" she fumed profanely.
Even in the dark, she could see his shock at her language. Good. She needed to keep pushing him away.
"It's pretty up here in the mountains--"
"I hate camping," she burst out. "This is ridiculous! I have no interest in team building because all I can think is about is how I just want some decent toilet paper and a shower with hot water!"
His fingers plucked at her dripping dress. "Laura, get out of this thing and into the robe before you catch your death."
She looked around, her fury exhausted for a moment. His cabin was even more sparse than hers. A narrow bed was built into the wall and two straight-backed chairs sat before the black iron woodstove. A small table was shoved under the window and Bil had it covered with books and papers, despite the fact they'd only been at the retreat for three days.
He turned his back on her. "Go on," he rumbled.
Licking her lips quickly, she began to strip off her clinging red dress, and after consideration, the pale camisole and her underwear. She pulled on the thick robe, enveloped in its warmth and an odor she realized was Bill; rich and deep, like sucking a caramel.
"Your shoes too."
How could he see? Then she noticed her faint reflection in the dark windows. Tucking the robe's collar up around her chin, she finally spoke. "Some priest. Playing peek-a-boo in the window."
He turned back to her and gently urged her to sit on the edge of his bed. He was down on his knees before her, his warm hands finding her calf beneath the robe.
"I'm not a priest anymore." He was working the tight and muddy laces loose from her boot.
"Still act like one. Dress like one." She stared down at his thick dark hair, finding not a single bald spot.
"Old habits."
One boot was off, and he cradled her cold foot in his large hands, warming it.
She bit hard on her lower lip.
"What's that about anyway? Why'd you leave the priesthood? Did you have to?" she asked uncertainly. Her query had started as a way to push him away figuratively, but suddenly it seemed very important to know.
He rose to light a camp lantern. The gas caught, making a whooshing noise. He brought the light close to see her second boot.
She didn't think he was going to reply but he finally spoke. "I didn't find what I was looking for. I was a priest for forty years, figured if I didn't find it by then, I wasn't going to. So I'm looking in another place."
"What was that?" She balled her fists to keep from squeezing the strong shoulders as he worked at the tangled knot on her boot lace.
"God."
Well, that was a mood killer. She leaned back on the lumpy mattress.
"God? Isn't believing in God sort of a prerequisite to joining the priesthood?" she asked dryly.
He glanced up from between her knees and she lost all feeling in her legs for a brief moment to see him grinning at her from that position.
"Not necessarily. And can you think of a better place to find Him?" He quirked one of his thick eyebrows at her.
"It just seems a bit extreme," she mused, biting back a moan as he rubbed her newly-freed foot briskly, his thumb finding the arch for a quick caress.
"I...I've look for God here and there, but I wouldn't put on a wimple to do it," she added.
"Where do you look for Him?" Bill rooted in his duffel bag beside the bed.
"I thought I'd look for Him at that pond but found nothing but hell," she said flippantly. She wasn't going to get into a theological discussion with the likes of Bill Adama.
He found a pair of thick socks, and without asking, put them on her feet.
She started to protest, but then wiggled her toes gratefully. "Thanks," she muttered.
"Sure."
He held out his hand; he must want her off his bed.
She rose, making sure to stand a bit too close. His unusual blue eyes glowed down at her. "You don't know who I am? My family?" he husked.
"Should I?" She licked her lips, staring at the harsh line of his mouth. Just how hard would it be on hers?
"The Adama Family?"
"You have a pizzeria on Turk?"
"No, they're an organized crime family. My uncle was a notorious enforcer in the West Coast syndicate," he said flatly.
She stepped back, blinking for focus. Fumbling in her garments, she found the dress's pocket and pulled out her glasses.
"Wait, there was a big-time mob lawyer...Joe Adama."
"That was my father."
"So you became a priest to repent for your family's sins?" she asked askance.
He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"I thought that kind of shit only happened in old movies," she said, still shocked.
He sat on the chair by the stove and pushed in another log. "What were you really doing out there tonight, Laura?"
"I went for a walk."
"You were at the party; were the life of the party. You even shared a drink with me," he said, leading.
Yes, she'd felt him watching her all evening. It was the team building retreat's closing party and she would never see him again after that night. She'd finally forced the issue by sharing a glass of scotch with him, daring him to say something about their encounter in the hotel corridor. He'd said nothing, had only been excruciatingly polite. Then she had to join Richard in his opulent log cabin.
A bolt of lightning lit the cabin for a moment. Laura busied herself draping her wet garments over the other chair by the fire.
"You left with Richard," Bill said, defeated sounding. "Surely a gentleman would walk you back to your cabin."
There it was, finally. The contempt.
"Our discussion ended. I decided I wanted to see the pond," she insisted again.
Tonight was the night when Laura Roslin was finally going to shatter that smug smile affixed to Richard Adar's face. He'd pushed her around; that was part of their deal. But the way he'd bullied and broken the teachers' union...She wasn't going to stand for it. And if that meant fighting dirty, she would.
"Laura, exposing your affair with me is hardly going to do your career any good either," he'd said mildly, not the least bit cowed.
"Not a problem, Richard."
He'd cocked his head at her and had said a name.
The name of a boy--a young man now. But he'd been a boy when he'd sat in her class, his big dark eyes watching her every move with obvious infatuation. And that's what the public would see, not the grown man who'd come to her apartment one dark night on a blind date.
So she'd gone for a walk in the night under threatening clouds.
"That's all? Spiritual quest ended? Your familial guilt alleviated?" She folded her arms, pinning him under her gaze.
He didn't look very worried. "We're back to me?"
"Yes. Come on, Bill Adama--"
"I didn't leave to get laid."
Finally comfortable, she sank onto the edge of the bed again, crossing her legs so the robe fell open to reveal them. She removed her glasses and tucked them in the robe's pocket.
"But it's crossed your mind," she drawled.
His gaze remained fixed on her face. All those years of denial gave him excellent willpower, she decided.
"Not really. Can't see how it will happen," he said, matter of fact.
She raised her eyebrows. "Surely you know how it's done--"
"I mean finding a woman who'll put up with a sixty year old virgin," he said, his voice still casual.
That was a burning question answered.
She lifted one hand gracefully and his gaze finally dropped to follow the pattern she drew in the air. "There's always going to a sex worker. Just get it over with--"
His head jerked up. "I've ministered to sex workers for years, Laura. There's no way I'd use one of them--"
"I'm not talking about going down to Capp Street. There's some very professional, normal women--"
"Does money change hands?"
"I guess so." Her hand dropped.
"Then it's not an arrangement I'm comfortable with."
"Have you gone to bars?"
"Yes, I go to bars sometimes."
"There's women there..."
She leaned forward and felt the trickle of cool air between her breasts. His eyes remained locked on hers.
"If you buy them a drink--"
"Really," he said dryly.
"Yes, Bill." She straightened and pushed back her damp curls, fluffing them. "The women understand what it's about; you're not leading them on--"
"What's going on?"
"A one night stand," she said, her mouth tight, feeling that he was mocking her somehow.
"Not something I'm interested in," he said crisply. "A strange woman; the risks could be great." Standing, he started looking through the woodbox for another limb.
She thought for a long moment. "I have a friend or two."
He shot her an incredulous look over his shoulder.
Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. "Very friendly women. They don't need a commitment, you see--"
"I do."
Her hands clenched tightly in her lap and her gaze finally dropped from his.
His husky voice traveled through the dim room. "I want a relationship. Something permanent. I need to have feelings for a woman before we're intimate."
"Okay," she said quickly. "There's online dating sites, taking a night class, a book club--" She frantically tried to remember how normal people found mates.
"There's another problem though," he admitted.
"What?"
"I do have feelings for a certain woman. I couldn't seek another relationship while I feel that way. It wouldn't be fair."
Laura felt sucker-punched.
Then her irritation was back. "Why didn't you say so? Just go for this woman then."
Was it someone she knew? It must be. She was connected to every part of his life. That Tracy woman in the Water Works who always found some reason to come by Bill's office, always giggling...
"It's not that easy. She's with someone."
"Married?"
"Her? No."
"Then you still have a chance."
He barked a laugh. "I'm not that kinda guy."
"Why not? Doe she seem satisfied in her relationship?"
"No."
"Then you've got something better to offer."
He chuckled again, a softer tone, warm and intimate.
"Just kiss her," Laura suggested. "You'll know then if she shares your feelings."
"What?" he chuffed.
She was worried for him again. "Have you kissed a woman before? I mean, before..."
"Yeah. Catholic schools, and Catholic schoolgirls, all the way to the seminary. I'm very, very practiced at making out."
She was staring at his mouth.
"Good," she breathed. "That will help your cause."
"It's been a long time though," he mused. "Is it like riding a bicycle?"
She needed to get out of here. There'd been no lightning for a while. Leaping from the bed, she felt her clothes. They were nearly dry.
"I should be going," she babbled.
"Yeah," he said, knocking the air out of her once more.
He lifted her dress from the chair, shaking it out.
She reached for it, her fingers touching his. He gave a slight, shy smile and her chest hitched. He was a boy, a sweet boy, kissing her teenaged self behind the library, promising to take her to the prom.
Turning the dress in her fist, she drew him closer.
His head descended slightly and she rose on her toes to meet his mouth, impatient. He cradled her jaw, keeping the pace agonizingly slow as his lips moved carefully over hers, easing her mouth open. She could tell it had been a while...And then he obviously remembered what he was doing and her head went light from the lack of oxygen.
"There," he said barely above a whisper, "I kissed her."
"Oh," she gasped.
His smile was sad. "Yeah," he murmured.
But once he pressed his lips to her temple, he stepped away. Shaking out the dress again, he offered it to her.
"You want me to leave?" she asked in surprise.
"I think you better."
"Going to throw me out in the rain and the dark?" she said making her voice tremble.
He only narrowed his eyes, not buying it for a moment. "This is too much to put on you--"
"Shouldn't I be the one to decide that?" she asked.
She could see him wavering. "I..."
Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, she stepped closer. "Hmmm?"
She placed her palm over his heart as though making a vow for him. "I've got experience in this situation. I've deflowered two male virgins before."
"What?" he said in a laugh.
"Okay, it was twenty-five years ago. A couple of late bloomers in college. I had a real thing for those geeky boys from the study hall."
"I'm not gonna be one of your charity cases--" He swayed backward but she kept her fingers curled into his black sweater.
Her fists balled on his chest, pressing hard over his heart. "Do you need to hear I feel the same about you?"
He shrugged and she could see he was embarrassed but determined.
She tipped her head off to the side, focusing on his shoulder; now she was the shy one. Blindly, her hand found his cheek, stroking the rough skin until her thumb could slide along his impossibly soft lower lip.
His "Hmmm?" was a hopeful question.
She nodded quickly.
His breathing quickened under her palm on his chest. She had to rest her head on his shoulder, suddenly exhausted.
Another question: "Adar--"
"Why do you think I was going for a walk in the rain?"
His grip tightened on her arm briefly and she could still feel his tension. Damn, she was going to have to say more.
"I quit."
"What?" He shook his head. "No, Laura, your work is too important--"
"I'll do it from the other side. I hear they need an outreach coordinator in the teachers' union," she said, raising her chin.
Pursing his lips, he thought for a long moment, but she could feel his fingers relaxing on her shoulder. She tucked her arm around his waist to keep him close.
"I still think we should wait," he said definitely, smoothing her hair in a mesmerizing caress.
Lifting her head, she gave him an appraising look over. "I don't."
"This is a lot to absorb," he protested.
"Trust me on this. If you give yourself too much time to think on something, it's going to lead to anxiety. And anxiety..." Her gaze drifted lower and he shifted on his feet. "Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak--"
"I don't know--" he interrupted.
Time to end this little dance. "Tonight," she said. "It has to happen tonight."
It was amazing how long he could look at her without blinking or saying a word. And how long she could hold her breath. Then he gave one of his little nods. But he still didn't move.
She reached for the robe's sash. "Here's an idea," she said soothingly. "We just do what feels right, what feels good for now. We can stop any time."
He raised a questioning brow.
Easing the robe open, she shook her head. "Let's see how long you can rely on this innocent priest act."
Finally, finally, his gaze began to ease below her chin. His tongue quickly darted out. "I regret to say, it is not an act," he murmured.
His mouth fell open comically when his gaze finally reached her breasts. "Of course, I've seen photographs, or works of art, even had a few fumbling encounters through my high school girlfriend's clothes, but seeing you in the flesh is quite different," he babbled.
That had to be the most words she'd ever heard out of the man. This was a good sign.
"Would you like to touch me?" she asked throatily.
"Sure," he said quickly, but his hand stayed at his side.
"Let's do something you know with something you don't," she suggested encouragingly.
Stepping into his slack arms, she hovered beneath his mouth until he got the idea and started to kiss her again. She took his hand and lifted it to one of her breasts . His fingers lightly traced along her soft skin, exploring. When they encountered the rumpled edge of her areola, they skittered away nervously.
She covered his hand with hers again, leading it back to her nipple, now tight and hot with need. Her thumb on his, she showed him how to circle the nub. As he plucked at it, he began panting into her mouth.
"Doin' okay?" she gasped against his cheek, feeling pretty light-headed herself. By this point, Richard would have her shoved against the wall and his pants around his knees but she'd be nowhere as aroused. There was an irony in there somewhere, but she was too overwhelmed to think it through.
"Yeah, just fine," he rumbled into her neck. "How 'bout you?"
"Still standing," she said faintly. "That's the problem." She nodded toward the bed and watched his prominent Adams apple wag. She gave into an impulse and nipped it.
Her hands slid under his sweater and she whimpered at how soft his skin was. How could someone who appeared to be hewn from stone be so silken and smooth?
"Go on," she said gently, giving him a little push toward the bed. Turning to her clothes, she found her damp purse under the camisole. As she rooted to the bottom of the little bag, she watched him undress out of the corner of her eye.
He stripped efficiently, with no regard to trying to entice her, although it had exactly that effect as he folded each garment and stacked them on the other chair.
She tossed down a couple of foil packs of condoms on the bedside table. Even in the dark, he saw what they were.
"Is there someone besides him?" he asked.
"No, but there are more than just me," she said with false bravado.
He came to her at those words, wrapping his big arms around her. She realized she'd started shivering again.
Sweeping her hair back, she offered her neck and led his head to it.
"You smell so good--not the perfumes of other women. Like the rain and the manzinita," he told her.
"I fell into some bushes in the dark; that's why." She gave a ragged laugh.
Instead of joining her, he kissed her palm where the scratches were still painful. "We should clean these up," he said, fussing.
Shifting her legs, she pressed against the bulge in his boxers. "Later," she said, determined. She gave his waistband a little tug. "One more."
He blinked slowly.
Shrugging, she stepped away and slipped the robe off to puddle at her feet. "Fine. I'll go first."
Heated by his intense gaze, she crawled onto the bed and lay on her back, letting her legs fall open. He might as well look at everything and get comfortable with this.
He did just that. With his hands grasped comically at his waist, as though propped on the erection tenting his shorts, he looked at her slowly, traveling from her socked feet to the apex of her thighs. That Adams apple wiggled again.
She waited. Finally he moved on, his deep gaze caressing her stomach, then settling on her breasts. They became heavy, seeming to swell with his eyes' touch.
He eased closer and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.
"Just ask if you have any questions," she said dryly.
He gave a deep sigh. "Thanks."
"You have too many questions?" she guessed.
"Yeah." He dared to stroke her bare thigh, cupping her knee. She opened her legs wider in an unspoken invitation. She'd never been comfortable with just being looked at by a lover, but perhaps it was the gentleness of his gaze, the wonder in his eyes' depths--she felt precious, a treasure he alone had discovered, instead of the well-worn path she'd felt like for years.
"Show me..." He put his hand in hers. "Show me how to give you pleasure."
She had to close her eyes for a moment. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she told him, "This is about you, not me."
"To give you pleasure...That's what I want. What I need," he rasped.
She slowly shook her head, not understanding. "Bill--"
"Please, Laura." His thumb rubbed inside her wrist lightly.
It was her turn to give a small nod. Taking his hand, hers lying on the wide back, she stroked across her belly and circling her upper thighs. He journeyed on his own to palm the darkening bruise on her butt cheek, his brow furrowed with concern.
She hummed with gratitude, but took his hand back, leading it to rest between her legs, cupping her vulva, warm and moist. His eyes widened.
"That's...Not what I expected," he admitted shakily.
She took her hand away, giving him permission to move as well, but instead, his fingers began to slowly explore, stroking and touching lightly.
Leaning over her, he gently kissed her mouth with reverence. "I've done a lot of reading," he confessed, and she had to giggle with delight, feeling his cheek's blush under under her palm. "But Solomon never went into this specific of detail."
"Damn poetic imagery was no help at all?" she suggested.
Shifting onto her back, she raised her knees to give him better access. Her hand covered his again, leading his fingers to her opening.
"Right there," she whispered against his lips. She pressed his forefinger, pushing it inside.
He began to breath like he'd been running for miles. Perhaps he had, she thought lazily as she rolled her hips to move on their fingers.
"That's...I don't think this is going to work," he said, his voice cracking in worry.
"Huh?" she asked foggily. "Everyone's working just fine," she assured him.
"I mean...It's tight..."
"Yeah," she moaned, gripping their fingers with her inner muscles.
"I mean..." He plucked at his waistband, his brow tight with concern.
She laughed, finally understanding his problem. "Honey, a baby goes through there, remember?"
But he's peaked her interest. She tugged at his boxers. "Show time," she said cheerfully.
Like a man going before a firing squad, he stood, his back ramrod straight, leaving her alone and bereft on the bed at the loss of his contact.
Both hands on his waistband, he gripped his boxers and pulled them down. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. He finally dared to look down at Laura.
She lolled back on the thin pillow, her hand behind her head. It was her turn to give him the slow once over.
"We'll do okay," she promised him. She fought the crazy giggles welling in her throat. That was going to be hers; he was going off the market, none the wiser.
He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. Never looked at other men."
"Good." Grasping his slack fingers hanging by his side, she tugged him back down on the bed. "Where were we?" she murmured.
Sensing his discomfort, she returned to kissing, letting him regain his confidence and slide heated skin across damp skin, encouraging him to buck against her lower belly with his hardening erection.
But she couldn't keep her hand off it. She palmed the silky thickness, moaning into his tongue.
He yelped. "Sorry," he quickly apologized. "Just not used to--"
"Someone else's hand?" She didn't take her fingers away, but lightened her grip, still stroking gently.
"Uh huh," he breathed.
"You touch yourself?" she questioned, pressing her lips along his collarbone.
His nod was barely discernible, but she'd let that slide.
"So you know what feels good."
"I think I'm about to find out just how good that good can feel," he gasped, burying his face in the tumble of her curls.
"The same part of you--" She rolled the head of his penis in her palm-- "Is here on me." Taking his shaking hand, she placed it on her clitoris, rubbing his thumb around the swollen nub.
"The ripened grape," he murmured, his frantic lips nibbling along her neck.
"Huh?" she groaned, toying with herself with his fingers, with his rigid cock...She'd been intent on giving him everything tonight, but she suddenly realized she was so close...
He lifted his head to watch her face, fascinated. She'd always turned away from Richard as she came, but she met Bill's gaze to let him see her reaction to his touch.
On his own, he slid a finger inside her again, finding the rhythm she had before. She began to rub her clit rapidly. The familiar tingle was spreading through her limbs.
Grabbing a handful of Bill's cropped hair, she pressed his head to her breast. He quickly mouthed the nipple. She didn't care what Bible verse he'd found that in, but he seemed to be catching on quickly.
Her whimpers came in a constant stream now, then the current lashed through her body. "Bill!" she gasped. "Oh God, Bill!"
"Yeah," he gasped, the amazement on his face making her laugh weakly as she dropped back on the mattress. His big hands gently stroked across her still flushed skin, soothing her trembling limbs.
He nestled down beside her. "Will you sleep here tonight?" he asked sweetly.
"Sleep?" She glanced down at his straining erection, tight against his belly. "Who's sleeping?"
"Uh..." His eyes shifted. "Aren't we finished?" he asked uncertainly.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she laughed. "Oh honey. We're just beginning."
Reaching across his chest, she fumbled for one of the foil packets.
"You don't have to--" he insisted.
"Bill, women can keep going. It's men who're one and done," she said briskly and a bit cruelly.
"I see." He sat up and gripped his knees, the anxiety obviously returning.
"Do you know how to put one of these on?" she asked uncertainly, offering him the package. He was making her nervous.
He took it from her. "It's been a really long time, but yeah."
"You have tried to have sex?" she asked carefully.
He gave a rough chuckle. "My high school girlfriend, Marie, said maybe we would do it. So I summoned all my bravery and bought a box of condoms. Practiced. I didn't want to miss my one chance with a broken condom."
She leaned on his shoulder, holding him close. "Oh, Bill," she murmured.
"But then I mentioned I was considering the priesthood and I think that turned her off," he admitted.
Laura bit hard on her lower lip to keep from laughing. "I'm so sorry," she finally gasped. "You should have gone to a hooker the day before you entered the seminary," she told him.
"That crossed my mind about a hundred times over the last forty years," he confessed. "Who knows though. Probably would have made it worse to know what I was missing."
She gave him a nudge. Time to stop talking.
He ripped the foil and carefully removed the condom.
"I can help," she offered.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "May make things worse," he said, tense. "Having you touch me right now."
She forced herself to look away and give him some privacy as he fumbled between his legs. Give him some dignity.
He kissed her shoulder blade. "Suited up," he said, sounding more confident.
She lay back on the mattress, drawing him with her. Rolling onto her side, she coaxed him to do the same. Kissing him, gentle sweet kisses, she covered his body with gentle strokes of her palms.
"Laura, you are my angel--" he murmured, kissing her eyelids, the curve of her cheek, the tip of her chin.
"Don't say that." She blinked back tears. "A fallen angel."
"Rising," he promised. "I just watched you being carried to heaven."
Draping her leg over his hip, she guided the wide head of his penis between her legs.
His gaze was trusting, but his heart was pounding under her fingertips. Sliding forward, she encased him in her heat. His eyelids drifted shut for a moment and his mouth fell open, slack.
"Okay?" She didn't move yet.
"Yeah," he husked.
Her arms circling his sturdy torso, she rolled onto her back, carrying her with him. He braced his weight on his arms, staring down at her.
"Your turn," she said with a smile.
His grin brought the tears back to her eyes.
He moved slowly and carefully at first, finding his rhythm. No teenage boy, just intent on the finish line, Bill was obviously relishing every moment, every sensation.
His deep breathing reminded her a diving whale, carrying them both into the depths until her vision swam. She clutched his ass, pushing him deeper. Raising her knees to grip under his armpits, she opened herself to take as much of his girth as she could.
From the frantic hitch in his breathing, she knew he'd felt every change in her body.
"My angel," he moaned again, sweat running down his face.
She'd expected him to come after only a few thrusts, but she could see he was too overwhelmed. His wonder and joy shifted on his face, becoming concern. This was all too much for him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, acknowledging the problem. Years of self-control was hard to break.
Nudging him to his side, she rolled with him, sliding free from his length. He actually looked relieved, if confused.
Stripping the condom off his cock, she took him in her mouth. His entire body went instantly rigid at the new sensation. With her lips and her tongue, she pushed him as hard as she could, until he was writhing and begging illegibly. Under her palm on his lower belly, she felt the muscles tighten. Her mouth popped free and he groaned deeply, part agony, part ecstasy, his chest heaving like a ship in a storm.
With furious efficiency, she sheathed him in another condom and straddled his hips to slide back down his length.
"Oh God, Laura...My God..." His shaking hands grabbed her hips and he started thrusting up, deeper than even before, his fingers bruising her fair skin.
Her head fell back. "That's it, Bill. Just...Like that..." she encouraged him. Her fingers found her clit in her sweat-soaked curls. His wide thumb joined hers.
She bucked on him, riding him across the night sky, straight to heaven just like he promised.
"Angel," he cried out once more as he surged up one last time.
Then he crumbled back into the mattress with a long sigh, but his hands kept moving across her body, as though memorizing her every pore.
She slumped forward, groaning with the last of her release and the pain in her knees and back.
He coaxed her to drape across his chest.
"Sorry, not much room in this bed," he said, but sounded comfortable. When she tried to shift off him, his arms held her in place. With a shrug, she snuggled her head under his chin. Usually she would be pulling her clothes on and leaving. Not tonight.
They lay in silence for a few minutes, lost in their thoughts. The rain hissed on the cabin's tin roof.
"Bill, why were you in that hotel corridor?" She didn't have to tell him what she was referring to; the stiffening of his body beneath her told her this.
Then he laughed. "I was going to to tell a woman that I loved her. I'd finally stopped praying for answers and decided to do something about it. But seeing you...There...I thought it was finally that sign from God I'd been looking for."
She couldn't laugh with him. "Perhaps it was," she said softly.
His fingers moved gently through her curls, untangling the snarls. "If we get up early--" he murmured in her ear.
Her eyes closed briefly at the word 'early'. Of course this guy--her guy--would be a lark.
"We could be back in the city for a late lunch," he finished.
"Then we could go to your apartment," she said with good humor. "I've never seen yours."
The few times she'd managed to lure Bill into hers, he'd scampered away as soon as he'd put down her grocery bags or laundry, refusing all offers from tea to liquor.
"Sure," he said warmly.
"But it'll have to be later," she said slowly--remembering in a rush. "I have an appointment at two."
"I'll come with you," he said easily. The hand that had been sweeping across her back in lazy patterns stilled. "I'm sorry. I won't impose--"
She propped herself up on his chest to look into his worried eyes. Tracing his lower lip with her fingertip, protruding slightly with his uncertainty, she mirrored his expression with her own mouth.
"Bill--" She didn't know how to say it.
Instead, she took his hand and shifting slightly to her side, guided his fingers on her left breast. At first he smiled happily, but as her face remained impassive and her touch businesslike, he followed her probing circles deeper into the breast's tissue, until he felt what she was trying to show him.
She lay her head back on his chest again, nestling up under his chin, as though it were shelter from the storm outside. Blindly touching his face in the dark, she felt his hot tears on her fingertips.
"My angel," she whispered on his cooling skin.
~end
Bill watched Laura twirl the pencil absentmindedly as she finished reading the page. She slid her glasses down on her nose and looked across the bed at him. Waiting for her to read the story, he'd been turned around head to toe, giving her a foot massage. Now that she was done, he put her foot aside and waited expectantly.
"I guess I should be glad you didn't ask for a red pen," he said dryly.
"'I'm sorry, Bill. I can't read a paper without a pencil," she said with an unrepentant shrug.
She shuffled the pages back in order.
He ran his hand up her bare thigh to the hem of her silk nightshirt and toyed with the fabric. "Well?"
Folding her glasses with a snap, she put them atop the paper. "Well."
He raised his eyebrows, feeling the sickening flutter that only a writer feels waiting for a review.
"Well," she started again. "I'm just surprised you made me an adulteress and a near child molester of a former student--" she said coolly.
"He's a grown man!"
"But a boy in her mind."
He clapped a hand to his forehead. "But you're not upset that I'm giving her cancer?"
"Oh that. You kill everyone in your books, Bill." She lolled back on the pillows. "And another thing. You are going to change Richard's name, aren't you?"
"Oh that," he echoed.
She raised her eyebrows and shifted away from his seeking hand. Undeterred, he kissed the back of her knee.
"If I decide to use this in something, I'll do find and replace on the names," he explained between nibbles to her leg's tender skin.
"If you decide to use it--you didn't write it for your book?:"
"It's a gift for you."
"It'd be a shame not to use it," she mused, fiddling with the pages.
He wiggled around face to face with her and put the story aside. "We'll see," he said noncommittally.
"I found it interesting that you wrote from the point of view of the woman," she said, sounding uncomfortable.
He laughed. "I'm in touch with my feminine side," he rumbled, rubbing his solid belly.
She shook her head. "I suppose there's some dramatic license. A rough and tumble priest, just waiting for that one woman--" Her gaze became faraway.
"Never would have left the convent if you'd found that, huh?" he asked carefully.
She wasn't going to be baited. "I wouldn't have done anything different."
"I would have liked you to be my first...My last." He nuzzled her neck.
Burying her fingers in his hair, she gave his head a deep scratching and he resisted the urge to wiggle his foot like a dog would.
"Bull," she said affectionately. "You wouldn't change anything either."
He began unbuttoning her nightshirt, enjoying the slow reveal of creamy skin and scattered freckles. This never got old for him.
"So what did you think of the story?" he asked with forced casualness.
"It was great, really." She gave him a kiss on the lips, of gratitude, not passion. "Thank you so much."
"But--"
"But nothing," she insisted. Her fingers tugged at the waistband of his boxers.
He waited.
"Perhaps a few little..." Her hand slipped inside his underwear. "Tweaks," she breathed against his gaping mouth. "From Laura's point of view."
~real end
E/N: Yeah, I hate bait and switch fics too. And yes, this will count as nunfic's entry for the week, 'cause I got no words left!
Author: bugs
Genre: AU, Romance, Drama
Rating: MA
Word Count: 8,000
A/N: For bsg_aussiegirl's birthday, with a shout out to roslin33 on her birthday too. Thanks to frakcancer for her 'research' assistance. I didn't end up using a lot of details, but rather the spirit of the matter in characterization. Then there was lacklusterfic's help. She told me this would never work. So naturally I had to try. I know Aussie's got a forgiving nature for failure. :D
~*~
Laura stumbled along the rocky trail through the pitch dark and rain, cursing the weather, this god-forsaken campground, but most of all, Richard Adar. The pouring rain plastered her hair to her head and her dress to her body and filled her high-heeled boots with water. A stroll to the camp's pond to clear her mind after a heated argument with Richard had seemed like a good idea before this storm had suddenly struck.
Then she slipped and fell on her ass.
"Fuck!" she ranted, managing to pull herself up by grabbing shrub branches, but cutting her palms in the process.
Limping now--she'd landed on a large rock and could feel the bruise rising on her hip--she headed toward a lumpy shape in the dark with the square of light that denoted a window.
A fork of lightning suddenly lit up the mountain sky. A man stood on the cabin's porch. There was a brief glow from the tip of a cigar. The pale orb of the face turned toward her as she hurried toward the shelter.
"Come on!" called out a raspy voice. "Get out of this!"
It couldn't be.
But when she mounted the stairs, the hand that reached out to support her was large and rough-hewn, the expression of discontent familiar and as always, annoying. It was William Adama all right.
She'd been furious with him, sight unseen, when Richard had appointed him to head the Mayor's Office of Community Development.
"Melanie Pritchett is perfect for that position, Richard," Laura had ranted. "She's been an under secretary in the office for years, she'd been on the boards of many charities, everything from the AIDS quilt to Beans' soup kitchen, to Glide Memorial church. Her contacts--"
"Who's the mayor of this city?" Richard's voice was silken but she had heard the arrogance nonetheless.
"Who is this guy? What's he to you?" she'd challenged. Everyone was something to Richard. She was more than the head of the Office of Education, after all.
"Bill's got many connections within the Catholic church--"
"So the Irish and Italian vote, the Filipinos," Laurad had ticked off on her fingers.
"So cynical," Richard had mused, running his finger down her bare arm.
It was never good to argue with Richard while naked in bed.
Meeting William Adama had not changed her opinion. Dressed all in black, his scarred face equally somber, he'd had little to say at the first meetings he'd attended. His gaze always focused on her temple, never meeting her eyes directly.
"What, he got his fashion advice from the clergy?" she'd sneered at Wyatt Simpson, the under-secretary in Finance at the first coffee break.
"Didn't you hear," Wyatt said in his gossipy manner. "He's a priest."
"What?" Laura had nearly dropped her cup of scalding tea.
"Or rather, a former priest." Wyatt lifted his well-manicured eyebrows. "Makes me wonder if he had to leave the priesthood, if you know what I mean."
Laura had turned her speculative gaze back on the newest member of Richard Adar's administration. He stood at the window, staring out over the fog-shrouded city. He wasn't tall, but was stocky, with strength exuding from his broad shoulders and thick limbs. His dark hair was shorn short to bristle off his skull.
He wasn't anything like the priests Laura was accustomed to, from her childhood parish priest, Father Max, with his high, feminine voice and bald pate, to the parade of stoop-shouldered men who'd passed through her mother's hospital room as Judith Roslin desperately sought answers at the end. None of that offered anything but platitudes to Laura's ears, making her more bitter each day.
This Adama's unwillingness to meet her eyes was one thing he shared with those men, though. He was probably disgusted by a independent woman's level gaze--or intimidated.
Then he'd turned quickly from the view, catching her contemptuous look. He'd give the slightest of nods, as though acknowledging her irritation and making her instantly ashamed, then angry at him for her weakness.
Laura had expected it would be easy enough to avoid Adama, but in his perversity, Richard kept putting them on committees together and asking Laura to 'aid' this man as he learned the ropes of city government.
"You're so good with bureaucracy, Laura," he'd said with his usual sharp-edged charm.
"Why do you let him treat you that way?" Bill had asked one afternoon when she'd slammed into his office, telling him disagreeably that Mayor Adar had asked her to show Bill how to fill out his time sheet.
"First, he's my boss. Second, I'd prefer that you not give me your opinion on my interpersonal relationships," she'd fired back.
He'd given that nod again, the one that made it seem as though they were engaged in some larger conversation than her sniping and his monosyllable replies.
It turned out his work hadn't been running bingo games at the neighborhood parish. Over time, she discovered he'd worked with everyone from IV drug users to war refugees. Each discovery showed her a bit more about Bill.
One day she found him in his office in a sweat-soaked tank top, his hands still wrapped from a sparring session.
"You box?" she asked rather breathlessly, hanging into the room by the doorjamb.
"Yeah," he said, ducking his head and starting to pull the wraps from his hands. "It's part of my gang outreach."
An odd reaction--fear for him--rose through Laura's body, making her blush. "I didn't know. Is that safe?"
He gave her a sideways grin and she watched his biceps flex as he quickly rolled the strips of cotton on his thick thigh. "I do okay."
"I don't mean the boxing--the gangs."
"Somebody's gotta try," he said with a shrug. He peeked at her from the corner of his eye. "Don't like boxing?"
She quickly licked her lips. "No, I mean, yes. My father loved the fights. I loved my father, so I became a fan."
This is when he would invite her to go out with him...He turned his back to shove his equipment in a duffel bag. "What can I help you with, Miss Roslin?" he said.
He wasn't just crowding her in the workplace. He faithfully attended every seminar and conference associated with the government. Despite her best intentions to keep a distance, she found herself engaging in short, stilted conversations during breaks.
And then he showed up in her Hayes Valley neighborhood.
"Miss Roslin," he'd said as a greeting one morning from behind her in line at her favorite coffee shop.
"What are you doing here?" was her own greeting.
"Moved in around the corner," he'd said comfortably.
So he was there, at the laundromat, in the bookstore, squeezing tomatoes at the farmers' market. She thought she could ignore him, but he'd offer to carry her groceries home, recommendation a poet, add a quarter to her dryer while she was tied up on the cell phone.
She came to find his conversation, despite it not being verbose, fascinating and entertaining, although she never asked him about his past, nor did he offer any information. Slowly, she came to read and understand his nonverbal cues, from the rumble at the back his throat to the tension of his clasped hands at his waist. Their eyes met more and more during the meetings, carrying on conversations with the raising of an eyebrow or the twitch of the corner of the mouth.
One night, she was finally in his arms. She'd been stumbling sleepily from Richard's hotel room at 3 AM. The last thing she expected was for Bill Adama to be in the corridor, striding purposefully along. She ran smack into him and was wrapped in his embrace before she could stop.
"Sorry," he'd said, but with warmth in his voice showing he had no regret to be cradling her close.
Until his quick gaze took in her misbuttoned blouse, her lack of a bra obvious. Her tousled hair. The smell of sex still on her skin; even a priest must know that odor.
She'd thought his eyes were so blank the day she met him. Then this day came. They engaged in one of their unspoken conversations with recriminations and accusations and a final cold dismissal
She had turned out of his arms and walked away.
"Go on, put on my robe," Bill grumbled, shoving a heavy brown garment into Laura's hands.
"Really Bill, I can just warm up and make it the rest of the way to my cabin," she said through chattering teeth.
Exasperated, he pushed another log into his woodstove, leaving the door open so the heat radiated toward her.
"First, you were going in the wrong direction from your cabin, so if you think you can find it in this storm, you're wrong. Second--" He doused the room's lights. "No one should be out in this electric storm. We shouldn't even have the power on."
"Why the hell does Richard hold these damn team-building shitfests in the middle of bumfuck?" she fumed profanely.
Even in the dark, she could see his shock at her language. Good. She needed to keep pushing him away.
"It's pretty up here in the mountains--"
"I hate camping," she burst out. "This is ridiculous! I have no interest in team building because all I can think is about is how I just want some decent toilet paper and a shower with hot water!"
His fingers plucked at her dripping dress. "Laura, get out of this thing and into the robe before you catch your death."
She looked around, her fury exhausted for a moment. His cabin was even more sparse than hers. A narrow bed was built into the wall and two straight-backed chairs sat before the black iron woodstove. A small table was shoved under the window and Bil had it covered with books and papers, despite the fact they'd only been at the retreat for three days.
He turned his back on her. "Go on," he rumbled.
Licking her lips quickly, she began to strip off her clinging red dress, and after consideration, the pale camisole and her underwear. She pulled on the thick robe, enveloped in its warmth and an odor she realized was Bill; rich and deep, like sucking a caramel.
"Your shoes too."
How could he see? Then she noticed her faint reflection in the dark windows. Tucking the robe's collar up around her chin, she finally spoke. "Some priest. Playing peek-a-boo in the window."
He turned back to her and gently urged her to sit on the edge of his bed. He was down on his knees before her, his warm hands finding her calf beneath the robe.
"I'm not a priest anymore." He was working the tight and muddy laces loose from her boot.
"Still act like one. Dress like one." She stared down at his thick dark hair, finding not a single bald spot.
"Old habits."
One boot was off, and he cradled her cold foot in his large hands, warming it.
She bit hard on her lower lip.
"What's that about anyway? Why'd you leave the priesthood? Did you have to?" she asked uncertainly. Her query had started as a way to push him away figuratively, but suddenly it seemed very important to know.
He rose to light a camp lantern. The gas caught, making a whooshing noise. He brought the light close to see her second boot.
She didn't think he was going to reply but he finally spoke. "I didn't find what I was looking for. I was a priest for forty years, figured if I didn't find it by then, I wasn't going to. So I'm looking in another place."
"What was that?" She balled her fists to keep from squeezing the strong shoulders as he worked at the tangled knot on her boot lace.
"God."
Well, that was a mood killer. She leaned back on the lumpy mattress.
"God? Isn't believing in God sort of a prerequisite to joining the priesthood?" she asked dryly.
He glanced up from between her knees and she lost all feeling in her legs for a brief moment to see him grinning at her from that position.
"Not necessarily. And can you think of a better place to find Him?" He quirked one of his thick eyebrows at her.
"It just seems a bit extreme," she mused, biting back a moan as he rubbed her newly-freed foot briskly, his thumb finding the arch for a quick caress.
"I...I've look for God here and there, but I wouldn't put on a wimple to do it," she added.
"Where do you look for Him?" Bill rooted in his duffel bag beside the bed.
"I thought I'd look for Him at that pond but found nothing but hell," she said flippantly. She wasn't going to get into a theological discussion with the likes of Bill Adama.
He found a pair of thick socks, and without asking, put them on her feet.
She started to protest, but then wiggled her toes gratefully. "Thanks," she muttered.
"Sure."
He held out his hand; he must want her off his bed.
She rose, making sure to stand a bit too close. His unusual blue eyes glowed down at her. "You don't know who I am? My family?" he husked.
"Should I?" She licked her lips, staring at the harsh line of his mouth. Just how hard would it be on hers?
"The Adama Family?"
"You have a pizzeria on Turk?"
"No, they're an organized crime family. My uncle was a notorious enforcer in the West Coast syndicate," he said flatly.
She stepped back, blinking for focus. Fumbling in her garments, she found the dress's pocket and pulled out her glasses.
"Wait, there was a big-time mob lawyer...Joe Adama."
"That was my father."
"So you became a priest to repent for your family's sins?" she asked askance.
He shrugged. "Seemed like a good idea at the time."
"I thought that kind of shit only happened in old movies," she said, still shocked.
He sat on the chair by the stove and pushed in another log. "What were you really doing out there tonight, Laura?"
"I went for a walk."
"You were at the party; were the life of the party. You even shared a drink with me," he said, leading.
Yes, she'd felt him watching her all evening. It was the team building retreat's closing party and she would never see him again after that night. She'd finally forced the issue by sharing a glass of scotch with him, daring him to say something about their encounter in the hotel corridor. He'd said nothing, had only been excruciatingly polite. Then she had to join Richard in his opulent log cabin.
A bolt of lightning lit the cabin for a moment. Laura busied herself draping her wet garments over the other chair by the fire.
"You left with Richard," Bill said, defeated sounding. "Surely a gentleman would walk you back to your cabin."
There it was, finally. The contempt.
"Our discussion ended. I decided I wanted to see the pond," she insisted again.
Tonight was the night when Laura Roslin was finally going to shatter that smug smile affixed to Richard Adar's face. He'd pushed her around; that was part of their deal. But the way he'd bullied and broken the teachers' union...She wasn't going to stand for it. And if that meant fighting dirty, she would.
"Laura, exposing your affair with me is hardly going to do your career any good either," he'd said mildly, not the least bit cowed.
"Not a problem, Richard."
He'd cocked his head at her and had said a name.
The name of a boy--a young man now. But he'd been a boy when he'd sat in her class, his big dark eyes watching her every move with obvious infatuation. And that's what the public would see, not the grown man who'd come to her apartment one dark night on a blind date.
So she'd gone for a walk in the night under threatening clouds.
"That's all? Spiritual quest ended? Your familial guilt alleviated?" She folded her arms, pinning him under her gaze.
He didn't look very worried. "We're back to me?"
"Yes. Come on, Bill Adama--"
"I didn't leave to get laid."
Finally comfortable, she sank onto the edge of the bed again, crossing her legs so the robe fell open to reveal them. She removed her glasses and tucked them in the robe's pocket.
"But it's crossed your mind," she drawled.
His gaze remained fixed on her face. All those years of denial gave him excellent willpower, she decided.
"Not really. Can't see how it will happen," he said, matter of fact.
She raised her eyebrows. "Surely you know how it's done--"
"I mean finding a woman who'll put up with a sixty year old virgin," he said, his voice still casual.
That was a burning question answered.
She lifted one hand gracefully and his gaze finally dropped to follow the pattern she drew in the air. "There's always going to a sex worker. Just get it over with--"
His head jerked up. "I've ministered to sex workers for years, Laura. There's no way I'd use one of them--"
"I'm not talking about going down to Capp Street. There's some very professional, normal women--"
"Does money change hands?"
"I guess so." Her hand dropped.
"Then it's not an arrangement I'm comfortable with."
"Have you gone to bars?"
"Yes, I go to bars sometimes."
"There's women there..."
She leaned forward and felt the trickle of cool air between her breasts. His eyes remained locked on hers.
"If you buy them a drink--"
"Really," he said dryly.
"Yes, Bill." She straightened and pushed back her damp curls, fluffing them. "The women understand what it's about; you're not leading them on--"
"What's going on?"
"A one night stand," she said, her mouth tight, feeling that he was mocking her somehow.
"Not something I'm interested in," he said crisply. "A strange woman; the risks could be great." Standing, he started looking through the woodbox for another limb.
She thought for a long moment. "I have a friend or two."
He shot her an incredulous look over his shoulder.
Her breath seemed to catch in her throat. "Very friendly women. They don't need a commitment, you see--"
"I do."
Her hands clenched tightly in her lap and her gaze finally dropped from his.
His husky voice traveled through the dim room. "I want a relationship. Something permanent. I need to have feelings for a woman before we're intimate."
"Okay," she said quickly. "There's online dating sites, taking a night class, a book club--" She frantically tried to remember how normal people found mates.
"There's another problem though," he admitted.
"What?"
"I do have feelings for a certain woman. I couldn't seek another relationship while I feel that way. It wouldn't be fair."
Laura felt sucker-punched.
Then her irritation was back. "Why didn't you say so? Just go for this woman then."
Was it someone she knew? It must be. She was connected to every part of his life. That Tracy woman in the Water Works who always found some reason to come by Bill's office, always giggling...
"It's not that easy. She's with someone."
"Married?"
"Her? No."
"Then you still have a chance."
He barked a laugh. "I'm not that kinda guy."
"Why not? Doe she seem satisfied in her relationship?"
"No."
"Then you've got something better to offer."
He chuckled again, a softer tone, warm and intimate.
"Just kiss her," Laura suggested. "You'll know then if she shares your feelings."
"What?" he chuffed.
She was worried for him again. "Have you kissed a woman before? I mean, before..."
"Yeah. Catholic schools, and Catholic schoolgirls, all the way to the seminary. I'm very, very practiced at making out."
She was staring at his mouth.
"Good," she breathed. "That will help your cause."
"It's been a long time though," he mused. "Is it like riding a bicycle?"
She needed to get out of here. There'd been no lightning for a while. Leaping from the bed, she felt her clothes. They were nearly dry.
"I should be going," she babbled.
"Yeah," he said, knocking the air out of her once more.
He lifted her dress from the chair, shaking it out.
She reached for it, her fingers touching his. He gave a slight, shy smile and her chest hitched. He was a boy, a sweet boy, kissing her teenaged self behind the library, promising to take her to the prom.
Turning the dress in her fist, she drew him closer.
His head descended slightly and she rose on her toes to meet his mouth, impatient. He cradled her jaw, keeping the pace agonizingly slow as his lips moved carefully over hers, easing her mouth open. She could tell it had been a while...And then he obviously remembered what he was doing and her head went light from the lack of oxygen.
"There," he said barely above a whisper, "I kissed her."
"Oh," she gasped.
His smile was sad. "Yeah," he murmured.
But once he pressed his lips to her temple, he stepped away. Shaking out the dress again, he offered it to her.
"You want me to leave?" she asked in surprise.
"I think you better."
"Going to throw me out in the rain and the dark?" she said making her voice tremble.
He only narrowed his eyes, not buying it for a moment. "This is too much to put on you--"
"Shouldn't I be the one to decide that?" she asked.
She could see him wavering. "I..."
Raising an inquisitive eyebrow, she stepped closer. "Hmmm?"
She placed her palm over his heart as though making a vow for him. "I've got experience in this situation. I've deflowered two male virgins before."
"What?" he said in a laugh.
"Okay, it was twenty-five years ago. A couple of late bloomers in college. I had a real thing for those geeky boys from the study hall."
"I'm not gonna be one of your charity cases--" He swayed backward but she kept her fingers curled into his black sweater.
Her fists balled on his chest, pressing hard over his heart. "Do you need to hear I feel the same about you?"
He shrugged and she could see he was embarrassed but determined.
She tipped her head off to the side, focusing on his shoulder; now she was the shy one. Blindly, her hand found his cheek, stroking the rough skin until her thumb could slide along his impossibly soft lower lip.
His "Hmmm?" was a hopeful question.
She nodded quickly.
His breathing quickened under her palm on his chest. She had to rest her head on his shoulder, suddenly exhausted.
Another question: "Adar--"
"Why do you think I was going for a walk in the rain?"
His grip tightened on her arm briefly and she could still feel his tension. Damn, she was going to have to say more.
"I quit."
"What?" He shook his head. "No, Laura, your work is too important--"
"I'll do it from the other side. I hear they need an outreach coordinator in the teachers' union," she said, raising her chin.
Pursing his lips, he thought for a long moment, but she could feel his fingers relaxing on her shoulder. She tucked her arm around his waist to keep him close.
"I still think we should wait," he said definitely, smoothing her hair in a mesmerizing caress.
Lifting her head, she gave him an appraising look over. "I don't."
"This is a lot to absorb," he protested.
"Trust me on this. If you give yourself too much time to think on something, it's going to lead to anxiety. And anxiety..." Her gaze drifted lower and he shifted on his feet. "Strike while the iron is hot, so to speak--"
"I don't know--" he interrupted.
Time to end this little dance. "Tonight," she said. "It has to happen tonight."
It was amazing how long he could look at her without blinking or saying a word. And how long she could hold her breath. Then he gave one of his little nods. But he still didn't move.
She reached for the robe's sash. "Here's an idea," she said soothingly. "We just do what feels right, what feels good for now. We can stop any time."
He raised a questioning brow.
Easing the robe open, she shook her head. "Let's see how long you can rely on this innocent priest act."
Finally, finally, his gaze began to ease below her chin. His tongue quickly darted out. "I regret to say, it is not an act," he murmured.
His mouth fell open comically when his gaze finally reached her breasts. "Of course, I've seen photographs, or works of art, even had a few fumbling encounters through my high school girlfriend's clothes, but seeing you in the flesh is quite different," he babbled.
That had to be the most words she'd ever heard out of the man. This was a good sign.
"Would you like to touch me?" she asked throatily.
"Sure," he said quickly, but his hand stayed at his side.
"Let's do something you know with something you don't," she suggested encouragingly.
Stepping into his slack arms, she hovered beneath his mouth until he got the idea and started to kiss her again. She took his hand and lifted it to one of her breasts . His fingers lightly traced along her soft skin, exploring. When they encountered the rumpled edge of her areola, they skittered away nervously.
She covered his hand with hers again, leading it back to her nipple, now tight and hot with need. Her thumb on his, she showed him how to circle the nub. As he plucked at it, he began panting into her mouth.
"Doin' okay?" she gasped against his cheek, feeling pretty light-headed herself. By this point, Richard would have her shoved against the wall and his pants around his knees but she'd be nowhere as aroused. There was an irony in there somewhere, but she was too overwhelmed to think it through.
"Yeah, just fine," he rumbled into her neck. "How 'bout you?"
"Still standing," she said faintly. "That's the problem." She nodded toward the bed and watched his prominent Adams apple wag. She gave into an impulse and nipped it.
Her hands slid under his sweater and she whimpered at how soft his skin was. How could someone who appeared to be hewn from stone be so silken and smooth?
"Go on," she said gently, giving him a little push toward the bed. Turning to her clothes, she found her damp purse under the camisole. As she rooted to the bottom of the little bag, she watched him undress out of the corner of her eye.
He stripped efficiently, with no regard to trying to entice her, although it had exactly that effect as he folded each garment and stacked them on the other chair.
She tossed down a couple of foil packs of condoms on the bedside table. Even in the dark, he saw what they were.
"Is there someone besides him?" he asked.
"No, but there are more than just me," she said with false bravado.
He came to her at those words, wrapping his big arms around her. She realized she'd started shivering again.
Sweeping her hair back, she offered her neck and led his head to it.
"You smell so good--not the perfumes of other women. Like the rain and the manzinita," he told her.
"I fell into some bushes in the dark; that's why." She gave a ragged laugh.
Instead of joining her, he kissed her palm where the scratches were still painful. "We should clean these up," he said, fussing.
Shifting her legs, she pressed against the bulge in his boxers. "Later," she said, determined. She gave his waistband a little tug. "One more."
He blinked slowly.
Shrugging, she stepped away and slipped the robe off to puddle at her feet. "Fine. I'll go first."
Heated by his intense gaze, she crawled onto the bed and lay on her back, letting her legs fall open. He might as well look at everything and get comfortable with this.
He did just that. With his hands grasped comically at his waist, as though propped on the erection tenting his shorts, he looked at her slowly, traveling from her socked feet to the apex of her thighs. That Adams apple wiggled again.
She waited. Finally he moved on, his deep gaze caressing her stomach, then settling on her breasts. They became heavy, seeming to swell with his eyes' touch.
He eased closer and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed.
"Just ask if you have any questions," she said dryly.
He gave a deep sigh. "Thanks."
"You have too many questions?" she guessed.
"Yeah." He dared to stroke her bare thigh, cupping her knee. She opened her legs wider in an unspoken invitation. She'd never been comfortable with just being looked at by a lover, but perhaps it was the gentleness of his gaze, the wonder in his eyes' depths--she felt precious, a treasure he alone had discovered, instead of the well-worn path she'd felt like for years.
"Show me..." He put his hand in hers. "Show me how to give you pleasure."
She had to close her eyes for a moment. Licking her suddenly dry lips, she told him, "This is about you, not me."
"To give you pleasure...That's what I want. What I need," he rasped.
She slowly shook her head, not understanding. "Bill--"
"Please, Laura." His thumb rubbed inside her wrist lightly.
It was her turn to give a small nod. Taking his hand, hers lying on the wide back, she stroked across her belly and circling her upper thighs. He journeyed on his own to palm the darkening bruise on her butt cheek, his brow furrowed with concern.
She hummed with gratitude, but took his hand back, leading it to rest between her legs, cupping her vulva, warm and moist. His eyes widened.
"That's...Not what I expected," he admitted shakily.
She took her hand away, giving him permission to move as well, but instead, his fingers began to slowly explore, stroking and touching lightly.
Leaning over her, he gently kissed her mouth with reverence. "I've done a lot of reading," he confessed, and she had to giggle with delight, feeling his cheek's blush under under her palm. "But Solomon never went into this specific of detail."
"Damn poetic imagery was no help at all?" she suggested.
Shifting onto her back, she raised her knees to give him better access. Her hand covered his again, leading his fingers to her opening.
"Right there," she whispered against his lips. She pressed his forefinger, pushing it inside.
He began to breath like he'd been running for miles. Perhaps he had, she thought lazily as she rolled her hips to move on their fingers.
"That's...I don't think this is going to work," he said, his voice cracking in worry.
"Huh?" she asked foggily. "Everyone's working just fine," she assured him.
"I mean...It's tight..."
"Yeah," she moaned, gripping their fingers with her inner muscles.
"I mean..." He plucked at his waistband, his brow tight with concern.
She laughed, finally understanding his problem. "Honey, a baby goes through there, remember?"
But he's peaked her interest. She tugged at his boxers. "Show time," she said cheerfully.
Like a man going before a firing squad, he stood, his back ramrod straight, leaving her alone and bereft on the bed at the loss of his contact.
Both hands on his waistband, he gripped his boxers and pulled them down. He stepped out of them and kicked them aside. He finally dared to look down at Laura.
She lolled back on the thin pillow, her hand behind her head. It was her turn to give him the slow once over.
"We'll do okay," she promised him. She fought the crazy giggles welling in her throat. That was going to be hers; he was going off the market, none the wiser.
He shrugged helplessly. "I have no idea. Never looked at other men."
"Good." Grasping his slack fingers hanging by his side, she tugged him back down on the bed. "Where were we?" she murmured.
Sensing his discomfort, she returned to kissing, letting him regain his confidence and slide heated skin across damp skin, encouraging him to buck against her lower belly with his hardening erection.
But she couldn't keep her hand off it. She palmed the silky thickness, moaning into his tongue.
He yelped. "Sorry," he quickly apologized. "Just not used to--"
"Someone else's hand?" She didn't take her fingers away, but lightened her grip, still stroking gently.
"Uh huh," he breathed.
"You touch yourself?" she questioned, pressing her lips along his collarbone.
His nod was barely discernible, but she'd let that slide.
"So you know what feels good."
"I think I'm about to find out just how good that good can feel," he gasped, burying his face in the tumble of her curls.
"The same part of you--" She rolled the head of his penis in her palm-- "Is here on me." Taking his shaking hand, she placed it on her clitoris, rubbing his thumb around the swollen nub.
"The ripened grape," he murmured, his frantic lips nibbling along her neck.
"Huh?" she groaned, toying with herself with his fingers, with his rigid cock...She'd been intent on giving him everything tonight, but she suddenly realized she was so close...
He lifted his head to watch her face, fascinated. She'd always turned away from Richard as she came, but she met Bill's gaze to let him see her reaction to his touch.
On his own, he slid a finger inside her again, finding the rhythm she had before. She began to rub her clit rapidly. The familiar tingle was spreading through her limbs.
Grabbing a handful of Bill's cropped hair, she pressed his head to her breast. He quickly mouthed the nipple. She didn't care what Bible verse he'd found that in, but he seemed to be catching on quickly.
Her whimpers came in a constant stream now, then the current lashed through her body. "Bill!" she gasped. "Oh God, Bill!"
"Yeah," he gasped, the amazement on his face making her laugh weakly as she dropped back on the mattress. His big hands gently stroked across her still flushed skin, soothing her trembling limbs.
He nestled down beside her. "Will you sleep here tonight?" he asked sweetly.
"Sleep?" She glanced down at his straining erection, tight against his belly. "Who's sleeping?"
"Uh..." His eyes shifted. "Aren't we finished?" he asked uncertainly.
Wrapping her arms around his neck, she laughed. "Oh honey. We're just beginning."
Reaching across his chest, she fumbled for one of the foil packets.
"You don't have to--" he insisted.
"Bill, women can keep going. It's men who're one and done," she said briskly and a bit cruelly.
"I see." He sat up and gripped his knees, the anxiety obviously returning.
"Do you know how to put one of these on?" she asked uncertainly, offering him the package. He was making her nervous.
He took it from her. "It's been a really long time, but yeah."
"You have tried to have sex?" she asked carefully.
He gave a rough chuckle. "My high school girlfriend, Marie, said maybe we would do it. So I summoned all my bravery and bought a box of condoms. Practiced. I didn't want to miss my one chance with a broken condom."
She leaned on his shoulder, holding him close. "Oh, Bill," she murmured.
"But then I mentioned I was considering the priesthood and I think that turned her off," he admitted.
Laura bit hard on her lower lip to keep from laughing. "I'm so sorry," she finally gasped. "You should have gone to a hooker the day before you entered the seminary," she told him.
"That crossed my mind about a hundred times over the last forty years," he confessed. "Who knows though. Probably would have made it worse to know what I was missing."
She gave him a nudge. Time to stop talking.
He ripped the foil and carefully removed the condom.
"I can help," she offered.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "May make things worse," he said, tense. "Having you touch me right now."
She forced herself to look away and give him some privacy as he fumbled between his legs. Give him some dignity.
He kissed her shoulder blade. "Suited up," he said, sounding more confident.
She lay back on the mattress, drawing him with her. Rolling onto her side, she coaxed him to do the same. Kissing him, gentle sweet kisses, she covered his body with gentle strokes of her palms.
"Laura, you are my angel--" he murmured, kissing her eyelids, the curve of her cheek, the tip of her chin.
"Don't say that." She blinked back tears. "A fallen angel."
"Rising," he promised. "I just watched you being carried to heaven."
Draping her leg over his hip, she guided the wide head of his penis between her legs.
His gaze was trusting, but his heart was pounding under her fingertips. Sliding forward, she encased him in her heat. His eyelids drifted shut for a moment and his mouth fell open, slack.
"Okay?" She didn't move yet.
"Yeah," he husked.
Her arms circling his sturdy torso, she rolled onto her back, carrying her with him. He braced his weight on his arms, staring down at her.
"Your turn," she said with a smile.
His grin brought the tears back to her eyes.
He moved slowly and carefully at first, finding his rhythm. No teenage boy, just intent on the finish line, Bill was obviously relishing every moment, every sensation.
His deep breathing reminded her a diving whale, carrying them both into the depths until her vision swam. She clutched his ass, pushing him deeper. Raising her knees to grip under his armpits, she opened herself to take as much of his girth as she could.
From the frantic hitch in his breathing, she knew he'd felt every change in her body.
"My angel," he moaned again, sweat running down his face.
She'd expected him to come after only a few thrusts, but she could see he was too overwhelmed. His wonder and joy shifted on his face, becoming concern. This was all too much for him.
"Sorry," he mumbled, acknowledging the problem. Years of self-control was hard to break.
Nudging him to his side, she rolled with him, sliding free from his length. He actually looked relieved, if confused.
Stripping the condom off his cock, she took him in her mouth. His entire body went instantly rigid at the new sensation. With her lips and her tongue, she pushed him as hard as she could, until he was writhing and begging illegibly. Under her palm on his lower belly, she felt the muscles tighten. Her mouth popped free and he groaned deeply, part agony, part ecstasy, his chest heaving like a ship in a storm.
With furious efficiency, she sheathed him in another condom and straddled his hips to slide back down his length.
"Oh God, Laura...My God..." His shaking hands grabbed her hips and he started thrusting up, deeper than even before, his fingers bruising her fair skin.
Her head fell back. "That's it, Bill. Just...Like that..." she encouraged him. Her fingers found her clit in her sweat-soaked curls. His wide thumb joined hers.
She bucked on him, riding him across the night sky, straight to heaven just like he promised.
"Angel," he cried out once more as he surged up one last time.
Then he crumbled back into the mattress with a long sigh, but his hands kept moving across her body, as though memorizing her every pore.
She slumped forward, groaning with the last of her release and the pain in her knees and back.
He coaxed her to drape across his chest.
"Sorry, not much room in this bed," he said, but sounded comfortable. When she tried to shift off him, his arms held her in place. With a shrug, she snuggled her head under his chin. Usually she would be pulling her clothes on and leaving. Not tonight.
They lay in silence for a few minutes, lost in their thoughts. The rain hissed on the cabin's tin roof.
"Bill, why were you in that hotel corridor?" She didn't have to tell him what she was referring to; the stiffening of his body beneath her told her this.
Then he laughed. "I was going to to tell a woman that I loved her. I'd finally stopped praying for answers and decided to do something about it. But seeing you...There...I thought it was finally that sign from God I'd been looking for."
She couldn't laugh with him. "Perhaps it was," she said softly.
His fingers moved gently through her curls, untangling the snarls. "If we get up early--" he murmured in her ear.
Her eyes closed briefly at the word 'early'. Of course this guy--her guy--would be a lark.
"We could be back in the city for a late lunch," he finished.
"Then we could go to your apartment," she said with good humor. "I've never seen yours."
The few times she'd managed to lure Bill into hers, he'd scampered away as soon as he'd put down her grocery bags or laundry, refusing all offers from tea to liquor.
"Sure," he said warmly.
"But it'll have to be later," she said slowly--remembering in a rush. "I have an appointment at two."
"I'll come with you," he said easily. The hand that had been sweeping across her back in lazy patterns stilled. "I'm sorry. I won't impose--"
She propped herself up on his chest to look into his worried eyes. Tracing his lower lip with her fingertip, protruding slightly with his uncertainty, she mirrored his expression with her own mouth.
"Bill--" She didn't know how to say it.
Instead, she took his hand and shifting slightly to her side, guided his fingers on her left breast. At first he smiled happily, but as her face remained impassive and her touch businesslike, he followed her probing circles deeper into the breast's tissue, until he felt what she was trying to show him.
She lay her head back on his chest again, nestling up under his chin, as though it were shelter from the storm outside. Blindly touching his face in the dark, she felt his hot tears on her fingertips.
"My angel," she whispered on his cooling skin.
~end
Bill watched Laura twirl the pencil absentmindedly as she finished reading the page. She slid her glasses down on her nose and looked across the bed at him. Waiting for her to read the story, he'd been turned around head to toe, giving her a foot massage. Now that she was done, he put her foot aside and waited expectantly.
"I guess I should be glad you didn't ask for a red pen," he said dryly.
"'I'm sorry, Bill. I can't read a paper without a pencil," she said with an unrepentant shrug.
She shuffled the pages back in order.
He ran his hand up her bare thigh to the hem of her silk nightshirt and toyed with the fabric. "Well?"
Folding her glasses with a snap, she put them atop the paper. "Well."
He raised his eyebrows, feeling the sickening flutter that only a writer feels waiting for a review.
"Well," she started again. "I'm just surprised you made me an adulteress and a near child molester of a former student--" she said coolly.
"He's a grown man!"
"But a boy in her mind."
He clapped a hand to his forehead. "But you're not upset that I'm giving her cancer?"
"Oh that. You kill everyone in your books, Bill." She lolled back on the pillows. "And another thing. You are going to change Richard's name, aren't you?"
"Oh that," he echoed.
She raised her eyebrows and shifted away from his seeking hand. Undeterred, he kissed the back of her knee.
"If I decide to use this in something, I'll do find and replace on the names," he explained between nibbles to her leg's tender skin.
"If you decide to use it--you didn't write it for your book?:"
"It's a gift for you."
"It'd be a shame not to use it," she mused, fiddling with the pages.
He wiggled around face to face with her and put the story aside. "We'll see," he said noncommittally.
"I found it interesting that you wrote from the point of view of the woman," she said, sounding uncomfortable.
He laughed. "I'm in touch with my feminine side," he rumbled, rubbing his solid belly.
She shook her head. "I suppose there's some dramatic license. A rough and tumble priest, just waiting for that one woman--" Her gaze became faraway.
"Never would have left the convent if you'd found that, huh?" he asked carefully.
She wasn't going to be baited. "I wouldn't have done anything different."
"I would have liked you to be my first...My last." He nuzzled her neck.
Burying her fingers in his hair, she gave his head a deep scratching and he resisted the urge to wiggle his foot like a dog would.
"Bull," she said affectionately. "You wouldn't change anything either."
He began unbuttoning her nightshirt, enjoying the slow reveal of creamy skin and scattered freckles. This never got old for him.
"So what did you think of the story?" he asked with forced casualness.
"It was great, really." She gave him a kiss on the lips, of gratitude, not passion. "Thank you so much."
"But--"
"But nothing," she insisted. Her fingers tugged at the waistband of his boxers.
He waited.
"Perhaps a few little..." Her hand slipped inside his underwear. "Tweaks," she breathed against his gaping mouth. "From Laura's point of view."
~real end
E/N: Yeah, I hate bait and switch fics too. And yes, this will count as nunfic's entry for the week, 'cause I got no words left!