BSG ficlet: Not Her Fault (Kara/Sam, NC-17)
Title: Not Her Fault
Pairing: Kara/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Umm...underwear thievery? 2100 words.
Note: This is set in an AU season four delusion land where Kara/Sam are happy pilots together and there is no angst. Blame me for that. For everything else, blame lyssie, greycoupon, and hecatesknickers.
Repeat after me: silly porn, smileyness pushing OOC, written lightening quick to appease my fellow shippers.
Not Her Fault
He's waiting for her when she gets her bird landed. She wonders if he's had time to go back to the bunk room already, and judging from the look on his face, he has.
But, c'mon-is it her fault they were called to the flight deck with no warning?
No.
Is it her fault he's easily persuaded when he's post-orgasmic?
No.
Is it his fault he didn't have the first hand knowledge to know it would be a very bad idea to fly a viper while going commando?
Okay, so the not knowing isn't his fault, but the actual lack of underwear most definitely is. More or less. Karmically speaking, anyway.
Judging from his face, he hasn't figured it out yet. If he has, he's doing a damn fine job hiding it, like he's doing a damn bad job of seeming nonchalant as he waits for her to take her time getting disentangled from the viper and all her gear. When she gets down to his level and begins to walk off the deck, he follows along beside her and she lets herself be herded into the ready room.
She walks in ahead of him, and she's just about to turn around and smirk at him when he nudges her body into the nearby wall and looms over her in his flight suit-radiating heat, sweat dripping from his forehead, muscles all tight from the adrenaline. She can still see it in his eyes. Frak if she will ever get used to him like this.
"Where are they?" he growls.
"Where are what?"
"Dammit, Starbuck."
"Oh, you mean you still haven't found your boxer briefs?"
"No," he says, leaning closer, eyes burning her up with something that's trying hard for fury but isn't, not quite. He adds, "Weren't in the bunk room. And I have a feeling that's because they're not there."
She smirks at him, bringing her face close enough that she can roll her bottom lip against his. She whispers into his mouth, "I don't think you have a clue what's going on yet."
"I think you stole my underwear. How's that for a clue?"
"But why?"
"Because you're insane?"
"Try this: you're being punished."
"Punished? For-" He huffs out a breath against her cheek before he pulls back and gives her a bewildered look. "Gods, one frakkin' bra."
"My good sports bra. That you took off Galactica for two weeks."
"Well, if you'd let me frak you more often than once in frakkin' decade…" It's a poor argument, and he knows it, if his expression is any indication. Since her "resurrection," they've been frakking like rabbits.
She steps into him until her thigh is pressing up and into his crotch. "What's a matter, Sammy? Your wife not giving it to you often enough?" She smirks at him playfully. "I hear she's a real bitch. Made you go flying today without your underwear. Maybe she did you a favor, huh? It oughtta take care of that-"
Suddenly, he's coming up hard against her thigh. Nope, no libido problem here.
"Gods," she mutters, reaching down with her hand now to cup him through his suit. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Does it feel like I'm kidding?"
No, it certainly does not.
"Shit," she murmurs. "All it does it make me cranky and itchy when I fly without my underwear."
At that, he finally smiles a bit. "Do that often?"
"Enough." She presses up against him, nibbling at his neck, just under his jaw. "Gods, Sam."
He stands there and lets her kiss him, like he's still trying to play angry, despite what his hips are doing.
He says, "Coulda been dangerous, me flying around all horny like that."
"Bullshit," she says, smiling against his neck. "Makes it better, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," he says with a sigh, smiling again. "Frak, you're crazy, you know?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Are we even now?"
"Yeah," she says. But he's still grinding against her, lips parted as he lets out these soft, short breaths. His eyes close, but hers are wide open, taking in her surroundings, wondering how it is they haven't messed around in the ready room yet. Obviously, it was time to remedy that situation.
She says, "Well, we were, but I'm about to go one up on you again. Or was that one down?"
He frowns, puzzled, and it turns quickly to bewilderment when she pulls away from him and begins to unzip his suit. As the zipper reaches his stomach, she kneels down in front of him, and his eyes go even wider.
"Babe?" His hands fall to her neck, where he tilts her head up to get her to look at him. Dutifully-okay, maybe teasingly-she stops unzipping him, leaving her knuckles resting against his stomach.
"Haven't you had it drilled into your head yet, Ensign. It's Captain Babe to you."
He's smiling, but his eyes narrow with lust to this amazing dark blue. She watches them, then, as she unzips him, as she pulls his dick free and lets it hang there in front of her face. He smells like sweat and arousal and Sam.
He says, "Why are-"
He stops talking when she squeezes her palm around his shaft and gives him a long, hard stroke until he's fully hard in her hand.
She says, "You're frakkin' hot when you're all desperate and horny."
"Not desperate," he mutters, but then she leans forward sucks the crown of his dick into her mouth, and he huffs out a loud breath. "Gods."
He tastes salty and bitter, the head so smooth as it slips in against her tongue. One of his hands falls to her shoulder, and the other cups the back of her head as he tries not to thrust too much. Always tries so hard, which she appreciates, but it's also nice to see him completely let go.
So after she's been moving up and down on his dick long enough for him to start leaking, salty and bitter on her tongue, she pulls off long enough to look up and say, "And to think-I didn't even show you what happened to your underwear yet."
He looks at her quizzically, but just as she's about to swallow him down again, he angles her head so he can look at her.
"You're not...?" he glances down at her suit.
"What do you think?"
His eyes narrow even more, and he says, "Get your ass back up here."
When she's back on her feet again, she rests her forehead against his shoulder and his hands fumble with her zipper, yanking it down far enough to see the waistband of his boxer briefs hugging her hips, fitting her a little more tightly than they fit him, but it's good. So good. It's entirely possible she was more than a little horny herself when she was out there.
He shoves one hand down the front of those boxers, a finger sliding over her clit and up into her pussy, as the other hand grabs her by the back of her neck and pulls her into a deep, sloppy kiss. His tongue does these amazingly pornographic things, but his frakkin' fingers…
"Gods," he gasps into her mouth. "Can I frak you?"
And, godsdamn: he's serious.
So she says, "Depends."
"On?"
"You know how to work the lock on that door?"
By the time she's pulled her suit down off her arms, over her hips, he's back, sliding up behind her and palming her ass through her-his-underwear. She feels this crazy jolt of lust to know how hot she's making him. Right now she'd do just about anything for him to for frak's sake slip his hands down the front of those boxers and brush over her clit again. She's so wet now, but he's not doing anything yet, just leaning over her, his dick rutting up against her ass as he bites at the back of her neck.
"Is this…?" he says. "You wanna…like this…?"
"Yeah. Like this. Now."
"Gods," he mutters, already dragging at the waistband on the boxers, pulling them down until it's just his dick against her naked ass. He kisses her once on the back of the neck as he pulls himself up off her, then she leans forward so he can line himself up and push inside her with a groan.
He thinks she doesn't know how much he likes to frak her from behind. Guys always do, and they always act like it's weird. She doesn't get that. It's frakkin' wonderful sometimes, hits spots that she forgets she has until she's standing there, feeling his hands pull her hips back, like he's pulling her back onto his dick just as much he's pressing his hips up between her legs and thrusting deep into her until she feels his thighs slap against the backs of hers and his stomach against her ass.
"Gods," she moans. "Right there. That's- Frak, Sam. Right the frak there. Just- Gods, needed this so bad."
He can only grunt. That's a good sign. Means he can't form sentences or even intelligible phrases he's that wound up, that frakkin' close.
"Touch me," she says, and his hand searches out her clit, pinching it hard as she feels her whole body draw tight into it. Her nipples make points even through her tanks, and she wishes like hell she could get her hands up there. Oh, but he can.
"Hands up, baby," she groans, and he works both hands up under her tanks and bra until he's palming his rough hands over each of her tits on his way to squeezing each nipple.
She nearly comes at that, but the spike of heat and tension subsides into this persistent throbbing arousal, throbbing in time with each of his thrusts, now sloppier and more shallow, faster. So she takes her left hand off the arm of the seat and starts touching herself, making circles over her clit, hoping he can hold out long enough for her to build to it.
And he will, if he can. Usually they don't have hang-ups about counting orgasms. Sometimes there's no reciprocity, and that's fine. They don't always have time, and over the course of a relationship, things even out. Sex is more fun when there's not this constant bullshit about keeping score. But today, as much as she wants him to come, she wants to come, too. Needs it. And she thinks he needs to make her.
So she pushes back against him hard, forcing him deep again. "So frakkin' good, Sam. Just like that. C'mon, baby. Give it to me harder."
"Kara," he groans.
"Coming right behind you. Make me feel it."
Finally, his hands come down off her tits as he grabs her by the hips again and pulls her back onto his dick, over and over until he's groaning and emptying into her.
"Kara," he moans. "Gods, so hot. What can I-"
"F- frak," she stutters. "There." He's pretty much just rocking into her now, deeper and deeper until she's coming like someone's shaking it out of her. Braced on that one arm, her body quivers and she squeezes around him, still thrusting two fingers down hard over her clit.
When he slips out of her, he leans over her back, kissing the sweat off the nape of her neck and chuckling to himself. Sometimes they laugh for no real reason after sex, like they can't believe they get to do this as much as they want, and that it's still fun. It was even fun on Caprica, during the occupation, or during the miserable days on New Caprica. Apparently, it's even fun after she plays rather nasty tricks on him.
Or maybe it's especially fun then.
She takes gasping breaths, already giggling, too. "Can't believe your underwear makes you that hot. You are so weird."
"Makes you hot when I'm wearing them, doesn't it?"
"Why do you think I stole them?"
"Thought that was punishment."
"Yeah, well, I'm still not done with you yet."
He pulls her up again and stands there snuggling up against her back, his hands wandering over her stomach and his nose nudging against the back of her ear.
He says, "I ever tell you how frakkin' glad I am I get to be out there with you, flying."
She smiles at him, then she pulls out of his arms and begins setting her clothes right.
She says, "Even when I steal your underwear?"
"Hell, you can steal my frakkin' flight suit if it makes you that godsdamned horny."
"Frak. You naked in a viper. Godsdamn."
"Felt about like it earlier. Frakkin' underwear thief."
"You want 'em back, Sammy?" she says, plucking at the elastic, pausing before she zips up.
"No," he says, "I think I like them right where they are. And don’t call me Sammy."
"I'll call you whatthefrakever I want."
"Yes, Captain Babe, sir."
Is it her fault he's so frakkin' cute she has to tackle him and tongue kiss him within an inch of his life?
Nope. Totally not her fault.
~
Pairing: Kara/Sam
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Umm...underwear thievery? 2100 words.
Note: This is set in an AU season four delusion land where Kara/Sam are happy pilots together and there is no angst. Blame me for that. For everything else, blame lyssie, greycoupon, and hecatesknickers.
Repeat after me: silly porn, smileyness pushing OOC, written lightening quick to appease my fellow shippers.
Not Her Fault
He's waiting for her when she gets her bird landed. She wonders if he's had time to go back to the bunk room already, and judging from the look on his face, he has.
But, c'mon-is it her fault they were called to the flight deck with no warning?
No.
Is it her fault he's easily persuaded when he's post-orgasmic?
No.
Is it his fault he didn't have the first hand knowledge to know it would be a very bad idea to fly a viper while going commando?
Okay, so the not knowing isn't his fault, but the actual lack of underwear most definitely is. More or less. Karmically speaking, anyway.
Judging from his face, he hasn't figured it out yet. If he has, he's doing a damn fine job hiding it, like he's doing a damn bad job of seeming nonchalant as he waits for her to take her time getting disentangled from the viper and all her gear. When she gets down to his level and begins to walk off the deck, he follows along beside her and she lets herself be herded into the ready room.
She walks in ahead of him, and she's just about to turn around and smirk at him when he nudges her body into the nearby wall and looms over her in his flight suit-radiating heat, sweat dripping from his forehead, muscles all tight from the adrenaline. She can still see it in his eyes. Frak if she will ever get used to him like this.
"Where are they?" he growls.
"Where are what?"
"Dammit, Starbuck."
"Oh, you mean you still haven't found your boxer briefs?"
"No," he says, leaning closer, eyes burning her up with something that's trying hard for fury but isn't, not quite. He adds, "Weren't in the bunk room. And I have a feeling that's because they're not there."
She smirks at him, bringing her face close enough that she can roll her bottom lip against his. She whispers into his mouth, "I don't think you have a clue what's going on yet."
"I think you stole my underwear. How's that for a clue?"
"But why?"
"Because you're insane?"
"Try this: you're being punished."
"Punished? For-" He huffs out a breath against her cheek before he pulls back and gives her a bewildered look. "Gods, one frakkin' bra."
"My good sports bra. That you took off Galactica for two weeks."
"Well, if you'd let me frak you more often than once in frakkin' decade…" It's a poor argument, and he knows it, if his expression is any indication. Since her "resurrection," they've been frakking like rabbits.
She steps into him until her thigh is pressing up and into his crotch. "What's a matter, Sammy? Your wife not giving it to you often enough?" She smirks at him playfully. "I hear she's a real bitch. Made you go flying today without your underwear. Maybe she did you a favor, huh? It oughtta take care of that-"
Suddenly, he's coming up hard against her thigh. Nope, no libido problem here.
"Gods," she mutters, reaching down with her hand now to cup him through his suit. "You've got to be kidding me."
"Does it feel like I'm kidding?"
No, it certainly does not.
"Shit," she murmurs. "All it does it make me cranky and itchy when I fly without my underwear."
At that, he finally smiles a bit. "Do that often?"
"Enough." She presses up against him, nibbling at his neck, just under his jaw. "Gods, Sam."
He stands there and lets her kiss him, like he's still trying to play angry, despite what his hips are doing.
He says, "Coulda been dangerous, me flying around all horny like that."
"Bullshit," she says, smiling against his neck. "Makes it better, doesn't it?"
"Yeah," he says with a sigh, smiling again. "Frak, you're crazy, you know?"
"Mmm hmm."
"Are we even now?"
"Yeah," she says. But he's still grinding against her, lips parted as he lets out these soft, short breaths. His eyes close, but hers are wide open, taking in her surroundings, wondering how it is they haven't messed around in the ready room yet. Obviously, it was time to remedy that situation.
She says, "Well, we were, but I'm about to go one up on you again. Or was that one down?"
He frowns, puzzled, and it turns quickly to bewilderment when she pulls away from him and begins to unzip his suit. As the zipper reaches his stomach, she kneels down in front of him, and his eyes go even wider.
"Babe?" His hands fall to her neck, where he tilts her head up to get her to look at him. Dutifully-okay, maybe teasingly-she stops unzipping him, leaving her knuckles resting against his stomach.
"Haven't you had it drilled into your head yet, Ensign. It's Captain Babe to you."
He's smiling, but his eyes narrow with lust to this amazing dark blue. She watches them, then, as she unzips him, as she pulls his dick free and lets it hang there in front of her face. He smells like sweat and arousal and Sam.
He says, "Why are-"
He stops talking when she squeezes her palm around his shaft and gives him a long, hard stroke until he's fully hard in her hand.
She says, "You're frakkin' hot when you're all desperate and horny."
"Not desperate," he mutters, but then she leans forward sucks the crown of his dick into her mouth, and he huffs out a loud breath. "Gods."
He tastes salty and bitter, the head so smooth as it slips in against her tongue. One of his hands falls to her shoulder, and the other cups the back of her head as he tries not to thrust too much. Always tries so hard, which she appreciates, but it's also nice to see him completely let go.
So after she's been moving up and down on his dick long enough for him to start leaking, salty and bitter on her tongue, she pulls off long enough to look up and say, "And to think-I didn't even show you what happened to your underwear yet."
He looks at her quizzically, but just as she's about to swallow him down again, he angles her head so he can look at her.
"You're not...?" he glances down at her suit.
"What do you think?"
His eyes narrow even more, and he says, "Get your ass back up here."
When she's back on her feet again, she rests her forehead against his shoulder and his hands fumble with her zipper, yanking it down far enough to see the waistband of his boxer briefs hugging her hips, fitting her a little more tightly than they fit him, but it's good. So good. It's entirely possible she was more than a little horny herself when she was out there.
He shoves one hand down the front of those boxers, a finger sliding over her clit and up into her pussy, as the other hand grabs her by the back of her neck and pulls her into a deep, sloppy kiss. His tongue does these amazingly pornographic things, but his frakkin' fingers…
"Gods," he gasps into her mouth. "Can I frak you?"
And, godsdamn: he's serious.
So she says, "Depends."
"On?"
"You know how to work the lock on that door?"
By the time she's pulled her suit down off her arms, over her hips, he's back, sliding up behind her and palming her ass through her-his-underwear. She feels this crazy jolt of lust to know how hot she's making him. Right now she'd do just about anything for him to for frak's sake slip his hands down the front of those boxers and brush over her clit again. She's so wet now, but he's not doing anything yet, just leaning over her, his dick rutting up against her ass as he bites at the back of her neck.
"Is this…?" he says. "You wanna…like this…?"
"Yeah. Like this. Now."
"Gods," he mutters, already dragging at the waistband on the boxers, pulling them down until it's just his dick against her naked ass. He kisses her once on the back of the neck as he pulls himself up off her, then she leans forward so he can line himself up and push inside her with a groan.
He thinks she doesn't know how much he likes to frak her from behind. Guys always do, and they always act like it's weird. She doesn't get that. It's frakkin' wonderful sometimes, hits spots that she forgets she has until she's standing there, feeling his hands pull her hips back, like he's pulling her back onto his dick just as much he's pressing his hips up between her legs and thrusting deep into her until she feels his thighs slap against the backs of hers and his stomach against her ass.
"Gods," she moans. "Right there. That's- Frak, Sam. Right the frak there. Just- Gods, needed this so bad."
He can only grunt. That's a good sign. Means he can't form sentences or even intelligible phrases he's that wound up, that frakkin' close.
"Touch me," she says, and his hand searches out her clit, pinching it hard as she feels her whole body draw tight into it. Her nipples make points even through her tanks, and she wishes like hell she could get her hands up there. Oh, but he can.
"Hands up, baby," she groans, and he works both hands up under her tanks and bra until he's palming his rough hands over each of her tits on his way to squeezing each nipple.
She nearly comes at that, but the spike of heat and tension subsides into this persistent throbbing arousal, throbbing in time with each of his thrusts, now sloppier and more shallow, faster. So she takes her left hand off the arm of the seat and starts touching herself, making circles over her clit, hoping he can hold out long enough for her to build to it.
And he will, if he can. Usually they don't have hang-ups about counting orgasms. Sometimes there's no reciprocity, and that's fine. They don't always have time, and over the course of a relationship, things even out. Sex is more fun when there's not this constant bullshit about keeping score. But today, as much as she wants him to come, she wants to come, too. Needs it. And she thinks he needs to make her.
So she pushes back against him hard, forcing him deep again. "So frakkin' good, Sam. Just like that. C'mon, baby. Give it to me harder."
"Kara," he groans.
"Coming right behind you. Make me feel it."
Finally, his hands come down off her tits as he grabs her by the hips again and pulls her back onto his dick, over and over until he's groaning and emptying into her.
"Kara," he moans. "Gods, so hot. What can I-"
"F- frak," she stutters. "There." He's pretty much just rocking into her now, deeper and deeper until she's coming like someone's shaking it out of her. Braced on that one arm, her body quivers and she squeezes around him, still thrusting two fingers down hard over her clit.
When he slips out of her, he leans over her back, kissing the sweat off the nape of her neck and chuckling to himself. Sometimes they laugh for no real reason after sex, like they can't believe they get to do this as much as they want, and that it's still fun. It was even fun on Caprica, during the occupation, or during the miserable days on New Caprica. Apparently, it's even fun after she plays rather nasty tricks on him.
Or maybe it's especially fun then.
She takes gasping breaths, already giggling, too. "Can't believe your underwear makes you that hot. You are so weird."
"Makes you hot when I'm wearing them, doesn't it?"
"Why do you think I stole them?"
"Thought that was punishment."
"Yeah, well, I'm still not done with you yet."
He pulls her up again and stands there snuggling up against her back, his hands wandering over her stomach and his nose nudging against the back of her ear.
He says, "I ever tell you how frakkin' glad I am I get to be out there with you, flying."
She smiles at him, then she pulls out of his arms and begins setting her clothes right.
She says, "Even when I steal your underwear?"
"Hell, you can steal my frakkin' flight suit if it makes you that godsdamned horny."
"Frak. You naked in a viper. Godsdamn."
"Felt about like it earlier. Frakkin' underwear thief."
"You want 'em back, Sammy?" she says, plucking at the elastic, pausing before she zips up.
"No," he says, "I think I like them right where they are. And don’t call me Sammy."
"I'll call you whatthefrakever I want."
"Yes, Captain Babe, sir."
Is it her fault he's so frakkin' cute she has to tackle him and tongue kiss him within an inch of his life?
Nope. Totally not her fault.
~