"Ethereal" - Adama/Roslin Fic
Title: Ethereal
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: M
Word Count: 1, 177 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Written for the battleship challenge at about_time. Thanks to redrockcan for all her encouragement.
They move together, against one another, craving the sweet, slick friction of their starved bodies. The muted candlelight plays across their intertwined forms, dancing here and there across strained muscles and arched backs.
They’ve made love only three times, but he knows her body shockingly well. The first time, and every time since, the connection of their bodies has felt more like a homecoming and less like the task of taking on and adapting to a new lover. There is something old and divine between them, something unnamed, something eternal.
The heat that builds between them is all consuming, it burns her, his touch brands her. He wraps her legs more securely around his hips and settles inside of her with a blissful sigh and the heat between them builds to a catastrophic temperature. Sweat highlights their strained limbs and she has the fleeting thought that their bodies may melt and become like lava; burning and swirling, alight with passion and purpose, no true ending nor beginning. When their passion cools to a low burning, they will solidify, emerge as one; no true ending or beginning.
Her arms come around his neck and she pulls him flush against her. His strokes are shallower, not exactly working towards her ending, but prolonging the desire thrumming throughout her limbs. This is what she loves the most; his slow measured rocking in and out of her as they both hang on to one another for dear life. There is a deeper, more beautiful intimacy in the paced, thoughtful lovemaking that they are indulging in, one that she thought she’d never experience before she met him.
She feels his kisses raining against her neck and cheek, hears the words that he murmurs in between them; like punctuation in a sentence, they serve to highlight and emphasize each act of tenderness.
“I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,” he whispers. “I was born to love you, but it took me almost all my life to find you.”
She coos softly in return, calling him a foolish romantic but her words are not laced with annoyance or dislike; they are infused with the love and wonder that any being could love so deeply and completely as Bill Adama. She intercepts his busy lips for a kiss, pouring her love for him in the gentle stroke of her tongue against his own. He has always been far more eloquent with his words than she; a natural poet, a love-struck boy, heaving his heart into his mouth has never been a problem for him.
Words are harder for her, decades in politics and she’s lost her faith in the strength of words, in their validity. He’s restored most of that faith, it started back when he yelled “So Say We All” in her face, when he put all of his love and passion into what she believed to be a lie about Earth, when he had the courage to stand in front of the remainder of humanity and demand that they keep living. Still, the words feel empty sometimes when she says them to him; not that she doesn’t love him, because she does beyond all reason, but because she simply can’t fathom how the enormity of what she feels for him could ever be contained in a four letter word.
Ripples of pleasure consume her and she gasps as the waves crash into her, groans as she feels Bill shudder in response and chant her name. Still intertwined, their bodies cool, yet they refuse to separate from one another; too much time is already spent without their skin touching. He maneuvers the blanket around and up so that their bodies are covered; cocooned in their own private world.
More kisses follow, deep, soft, and precise. She could easily spend the rest of her life kissing him, tell the Fleet and the Quorum to frak off and kiss him senseless in front of them all. Kiss him until her lips were blue from the lack of oxygen, until she fell asleep with her arms still around his neck and his lips still against hers.
“We were lovers on Kobol,” he smiles against her swollen mouth. “Back when humans and Gods lived together in harmony. You were my beautiful patron Goddess and I fell in love with you. You took me as your mortal lover…”
Bill has always loved the old myths, despite his firm stance as an atheist. His romantic heart and soul could never deny a beautifully woven tale. Sometimes he reads stories from the ancients to her, his gravely voice brings the virtues and sins of the Gods and Goddesses and their mortal lovers to life once again. Laura loves these stories, but also hates them.
“Love affairs between mortals and Gods never end well,” she whispers as she traces his strong jaw. Death, murder, rape, genocide; these were the consequences of such a love affair. Perhaps their love story isn’t so different after all.
“But when I died, you took my body with you and lay us both to rest in the stars. You chose a mortal form for your next life, so that we could live and love once again.”
The conviction in his voice almost makes her believe in his fairy tale. Part of her wants it to be true, part of her wishes that she had spent many lifetimes loving him, part of her thinks that she has.
“And now we are both mortal,” she observes.
“Yes, you chose that specifically. Now, when you leave this life, I will follow you, just like you followed me. We’ll never be parted again.” He brings her hand to rest against his beating heart. She feels it slowing down, as if it were timed to the exact expiry of her body.
“We would have made a beautiful story,” she agrees softly and mournfully. She wishes that she could take her love for him and lay it to rest in the stars, she wishes that she could come back again and again just to feel his body next to hers for all of eternity. She wishes that hatred and destruction weren’t the other side of love; that she could exist with just him, and be rid of all else that ails them.
“We will,” he assures her. She imagines children, generations from now, telling their children about the warrior and the prophet who were brought together by fate. How they gave their lives and themselves to their children, how in the process, they gave their love to each other. Words, tales, oral stories; none of which could ever hope to cultivate all that they were, all that they are, all that they have become. But still, it’s a beautiful story, and Bill could never pass up such a wondrous tale.
“They’ll tell our story,” he repeats. “They’ll build a monument to honor their mother, they’ll bury her lover next to it. Never to be parted again.”
It’s perfect. She lets the well-hidden, romantic part of her believe him. For now.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: M
Word Count: 1, 177 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Written for the battleship challenge at about_time. Thanks to redrockcan for all her encouragement.
They move together, against one another, craving the sweet, slick friction of their starved bodies. The muted candlelight plays across their intertwined forms, dancing here and there across strained muscles and arched backs.
They’ve made love only three times, but he knows her body shockingly well. The first time, and every time since, the connection of their bodies has felt more like a homecoming and less like the task of taking on and adapting to a new lover. There is something old and divine between them, something unnamed, something eternal.
The heat that builds between them is all consuming, it burns her, his touch brands her. He wraps her legs more securely around his hips and settles inside of her with a blissful sigh and the heat between them builds to a catastrophic temperature. Sweat highlights their strained limbs and she has the fleeting thought that their bodies may melt and become like lava; burning and swirling, alight with passion and purpose, no true ending nor beginning. When their passion cools to a low burning, they will solidify, emerge as one; no true ending or beginning.
Her arms come around his neck and she pulls him flush against her. His strokes are shallower, not exactly working towards her ending, but prolonging the desire thrumming throughout her limbs. This is what she loves the most; his slow measured rocking in and out of her as they both hang on to one another for dear life. There is a deeper, more beautiful intimacy in the paced, thoughtful lovemaking that they are indulging in, one that she thought she’d never experience before she met him.
She feels his kisses raining against her neck and cheek, hears the words that he murmurs in between them; like punctuation in a sentence, they serve to highlight and emphasize each act of tenderness.
“I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you,” he whispers. “I was born to love you, but it took me almost all my life to find you.”
She coos softly in return, calling him a foolish romantic but her words are not laced with annoyance or dislike; they are infused with the love and wonder that any being could love so deeply and completely as Bill Adama. She intercepts his busy lips for a kiss, pouring her love for him in the gentle stroke of her tongue against his own. He has always been far more eloquent with his words than she; a natural poet, a love-struck boy, heaving his heart into his mouth has never been a problem for him.
Words are harder for her, decades in politics and she’s lost her faith in the strength of words, in their validity. He’s restored most of that faith, it started back when he yelled “So Say We All” in her face, when he put all of his love and passion into what she believed to be a lie about Earth, when he had the courage to stand in front of the remainder of humanity and demand that they keep living. Still, the words feel empty sometimes when she says them to him; not that she doesn’t love him, because she does beyond all reason, but because she simply can’t fathom how the enormity of what she feels for him could ever be contained in a four letter word.
Ripples of pleasure consume her and she gasps as the waves crash into her, groans as she feels Bill shudder in response and chant her name. Still intertwined, their bodies cool, yet they refuse to separate from one another; too much time is already spent without their skin touching. He maneuvers the blanket around and up so that their bodies are covered; cocooned in their own private world.
More kisses follow, deep, soft, and precise. She could easily spend the rest of her life kissing him, tell the Fleet and the Quorum to frak off and kiss him senseless in front of them all. Kiss him until her lips were blue from the lack of oxygen, until she fell asleep with her arms still around his neck and his lips still against hers.
“We were lovers on Kobol,” he smiles against her swollen mouth. “Back when humans and Gods lived together in harmony. You were my beautiful patron Goddess and I fell in love with you. You took me as your mortal lover…”
Bill has always loved the old myths, despite his firm stance as an atheist. His romantic heart and soul could never deny a beautifully woven tale. Sometimes he reads stories from the ancients to her, his gravely voice brings the virtues and sins of the Gods and Goddesses and their mortal lovers to life once again. Laura loves these stories, but also hates them.
“Love affairs between mortals and Gods never end well,” she whispers as she traces his strong jaw. Death, murder, rape, genocide; these were the consequences of such a love affair. Perhaps their love story isn’t so different after all.
“But when I died, you took my body with you and lay us both to rest in the stars. You chose a mortal form for your next life, so that we could live and love once again.”
The conviction in his voice almost makes her believe in his fairy tale. Part of her wants it to be true, part of her wishes that she had spent many lifetimes loving him, part of her thinks that she has.
“And now we are both mortal,” she observes.
“Yes, you chose that specifically. Now, when you leave this life, I will follow you, just like you followed me. We’ll never be parted again.” He brings her hand to rest against his beating heart. She feels it slowing down, as if it were timed to the exact expiry of her body.
“We would have made a beautiful story,” she agrees softly and mournfully. She wishes that she could take her love for him and lay it to rest in the stars, she wishes that she could come back again and again just to feel his body next to hers for all of eternity. She wishes that hatred and destruction weren’t the other side of love; that she could exist with just him, and be rid of all else that ails them.
“We will,” he assures her. She imagines children, generations from now, telling their children about the warrior and the prophet who were brought together by fate. How they gave their lives and themselves to their children, how in the process, they gave their love to each other. Words, tales, oral stories; none of which could ever hope to cultivate all that they were, all that they are, all that they have become. But still, it’s a beautiful story, and Bill could never pass up such a wondrous tale.
“They’ll tell our story,” he repeats. “They’ll build a monument to honor their mother, they’ll bury her lover next to it. Never to be parted again.”
It’s perfect. She lets the well-hidden, romantic part of her believe him. For now.