"Prime" - Adama/Roslin Ficlet
Title: Prime
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Word Count: 438 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Written for the 'headscarf' prompt at the adama_roslin 's AR Month of Love.
It’s a strange feeling when he wraps the silken material around her head.
She’s used to feeling it around her neck; tucked and folded fashionably over a freshly ironed blouse and jacket, or a newly purchased dress. Sometimes she’d fold then tie them around the handle of her purse, taking extra care to match the fabric with her pencil skirt and blouse combination for that day. Occasionally she’d wrap it around her hair; the material was the only human-made substance that was softer than her once-glorious curls.
The sensation of her bare skin being wrapped and dressed like a wound is not something she thinks that she will ever get used to.
His fingers tremble slightly. He wants so badly to do this right, to offer her something beautiful when she looks in the mirror. These days, she sees only decay when confronted with her reflection.
“I love this colour on you,” he groans into the skin of her neck one night. She’s wearing the dark blue one; he wrapped it around her fragile skull this morning. “You look radiant. Like royalty. My queen,” he declares.
She certainly feels like a queen as he trails his lips down the column of her neck and across the plain of her stomach and hips. When he settles between her legs, she feels like something beyond this world and the next.
The next night they lay in bed and he toys with the ends of the cloth resting just bellow the nape of her neck. Her heart feels heavy with regret that it isn’t her hair that he toys with; what she would give to feel his gentle, powerful hands running through her hair.
“You like it, don’t you.” It isn’t a question, but an observation.
“I do,” he affirms.
He accepts the gentle push of her hands on his chest and lays back against the narrow mattress. He watches, enraptured, as she removes it from her head. He had been wrong before; A queen could not ever hope to be so radiant, she was a Goddess. He shivers and a slight hiss escapes his lips as she trails the green silk across his rapidly beating heart, down his bicep, and towards his wrist.
“Lift,” she commands softly and he obeys, wordlessly.
His hiss becomes a groan as she wraps the material around his wrists with the same gentleness and love that define his ministrations each day as he ties it around her head.
As she rises above him, her fingers caressing the silk binding which now bind his wrists, he is once again struck dumb by the radiance between them.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: R
Word Count: 438 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show
A/N: Written for the 'headscarf' prompt at the adama_roslin 's AR Month of Love.
It’s a strange feeling when he wraps the silken material around her head.
She’s used to feeling it around her neck; tucked and folded fashionably over a freshly ironed blouse and jacket, or a newly purchased dress. Sometimes she’d fold then tie them around the handle of her purse, taking extra care to match the fabric with her pencil skirt and blouse combination for that day. Occasionally she’d wrap it around her hair; the material was the only human-made substance that was softer than her once-glorious curls.
The sensation of her bare skin being wrapped and dressed like a wound is not something she thinks that she will ever get used to.
His fingers tremble slightly. He wants so badly to do this right, to offer her something beautiful when she looks in the mirror. These days, she sees only decay when confronted with her reflection.
“I love this colour on you,” he groans into the skin of her neck one night. She’s wearing the dark blue one; he wrapped it around her fragile skull this morning. “You look radiant. Like royalty. My queen,” he declares.
She certainly feels like a queen as he trails his lips down the column of her neck and across the plain of her stomach and hips. When he settles between her legs, she feels like something beyond this world and the next.
The next night they lay in bed and he toys with the ends of the cloth resting just bellow the nape of her neck. Her heart feels heavy with regret that it isn’t her hair that he toys with; what she would give to feel his gentle, powerful hands running through her hair.
“You like it, don’t you.” It isn’t a question, but an observation.
“I do,” he affirms.
He accepts the gentle push of her hands on his chest and lays back against the narrow mattress. He watches, enraptured, as she removes it from her head. He had been wrong before; A queen could not ever hope to be so radiant, she was a Goddess. He shivers and a slight hiss escapes his lips as she trails the green silk across his rapidly beating heart, down his bicep, and towards his wrist.
“Lift,” she commands softly and he obeys, wordlessly.
His hiss becomes a groan as she wraps the material around his wrists with the same gentleness and love that define his ministrations each day as he ties it around her head.
As she rises above him, her fingers caressing the silk binding which now bind his wrists, he is once again struck dumb by the radiance between them.