Fic: Let's Talk About Spaceships
Title: Let's Talk About Spaceships
Author: alias424
Rating: T
A/N: The promised nugget!fic for yesterday's flail challenge, because you all simply rock out Flail Fridays. Also, this is the quickest I've ever written anything EVER, so take that as your warning.
Let's Talk About Spaceships
A fearless leader. A skilled flyer. A more-than-able admiral. Still, when it came right down to it, sometimes Bill Adama was little more than a small boy trapped inside a grown man’s body.
He’d trundled into their quarters very much in need of a time-out. Without much more than a grunted greeting, he’d taken one look at her busily scribbling pen and the discarded pile of papers beside her on the couch, and disappeared into the head without another word. She’d heard him grumbling, slamming things just a little harder than he normally would have (Bill? Do you need to sit in the quiet corner for a little while?). When he’d returned a short time later-minus the jacket and boots-he’d hunkered down on the far end of the couch and begun to fiddle with the papers. Clearing up the mess, she’d first thought, keeping his hands busy in the comfortable silence… until something hit her in the chest.
A glance downward showed a carefully-folded piece of paper-a miniature Viper that had tumbled from the initial crash site onto the reports laid out across her lap. To his credit, Bill was the perfect picture of a no-nonsense, full-grown man lost in thought after a long day-except for the fleet of paper ships he had docked in formation beside him.
“Bill?” A raised eyebrow. A single word forming a thousand questions.
“Laura?” In his usual quiet way-as if it were military procedure for the Fleet’s Admiral to send paper spaceships soaring into the President’s cleavage. It would be an interesting way to send memos, surely. Attn: Permission needed to survey all presidential assets.
(Granted. As always.)
She picked up the paper ship, still holding her pen. “Rogue fighter?”
“Recon mission. Have to determine if the terrain is solid enough for landing.”
The terrain. That was a game they haven’t played.
“And?”
“Mountainous. But I think we can manage if we point our noses toward the valley.”
“Sounds risky.”
“Sometimes you gotta roll the hard six,” he murmured with a grin. “But if that fails, we’re getting readings of a landing bay south of the equator. Humidity there might be a bit of an issue, but it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”
“You don’t think that’s a little overconfident of you, Admiral?”
“Madam President. You tell me.”
She tossed the paper ship back to him-planet-side back to base with a full report: that’s the way of it, right? But the fragile vessel didn’t go more than a few inches before veering wildly and taking a nosedive onto the floor.
Bill clucked his tongue, chuckling as he peered over the couch to assess the damage. “Nugget.”
“Are you implying that my Viper skills are subpar, Admiral, because I seem to recall showing you a move or two that-”
“No.” He tossed another plane in her direction-grinning, remembering-this one landing perfectly on her lap. “Your tongue should be considered a lethal weapon,” he mused, quickly adding, “That’s a compliment.”
“Bill Adama, always a charmer.”
He fingered his remaining paper fleet-his fingers elsewhere, as careful and precise as they were with the instruments on the flight panel, his determination as dogged as-paper rustling as he tried to move them back into something resembling formation. A little boy playing with his toys, glancing up, and that grin-
-that grin, that grin disappearing as his head dipped down and-
He nodded at the paper ship in her lap. “Gonna send that bird back to the fleet, nugget?”
“So you can ridicule my flight skills again? I don’t think so.”
His eyes took off from the ship in her lap, flying up and down her curves until the heat of his gaze had traversed all of them, thrumming within her like the hum of a Viper engine, making her squirm-or at least shift in her seat; she had more control than that, surely. Bill had spent what felt like hours whispering and tracing the traits of a well-trained pilot against her heated skin: self-control… concentration… determination… quick reflexes… (pleasepleaseplease, Bill… gods…)… patience….
“You’re just not properly suited up.”
And there was that gleam in his eye-familiar, tempting, and the farthest thing from innocent even when sitting just above that boyish grin.
“Oh no….” She was shaking her head, and the emphasis was there, but it was hardly resistance when already she’d let the reports and papers slip from her lap, was turning to face him more fully. “Once was enough. It took you twenty frakking minutes to get me out of that thing.”
“You weren’t exactly helping.”
“You weren’t exactly complaining either.”
“As I remember, neither were you.”
Remember…. Memory was a sticky, almost unbearable heat, the weight of the heavy suit, condensation-sweat and the trail of his tongue and a quickly-fogging helmet-and the same slow-but-just-quick-enough, careful and instinctive, quietly powerful manner he exuded in the CIC….
If you don’t get a move on, Admiral, I’m going to-
You’re in no position to be giving orders, nugget.
I won’t be an any position to be taking them either if you don’t frakking hurry up.
Patience, nugget. It’s an extended mission-you’re in it for the long-haul now….
Oh, the long-haul had been worth it, the mission such a wild success it made her flush even now just thinking about it. But turnabout was fair play-Bill had to learn that Admiral’s pips didn’t mean he always got to lay out the plans for the mission.
“You want me to play with your toys, Bill,” she began, picking up the paper ship and turning it around in her hands, “you’ll have to play by my rules.”
“I have to hear them first.”
Three rules ticked off three fingers-a measure of control. “The Viper doesn’t launch until I give the command. I’m in charge of the flight suits. And you’re the nugget.”
He nodded thoughtfully at each addition, not raising an eyebrow until the last. “Flight suits?”
“Just for this particular Viper.” She sent the paper ship sailing back to him-this one landing just on target in his lap-flashing him a grin as she toyed with the topmost buttons on her blouse. “Much more breathable.”
“That so?”
“Mmm,” she hummed with a nod, slowly undoing the buttons.
The couch cushions shifted, paper rustling, and when she looked up, Bill was standing at attention, saluting. “Awaiting orders, sir.”
“Help me suit up.” She reached forward, tugging him towards her by his tanks. “Nugget.”
Author: alias424
Rating: T
A/N: The promised nugget!fic for yesterday's flail challenge, because you all simply rock out Flail Fridays. Also, this is the quickest I've ever written anything EVER, so take that as your warning.
Let's Talk About Spaceships
A fearless leader. A skilled flyer. A more-than-able admiral. Still, when it came right down to it, sometimes Bill Adama was little more than a small boy trapped inside a grown man’s body.
He’d trundled into their quarters very much in need of a time-out. Without much more than a grunted greeting, he’d taken one look at her busily scribbling pen and the discarded pile of papers beside her on the couch, and disappeared into the head without another word. She’d heard him grumbling, slamming things just a little harder than he normally would have (Bill? Do you need to sit in the quiet corner for a little while?). When he’d returned a short time later-minus the jacket and boots-he’d hunkered down on the far end of the couch and begun to fiddle with the papers. Clearing up the mess, she’d first thought, keeping his hands busy in the comfortable silence… until something hit her in the chest.
A glance downward showed a carefully-folded piece of paper-a miniature Viper that had tumbled from the initial crash site onto the reports laid out across her lap. To his credit, Bill was the perfect picture of a no-nonsense, full-grown man lost in thought after a long day-except for the fleet of paper ships he had docked in formation beside him.
“Bill?” A raised eyebrow. A single word forming a thousand questions.
“Laura?” In his usual quiet way-as if it were military procedure for the Fleet’s Admiral to send paper spaceships soaring into the President’s cleavage. It would be an interesting way to send memos, surely. Attn: Permission needed to survey all presidential assets.
(Granted. As always.)
She picked up the paper ship, still holding her pen. “Rogue fighter?”
“Recon mission. Have to determine if the terrain is solid enough for landing.”
The terrain. That was a game they haven’t played.
“And?”
“Mountainous. But I think we can manage if we point our noses toward the valley.”
“Sounds risky.”
“Sometimes you gotta roll the hard six,” he murmured with a grin. “But if that fails, we’re getting readings of a landing bay south of the equator. Humidity there might be a bit of an issue, but it’s nothing we haven’t dealt with before.”
“You don’t think that’s a little overconfident of you, Admiral?”
“Madam President. You tell me.”
She tossed the paper ship back to him-planet-side back to base with a full report: that’s the way of it, right? But the fragile vessel didn’t go more than a few inches before veering wildly and taking a nosedive onto the floor.
Bill clucked his tongue, chuckling as he peered over the couch to assess the damage. “Nugget.”
“Are you implying that my Viper skills are subpar, Admiral, because I seem to recall showing you a move or two that-”
“No.” He tossed another plane in her direction-grinning, remembering-this one landing perfectly on her lap. “Your tongue should be considered a lethal weapon,” he mused, quickly adding, “That’s a compliment.”
“Bill Adama, always a charmer.”
He fingered his remaining paper fleet-his fingers elsewhere, as careful and precise as they were with the instruments on the flight panel, his determination as dogged as-paper rustling as he tried to move them back into something resembling formation. A little boy playing with his toys, glancing up, and that grin-
-that grin, that grin disappearing as his head dipped down and-
He nodded at the paper ship in her lap. “Gonna send that bird back to the fleet, nugget?”
“So you can ridicule my flight skills again? I don’t think so.”
His eyes took off from the ship in her lap, flying up and down her curves until the heat of his gaze had traversed all of them, thrumming within her like the hum of a Viper engine, making her squirm-or at least shift in her seat; she had more control than that, surely. Bill had spent what felt like hours whispering and tracing the traits of a well-trained pilot against her heated skin: self-control… concentration… determination… quick reflexes… (pleasepleaseplease, Bill… gods…)… patience….
“You’re just not properly suited up.”
And there was that gleam in his eye-familiar, tempting, and the farthest thing from innocent even when sitting just above that boyish grin.
“Oh no….” She was shaking her head, and the emphasis was there, but it was hardly resistance when already she’d let the reports and papers slip from her lap, was turning to face him more fully. “Once was enough. It took you twenty frakking minutes to get me out of that thing.”
“You weren’t exactly helping.”
“You weren’t exactly complaining either.”
“As I remember, neither were you.”
Remember…. Memory was a sticky, almost unbearable heat, the weight of the heavy suit, condensation-sweat and the trail of his tongue and a quickly-fogging helmet-and the same slow-but-just-quick-enough, careful and instinctive, quietly powerful manner he exuded in the CIC….
If you don’t get a move on, Admiral, I’m going to-
You’re in no position to be giving orders, nugget.
I won’t be an any position to be taking them either if you don’t frakking hurry up.
Patience, nugget. It’s an extended mission-you’re in it for the long-haul now….
Oh, the long-haul had been worth it, the mission such a wild success it made her flush even now just thinking about it. But turnabout was fair play-Bill had to learn that Admiral’s pips didn’t mean he always got to lay out the plans for the mission.
“You want me to play with your toys, Bill,” she began, picking up the paper ship and turning it around in her hands, “you’ll have to play by my rules.”
“I have to hear them first.”
Three rules ticked off three fingers-a measure of control. “The Viper doesn’t launch until I give the command. I’m in charge of the flight suits. And you’re the nugget.”
He nodded thoughtfully at each addition, not raising an eyebrow until the last. “Flight suits?”
“Just for this particular Viper.” She sent the paper ship sailing back to him-this one landing just on target in his lap-flashing him a grin as she toyed with the topmost buttons on her blouse. “Much more breathable.”
“That so?”
“Mmm,” she hummed with a nod, slowly undoing the buttons.
The couch cushions shifted, paper rustling, and when she looked up, Bill was standing at attention, saluting. “Awaiting orders, sir.”
“Help me suit up.” She reached forward, tugging him towards her by his tanks. “Nugget.”