Everything which is yes
bsg_aussiegirl, I guess I fail at this RCT, right?
for ar_drabbles challenge 32: breaking the rules.
No sex within the chain of command
(a) Jaycie
(b) Who isn't in his chain of command nowadays?
Make up sex is bad making up and bad sex.
(a) He hasn't managed to make up with her any other way.
(b) Ditto sex.
Drunk sex is a bad idea.
So is sex with a dying woman, but she's not going to stop dying anytime soon, and he's not going to get sober.
He'd said horrible things, but so had she. He'd made her cry, but she'd driven him to drink. As usual, the latest Laura Roslin-Bill Adama bout was a draw, and there were no judges to go to for a decision.
He was so tired.
Tired of people leaving him.
Tired of people depending on him.
Tired of people getting into his head.
Tired of being together.
Tired of being alone.Just so tired.
He looked at the couch, but these used to be his quarters, godsdamnit, and they'd shared the rack most nights. Even nights they fought, which seemed to be every night lately, or at least the nights he drank. Funny how she always wanted to argue. Funny how he always chose to drink.
He stripped quickly and left his uniform in a puddle on the floor. She'd hate that in the morning; it didn't suit her vision of the consummate Colonial officer.
Great. Now he was getting into her head. Well, since he wouldn't get into her pants tonight…
She was huddled against the wall. He knew he should move her to the outside, but he was bone tired. If she needed a quick exit, she could climb over him. It's not like she wasn't used to walking all over him.
He spooned against her. Anger or no anger, there was no other way to comfortably occupy the space. Her hair caught under his shoulder and he pulled it free, pulled it right off her head.
He laughed.
She turned over, giving up her pretense of sleep. "You're drunk."
"Yeah."
"That's my hair in your hand. And you're laughing."
"Sure am."
"I think you should go."
"No one's going anywhere." He raised his voice, shouting to the ceiling. "No one is going anywhere." He threw an arm around her waist. "No one is going anywhere."
"Bill."
"Don't you see? Your hair is falling out. The diloxan is working. It's taking your hair and it'll take your cancer and no one's going anywhere!"
"No."
"Yes." He ran a hand through her hair, willing the strands to fall. "Let it fall. Let it all fall out. Take it all," he told the poison, "hair, cancer, just leave me Laura."
Strand after strand dropped from his fist over her neck, breasts, belly, and thighs. "It'll be okay, Laura. We'll be okay." His awakening erection, pressed against the juncture of her legs, was as much a sign of life as her falling hair. "No one's going anywhere. Have faith. Please."
She spread her legs, welcoming him into her with a smile. "I have faith. No one's going anywhere tonight."
for ar_drabbles challenge 32: breaking the rules.
No sex within the chain of command
(a) Jaycie
(b) Who isn't in his chain of command nowadays?
Make up sex is bad making up and bad sex.
(a) He hasn't managed to make up with her any other way.
(b) Ditto sex.
Drunk sex is a bad idea.
So is sex with a dying woman, but she's not going to stop dying anytime soon, and he's not going to get sober.
He'd said horrible things, but so had she. He'd made her cry, but she'd driven him to drink. As usual, the latest Laura Roslin-Bill Adama bout was a draw, and there were no judges to go to for a decision.
He was so tired.
Tired of people leaving him.
Tired of people depending on him.
Tired of people getting into his head.
Tired of being together.
Tired of being alone.Just so tired.
He looked at the couch, but these used to be his quarters, godsdamnit, and they'd shared the rack most nights. Even nights they fought, which seemed to be every night lately, or at least the nights he drank. Funny how she always wanted to argue. Funny how he always chose to drink.
He stripped quickly and left his uniform in a puddle on the floor. She'd hate that in the morning; it didn't suit her vision of the consummate Colonial officer.
Great. Now he was getting into her head. Well, since he wouldn't get into her pants tonight…
She was huddled against the wall. He knew he should move her to the outside, but he was bone tired. If she needed a quick exit, she could climb over him. It's not like she wasn't used to walking all over him.
He spooned against her. Anger or no anger, there was no other way to comfortably occupy the space. Her hair caught under his shoulder and he pulled it free, pulled it right off her head.
He laughed.
She turned over, giving up her pretense of sleep. "You're drunk."
"Yeah."
"That's my hair in your hand. And you're laughing."
"Sure am."
"I think you should go."
"No one's going anywhere." He raised his voice, shouting to the ceiling. "No one is going anywhere." He threw an arm around her waist. "No one is going anywhere."
"Bill."
"Don't you see? Your hair is falling out. The diloxan is working. It's taking your hair and it'll take your cancer and no one's going anywhere!"
"No."
"Yes." He ran a hand through her hair, willing the strands to fall. "Let it fall. Let it all fall out. Take it all," he told the poison, "hair, cancer, just leave me Laura."
Strand after strand dropped from his fist over her neck, breasts, belly, and thighs. "It'll be okay, Laura. We'll be okay." His awakening erection, pressed against the juncture of her legs, was as much a sign of life as her falling hair. "No one's going anywhere. Have faith. Please."
She spread her legs, welcoming him into her with a smile. "I have faith. No one's going anywhere tonight."