Fleet Issue
Title: Fleet Issue
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: Laura's fallen in love.
Pairing: Laura/solo with a dose of Adama!love
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 890
Kink: fleet tank fetish, ok!?
Notes: For bsg_kink's fetish week. No self-indulgence here. Nope. Not at all.
Laura hates to admit she's fallen in love. It came on slowly, shy glances at first that developed into more wistful stares. Then came the downright longing, an aching deep in her body that begged to be satisfied.
Yes, she hates to admit it, but she can't help herself. She's fallen in love with Bill's fleet tanks.
She doesn't know why she can't stop thinking about them--they look so ridiculous when the crew wears them layered, a style that serves no purpose she can fathom. Rather, it looks like they can't dress themselves and put one of their tanks on backward.
But when she sees someone wearing them, okay, when she sees Bill wearing nothing but a couple of fleet tanks, the worn cotton stretched over his broad back and his well-defined chest, clinging to every curve, showing off his biceps...Gods, those arms that she just wants to dig her fingernails into and hold on for dear life while he fraks the living daylights out of her...
...fleet tanks. This is what the mere thought of fleet tanks does to her.
So one day while Bill's off admiraling and Laura's bored and admittedly horny, she stuffs a discarded tank into her briefcase, her cheeks flushed. Transporting it back to Colonial One, she feels like she's smuggling illegal black market merchandise and will face severe punishment if she's caught.
But then again, she thinks as she slips into her makeshift bedroom, she might enjoy being caught and the ensuing punishment a little too much, depending on who was doling it out. Of course, it would be the Admiral. Wearing his fleet tanks.
She's excited to pull the tank out of her bag--it's one of the light grey ones. Her heartbeat races as she holds it in her hand, dragging her teeth over her lower lip in anticipation. She brings it up to her face and sniffs, an elegant, cautious sniff at first. She giggles; it's an irrepressible urge. The absurdity of the entire scenario is unbelievable. She stole his tank. A frakkin' tank top.
Laura lets her giggles subside before she brings it to her nose again and closes her eyes, pressing the soft fabric against her face, and oh, gods, it smells like him. It literally frakking smells like Bill--his cologne, his skin, a hint of his sweat.
Without further contemplation, she sheds her blazer, her dress shirt and her bra, dropping them into a pile. She slips the tank over her head and tugs it down over her torso with a satisfied grin. Her hands smooth it over her hips; it hangs loose on her frame but it swells at her breasts, her nipples protruding just enough to look pretty darn sexy.
She unzips her skirt and lets it fall, leaving it in a pool on the floor, and kicks off her shoes.
A fleet tank and panties. Bill would give up his toothbrush to see her like this.
Laura starts giggling again, the warmth swirling in her abdomen growing and expanding to more sensitive areas. She runs her hands up her sides and over her breasts, her lips parting with a soft breath as she teases her nipples through the cotton. It feels good, a delicious, guilty indulgence.
Her bed looks awfully inviting. And the tank is so soft and comfortable and it smells like him and he probably just wore it a few hours before...
It doesn't take her long to slip under her sheets, and as soon as she's under them and settled in, her hand slides down the front of his tank top and under her waistband. She cups herself and gathers a handful of fabric in her other hand.
A moan escapes her as she licks her lips and smirks. This is really good.
She grips his tank as she teases herself, tracing, swirling and dipping, causing tiny earthquakes under her fingers. Thinking about him in his frakking sexy fleet tanks only makes her quiver more. Maybe he'd be wearing his tanks and those shapeless uniform pants, well, shapeless until she rubbed her thigh against his crotch and whispered into his ear all of the things she wanted to do to him in his rack.
Or on the couch.
Or against the bulkheads.
Turning her head, Laura snags one tank strap between her teeth, tugging on it as the movement of her hand quickens against her wetness. Gods, the tank feels so good against her breasts and in her mouth and it smells so good, too. Whimpering, she sucks on the fabric and feels her hips start to rock in time with her motions.
She thinks about him frakking her, nothing but his tanks on, his weight pressing down on her naked body. She feels a soft flutter in her stomach when she thinks about him trapping her against the mattress of his rack, pinning her there, not letting her go. She wants to drag her fingernails up his back and ball those tanks in her fists and meet his thrusts, beckoning him deeper.
Laura cries out through gritted teeth as her orgasm hits her suddenly, her hips arching off the mattress, the tank still balled in her fist. Her scent and his scent commingled, she breathes in, pretending for one instant that he's there. The gentle aftershocks sparking under her fingers and tingling up her body remind her that he's not...
...but his sexy fleet tank is.
x-posted to bsg_kink
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: Laura's fallen in love.
Pairing: Laura/solo with a dose of Adama!love
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 890
Kink: fleet tank fetish, ok!?
Notes: For bsg_kink's fetish week. No self-indulgence here. Nope. Not at all.
Laura hates to admit she's fallen in love. It came on slowly, shy glances at first that developed into more wistful stares. Then came the downright longing, an aching deep in her body that begged to be satisfied.
Yes, she hates to admit it, but she can't help herself. She's fallen in love with Bill's fleet tanks.
She doesn't know why she can't stop thinking about them--they look so ridiculous when the crew wears them layered, a style that serves no purpose she can fathom. Rather, it looks like they can't dress themselves and put one of their tanks on backward.
But when she sees someone wearing them, okay, when she sees Bill wearing nothing but a couple of fleet tanks, the worn cotton stretched over his broad back and his well-defined chest, clinging to every curve, showing off his biceps...Gods, those arms that she just wants to dig her fingernails into and hold on for dear life while he fraks the living daylights out of her...
...fleet tanks. This is what the mere thought of fleet tanks does to her.
So one day while Bill's off admiraling and Laura's bored and admittedly horny, she stuffs a discarded tank into her briefcase, her cheeks flushed. Transporting it back to Colonial One, she feels like she's smuggling illegal black market merchandise and will face severe punishment if she's caught.
But then again, she thinks as she slips into her makeshift bedroom, she might enjoy being caught and the ensuing punishment a little too much, depending on who was doling it out. Of course, it would be the Admiral. Wearing his fleet tanks.
She's excited to pull the tank out of her bag--it's one of the light grey ones. Her heartbeat races as she holds it in her hand, dragging her teeth over her lower lip in anticipation. She brings it up to her face and sniffs, an elegant, cautious sniff at first. She giggles; it's an irrepressible urge. The absurdity of the entire scenario is unbelievable. She stole his tank. A frakkin' tank top.
Laura lets her giggles subside before she brings it to her nose again and closes her eyes, pressing the soft fabric against her face, and oh, gods, it smells like him. It literally frakking smells like Bill--his cologne, his skin, a hint of his sweat.
Without further contemplation, she sheds her blazer, her dress shirt and her bra, dropping them into a pile. She slips the tank over her head and tugs it down over her torso with a satisfied grin. Her hands smooth it over her hips; it hangs loose on her frame but it swells at her breasts, her nipples protruding just enough to look pretty darn sexy.
She unzips her skirt and lets it fall, leaving it in a pool on the floor, and kicks off her shoes.
A fleet tank and panties. Bill would give up his toothbrush to see her like this.
Laura starts giggling again, the warmth swirling in her abdomen growing and expanding to more sensitive areas. She runs her hands up her sides and over her breasts, her lips parting with a soft breath as she teases her nipples through the cotton. It feels good, a delicious, guilty indulgence.
Her bed looks awfully inviting. And the tank is so soft and comfortable and it smells like him and he probably just wore it a few hours before...
It doesn't take her long to slip under her sheets, and as soon as she's under them and settled in, her hand slides down the front of his tank top and under her waistband. She cups herself and gathers a handful of fabric in her other hand.
A moan escapes her as she licks her lips and smirks. This is really good.
She grips his tank as she teases herself, tracing, swirling and dipping, causing tiny earthquakes under her fingers. Thinking about him in his frakking sexy fleet tanks only makes her quiver more. Maybe he'd be wearing his tanks and those shapeless uniform pants, well, shapeless until she rubbed her thigh against his crotch and whispered into his ear all of the things she wanted to do to him in his rack.
Or on the couch.
Or against the bulkheads.
Turning her head, Laura snags one tank strap between her teeth, tugging on it as the movement of her hand quickens against her wetness. Gods, the tank feels so good against her breasts and in her mouth and it smells so good, too. Whimpering, she sucks on the fabric and feels her hips start to rock in time with her motions.
She thinks about him frakking her, nothing but his tanks on, his weight pressing down on her naked body. She feels a soft flutter in her stomach when she thinks about him trapping her against the mattress of his rack, pinning her there, not letting her go. She wants to drag her fingernails up his back and ball those tanks in her fists and meet his thrusts, beckoning him deeper.
Laura cries out through gritted teeth as her orgasm hits her suddenly, her hips arching off the mattress, the tank still balled in her fist. Her scent and his scent commingled, she breathes in, pretending for one instant that he's there. The gentle aftershocks sparking under her fingers and tingling up her body remind her that he's not...
...but his sexy fleet tank is.
x-posted to bsg_kink