fic: Preferred Candidate (A/R)
Title: Preferred Candidate
Author: icedteainthebag
Characters/Pairing(s): Adama/Roslin
Rating: MA
Summary: Laura and Bill lay down their burdens.
Author's Notes: Missing scene from Lay Down Your Burdens, Part II. Written for bsg_kink's Kink Off challenge for the "Rough Sex, Adama/Roslin" category. So many thanks to tjonesy, who knows Adama's "interior areas" way better than I do. :D
Word Count: 4,020
You won't do it. We've gotten this far, but that's it. You try to steal this election, you'll die inside. Likely move your cancer right to your heart. People made their choice. We have to live with it.
It's the wrong choice.
Yes, it is.
Laura sent Bill to play messenger. She normally wasn't one to avoid dirty work, but deciding to give up the presidency to Baltar wasn't her decision. It was his, and she had grudgingly gone along with it, and not because she thought he was right. It was because she respected him enough to take the loss.
She couldn't tell Baltar herself that there had been a 'mistake' and that he'd won the election. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to repress her rage when that predictable glimmer of recognition turned indulgent satisfaction would set into his eyes upon his assumption of power over the Fleet and especially over her.
He had been waiting.
Bill always had a way of coming across as impartial as the situation merited. Like the painful conversation that led the two of them to this point, in which his eyes were telling her one thing and his mouth another, at least his concessions would sound convincing enough to a fool like Baltar, though she hoped mister president-elect wouldn't see the betrayal in the Admiral's somber stare.
Laura hated that she'd gotten caught almost as much as she hated that she'd allowed herself to fall from the self-imposed strict moral standards she'd adhered to so tightly upon her assumption of the presidency. She had striven to be different from her predecessor. She had wanted to be trustworthy and just.
The election scheme had seemed so simple-simple enough that it had to work.
The mistake that had exposed them had been so simple it was hard to believe it had been their undoing.
If she were Richard, she would have pulled it off.
Bill had left for his quarters to deliver the message to Baltar, with explicit instructions to return and debrief her on the conversation. She stayed on Colonial One, though she would have rather been anywhere else. She didn't want to deal with the aftermath- the inevitable media firestorm soon to follow, saying goodbye to her staff, and watching that frakker encroach upon her territory, like a scraggly lion circling its prey. She knew she needed to start disconnecting from her role and this place now in order to be able to handle losing the only home she'd had since the attacks.
She used to be so good at compartmentalizing and she felt with every blow she'd endured since that day that she was losing her touch.
Having done everything she could think of to distract herself as she waited with growing impatience, and finding herself suffering from a considerable lack of focus, she instead sat on one of the oversized chairs with a strong drink from her service cart, sipping it and feeling the afterburn while she listened to her desk clock tick away the last minutes of her life as she knew it.
She sat perfectly still and looked out the small window overlooking the stars that had become her backyard, as easily as standing on her porch in Caprica City, watching the sun set, back when the sun rose and set and there was day and night, when they were allowed to witness the constant revolution of time.
If she sat perfectly still-stopped breathing, stopped the comforting sips of liquor slowly numbing her senses, settled her nerves-she could feel Colonial One moving. They were in constant motion and had been since the beginning. It used to feel like it would never stop, not as long as they were running, fast and far.
She used to dream of the idea of finding a place to land and now she lamented it.
The stirring of the curtain that separated this makeshift bedroom from the rest of the ship roused her from a nearly catatonic state. She'd been staring at those stars as they passed, letting the alcohol warm her body from the inside out.
It was a rare moment in which she'd stopped thinking and she merely existed: a woman on a chair on a journey to a home. The space within her felt nearly as empty as the space that surrounded them.
It had taken Bill hours and one FTL jump to return, the sensation of which she was so used to that she had barely registered it but for the pilot's announcement over the wireless. The jump to New Caprica was proof enough that Baltar had accepted Bill's olive branch. New Caprica colonization was the first item of priority. She felt nauseated at the thought.
"It's done," she said, failing to infuse her voice with the strength she wished to convey. She watched him walk, his shoulders slumped as if he'd just been reprimanded by an angry father.
"Yes." She watched as he headed for the same consolation she'd found earlier, now empty in her hand.
She tried to hold back her tears for the third time that day. When was the last time she'd cried? Three times today: one out of fear, one out of shame, and now … these tears seemed founded in the anger she'd felt welling inside her since Bill had made their decision.
He sat in the chair next to hers, sighing heavily as he settled back into the seat. There was usually a comfortable silence between them, but now her agitation was making it impossible for her to relax.
"All this time we've spent together, Bill." She traced the rim of her glass with her index finger. "What am I now? What are we now?"
He took another sip as he formulated his words. She'd come to accept that he could make a snap military decision, but conversations of the personal sort involved more percolation. "Laura … I like to think that our friendship surmounts titles and late-night fuel meetings."
Something about the word friendship hit her the wrong way. She knew she was on edge, maybe picking for a fight, and she wasn't in the mood for self restraint.
"So, what. I'll come over for a drink from time to time? Laugh about the old days? You tell me stories about how Galactica's gathering dust and I'll … well, I guess I'll tell you about the latest kindergarten art project." She was surprised at the venom in her voice as the last few words fought their way out.
"It's not going to be the same," he said simply, as he often did with the most complicated of things.
"My point exactly, Bill," she answered, setting her glass into the drink holder. "My point exactly."
He took more drinks. She stewed over Gaius Baltar, wondering what he was up to at that moment. Most likely frakking a whore in celebration of his godsforsaken victory. Maybe two of them, maybe Tom Zarek too. Who frakkin' knew.
"You used to teach," Bill finally said.
Laura twisted in her seat to face him, unable to hide her frustration. "I don't want to be a teacher, Bill. I was a teacher two decades ago. That's not my role to play."
"I can find you a position somewhere."
"Yeah." She snickered, pushing herself up from her chair. She set her hands on her hips and shifted her weight on her bare feet. "That'll go over really well with the new administration."
"You're looking for a fight," he said, finishing his drink with a long draw. "You're picking it with the wrong person."
That she knew was true. But Bill was available and a willing whipping boy; he had endurance and an ability to deflect emotion that was nothing short of astounding. She normally didn't take advantage of this particular trait, but this occasion felt different-she felt like he deserved it.
"Laura … " He faltered. "What do you want me to do?"
She stared at him for a very long time, then looked away. It wasn't about what she wanted him to do. It was about what he'd already done-what he made her do.
She couldn't control anything now. She was in a tailspin with no place to land.
"Frak me," she heard herself say, her eyes still averted. The room was silent but for the ticking of that damned clock; she saw no movement out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting completely still in his chair, staring out the window like he hadn't heard her, but she knew he did. The silence was long and infuriating.
"Did you hear me?" she asked, looking back at him. She saw the slight movement of his jaw and throat as he swallowed; she heard his deep breath. Slow inhale, slow exhale, like he did when he was thinking about something that was particularly taxing.
She was in the mood to provide him clarity.
She walked over to him and examined his face's expressed uncertainty. She leaned over to grab the back of his head, fisting lengthy, gel-stiff hairs and pulling him roughly toward her. She pressed her open mouth against his, their teeth meeting awkwardly. Her other hand moved to the hand he tried to lift in response. She pressed it firmly against the armrest of the chair.
He opened his mouth to her and she slipped her tongue inside, her breath rough against his face. It wasn't enough-she felt a jolt of warmth through her abdomen and furious anger staining her cheeks. He wasn't kissing her back. It was the least he could do. It wasn't acceptable.
"What is it, Bill?" she asked as she pulled away. She kept a hold on his hair and her fingers circled his wrist and squeezed, hard, as she stared into his eyes. "Is it that I'm president and you're admiral? Guess that's all gone now, isn't it?"
He quietly observed her before he spoke. "This isn't the best time-"
"Frak that," she interrupted.
Frak all of it.
She climbed into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She felt her skirt slide up her legs, cool air hitting her heated inner thighs. The chair was oversized yet cramped for two, and her position above him left his face at the level of her breasts. She let them brush against his cheeks through the pink cotton of her oxford shirt before she looked down at him.
"Frak your chivalrous overtures, Bill. Where have they gotten us? Right here, right now."
It was all his fault.
Laura dipped her head and kissed him again, just as roughly as before, pinning his wrist to the armrest while pressing her heat down onto his lap. If he didn't want to frak her, she was going to make him want to frak her. If he didn't offer it, she was going to take it.
His hand pressed against the small of her back, pushing her firmly onto him. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers swept over the bare skin above her knee, then forged their way under the hem of her skirt, heightening her senses.
"That's it," she murmured against his lips. She felt herself begin to throb with anticipation and moved her mouth to his jaw, nipping at it while his hand made its way under the fabric stretched tightly over her hip. She pressed her teeth into his neck, biting gently, and felt his fingers dig into the curve of her ass, deeper and harder until she gasped against his skin.
"Your staff might hear something," he said then. She knew his eyes were on the curtain behind them.
"They'd better get used to it." She ran her tongue around the whorl of his ear. He took a sharp breath. "Might as well install a revolving door."
The idea of Colonial One becoming a harem of sorts was more than she could take.
"You're better than that." But he neither moved his hand nor told her to move.
"I have been," she said, looking him in the eyes. "But that obviously doesn't matter to the electorate, now does it?"
His hips pushed up against her and she felt his rock-hard cock straining through his trousers. She kissed him more slowly, rocking on his lap, adjusting her posture until she felt him brushing against damp, heated fabric. Over and over, a dizzying, teasing pleasure she knew he was feeling too.
"It matters to me," he breathed. "It always has."
"Bill, stop being the big damned hero. I'm frakkin' sick of it." Her fingernails pressed into the back of his neck and she watched his gaze turn into a challenge.
His action was quick and unexpected, the wrist she'd had pinned against the armrest suddenly free of her grip and instead, tangled in her hair at the roots. She realized he'd been relenting to her, letting her revel in the illusion of strength, but now, the game was changing.
It made her wet, looking into his eyes, both of their chests heaving slightly.
Bill yanked back on her head and she felt a fizzle of sharp pleasure/pain down her body. She sat still in his lap, her breathing erratic, barely able to see him from the angle he'd put her in. The hand under her skirt was methodically kneading her, clutching her closer, holding her captive. She felt her nipples harden as his fingertips traced the cleft of her ass through her panties.
"The thing about you, Laura," he said, "is that sometimes you're so hell-bent on doing the right thing that you sometimes don't do the smart thing."
Her jaw clenched as she remembered why they were together at this moment in the first place. Keeping Baltar from the presidency would have been the smart thing; nobody, not even Bill, could convince her otherwise.
"What are you going to do now?" Her voice wavered and she smoothed her palms down his wool-covered chest. The heat between their bodies was making her ache for something more. "The right thing or the smart thing?"
"Probably neither."
Bill let go of her hair and pushed her off of his lap with a grunt, leaving her unsteady on her feet in front of him. Her heart was pounding as shamed disbelief fluttered through her gut. She quickly adjusted her skirt and opened her mouth to protest, but instead took a step back when he rose to his feet, unbuckling his belt as he moved around her body and pulled her back tightly against his chest.
"You want to be risky because you think you have nothing to lose," he murmured into her ear. A shiver slid down her body. "You've looked death in the eye and survived. You'll survive this too."
"Maybe I don't want to," she whispered, feeling his cock hard against her ass.
He nudged her forward with his body a few steps under her knees hit the seat of the chair. "Get on the chair," he said, pushing his hips against her harder. She grabbed the back of the chair for balance and slid up on her knees, her heartbeat pounding. "We'll both take a risk and see where that leaves us."
He grabbed her hips, unsteadying her. He bunched the fabric of her skirt in his fists and forced it up to her waist. She panted, clinging to the back of the chair as best she could. Everything was moving so quickly she barely had time to process it. Maybe it was better this way.
It may not be the smart thing …
Her body jolted in surprise as he yanked down her panties and they settled around her knees, the leather of the chair squeaking and straining under them. His room-cool fingers slipped over her wetness and she let out a soft moan as he traced small circles around her opening. She spread her legs as wide as possible, now completely exposed to him, her skin flush.
"Gods, do it," she breathed. She could feel how wet she was around the tip of his finger and all thoughts of that frakking election were slipping away. These were her last moments on this ship; they might as well be enjoyable.
"When I'm ready." She heard fabric rustle and looked over her shoulder; his trousers were around his ankles and he'd slipped his cock out of his boxer shorts, a sight she never thought she'd see quite like this. His cock was hard and ready, and she only got a glimpse of it before he was pressing against her, his hands holding her hips. His cock slid through her folds and the head of it nudged her clit, sending a spark through her. He repeated his teasing and began to groan as he rocked into her, a sound so deep and low in his throat it made her shiver inside. "When you're ready."
She didn't feel ready for any of the changes swirling around her. She couldn't keep up.
"I'm ready," she lied, digging her fingers deeply into the back of the chair, her body thrumming. It wasn't really a lie. In a few ways, she was. "Come on."
He pulled away and his fingers slipped inside her first, two of them to the knuckle, making her cry out softly. "Yeah, you are," he replied, pulling them out and replacing them with his cock in one smooth thrust.
Bill was hard, deep inside her, and it felt so wrong and so right at the same time. His hands smoothed up her back and down again and it seemed like such a non-event-it should have felt monumental, cataclysmic, a thousand other things-and she realized exactly what this was. He was letting her risk it all so she would realize how much she still has. He was giving her what he thought she needed and what he thought he owed her.
And she would take it because it was owed; in the very least, this was her reasoning.
His fingers twisted in her hair again, bringing her sharply back into focus. He ground his hips against her ass, his voice nearly a growl. "Give it to me, Madam President."
Laura exhaled through gritted teeth, knowing he was trying to incite her by dropping her title soon to be dropped. She moved her body back and down against him, drew away, then forcefully seated him deeply inside her again, causing him to tighten his hand's grip on her hips to stay steady. She squeezed her muscles around him and he groaned, his palm making circles on her ass as she shifted her body, teasing him.
He wasn't having that for long, and bearing down on her so that she could feel his chest inches from her back, he began to frak her in earnest. They were long strokes at first, all the way in and then all the way out, making her breath catch. His became labored and he quickened his strokes, his grip on her hair even tighter, holding her in place. He built up a rhythm and she responded instinctually, rolling with him and encouraging him to frak her harder with soft whispers and moans.
So what if they heard. So what if they saw. She was nothing to them anymore.
There was something about being owned at this moment that felt inexplicably freeing for Laura; she let him frak her harder because she needed it to hurt just a little. She relented the motion her hips to the thrust of his and cried out as the pleasure mounted, an inspiring swirl of heat that caused her muscles to twitch in anticipation around his cock.
She could sense when he was about to come; there was an erratic change in his pace and in his panting breath. She pushed back hard against him, knowing the strength of the movement would knock him temporarily off balance. She slid off her knees and felt him trying to clutch her from behind, but she turned to face him, catching her breath.
"Sit down," she said, ignoring his impassioned glare. "This is still my ship."
This military man did as he was told almost immediately, managing to make his way into the chair with his boots and trousers around his ankles, his cock still protruding from his boxers. Of course, she'd caught him at the point where a man would do nearly anything he was told.
She straddled him-her knees were again tightly squeezed between the armrests and his thighs, but she made it work as she slid down on his cock, her back arcing at the intensity within her that surrounded his return. She grabbed the lapel of his uniform and yanked it hard, tearing the buttons and exposing his broad chest, spanned by thin cotton tanks. This was what she needed. She didn't need to be naked or exposed or tender. She needed to be frakked until she couldn't remember why they were frakking.
Laura took control, riding his cock hard, her thigh muscles tight as she repressed the jerky thrust of his hips. Their bodies slapped wetly, furiously together. His hands splayed across her ass and she drew her hair back from her face, one hand on his chest as she worked him with her body.
She raked her fingernails down his arms and back up, hoping her scratches would mark him and serve as a reminder of what he'd done to her and to the Fleet. She'd learned there was a time to cheat and a time to lie; he obviously hadn't yet.
"You made me do this." She rocked on him, circling her hips, pressing herself flat against his body. "You've made a mistake."
It was up to him to interpret her; she wanted to leave him with that ambiguity.
"I saved you," he said. It was short and simple, this statement that released her fury. That was all it took.
She slapped his cheek; he should have expected that but he didn't and he grunted in response. She started moving on him again, looking at his chest with her lip bitten, her hand stinging from the impact and her eyes stinging with tears.
"Nobody saves me," she breathed, frakking him harder, steadying herself with her palms flat on his clothed chest. "Nobody saves me but me."
She squeezed her eyes shut and felt him slip his hand between her legs. She let his fingers stroke her swollen clit and she heard his breath catch. The groan that escaped him as he came inside her was as forceful as the thrust of his hips and the motion of his fingers around her clit, desperately circling.
"That's right," she whispered, grinding herself down on his hand, so wet. "You'll make me come … you'll let me have this. Let me have it."
A few more strokes of his fingers and she felt herself beginning to come; it was nearly a foreign feeling, it'd been so long, and the waves that washed over her made her cry out not in release but in relent.
"Gods," he breathed. She wasn't ready to open her eyes. She let her orgasm linger a little bit longer. It was the only escape she had and she wasn't ready to let it go.
He pulled his hand away from her body and she felt his erection beginning to sag inside of her.
It was back to the sad reality of things.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, mustering a half smile to make him feel at ease.
So that's it. We just give it up, just like that.
"Maybe I could teach," she said.
He nodded, his arms slipping around her. "Maybe you should."
She pressed her ear to his chest and settled into his lap, trying to find comfort. Behind them, the clock ticked away seconds that no one could take away from her, no matter what they did.
Maybe she could make a life out of what little she had left.
Author: icedteainthebag
Characters/Pairing(s): Adama/Roslin
Rating: MA
Summary: Laura and Bill lay down their burdens.
Author's Notes: Missing scene from Lay Down Your Burdens, Part II. Written for bsg_kink's Kink Off challenge for the "Rough Sex, Adama/Roslin" category. So many thanks to tjonesy, who knows Adama's "interior areas" way better than I do. :D
Word Count: 4,020
You won't do it. We've gotten this far, but that's it. You try to steal this election, you'll die inside. Likely move your cancer right to your heart. People made their choice. We have to live with it.
It's the wrong choice.
Yes, it is.
Laura sent Bill to play messenger. She normally wasn't one to avoid dirty work, but deciding to give up the presidency to Baltar wasn't her decision. It was his, and she had grudgingly gone along with it, and not because she thought he was right. It was because she respected him enough to take the loss.
She couldn't tell Baltar herself that there had been a 'mistake' and that he'd won the election. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to repress her rage when that predictable glimmer of recognition turned indulgent satisfaction would set into his eyes upon his assumption of power over the Fleet and especially over her.
He had been waiting.
Bill always had a way of coming across as impartial as the situation merited. Like the painful conversation that led the two of them to this point, in which his eyes were telling her one thing and his mouth another, at least his concessions would sound convincing enough to a fool like Baltar, though she hoped mister president-elect wouldn't see the betrayal in the Admiral's somber stare.
Laura hated that she'd gotten caught almost as much as she hated that she'd allowed herself to fall from the self-imposed strict moral standards she'd adhered to so tightly upon her assumption of the presidency. She had striven to be different from her predecessor. She had wanted to be trustworthy and just.
The election scheme had seemed so simple-simple enough that it had to work.
The mistake that had exposed them had been so simple it was hard to believe it had been their undoing.
If she were Richard, she would have pulled it off.
Bill had left for his quarters to deliver the message to Baltar, with explicit instructions to return and debrief her on the conversation. She stayed on Colonial One, though she would have rather been anywhere else. She didn't want to deal with the aftermath- the inevitable media firestorm soon to follow, saying goodbye to her staff, and watching that frakker encroach upon her territory, like a scraggly lion circling its prey. She knew she needed to start disconnecting from her role and this place now in order to be able to handle losing the only home she'd had since the attacks.
She used to be so good at compartmentalizing and she felt with every blow she'd endured since that day that she was losing her touch.
Having done everything she could think of to distract herself as she waited with growing impatience, and finding herself suffering from a considerable lack of focus, she instead sat on one of the oversized chairs with a strong drink from her service cart, sipping it and feeling the afterburn while she listened to her desk clock tick away the last minutes of her life as she knew it.
She sat perfectly still and looked out the small window overlooking the stars that had become her backyard, as easily as standing on her porch in Caprica City, watching the sun set, back when the sun rose and set and there was day and night, when they were allowed to witness the constant revolution of time.
If she sat perfectly still-stopped breathing, stopped the comforting sips of liquor slowly numbing her senses, settled her nerves-she could feel Colonial One moving. They were in constant motion and had been since the beginning. It used to feel like it would never stop, not as long as they were running, fast and far.
She used to dream of the idea of finding a place to land and now she lamented it.
The stirring of the curtain that separated this makeshift bedroom from the rest of the ship roused her from a nearly catatonic state. She'd been staring at those stars as they passed, letting the alcohol warm her body from the inside out.
It was a rare moment in which she'd stopped thinking and she merely existed: a woman on a chair on a journey to a home. The space within her felt nearly as empty as the space that surrounded them.
It had taken Bill hours and one FTL jump to return, the sensation of which she was so used to that she had barely registered it but for the pilot's announcement over the wireless. The jump to New Caprica was proof enough that Baltar had accepted Bill's olive branch. New Caprica colonization was the first item of priority. She felt nauseated at the thought.
"It's done," she said, failing to infuse her voice with the strength she wished to convey. She watched him walk, his shoulders slumped as if he'd just been reprimanded by an angry father.
"Yes." She watched as he headed for the same consolation she'd found earlier, now empty in her hand.
She tried to hold back her tears for the third time that day. When was the last time she'd cried? Three times today: one out of fear, one out of shame, and now … these tears seemed founded in the anger she'd felt welling inside her since Bill had made their decision.
He sat in the chair next to hers, sighing heavily as he settled back into the seat. There was usually a comfortable silence between them, but now her agitation was making it impossible for her to relax.
"All this time we've spent together, Bill." She traced the rim of her glass with her index finger. "What am I now? What are we now?"
He took another sip as he formulated his words. She'd come to accept that he could make a snap military decision, but conversations of the personal sort involved more percolation. "Laura … I like to think that our friendship surmounts titles and late-night fuel meetings."
Something about the word friendship hit her the wrong way. She knew she was on edge, maybe picking for a fight, and she wasn't in the mood for self restraint.
"So, what. I'll come over for a drink from time to time? Laugh about the old days? You tell me stories about how Galactica's gathering dust and I'll … well, I guess I'll tell you about the latest kindergarten art project." She was surprised at the venom in her voice as the last few words fought their way out.
"It's not going to be the same," he said simply, as he often did with the most complicated of things.
"My point exactly, Bill," she answered, setting her glass into the drink holder. "My point exactly."
He took more drinks. She stewed over Gaius Baltar, wondering what he was up to at that moment. Most likely frakking a whore in celebration of his godsforsaken victory. Maybe two of them, maybe Tom Zarek too. Who frakkin' knew.
"You used to teach," Bill finally said.
Laura twisted in her seat to face him, unable to hide her frustration. "I don't want to be a teacher, Bill. I was a teacher two decades ago. That's not my role to play."
"I can find you a position somewhere."
"Yeah." She snickered, pushing herself up from her chair. She set her hands on her hips and shifted her weight on her bare feet. "That'll go over really well with the new administration."
"You're looking for a fight," he said, finishing his drink with a long draw. "You're picking it with the wrong person."
That she knew was true. But Bill was available and a willing whipping boy; he had endurance and an ability to deflect emotion that was nothing short of astounding. She normally didn't take advantage of this particular trait, but this occasion felt different-she felt like he deserved it.
"Laura … " He faltered. "What do you want me to do?"
She stared at him for a very long time, then looked away. It wasn't about what she wanted him to do. It was about what he'd already done-what he made her do.
She couldn't control anything now. She was in a tailspin with no place to land.
"Frak me," she heard herself say, her eyes still averted. The room was silent but for the ticking of that damned clock; she saw no movement out of the corner of her eye. He was sitting completely still in his chair, staring out the window like he hadn't heard her, but she knew he did. The silence was long and infuriating.
"Did you hear me?" she asked, looking back at him. She saw the slight movement of his jaw and throat as he swallowed; she heard his deep breath. Slow inhale, slow exhale, like he did when he was thinking about something that was particularly taxing.
She was in the mood to provide him clarity.
She walked over to him and examined his face's expressed uncertainty. She leaned over to grab the back of his head, fisting lengthy, gel-stiff hairs and pulling him roughly toward her. She pressed her open mouth against his, their teeth meeting awkwardly. Her other hand moved to the hand he tried to lift in response. She pressed it firmly against the armrest of the chair.
He opened his mouth to her and she slipped her tongue inside, her breath rough against his face. It wasn't enough-she felt a jolt of warmth through her abdomen and furious anger staining her cheeks. He wasn't kissing her back. It was the least he could do. It wasn't acceptable.
"What is it, Bill?" she asked as she pulled away. She kept a hold on his hair and her fingers circled his wrist and squeezed, hard, as she stared into his eyes. "Is it that I'm president and you're admiral? Guess that's all gone now, isn't it?"
He quietly observed her before he spoke. "This isn't the best time-"
"Frak that," she interrupted.
Frak all of it.
She climbed into his lap, her knees on either side of his hips. She felt her skirt slide up her legs, cool air hitting her heated inner thighs. The chair was oversized yet cramped for two, and her position above him left his face at the level of her breasts. She let them brush against his cheeks through the pink cotton of her oxford shirt before she looked down at him.
"Frak your chivalrous overtures, Bill. Where have they gotten us? Right here, right now."
It was all his fault.
Laura dipped her head and kissed him again, just as roughly as before, pinning his wrist to the armrest while pressing her heat down onto his lap. If he didn't want to frak her, she was going to make him want to frak her. If he didn't offer it, she was going to take it.
His hand pressed against the small of her back, pushing her firmly onto him. She moaned into his mouth as his fingers swept over the bare skin above her knee, then forged their way under the hem of her skirt, heightening her senses.
"That's it," she murmured against his lips. She felt herself begin to throb with anticipation and moved her mouth to his jaw, nipping at it while his hand made its way under the fabric stretched tightly over her hip. She pressed her teeth into his neck, biting gently, and felt his fingers dig into the curve of her ass, deeper and harder until she gasped against his skin.
"Your staff might hear something," he said then. She knew his eyes were on the curtain behind them.
"They'd better get used to it." She ran her tongue around the whorl of his ear. He took a sharp breath. "Might as well install a revolving door."
The idea of Colonial One becoming a harem of sorts was more than she could take.
"You're better than that." But he neither moved his hand nor told her to move.
"I have been," she said, looking him in the eyes. "But that obviously doesn't matter to the electorate, now does it?"
His hips pushed up against her and she felt his rock-hard cock straining through his trousers. She kissed him more slowly, rocking on his lap, adjusting her posture until she felt him brushing against damp, heated fabric. Over and over, a dizzying, teasing pleasure she knew he was feeling too.
"It matters to me," he breathed. "It always has."
"Bill, stop being the big damned hero. I'm frakkin' sick of it." Her fingernails pressed into the back of his neck and she watched his gaze turn into a challenge.
His action was quick and unexpected, the wrist she'd had pinned against the armrest suddenly free of her grip and instead, tangled in her hair at the roots. She realized he'd been relenting to her, letting her revel in the illusion of strength, but now, the game was changing.
It made her wet, looking into his eyes, both of their chests heaving slightly.
Bill yanked back on her head and she felt a fizzle of sharp pleasure/pain down her body. She sat still in his lap, her breathing erratic, barely able to see him from the angle he'd put her in. The hand under her skirt was methodically kneading her, clutching her closer, holding her captive. She felt her nipples harden as his fingertips traced the cleft of her ass through her panties.
"The thing about you, Laura," he said, "is that sometimes you're so hell-bent on doing the right thing that you sometimes don't do the smart thing."
Her jaw clenched as she remembered why they were together at this moment in the first place. Keeping Baltar from the presidency would have been the smart thing; nobody, not even Bill, could convince her otherwise.
"What are you going to do now?" Her voice wavered and she smoothed her palms down his wool-covered chest. The heat between their bodies was making her ache for something more. "The right thing or the smart thing?"
"Probably neither."
Bill let go of her hair and pushed her off of his lap with a grunt, leaving her unsteady on her feet in front of him. Her heart was pounding as shamed disbelief fluttered through her gut. She quickly adjusted her skirt and opened her mouth to protest, but instead took a step back when he rose to his feet, unbuckling his belt as he moved around her body and pulled her back tightly against his chest.
"You want to be risky because you think you have nothing to lose," he murmured into her ear. A shiver slid down her body. "You've looked death in the eye and survived. You'll survive this too."
"Maybe I don't want to," she whispered, feeling his cock hard against her ass.
He nudged her forward with his body a few steps under her knees hit the seat of the chair. "Get on the chair," he said, pushing his hips against her harder. She grabbed the back of the chair for balance and slid up on her knees, her heartbeat pounding. "We'll both take a risk and see where that leaves us."
He grabbed her hips, unsteadying her. He bunched the fabric of her skirt in his fists and forced it up to her waist. She panted, clinging to the back of the chair as best she could. Everything was moving so quickly she barely had time to process it. Maybe it was better this way.
It may not be the smart thing …
Her body jolted in surprise as he yanked down her panties and they settled around her knees, the leather of the chair squeaking and straining under them. His room-cool fingers slipped over her wetness and she let out a soft moan as he traced small circles around her opening. She spread her legs as wide as possible, now completely exposed to him, her skin flush.
"Gods, do it," she breathed. She could feel how wet she was around the tip of his finger and all thoughts of that frakking election were slipping away. These were her last moments on this ship; they might as well be enjoyable.
"When I'm ready." She heard fabric rustle and looked over her shoulder; his trousers were around his ankles and he'd slipped his cock out of his boxer shorts, a sight she never thought she'd see quite like this. His cock was hard and ready, and she only got a glimpse of it before he was pressing against her, his hands holding her hips. His cock slid through her folds and the head of it nudged her clit, sending a spark through her. He repeated his teasing and began to groan as he rocked into her, a sound so deep and low in his throat it made her shiver inside. "When you're ready."
She didn't feel ready for any of the changes swirling around her. She couldn't keep up.
"I'm ready," she lied, digging her fingers deeply into the back of the chair, her body thrumming. It wasn't really a lie. In a few ways, she was. "Come on."
He pulled away and his fingers slipped inside her first, two of them to the knuckle, making her cry out softly. "Yeah, you are," he replied, pulling them out and replacing them with his cock in one smooth thrust.
Bill was hard, deep inside her, and it felt so wrong and so right at the same time. His hands smoothed up her back and down again and it seemed like such a non-event-it should have felt monumental, cataclysmic, a thousand other things-and she realized exactly what this was. He was letting her risk it all so she would realize how much she still has. He was giving her what he thought she needed and what he thought he owed her.
And she would take it because it was owed; in the very least, this was her reasoning.
His fingers twisted in her hair again, bringing her sharply back into focus. He ground his hips against her ass, his voice nearly a growl. "Give it to me, Madam President."
Laura exhaled through gritted teeth, knowing he was trying to incite her by dropping her title soon to be dropped. She moved her body back and down against him, drew away, then forcefully seated him deeply inside her again, causing him to tighten his hand's grip on her hips to stay steady. She squeezed her muscles around him and he groaned, his palm making circles on her ass as she shifted her body, teasing him.
He wasn't having that for long, and bearing down on her so that she could feel his chest inches from her back, he began to frak her in earnest. They were long strokes at first, all the way in and then all the way out, making her breath catch. His became labored and he quickened his strokes, his grip on her hair even tighter, holding her in place. He built up a rhythm and she responded instinctually, rolling with him and encouraging him to frak her harder with soft whispers and moans.
So what if they heard. So what if they saw. She was nothing to them anymore.
There was something about being owned at this moment that felt inexplicably freeing for Laura; she let him frak her harder because she needed it to hurt just a little. She relented the motion her hips to the thrust of his and cried out as the pleasure mounted, an inspiring swirl of heat that caused her muscles to twitch in anticipation around his cock.
She could sense when he was about to come; there was an erratic change in his pace and in his panting breath. She pushed back hard against him, knowing the strength of the movement would knock him temporarily off balance. She slid off her knees and felt him trying to clutch her from behind, but she turned to face him, catching her breath.
"Sit down," she said, ignoring his impassioned glare. "This is still my ship."
This military man did as he was told almost immediately, managing to make his way into the chair with his boots and trousers around his ankles, his cock still protruding from his boxers. Of course, she'd caught him at the point where a man would do nearly anything he was told.
She straddled him-her knees were again tightly squeezed between the armrests and his thighs, but she made it work as she slid down on his cock, her back arcing at the intensity within her that surrounded his return. She grabbed the lapel of his uniform and yanked it hard, tearing the buttons and exposing his broad chest, spanned by thin cotton tanks. This was what she needed. She didn't need to be naked or exposed or tender. She needed to be frakked until she couldn't remember why they were frakking.
Laura took control, riding his cock hard, her thigh muscles tight as she repressed the jerky thrust of his hips. Their bodies slapped wetly, furiously together. His hands splayed across her ass and she drew her hair back from her face, one hand on his chest as she worked him with her body.
She raked her fingernails down his arms and back up, hoping her scratches would mark him and serve as a reminder of what he'd done to her and to the Fleet. She'd learned there was a time to cheat and a time to lie; he obviously hadn't yet.
"You made me do this." She rocked on him, circling her hips, pressing herself flat against his body. "You've made a mistake."
It was up to him to interpret her; she wanted to leave him with that ambiguity.
"I saved you," he said. It was short and simple, this statement that released her fury. That was all it took.
She slapped his cheek; he should have expected that but he didn't and he grunted in response. She started moving on him again, looking at his chest with her lip bitten, her hand stinging from the impact and her eyes stinging with tears.
"Nobody saves me," she breathed, frakking him harder, steadying herself with her palms flat on his clothed chest. "Nobody saves me but me."
She squeezed her eyes shut and felt him slip his hand between her legs. She let his fingers stroke her swollen clit and she heard his breath catch. The groan that escaped him as he came inside her was as forceful as the thrust of his hips and the motion of his fingers around her clit, desperately circling.
"That's right," she whispered, grinding herself down on his hand, so wet. "You'll make me come … you'll let me have this. Let me have it."
A few more strokes of his fingers and she felt herself beginning to come; it was nearly a foreign feeling, it'd been so long, and the waves that washed over her made her cry out not in release but in relent.
"Gods," he breathed. She wasn't ready to open her eyes. She let her orgasm linger a little bit longer. It was the only escape she had and she wasn't ready to let it go.
He pulled his hand away from her body and she felt his erection beginning to sag inside of her.
It was back to the sad reality of things.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, mustering a half smile to make him feel at ease.
So that's it. We just give it up, just like that.
"Maybe I could teach," she said.
He nodded, his arms slipping around her. "Maybe you should."
She pressed her ear to his chest and settled into his lap, trying to find comfort. Behind them, the clock ticked away seconds that no one could take away from her, no matter what they did.
Maybe she could make a life out of what little she had left.