[bsg] The First Raptor Flight
Title: The First Raptor Flight
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: Constants remain in a world of change.
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,670
Notes: This is my first submission for smut_tuesdays. Very little plot, very much porn. These two deserve some good times.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, but they wish they were.
x x x x
Sometimes before retiring to his quarters, they roam the ship, her arm looped around his in their customary stroll. They talk about life back then, when they could touch the rough bark of a tree, when they could feel a breeze on their faces, when they could walk down to the farmer's market and pluck freshly picked vegetables and fruits from overflowing bins. When they could go to a pyramid game just to get frakked up on overpriced beer and stumble home to a home that wasn't floating. It was grounded. They were grounded.
There are few remaining things that they still indulge in that remind them of the way things used to be.
And even though they've ended up in a lonesome hangar at the moment, and Laura's currently bent over the control panel of a Raptor, her legs spread and her skirt pushed over her hips, and she's peering out clear glass into a vast, cavernous hall of steel and solitude, sex is still sex. The dance that winds them to a moment of inspiration, the logistics of it, the feel of it, the overpowering desire for it--these are constants. She still likes to be frakked hard sometimes, until her legs shake and threaten to give out on her, or until she's so sweaty that her hair sticks to the back of her neck in salty tendrils that he loves to lick and run through his teeth.
Husker, she thinks, a random thought that makes her smile, even as she feels his hard cock brush against her ass, round and firm in her plain black panties. I wonder what he'd do if I called him that. She giggles and it ends with a gasp as he runs his hands up her sides and around to cup her breasts, a bit roughly, but she doesn't mind. He's got amazing hands.
"What's so funny?" he asks, a growl as he leans over her body, and his cock, Gods, his cock, is tantalizing her, is teasing her outside of the slip of fabric between her legs. He’s just out of reach of where she desperately needs him the most. She tilts her hips up as much as she can as he presses her down onto the panel.
"Husker," she breathes. He bites the back of her neck and she takes a sharp breath. "I should call you that more often. It's unique. Kind of rough. Like you."
"Nobody's called me that in years," he says, his teeth pressing intently into her skin. It sends tingles down her spine and she represses a low, satisfied moan. His cock is rubbing against her harder and she's throbbing for him, aching for him. "You call me what you want."
"What I want," she says, feeling his breath against the back of her ear as he nuzzles into her hair, "is fairly simple."
"What do you want?" The feel of his chest against her back makes her head spin and she arches up into him, almost on instinct.
She looks over her shoulder with a smile and raises her eyebrows. "I want these frakking panties off. Now."
His chuckle makes her shiver with delight. "Is that all you want?"
"It's a start," she says as he retreats, sliding his hands down her back and over the round curves of her hips, cupping her ass. He hooks his thumbs in her waistband and slowly drags the panties down her legs. It takes forever. She knows he loves her legs, but it takes frakking forever. He runs his hands up her calves and thighs and her eyelids flutter closed as a soft moan escapes her lips.
Then she feels his hips against her ass again, and her senses are suddenly heightened in response to him, to what's coming. She can feel his heat behind her, over her, and the hard panel buttons through the fabric of her blouse, pressing into her stomach. She can hear his breath, and her breath, and the soft swipe of their clothes as his cock slides over her slickness.
"Come on," she urges him, the need pooling in her abdomen overwhelming her one twinge at a time. She feels his hand slide up her spine and tangle in the back of her hair. She whimpers softly and her fingernails slide over the panel. She braces herself, waiting.
"So impatient," he says as he slides into her, to the end of her, in one deliberate stroke. She tilts her head back and pants as he fills her. She wraps around him so tightly--it's a perfect fit, perfect enough that when she squeezes around his cock he groans and reciprocates by grinding their hips together, burying himself deeper. He settles into her and they’re still in this moment. Grounded.
She smiles at his hands traveling her body over her clothes, finding her ticklish spots in this pause. She likes being prone--it's rare when someone else takes control of anything in her life. It's even more rare when she'll willingly let someone do it. This is what he does to her--he'll guide her slowly, firmly, into the clouds to let her fly.
She presses her body up against him and begins a slow, fluid movement of her hips, and he answers with sweet, lingering strokes. He's taking his time with her, pulling away slowly, no rush upon entering. His grip on her hair is firm and he buries his face in the side of her neck, the palm of his other hand pressed up against the glass, supporting most of his weight. This is Bill, she thinks. Gentle, but ever so consciously aware of the fact that at any moment, he could crush you.
"Tell me what you need," he says, his lips pressed against her neck. She feels his tongue flick out to taste the tendon she extends to him.
"Harder," she says, turning her head to meet his lips. They kiss and it sets her body on fire even more. It's always been a dizzying experience, kissing Bill, from the first peck on the lips on Colonial One to the first time he pressed her up against a wall in his quarters, their mouths hungry for collaboration. He always sends her spinning.
He listens to her, giving her a forceful thrust that makes her yank her mouth away from his to gasp for air. She closes her eyes and can feel him watching her as he thrusts again, and again, each time harder, each time with a tug on her hair. Then he's moving faster, and her hands are slipping over the controls, desperate for a grip, and the insignificant, coherent part of her mind is hoping she doesn't hit an ignition key or something equally as distracting, because that would end it, and she never, ever wants it to end.
"Oh, Gods," she breathes, her nose crinkling, her mouth hanging open with desperate gasps.
He backs up just a little and pulls her hips with him. "Damn straight," he says, his hands warm as they give her thighs a squeeze.
Soon his hand is between her legs in front of them, and she moans and shudders softly when he finds her wet clit swollen for him. His fingers read her like they've read her a thousand times before. They work against her as his cock slides through her silk, patiently waiting, and she can feel every twitch of herself around him, can feel the warmth growing deep inside of her, under the palm of his hand.
She whimpers at the slow build, at every thrust he gives her, at each hollow moment when he's pulled away. "That's it," he says, and she rolls her eyes at the sound of his voice, because at these moments it's lower, more sensual, reserved strictly for her. "Come on, Laura."
She grits her teeth as she comes with a sharp cry, bucking back against his hips with all of her might. He catches her and won't let her go, keeps his fingers circling her clit, and her body is swirling like the whirl of his fingers, spiraling into a blissful form of existence, however brief. She’s in her home, on the ground, and the whir of traffic never sounded so poetic. And he is there in her soft bed, and they’re tangled together, sun striping the carpet through her blinds.
He moves his hand away as she settles, opening her eyes to the gray darkness in front of them. He’s still there, but this is the reality of things--at these moments, he’s the comfort within this battered ship, he’s the warmth she finds when entrapped by steel cold to the touch.
He shifts inside her and she focuses on the movement, on their sweet exchange, which is, admittedly, evolving into the frantic at this point. After she comes is always when he really lets go, and this is what she loves, when he commands her like he owns her. In small moments like this, she basks in it--the guilty, dirty pleasure of letting someone else take over her body. Her body reacts--in motion, she's shivering, in sound, she's crying out in the dark, empty Raptor, lost in this small space. She can feel him hitting the end of her, over and over again, and she hears his sharp breath when he's close. She feels his fingers dig deep into her hips when he comes inside her with a groan in the back of his throat that she secretly craves.
And she slowly regains control as she stands up and he slips out of her. She pulls her panties up her legs and pushes her skirt down, turning to face him. She squares her shoulders to him and clears her throat as he zips up his trousers. He looks into her eyes and they both smile like teenagers who just frakked in her parent's car.
"We should fly in the Raptor more often," she says, kissing his cheek.
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: Constants remain in a world of change.
Spoilers: None
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 1,670
Notes: This is my first submission for smut_tuesdays. Very little plot, very much porn. These two deserve some good times.
Disclaimer: None of these characters are mine, but they wish they were.
x x x x
Sometimes before retiring to his quarters, they roam the ship, her arm looped around his in their customary stroll. They talk about life back then, when they could touch the rough bark of a tree, when they could feel a breeze on their faces, when they could walk down to the farmer's market and pluck freshly picked vegetables and fruits from overflowing bins. When they could go to a pyramid game just to get frakked up on overpriced beer and stumble home to a home that wasn't floating. It was grounded. They were grounded.
There are few remaining things that they still indulge in that remind them of the way things used to be.
And even though they've ended up in a lonesome hangar at the moment, and Laura's currently bent over the control panel of a Raptor, her legs spread and her skirt pushed over her hips, and she's peering out clear glass into a vast, cavernous hall of steel and solitude, sex is still sex. The dance that winds them to a moment of inspiration, the logistics of it, the feel of it, the overpowering desire for it--these are constants. She still likes to be frakked hard sometimes, until her legs shake and threaten to give out on her, or until she's so sweaty that her hair sticks to the back of her neck in salty tendrils that he loves to lick and run through his teeth.
Husker, she thinks, a random thought that makes her smile, even as she feels his hard cock brush against her ass, round and firm in her plain black panties. I wonder what he'd do if I called him that. She giggles and it ends with a gasp as he runs his hands up her sides and around to cup her breasts, a bit roughly, but she doesn't mind. He's got amazing hands.
"What's so funny?" he asks, a growl as he leans over her body, and his cock, Gods, his cock, is tantalizing her, is teasing her outside of the slip of fabric between her legs. He’s just out of reach of where she desperately needs him the most. She tilts her hips up as much as she can as he presses her down onto the panel.
"Husker," she breathes. He bites the back of her neck and she takes a sharp breath. "I should call you that more often. It's unique. Kind of rough. Like you."
"Nobody's called me that in years," he says, his teeth pressing intently into her skin. It sends tingles down her spine and she represses a low, satisfied moan. His cock is rubbing against her harder and she's throbbing for him, aching for him. "You call me what you want."
"What I want," she says, feeling his breath against the back of her ear as he nuzzles into her hair, "is fairly simple."
"What do you want?" The feel of his chest against her back makes her head spin and she arches up into him, almost on instinct.
She looks over her shoulder with a smile and raises her eyebrows. "I want these frakking panties off. Now."
His chuckle makes her shiver with delight. "Is that all you want?"
"It's a start," she says as he retreats, sliding his hands down her back and over the round curves of her hips, cupping her ass. He hooks his thumbs in her waistband and slowly drags the panties down her legs. It takes forever. She knows he loves her legs, but it takes frakking forever. He runs his hands up her calves and thighs and her eyelids flutter closed as a soft moan escapes her lips.
Then she feels his hips against her ass again, and her senses are suddenly heightened in response to him, to what's coming. She can feel his heat behind her, over her, and the hard panel buttons through the fabric of her blouse, pressing into her stomach. She can hear his breath, and her breath, and the soft swipe of their clothes as his cock slides over her slickness.
"Come on," she urges him, the need pooling in her abdomen overwhelming her one twinge at a time. She feels his hand slide up her spine and tangle in the back of her hair. She whimpers softly and her fingernails slide over the panel. She braces herself, waiting.
"So impatient," he says as he slides into her, to the end of her, in one deliberate stroke. She tilts her head back and pants as he fills her. She wraps around him so tightly--it's a perfect fit, perfect enough that when she squeezes around his cock he groans and reciprocates by grinding their hips together, burying himself deeper. He settles into her and they’re still in this moment. Grounded.
She smiles at his hands traveling her body over her clothes, finding her ticklish spots in this pause. She likes being prone--it's rare when someone else takes control of anything in her life. It's even more rare when she'll willingly let someone do it. This is what he does to her--he'll guide her slowly, firmly, into the clouds to let her fly.
She presses her body up against him and begins a slow, fluid movement of her hips, and he answers with sweet, lingering strokes. He's taking his time with her, pulling away slowly, no rush upon entering. His grip on her hair is firm and he buries his face in the side of her neck, the palm of his other hand pressed up against the glass, supporting most of his weight. This is Bill, she thinks. Gentle, but ever so consciously aware of the fact that at any moment, he could crush you.
"Tell me what you need," he says, his lips pressed against her neck. She feels his tongue flick out to taste the tendon she extends to him.
"Harder," she says, turning her head to meet his lips. They kiss and it sets her body on fire even more. It's always been a dizzying experience, kissing Bill, from the first peck on the lips on Colonial One to the first time he pressed her up against a wall in his quarters, their mouths hungry for collaboration. He always sends her spinning.
He listens to her, giving her a forceful thrust that makes her yank her mouth away from his to gasp for air. She closes her eyes and can feel him watching her as he thrusts again, and again, each time harder, each time with a tug on her hair. Then he's moving faster, and her hands are slipping over the controls, desperate for a grip, and the insignificant, coherent part of her mind is hoping she doesn't hit an ignition key or something equally as distracting, because that would end it, and she never, ever wants it to end.
"Oh, Gods," she breathes, her nose crinkling, her mouth hanging open with desperate gasps.
He backs up just a little and pulls her hips with him. "Damn straight," he says, his hands warm as they give her thighs a squeeze.
Soon his hand is between her legs in front of them, and she moans and shudders softly when he finds her wet clit swollen for him. His fingers read her like they've read her a thousand times before. They work against her as his cock slides through her silk, patiently waiting, and she can feel every twitch of herself around him, can feel the warmth growing deep inside of her, under the palm of his hand.
She whimpers at the slow build, at every thrust he gives her, at each hollow moment when he's pulled away. "That's it," he says, and she rolls her eyes at the sound of his voice, because at these moments it's lower, more sensual, reserved strictly for her. "Come on, Laura."
She grits her teeth as she comes with a sharp cry, bucking back against his hips with all of her might. He catches her and won't let her go, keeps his fingers circling her clit, and her body is swirling like the whirl of his fingers, spiraling into a blissful form of existence, however brief. She’s in her home, on the ground, and the whir of traffic never sounded so poetic. And he is there in her soft bed, and they’re tangled together, sun striping the carpet through her blinds.
He moves his hand away as she settles, opening her eyes to the gray darkness in front of them. He’s still there, but this is the reality of things--at these moments, he’s the comfort within this battered ship, he’s the warmth she finds when entrapped by steel cold to the touch.
He shifts inside her and she focuses on the movement, on their sweet exchange, which is, admittedly, evolving into the frantic at this point. After she comes is always when he really lets go, and this is what she loves, when he commands her like he owns her. In small moments like this, she basks in it--the guilty, dirty pleasure of letting someone else take over her body. Her body reacts--in motion, she's shivering, in sound, she's crying out in the dark, empty Raptor, lost in this small space. She can feel him hitting the end of her, over and over again, and she hears his sharp breath when he's close. She feels his fingers dig deep into her hips when he comes inside her with a groan in the back of his throat that she secretly craves.
And she slowly regains control as she stands up and he slips out of her. She pulls her panties up her legs and pushes her skirt down, turning to face him. She squares her shoulders to him and clears her throat as he zips up his trousers. He looks into her eyes and they both smile like teenagers who just frakked in her parent's car.
"We should fly in the Raptor more often," she says, kissing his cheek.