Respite (3/5) by larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Title: Respite (3/5)
Authors: larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Summary: She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair; it wasn't so long ago.
Spoilers: Through The Road Less Traveled
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,105
Authors' Notes: More than three months ago, icedteainthebag posted this little drabble in rememberlaura. As can be read in our responses, it inspired much laughter, a wonderful friendship/collaboration and, eventually, this 20,000+ word fic. Huge thanks to tjonesy and somadanne for beta awesomeness.
Link to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 4 will be posted Saturday; Chapter 5 on Sunday.
***
When Bill arrived back at his quarters, he found Laura curled up sleeping on the couch, her body covered by a blanket, a book under one hand.
He was careful to be quiet as he removed his boots and coat-her sleep was a precious commodity these days, and he hated to disturb her. He glanced at her several times to see if she stirred. She didn’t.
She must be worn out.
He walked up to her, treading softly, and knelt down to look at her face. Her jawline had become more distinct as she’d lost weight since her cancer returned. It hardened the slightly rounded, healthier look he remembered from New Caprica-not that he minded, or that it made her any less beautiful. It just made her beautiful in a different way, reminding him of the porcelain dolls his mother used to collect in a large glass case when he was a child. Their features chiseled, paler than the other dolls, their eyes sharp with color, their lips full and red.
She was always beautiful, even when she was so sick she couldn’t get out of bed.
He couldn’t resist running his finger along the edge of the scarf around her head, the one way Laura tried to hide from the world what she seemed most afraid of admitting.
She stirred slightly and he immediately pulled his hand away, silently berating himself for interrupting her slumber.
“You can keep that up,” she mumbled. She sighed deeply and curled up tighter under the blanket.
He smiled and touched her headscarf again, feeling the smooth skin underneath the fabric, the slight curves of her scalp at his fingertips.
“Did you have a good nap?” he asked. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Mmmm, don’t be,” she murmured, her eyes still closed, snuggling her head into the pillow. “I was just waiting for you, s’all.”
He loved the sound of her voice when she was barely awake-soft and gentle. He wanted to wrap himself in it, in every part of her. He knelt down and kissed her forehead.
“Make room for you,” she said, taking a deep breath that ended with a quiet, dry cough. She opened her eyes then and gave him a half smile. “I’ll sit up.”
She slowly eased herself into a sitting position. He sat next to her, slipping his arm around her waist. She leaned in and he felt her inhale again, breath warm against his tanks. He couldn’t imagine how he smelled after a shift sweating in his uniform, but somehow she never seemed to mind.
He kissed the top of her head, the silk of her scarf cool against his lips. “Missed you.”
She chuckled, a low rumble that made him smile. “Only been a few hours.”
“You didn’t have to stand beside a hungover Saul Tigh all day,” he teased, taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Pretty sure he slept in that uniform.”
“So that’s what it is.” She wrinkled her nose, pulling back from him. “Eau de Saul.” Her chest began shaking with giggles.
“You sound better,” he said, rubbing her side. He could feel the smooth lines of her ribs under his fingertips. He didn't remember feeling them before.
She shrugged, leaning against him and offering him a happy sounding hum, before he saw her eyes turn soft with the threat of tears. She pressed her cheek into his chest.
“What?” he said, gently.
“I just…” she began, and he could hear the hesitation in her voice. “Bill, I’m sorry. I’ve been distant and I-”
“It’s okay,” he said, resting his lips against her head.
“It’s not,” she murmured. “I miss this. Us. I want to be close to you. Closer than I’ve let myself in the past weeks.”
He took a slow breath, held it in his chest until it burned, let it back out across the back of her neck. He felt her shiver. “I want that, too.”
So many things he could say, that he wanted to say. He knew this was one of his flaws-not being able to say the perfect thing at the perfect time. He felt so much, found himself emotional more times than not, especially lately, but finding the words to express any of it to her was something he struggled with, despite his best efforts. Sometimes he felt like no matter what he said, it wouldn’t express his feelings as deeply as she deserved.
They sat on the couch in silence. He could feel her breathing. He wondered if her heartbeat matched his, the slow, steady rhythm in his chest, beating through this life he lived more and more to feel moments exactly like this.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the jar of custard on the table next to the couch.
“Have you tried that custard yet?” he asked.
“No,” she said softly, her fingers trailing across his chest. “Maybe we should.”
His mind whirred. He’d been thinking about it all day, how he really wanted to share the custard with her-he’d passed off the thought at first, but it nagged him like a burr in his side.
“I think we should try it,” he said, giving her side a squeeze.
“You got a clean spoon?” she teased, looking up into his eyes.
“Might not need one.”
She arched one eyebrow at him, then smirked.
***
“Lie back.” He put a gentle, but firm hand against her chest until she began to recline, then slipped the button of her pants free.
She lifted enough to let him pull the dark fabric down over her hips. “Never saw you as a finger painter,” she said playfully. “It’s so… imprecise.”
He loved that she felt the need to let him know he was as obvious in his intentions as he’d thought.
“You’re right.” He left her panties on and reached for the jar of custard, dipping a finger in enough to coat the tip. “But sometimes,” he touched the cool liquid to the thin skin below her navel, drawing it slowly across her belly, “art is more about feel.” He dropped his head, following the sweet line with his tongue.
She shuddered delightfully under him. With his free hand, he began to draw the black lace down her over her hips. She stopped him with her hand.
“Want to try something?” she asked suddenly, her voice far from innocent.
He froze, a generous dollop of custard sliding along his index finger. He had plans, but just the thought of what Laura might come up with…
“Sure,” he said, trying to sound casual. He held her gaze and slipped his finger into his mouth. A soft ‘mmm’ escaped her lips as he took his time sucking it clean.
“Stay there.” He watched as she bounced up from the sofa, enjoying the sight of her padding half-naked into the back of his quarters, her loose dress shirt swinging just above her thin panties.
She fumbled through the drawers under the rack. He cringed a little as neatly arranged socks and underwear were carelessly pushed to the side. She smiled triumphantly when she pulled something long and orange from the bottom of the drawer.
He recognized his old Picon Panthers fan scarf, “Go, Panthers, Go” emblazoned on it in chunky blue letters. She placed it over her shoulders before walking slowly back to him, unbuttoning her shirt as she went.
A few more buttons, and you can have my autographed cap, too.
He was so busy counting the tiny beauty marks on the upper slope of her right breast as she leaned toward him, that he didn’t realize what her intentions were until she brought the scarf up to his face.
“Oh, okay.” He couldn’t quite keep the disappointment out of his voice. She allowed his gaze to roam once more over her partially revealed skin before she covered his eyes with the scarf, tying it tightly behind his head.
“Can you see anything?”
“No.”
Frakking Panthers.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Eleven.”
“What?”
“Laura, I swear, I can’t see.”
“Okay.”
He heard a faint swishing sound and then she draped something over his head. The fabric was warm and smelled of her. Taking a deep breath to savor her scent, he pulled her shirt off his head, trying to picture her standing less than a foot from him… she pressed something soft into his hands.
Topless.
He fingered the bra lightly, tracing its contours, before bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.
There was the light snap of elastic. The slip of fabric she left in his lap was noticeably damp, and he couldn’t resist the urge take in the smokier, more intimate scent. A soft moan escaped her.
“So, here are the rules.”
“Are you naked?” He knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“Completely,” she replied, a hint of shyness in her voice. It took him a moment to realize why.
You took the headscarf off, too?
He had seen her without it only once, so many days ago when he had helped to shave off the last few remaining clumps of her hair. Her scalp had been wet and lined with the remains of the spare amount of shaving cream she’d allowed him to use before she asked him to leave. He’d wanted so badly to touch her then, to comfort her, but she’d avoided him as much as a roommate could.
He fingered the tight weave of the blindfold, his heart tightening in his chest.
You didn’t want me to see you.
He heard the leather of his sofa creak.
“I think I might have dripped some custard… somewhere here…” He heard the rasp of skin on skin. “Think you can find it, flyboy?”
“Easy,” he said confidently, groping until his hand brushed the outside of her thigh. He began to trace his fingers along her warm skin when she abruptly pushed him away.
“Uh uh,” she chided with that officious, teacher voice of hers, the one that sent a jolt of pleasure along his spine every time he heard it. “You can’t use your hands.”
Wanna bet?
He wanted to challenge her, but he wasn’t feeling that brave. Not yet.
He felt for the leather of the sofa as he sat on the low table in front and slowly lowered his head until he felt the warmth of her against his face. He touched his lips lightly to her skin. “What can I use?” he asked, teasing lightly with the tip of his tongue.
Her breath caught, and he felt the shiver that ran through her. He marveled at the tiny bumps of goose flesh that appeared under his lips.
“Nose and mouth. Nothing else,” she murmured.
“Tongue is okay?” He traced the rounded edge of what he judged to be her hipbone, smiling as he licked higher and found the soft indent above.
“Mmm.”
“Take that as a yes, then,” he chuckled, feeling with his other hand for the back cushions of the sofa, sliding downward, using them as a guide to frame her body with both hands.
Hovering over her skin, he bumped his nose against her before adjusting to plant a line of barely there kisses across her belly. He had to concentrate not to falter as it dipped away from him, continuing his caresses until he met the prominent ridge of her ribcage.
So thin. You try to pretend you’re not losing weight, but now you’ve no way to hide it.
Don’t linger, you idiot.
He felt her skin tremble delightfully as he continued to search for her navel. Twisting a little under him, she giggled when he found it. He circled and flicked, dipping his tongue in and out of the small indentation.
“I didn’t… it’s not…” she gasped.
“No hints,” he admonished, pressing a sound kiss to her stomach, loving the lightness in her voice. He wished he could see her brilliant smile. He’d missed it.
Lifting a little, he let his breath cool the moisture he’d left, the warm air reflecting against his face as he moved lower. She tensed noticeably.
No, you don’t.
He moved toward her side again, taking what he hoped was a less direct path, and inhaled audibly. “Gods, Laura,” he whispered against her skin. “I can smell you.” It wasn’t overpowering, but he knew that was due more to his limitations than her arousal. He wasn’t one of those men who swirled wine glasses endlessly, trying to catch hints of black cherry and dark chocolate. Years inhaling noxious quantities of aviation fuel had effectively dulled his senses. His tastes had always leaned toward the harder stuff anyway. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now? How much I want to see you, touch you?”
The sweet, sour scent intensified as he moved lower. It took considerable willpower not to touch her, to just let his breath wash over her bare skin. Gods, he used to love blowing over her damp curls, used to love watching what it did to her. She sighed and he felt her relax, thought the shift he felt was her parting her thighs just a little.
Good.
“But I know you, Laura. This is your game, and you would never start here.” He leaned over and kissed her, her moist flesh soft and smooth against his lips. His cock twitched at the sensation, the hint of her taste. She gasped.
I’ll be back.
He leaned forward and rested his chin against her abdomen. “You would start someplace simple, encourage the student’s interest in the game by providing an easy victory.”
“Mmm, maybe.” She traced a finger along his stubbled cheek. “If you were an average student.”
“So this is remedial learning?” He grinned. “I could handle that. How many times am I allowed to fail?”
She laughed outright then, swatting at his head. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, that’s what my eighth grade teacher said, too. Don’t worry, though, we never played this game. “
“I certainly hope not.”
“Mr. Addison wasn’t really the kinky type.” He rubbed his chin back and forth along her stomach. “But what about you? You taught older students, didn’t you? Ever have a crush? A fantasy? Ever wanted to offer a different kind of education?” He grinned, fully prepared to get hit again.
She was silent a breath too long.
“Oh Gods, you did.” He’d been joking, not expecting that she’d actually, that Laura Roslin would… Gods.
“It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened until a long time after. I didn’t even recognize him at first.”
He wished he could see her face. Was she blushing? He decided that it shouldn’t surprise him that a younger man would be interested in her, hell he was sure that the line would wrap around half the jogging route on Galactica. And that was just the men. He couldn’t help wondering what she saw in him, why she was here when she could have had any number… he felt suddenly nauseated.
Is it because you’re sick?
“It was a blind date, a one-night thing, Bill.”
Bet he could go all night…
He didn’t want to think about this faceless younger man and his virile cock, knew he shouldn’t feel threatened. Not with the woman in question completely naked underneath him, waiting for him, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself. “I didn’t realize you liked younger men.”
“It was a mistake,” she said, flatly, shifting under him. “I kicked him out the same night.”
“You didn’t.”
“It was a dead end, Bill. This, you, couldn’t be more different. C’mon,” she slid her fingers around the edge of his ear, “you haven’t even won the first round yet.”
Her fingertips tickled across his lips and teased them open. He sucked her fingers into his mouth and nearly groaned. He felt her shift and heard a soft breath escape her. He could taste the custard on her fingers and damn, was it good.
This is more like it.
He lowered his lips to kiss her torso again, and his cheek brushed against a rounded curve-definitely her breast-he moved his lips across its soft skin, leaving a trail of kisses along the top of it. He smelled the custard, its sweet scent getting stronger.
She took a sharp breath in when he took her nipple into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth. “You’re close,” she whispered with a breathless laugh.
“It’s not here?” he asked as he sucked on it, the flesh rippling against his tongue.
She pushed on his head with a more audible giggle. “No. But Gods, you’re so close.”
“Mmm,” he mumbled, her nipple still in his mouth, the vibration eliciting a soft moan from her. He released it, rubbing his chin over the wet peak as he began kissing a slow path up the slope of her breast. He tasted it then, just as a shudder went through her, a hint of sweetness against his tongue. He eagerly followed the thin, sticky trail, realizing that the heat of her skin must have melted the custard, unwittingly widening his target. That, or she really did think he was in need of remediation.
Bill licked at the remnants of the custard and felt her move on the couch under him. He pressed his open mouth to her breast and swirled his tongue over her skin. He heard her moan in response and felt her hand on the back of his head.
“If you keep moaning like that, this game’s going to end prematurely,” he murmured, kissing her nipple. He was trying so desperately to keep a leisurely pace, but the shiver of her body under his mouth and the rich sweetness of the custard on her smooth skin were making him impatient.
He’d always been fond of her breasts, though he hadn’t let himself fully appreciate them until that evening on the sandbags, when he’d watched her in the moonlight as she’d removed her wrap slowly, then pulled her tank top over her head. He couldn’t speak as she’d reached behind her to unfasten her bra. She’d left it hanging loosely on her shoulders and had given him a half-smile as she ran her fingers over his cheek and whispered to him to touch her.
She was more forward then, more sure of herself. Frak diloxin.
He lapped between her breasts and she groaned. “You’re right, Bill. Better stop.”
He moved his mouth up her chest. He was getting a little better at mapping out her body, despite the blindfold. His teeth grazed over her collarbone, making her gasp. “Yeah. We’d better,” he said.
She tugged on his hair and he reluctantly pulled away. “I commend your custard-finding skills, Admiral, but we’ve got a lot more game to play.”
He sat back on his haunches and kissed her knees, breaking her rules by letting his fingers trail down the sides of her legs to her ankles. She didn’t protest. He heard her unscrew the lid of the jar and felt a tingling anticipation at the idea of discovering the next body part to be smeared with custard. He heard the lid screw back on.
“All right. Good hunting,” she said. He could hear her smiling.
“Have you tasted it yet? I did win it for you, and it seems like I’m the only one getting the benefit. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I have tasted it. I’ve been licking it off my fingers. It’s delicious.”
Oh, how I wish I could watch you do that.
“Good,” he said.
Now let’s see where you put it this time.
He rose over her body, his palms pressed into the cushion on both sides of her. He started at the top this time. He nuzzled her ear and her neck, inhaling deeply to try to pick up the scent of the custard. He kissed his way across her upper chest.
“Hot or cold?” he murmured.
“Exactly what are you referring to?”
He chuckled. “My proximity to the custard.”
“Oh, you’re cold,” she answered, her voice teasing. “Freezing.”
That means it’s lower, thank the Gods.
He hummed as he moved his lips to her shoulder, then kissed down her arm. “Nothing here.”
“Nope,” she said with a laugh. “Still cold.”
With his mouth against her side, she lifted her arm, giving him better access. He could smell the custard, faintly, but didn’t find a trace of it as he ran his tongue from one side of her upper torso to the other. He felt her shiver.
“Gods,” she whispered.
“Warmer?” he murmured. He moved his mouth to the rise of her hip and sucked on it, listening to her breathe.
“Definitely. Very close.”
He kissed across her hip and his lips met the smooth, creamy texture of the custard, seemingly spread right under her navel. He lapped at it, sweetness coating his tongue.
“Found it,” she breathed. He felt her warm hand rest on his shoulder. Her fingernails caressed his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
He licked her again and felt her body arch. He pressed his mouth to her, his tongue laving across her abdomen, following the thick swipe of custard and sucking it off of her skin. She moaned and he lost his breath imagining how she must look, naked and beautiful and writhing.
“Where are your hands?” he asked.
“Where do you want them to be?”
“On your breasts,” he murmured. “Play with your nipples, like I’d be doing if you’d let me use my hands.”
He heard her breathe deeply and slowly release it. “Okay.”
He found her navel and ran his tongue around it. She’d left some custard there, too, a little bit in the dip that he gathered up and swallowed. He felt her stomach rise with a sharp breath.
“Tell me what you’re doing.” He could picture it vividly, probably too vividly for his own good, but he wanted her to tell him.
There was a moment of silence and he found a spot of custard that he’d missed. He could smell her arousal again, mixed with the sweet scent of vanilla.
“I’m circling my nipples with my fingers,” she began softly. He felt his cock grow harder at the vision of her fingers smoothing over her breasts. He began sucking intently on the sensitive skin right below her belly button. “They’re getting harder, and it feels so good… just imagining it’s your fingers… Gods, you feel so good, Bill.”
He ached to move his mouth lower, to press his face into her sex and explore every inch of soft, slick skin he could find. He missed how she looked and sounded when she came, her thighs tight against his head.
Just wait, wait a little longer.
“I think I got it all,” he said. He rested his cheek on her stomach. He wondered what he looked like with the scarf around his head. Probably pretty silly. What he wouldn’t do for this woman.
“You’re so efficient.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He let his hands slide slightly closer to her sides, his thumbs grazing her hips. “So.”
She chuckled. “So.”
“All right,” he said, pulling away from her. “Go ahead. Put it wherever you’d like.”
She was quiet and he waited, then heard the top of the jar being unscrewed.
“Where do you want me to put it?” Her voice was soft and tentative. He felt her hand over his and she pulled it up to her stomach, resting it there. “Or would you like to do it?”
Continued in Chapter 4 tomorrow.
Authors: larsfarm77 & icedteainthebag
Summary: She wondered if he remembered what it felt like to bury his face in her hair; it wasn't so long ago.
Spoilers: Through The Road Less Traveled
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 4,105
Authors' Notes: More than three months ago, icedteainthebag posted this little drabble in rememberlaura. As can be read in our responses, it inspired much laughter, a wonderful friendship/collaboration and, eventually, this 20,000+ word fic. Huge thanks to tjonesy and somadanne for beta awesomeness.
Link to Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5
Chapter 4 will be posted Saturday; Chapter 5 on Sunday.
***
When Bill arrived back at his quarters, he found Laura curled up sleeping on the couch, her body covered by a blanket, a book under one hand.
He was careful to be quiet as he removed his boots and coat-her sleep was a precious commodity these days, and he hated to disturb her. He glanced at her several times to see if she stirred. She didn’t.
She must be worn out.
He walked up to her, treading softly, and knelt down to look at her face. Her jawline had become more distinct as she’d lost weight since her cancer returned. It hardened the slightly rounded, healthier look he remembered from New Caprica-not that he minded, or that it made her any less beautiful. It just made her beautiful in a different way, reminding him of the porcelain dolls his mother used to collect in a large glass case when he was a child. Their features chiseled, paler than the other dolls, their eyes sharp with color, their lips full and red.
She was always beautiful, even when she was so sick she couldn’t get out of bed.
He couldn’t resist running his finger along the edge of the scarf around her head, the one way Laura tried to hide from the world what she seemed most afraid of admitting.
She stirred slightly and he immediately pulled his hand away, silently berating himself for interrupting her slumber.
“You can keep that up,” she mumbled. She sighed deeply and curled up tighter under the blanket.
He smiled and touched her headscarf again, feeling the smooth skin underneath the fabric, the slight curves of her scalp at his fingertips.
“Did you have a good nap?” he asked. “I’m sorry I woke you.”
“Mmmm, don’t be,” she murmured, her eyes still closed, snuggling her head into the pillow. “I was just waiting for you, s’all.”
He loved the sound of her voice when she was barely awake-soft and gentle. He wanted to wrap himself in it, in every part of her. He knelt down and kissed her forehead.
“Make room for you,” she said, taking a deep breath that ended with a quiet, dry cough. She opened her eyes then and gave him a half smile. “I’ll sit up.”
She slowly eased herself into a sitting position. He sat next to her, slipping his arm around her waist. She leaned in and he felt her inhale again, breath warm against his tanks. He couldn’t imagine how he smelled after a shift sweating in his uniform, but somehow she never seemed to mind.
He kissed the top of her head, the silk of her scarf cool against his lips. “Missed you.”
She chuckled, a low rumble that made him smile. “Only been a few hours.”
“You didn’t have to stand beside a hungover Saul Tigh all day,” he teased, taking her hand in his, lacing their fingers together. “Pretty sure he slept in that uniform.”
“So that’s what it is.” She wrinkled her nose, pulling back from him. “Eau de Saul.” Her chest began shaking with giggles.
“You sound better,” he said, rubbing her side. He could feel the smooth lines of her ribs under his fingertips. He didn't remember feeling them before.
She shrugged, leaning against him and offering him a happy sounding hum, before he saw her eyes turn soft with the threat of tears. She pressed her cheek into his chest.
“What?” he said, gently.
“I just…” she began, and he could hear the hesitation in her voice. “Bill, I’m sorry. I’ve been distant and I-”
“It’s okay,” he said, resting his lips against her head.
“It’s not,” she murmured. “I miss this. Us. I want to be close to you. Closer than I’ve let myself in the past weeks.”
He took a slow breath, held it in his chest until it burned, let it back out across the back of her neck. He felt her shiver. “I want that, too.”
So many things he could say, that he wanted to say. He knew this was one of his flaws-not being able to say the perfect thing at the perfect time. He felt so much, found himself emotional more times than not, especially lately, but finding the words to express any of it to her was something he struggled with, despite his best efforts. Sometimes he felt like no matter what he said, it wouldn’t express his feelings as deeply as she deserved.
They sat on the couch in silence. He could feel her breathing. He wondered if her heartbeat matched his, the slow, steady rhythm in his chest, beating through this life he lived more and more to feel moments exactly like this.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the jar of custard on the table next to the couch.
“Have you tried that custard yet?” he asked.
“No,” she said softly, her fingers trailing across his chest. “Maybe we should.”
His mind whirred. He’d been thinking about it all day, how he really wanted to share the custard with her-he’d passed off the thought at first, but it nagged him like a burr in his side.
“I think we should try it,” he said, giving her side a squeeze.
“You got a clean spoon?” she teased, looking up into his eyes.
“Might not need one.”
She arched one eyebrow at him, then smirked.
***
“Lie back.” He put a gentle, but firm hand against her chest until she began to recline, then slipped the button of her pants free.
She lifted enough to let him pull the dark fabric down over her hips. “Never saw you as a finger painter,” she said playfully. “It’s so… imprecise.”
He loved that she felt the need to let him know he was as obvious in his intentions as he’d thought.
“You’re right.” He left her panties on and reached for the jar of custard, dipping a finger in enough to coat the tip. “But sometimes,” he touched the cool liquid to the thin skin below her navel, drawing it slowly across her belly, “art is more about feel.” He dropped his head, following the sweet line with his tongue.
She shuddered delightfully under him. With his free hand, he began to draw the black lace down her over her hips. She stopped him with her hand.
“Want to try something?” she asked suddenly, her voice far from innocent.
He froze, a generous dollop of custard sliding along his index finger. He had plans, but just the thought of what Laura might come up with…
“Sure,” he said, trying to sound casual. He held her gaze and slipped his finger into his mouth. A soft ‘mmm’ escaped her lips as he took his time sucking it clean.
“Stay there.” He watched as she bounced up from the sofa, enjoying the sight of her padding half-naked into the back of his quarters, her loose dress shirt swinging just above her thin panties.
She fumbled through the drawers under the rack. He cringed a little as neatly arranged socks and underwear were carelessly pushed to the side. She smiled triumphantly when she pulled something long and orange from the bottom of the drawer.
He recognized his old Picon Panthers fan scarf, “Go, Panthers, Go” emblazoned on it in chunky blue letters. She placed it over her shoulders before walking slowly back to him, unbuttoning her shirt as she went.
A few more buttons, and you can have my autographed cap, too.
He was so busy counting the tiny beauty marks on the upper slope of her right breast as she leaned toward him, that he didn’t realize what her intentions were until she brought the scarf up to his face.
“Oh, okay.” He couldn’t quite keep the disappointment out of his voice. She allowed his gaze to roam once more over her partially revealed skin before she covered his eyes with the scarf, tying it tightly behind his head.
“Can you see anything?”
“No.”
Frakking Panthers.
“How many fingers am I holding up?”
“Eleven.”
“What?”
“Laura, I swear, I can’t see.”
“Okay.”
He heard a faint swishing sound and then she draped something over his head. The fabric was warm and smelled of her. Taking a deep breath to savor her scent, he pulled her shirt off his head, trying to picture her standing less than a foot from him… she pressed something soft into his hands.
Topless.
He fingered the bra lightly, tracing its contours, before bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply.
There was the light snap of elastic. The slip of fabric she left in his lap was noticeably damp, and he couldn’t resist the urge take in the smokier, more intimate scent. A soft moan escaped her.
“So, here are the rules.”
“Are you naked?” He knew, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“Completely,” she replied, a hint of shyness in her voice. It took him a moment to realize why.
You took the headscarf off, too?
He had seen her without it only once, so many days ago when he had helped to shave off the last few remaining clumps of her hair. Her scalp had been wet and lined with the remains of the spare amount of shaving cream she’d allowed him to use before she asked him to leave. He’d wanted so badly to touch her then, to comfort her, but she’d avoided him as much as a roommate could.
He fingered the tight weave of the blindfold, his heart tightening in his chest.
You didn’t want me to see you.
He heard the leather of his sofa creak.
“I think I might have dripped some custard… somewhere here…” He heard the rasp of skin on skin. “Think you can find it, flyboy?”
“Easy,” he said confidently, groping until his hand brushed the outside of her thigh. He began to trace his fingers along her warm skin when she abruptly pushed him away.
“Uh uh,” she chided with that officious, teacher voice of hers, the one that sent a jolt of pleasure along his spine every time he heard it. “You can’t use your hands.”
Wanna bet?
He wanted to challenge her, but he wasn’t feeling that brave. Not yet.
He felt for the leather of the sofa as he sat on the low table in front and slowly lowered his head until he felt the warmth of her against his face. He touched his lips lightly to her skin. “What can I use?” he asked, teasing lightly with the tip of his tongue.
Her breath caught, and he felt the shiver that ran through her. He marveled at the tiny bumps of goose flesh that appeared under his lips.
“Nose and mouth. Nothing else,” she murmured.
“Tongue is okay?” He traced the rounded edge of what he judged to be her hipbone, smiling as he licked higher and found the soft indent above.
“Mmm.”
“Take that as a yes, then,” he chuckled, feeling with his other hand for the back cushions of the sofa, sliding downward, using them as a guide to frame her body with both hands.
Hovering over her skin, he bumped his nose against her before adjusting to plant a line of barely there kisses across her belly. He had to concentrate not to falter as it dipped away from him, continuing his caresses until he met the prominent ridge of her ribcage.
So thin. You try to pretend you’re not losing weight, but now you’ve no way to hide it.
Don’t linger, you idiot.
He felt her skin tremble delightfully as he continued to search for her navel. Twisting a little under him, she giggled when he found it. He circled and flicked, dipping his tongue in and out of the small indentation.
“I didn’t… it’s not…” she gasped.
“No hints,” he admonished, pressing a sound kiss to her stomach, loving the lightness in her voice. He wished he could see her brilliant smile. He’d missed it.
Lifting a little, he let his breath cool the moisture he’d left, the warm air reflecting against his face as he moved lower. She tensed noticeably.
No, you don’t.
He moved toward her side again, taking what he hoped was a less direct path, and inhaled audibly. “Gods, Laura,” he whispered against her skin. “I can smell you.” It wasn’t overpowering, but he knew that was due more to his limitations than her arousal. He wasn’t one of those men who swirled wine glasses endlessly, trying to catch hints of black cherry and dark chocolate. Years inhaling noxious quantities of aviation fuel had effectively dulled his senses. His tastes had always leaned toward the harder stuff anyway. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me right now? How much I want to see you, touch you?”
The sweet, sour scent intensified as he moved lower. It took considerable willpower not to touch her, to just let his breath wash over her bare skin. Gods, he used to love blowing over her damp curls, used to love watching what it did to her. She sighed and he felt her relax, thought the shift he felt was her parting her thighs just a little.
Good.
“But I know you, Laura. This is your game, and you would never start here.” He leaned over and kissed her, her moist flesh soft and smooth against his lips. His cock twitched at the sensation, the hint of her taste. She gasped.
I’ll be back.
He leaned forward and rested his chin against her abdomen. “You would start someplace simple, encourage the student’s interest in the game by providing an easy victory.”
“Mmm, maybe.” She traced a finger along his stubbled cheek. “If you were an average student.”
“So this is remedial learning?” He grinned. “I could handle that. How many times am I allowed to fail?”
She laughed outright then, swatting at his head. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, that’s what my eighth grade teacher said, too. Don’t worry, though, we never played this game. “
“I certainly hope not.”
“Mr. Addison wasn’t really the kinky type.” He rubbed his chin back and forth along her stomach. “But what about you? You taught older students, didn’t you? Ever have a crush? A fantasy? Ever wanted to offer a different kind of education?” He grinned, fully prepared to get hit again.
She was silent a breath too long.
“Oh Gods, you did.” He’d been joking, not expecting that she’d actually, that Laura Roslin would… Gods.
“It wasn’t like that. Nothing happened until a long time after. I didn’t even recognize him at first.”
He wished he could see her face. Was she blushing? He decided that it shouldn’t surprise him that a younger man would be interested in her, hell he was sure that the line would wrap around half the jogging route on Galactica. And that was just the men. He couldn’t help wondering what she saw in him, why she was here when she could have had any number… he felt suddenly nauseated.
Is it because you’re sick?
“It was a blind date, a one-night thing, Bill.”
Bet he could go all night…
He didn’t want to think about this faceless younger man and his virile cock, knew he shouldn’t feel threatened. Not with the woman in question completely naked underneath him, waiting for him, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself. “I didn’t realize you liked younger men.”
“It was a mistake,” she said, flatly, shifting under him. “I kicked him out the same night.”
“You didn’t.”
“It was a dead end, Bill. This, you, couldn’t be more different. C’mon,” she slid her fingers around the edge of his ear, “you haven’t even won the first round yet.”
Her fingertips tickled across his lips and teased them open. He sucked her fingers into his mouth and nearly groaned. He felt her shift and heard a soft breath escape her. He could taste the custard on her fingers and damn, was it good.
This is more like it.
He lowered his lips to kiss her torso again, and his cheek brushed against a rounded curve-definitely her breast-he moved his lips across its soft skin, leaving a trail of kisses along the top of it. He smelled the custard, its sweet scent getting stronger.
She took a sharp breath in when he took her nipple into his mouth and grazed it with his teeth. “You’re close,” she whispered with a breathless laugh.
“It’s not here?” he asked as he sucked on it, the flesh rippling against his tongue.
She pushed on his head with a more audible giggle. “No. But Gods, you’re so close.”
“Mmm,” he mumbled, her nipple still in his mouth, the vibration eliciting a soft moan from her. He released it, rubbing his chin over the wet peak as he began kissing a slow path up the slope of her breast. He tasted it then, just as a shudder went through her, a hint of sweetness against his tongue. He eagerly followed the thin, sticky trail, realizing that the heat of her skin must have melted the custard, unwittingly widening his target. That, or she really did think he was in need of remediation.
Bill licked at the remnants of the custard and felt her move on the couch under him. He pressed his open mouth to her breast and swirled his tongue over her skin. He heard her moan in response and felt her hand on the back of his head.
“If you keep moaning like that, this game’s going to end prematurely,” he murmured, kissing her nipple. He was trying so desperately to keep a leisurely pace, but the shiver of her body under his mouth and the rich sweetness of the custard on her smooth skin were making him impatient.
He’d always been fond of her breasts, though he hadn’t let himself fully appreciate them until that evening on the sandbags, when he’d watched her in the moonlight as she’d removed her wrap slowly, then pulled her tank top over her head. He couldn’t speak as she’d reached behind her to unfasten her bra. She’d left it hanging loosely on her shoulders and had given him a half-smile as she ran her fingers over his cheek and whispered to him to touch her.
She was more forward then, more sure of herself. Frak diloxin.
He lapped between her breasts and she groaned. “You’re right, Bill. Better stop.”
He moved his mouth up her chest. He was getting a little better at mapping out her body, despite the blindfold. His teeth grazed over her collarbone, making her gasp. “Yeah. We’d better,” he said.
She tugged on his hair and he reluctantly pulled away. “I commend your custard-finding skills, Admiral, but we’ve got a lot more game to play.”
He sat back on his haunches and kissed her knees, breaking her rules by letting his fingers trail down the sides of her legs to her ankles. She didn’t protest. He heard her unscrew the lid of the jar and felt a tingling anticipation at the idea of discovering the next body part to be smeared with custard. He heard the lid screw back on.
“All right. Good hunting,” she said. He could hear her smiling.
“Have you tasted it yet? I did win it for you, and it seems like I’m the only one getting the benefit. Not that I’m complaining.”
“I have tasted it. I’ve been licking it off my fingers. It’s delicious.”
Oh, how I wish I could watch you do that.
“Good,” he said.
Now let’s see where you put it this time.
He rose over her body, his palms pressed into the cushion on both sides of her. He started at the top this time. He nuzzled her ear and her neck, inhaling deeply to try to pick up the scent of the custard. He kissed his way across her upper chest.
“Hot or cold?” he murmured.
“Exactly what are you referring to?”
He chuckled. “My proximity to the custard.”
“Oh, you’re cold,” she answered, her voice teasing. “Freezing.”
That means it’s lower, thank the Gods.
He hummed as he moved his lips to her shoulder, then kissed down her arm. “Nothing here.”
“Nope,” she said with a laugh. “Still cold.”
With his mouth against her side, she lifted her arm, giving him better access. He could smell the custard, faintly, but didn’t find a trace of it as he ran his tongue from one side of her upper torso to the other. He felt her shiver.
“Gods,” she whispered.
“Warmer?” he murmured. He moved his mouth to the rise of her hip and sucked on it, listening to her breathe.
“Definitely. Very close.”
He kissed across her hip and his lips met the smooth, creamy texture of the custard, seemingly spread right under her navel. He lapped at it, sweetness coating his tongue.
“Found it,” she breathed. He felt her warm hand rest on his shoulder. Her fingernails caressed his skin and the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
He licked her again and felt her body arch. He pressed his mouth to her, his tongue laving across her abdomen, following the thick swipe of custard and sucking it off of her skin. She moaned and he lost his breath imagining how she must look, naked and beautiful and writhing.
“Where are your hands?” he asked.
“Where do you want them to be?”
“On your breasts,” he murmured. “Play with your nipples, like I’d be doing if you’d let me use my hands.”
He heard her breathe deeply and slowly release it. “Okay.”
He found her navel and ran his tongue around it. She’d left some custard there, too, a little bit in the dip that he gathered up and swallowed. He felt her stomach rise with a sharp breath.
“Tell me what you’re doing.” He could picture it vividly, probably too vividly for his own good, but he wanted her to tell him.
There was a moment of silence and he found a spot of custard that he’d missed. He could smell her arousal again, mixed with the sweet scent of vanilla.
“I’m circling my nipples with my fingers,” she began softly. He felt his cock grow harder at the vision of her fingers smoothing over her breasts. He began sucking intently on the sensitive skin right below her belly button. “They’re getting harder, and it feels so good… just imagining it’s your fingers… Gods, you feel so good, Bill.”
He ached to move his mouth lower, to press his face into her sex and explore every inch of soft, slick skin he could find. He missed how she looked and sounded when she came, her thighs tight against his head.
Just wait, wait a little longer.
“I think I got it all,” he said. He rested his cheek on her stomach. He wondered what he looked like with the scarf around his head. Probably pretty silly. What he wouldn’t do for this woman.
“You’re so efficient.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.” He let his hands slide slightly closer to her sides, his thumbs grazing her hips. “So.”
She chuckled. “So.”
“All right,” he said, pulling away from her. “Go ahead. Put it wherever you’d like.”
She was quiet and he waited, then heard the top of the jar being unscrewed.
“Where do you want me to put it?” Her voice was soft and tentative. He felt her hand over his and she pulled it up to her stomach, resting it there. “Or would you like to do it?”
Continued in Chapter 4 tomorrow.