New girl!RayK/Starbuck fic
This is written for the
ds_shakespeare challenge, for prompt 130: For the rain it raineth every day.
Author:
llassah
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica/due South crossover
Pairing: Girl!RayK/Starbuck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1960 words
Notes: This takes place in the same universe as the fic I wrote for the amnesty 2006 challenge, for the genderfuck prompt, here . It is a prequel of sorts, although I am using the ‘for reasons that don’t need exploring at this juncture’ mantra here. There needs to be backstory: one day, maybe there will be, but Ray Kowalski was turned into a girl on the quest somehow, and has run back to Chicago. This is Starbuck, on reaching earth. There are references to Maelstrom (these are possibly spoilerish, but obliquely. Fair warning.)
Always seems to be raining, here. All greyness, looming skies, rusty metal and faded, crumbling brick. The sky, though, the fact she can actually see the sky, not the ceilings of the Battlestar, or black, looming space, or a planet full of whispers and memories, of old traps and newer treacheries-
She looks at the sky a lot, here.
She got a pension when they dispersed, a pension, social security number, medical insurance, and a passport- Kara Thrace, a picture of her on Caprica looking young, so young- so she gets by.
She spends the time reading mostly, reading Virgil, Ovid, familiar stories twisted into unfamiliar shapes. There were brushes at the hardware store, brushes her fingers twitched towards so she shoved them into the pockets of her coat, went back to looking for picture hooks.
Picture hooks. Frakking weird sort of domesticity here, waiting for something to happen, for the call that she is needed to do her duty, to risk herself when all the time she knows there is no fight really, and that under anyone other than the old man, she’d be court marshalled faster than you can say ‘insubordination’. Picture hooks, an apartment she rents, because admitting she’s here to stay is just…
Picture hooks, curtains, cushions. She hangs one set, decides to screw the rest and undresses with the lights off. The cushions go without covers, and she spends the money she would have spent on making the apartment look like home on books. The picture hooks stay in the same drawer as the few pictures she still has, there is a suitcase by her apartment door, and she waits, and she keeps on waiting.
Three months, and she’s used to waiting, doesn’t really care if she never stops.
There is a darts board in one of the bars in Halstead she can’t look at for too long. It makes her think of white paint and overalls, until she can feel him, almost touch him and suddenly the barman’s wearing his smile and she stumbles out into the night, lies on top of the coverlet, writhing, biting her lip as the heel of her hand rubs against her clit, two fingers stroking inside, slick and warm, gripped tightly as she arches, gasp harsh in the quiet of the early morning. It’s not love. Connection, maybe, not love. She sees him everywhere. Her forehead is beaded with sweat and she’s shaking with something more than tired. She breathes in and out, in and out and follows the cracks in the ceilings with her eyes.
Next day, she sees her. Sitting in a bar- a different bar, this time, a couple of blocks away from her apartment. She does a double take, because it’s him, same face, but sweeter lips, slightly longer hair, darker lashes, softer skin. It’s like she’s his sister or something, but much as she looks like him, she’s still…not.
She catches Starbuck looking, checks her out with a broad smile that makes her think of wolves, then seems to check herself, blush, swear and take a swig of her drink. Starbuck does the same to her, like she would back on Galactica, not leaving any room for doubt of what she wants, and the girl’s smile is disbelieving, then back to wolfish. Starbuck stands up, drains the dregs of her drink and jerks her head to the door.
It’s raining outside. She tips her head back, droplets cooling, trickling down her throat, onto her collarbone. Everything feels sharp, bright, clear. There’s a storm coming.
“I don’t usually do this. I mean, uh, this. I don’t…Christ. Fucking sick of this. Shit was simpler when I-”
She breaks off. Starbuck can hear her pacing, two steps one way, one step the other.
“What’s your name?” she asks, not turning round.
“Ray. I know, funny name for a girl. It’s…it’s a long story.”
Nervous. It’s cute. “I’m Starbuck. Longer story. Do you want this?”
“I- Yeah.”
She turns around now, turns to face her -Ray- , brings up a hand to touch her face, showing her the tenderness Leoben used to…she was tender to him, sometimes, but it was more confused than this, not as sweet as the rain hammering down, loud music blaring from the bar, cars driving past, just her and Ray, simple.
Layered.
“My apartment’s a couple of blocks away. You wanna go there?”
A nod, then this little dance on the spot and she’s off walking, faster than most people, like she’s in training for something. Starbuck likes keeping pace with her, their shoulders bump together, they don’t need to talk, and sometimes Ray looks at her, grins. They kiss once, in the light from a shop window. Ray tastes sweet, kisses well, hand warm on the back of her neck, pulling her in close. More demanding than Leoben, weirdly, like she’s proving something by kissing her. A car comes round the corner; they break apart and walk on. They don’t bother seeking shelter from the rain; by the time they climb the stairs to her apartment, they’re soaking, water dripping from their hair. Ray’s vest clings to her, seethrough over her bra, bracelet beaded with water glinting on dull metal beads. Ray doesn’t seem to care, kisses her recklessly in the stairwell, presses her against the banister halfway up, grins at her, runs a hand through her hair and smiles a sharp fighter’s smile.
Gloves off, Starbuck thinks, giddily, absurdly.
She unlocks the door, half stumbles in. Ray reaches for the light switch, but she catches her wrist, jerking her head to the lack of curtains, then backs her to the door, kissing her, pinning her to the door, their fingers intertwined. Ray doesn’t stop moving- with, into, against, taking her boots off, kicking them away, still kissing- so it’s like they’re dancing. She has none of Leoben’s impatience, but something in the way Ray kisses, the little moans, the way her tongue skims over Starbuck’s lips is like a trigger, other times, other doors-
Other walls.
“You want this?” she whispers, giving her another chance, another out.
“I want it.”
She takes a step back and grins, feeling like she’s in her Viper again, powerful, on the edge of control just about to fall into-
Into Ray, into another kiss as Ray closes in on her, backs her against the wall and they move, skimming off the wall like they’re dancing, fighting over who will lead. Through to the bedroom, streetlights casting a yellow glow over half of the bed, casting the rest in shadows. Ray’s hurried, peeling off her vest and bra and looking at Starbuck almost defiantly, as if she expects her to find her unusual in some way. She’s skinny, too skinny, hipbones jutting out, ribs faintly outlined.
“You gonna stare all night?” Ray asks, hands going to the fly of her jeans. Starbuck takes the challenge, moves in close again and backs Ray up until her knees hit the edge of the bed. She reaches round, undoes Ray’s bra and slips it off her shoulders, grinning as Ray tries to keep her balance.
“I could, I guess. Keep you here and just look at you.”
They’re almost kissing; she breathes the words, leaning in and licking the side of Ray’s neck, lightly.
“I…I, uh prefer interaction,” Ray husks, hands tugging at the hem of Starbuck’s top. It’s damp still, warmed up to her body temperature. She shivers when it’s off, skin chilled, exposed. Ray’s clumsier with the bra, and she makes her clumsier, licking a long line down, from her throat to her collarbone, rainwater mixing with sweat. Ray keeps her balance, shifts so her legs are a shoulder width apart, letting Starbuck in closer, skin on skin. She’s about half a head taller than Starbuck, lanky with it but with a wiry strength that she doesn’t really expect in a civilian, so when Ray pulls her backwards with her onto the bed she lands on her back, taken by surprise.
She’s still wearing her boots. She’s still wearing her boots, and Ray’s kissing her, hands fumbling with the zipper of her pants so she feels like a fish drowning in air, trying to toe her boots off the get close to Ray who laughs into her mouth then gasps as she finally gets her boots and pants off, then rolls them so she’s on top of Ray.
“Stay,” she whispers, nipping at Ray’s lower lip. Ray looks like she wants to move again, so she undoes her jeans quickly, pulls them down and then off. Ray’s going commando, and she wants to look again, to pin her down and memorise every detail, but she’ll move again. She’s tense enough already, like she’ll spook at any moment, like she’s not used to any of this. She kisses her again, enjoys the feeling of closeness, of warmth until she calms down again. Strokes her, down her sides to her hips, then her flanks, then between her legs, to damp curls and soft skin. Gentling motions turn to teasing, making Ray gasp as she brings her finger up to Ray’s clit, down and in, firmer now until Ray’s clenched around her, stomach muscles trembling.
Arousal rests aching and heavy in her, fullness and emptiness at the same time, fed by her swearing, her gasps, the way she doesn’t quite know what to do with her body. Ray brings one of her arms up, tries to shield her face, bite her forearm to stop the noises from escaping. Starbuck stills her hand, abruptly, doesn’t need to tell Ray why. She kisses Ray instead, twines herself around her until it’s like they’re some sort of Ouroboros, until it feels like they can’t get any closer.
Ray’s close, making these little whimpers into Starbuck’s mouth, jerking her hips up, greedy for more, beyond shame and uncertainty, her hands gripping Starbuck’s back, clinging to her, tighter, closer, harder and she’s coming, tipping her head back, body bowstring-tense, nails digging into Starbuck’s back, too bitten-down to draw blood. She relaxes all at once, eyes closed, breathing unevenly. She’s still fluttering around Starbuck’s hand, and cries out, still sensitive when Starbuck pulls her fingers out.
Frakk, it’s been a while since she’s spent that long ignoring her own need, and she rolls over so she’s on her back, next to Ray, covers cool and dry, her skin hot and feversweaty. Her hands are still callused from flying, fingerpads rough as she drags them down from her collarbone, brushing them against her nipples, then-
Then Ray’s there, and it’s like she knows Starbuck’s body better than she knows her own, kissing her briefly then grasping her hips, and Starbuck can hardly believe she’s doing this, she’s so frakking confusing. Kisses down her stomach, breath hot, inflaming, then to her hipbone, sucking on the skin there, lazy, marking until Starbuck wants to shout at her, hurry her on. She bunches her fists in the covers, bites her lip. Slow tease, little touches directing where she wants Starbuck’s legs to go, and Starbuck’s left to feel, react.
Lightning. Wind’s up, too. She flies into it with Ray’s mouth, Ray’s tongue, cries into the storm until it feels like she’s gonna fall, plummet, and Ray’s there like Leoben was, always there, watching, waiting and she can’t think, can’t breathe, can only fall and need. Bright lights against tight shut eyes and it feels like she’s dying all over again. More layers to this, her fingers twisting in the coverlets, arching, sobbing and then-
Quiet. Quiet and calm. She breathes deeply, the lightning just lightning, Ray just Ray, her world back to being upside down. They go over to the bedroom window and watch the storm some more.
ds_shakespeare challenge, for prompt 130: For the rain it raineth every day.
Author:
llassah
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica/due South crossover
Pairing: Girl!RayK/Starbuck
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1960 words
Notes: This takes place in the same universe as the fic I wrote for the amnesty 2006 challenge, for the genderfuck prompt, here . It is a prequel of sorts, although I am using the ‘for reasons that don’t need exploring at this juncture’ mantra here. There needs to be backstory: one day, maybe there will be, but Ray Kowalski was turned into a girl on the quest somehow, and has run back to Chicago. This is Starbuck, on reaching earth. There are references to Maelstrom (these are possibly spoilerish, but obliquely. Fair warning.)
Always seems to be raining, here. All greyness, looming skies, rusty metal and faded, crumbling brick. The sky, though, the fact she can actually see the sky, not the ceilings of the Battlestar, or black, looming space, or a planet full of whispers and memories, of old traps and newer treacheries-
She looks at the sky a lot, here.
She got a pension when they dispersed, a pension, social security number, medical insurance, and a passport- Kara Thrace, a picture of her on Caprica looking young, so young- so she gets by.
She spends the time reading mostly, reading Virgil, Ovid, familiar stories twisted into unfamiliar shapes. There were brushes at the hardware store, brushes her fingers twitched towards so she shoved them into the pockets of her coat, went back to looking for picture hooks.
Picture hooks. Frakking weird sort of domesticity here, waiting for something to happen, for the call that she is needed to do her duty, to risk herself when all the time she knows there is no fight really, and that under anyone other than the old man, she’d be court marshalled faster than you can say ‘insubordination’. Picture hooks, an apartment she rents, because admitting she’s here to stay is just…
Picture hooks, curtains, cushions. She hangs one set, decides to screw the rest and undresses with the lights off. The cushions go without covers, and she spends the money she would have spent on making the apartment look like home on books. The picture hooks stay in the same drawer as the few pictures she still has, there is a suitcase by her apartment door, and she waits, and she keeps on waiting.
Three months, and she’s used to waiting, doesn’t really care if she never stops.
There is a darts board in one of the bars in Halstead she can’t look at for too long. It makes her think of white paint and overalls, until she can feel him, almost touch him and suddenly the barman’s wearing his smile and she stumbles out into the night, lies on top of the coverlet, writhing, biting her lip as the heel of her hand rubs against her clit, two fingers stroking inside, slick and warm, gripped tightly as she arches, gasp harsh in the quiet of the early morning. It’s not love. Connection, maybe, not love. She sees him everywhere. Her forehead is beaded with sweat and she’s shaking with something more than tired. She breathes in and out, in and out and follows the cracks in the ceilings with her eyes.
Next day, she sees her. Sitting in a bar- a different bar, this time, a couple of blocks away from her apartment. She does a double take, because it’s him, same face, but sweeter lips, slightly longer hair, darker lashes, softer skin. It’s like she’s his sister or something, but much as she looks like him, she’s still…not.
She catches Starbuck looking, checks her out with a broad smile that makes her think of wolves, then seems to check herself, blush, swear and take a swig of her drink. Starbuck does the same to her, like she would back on Galactica, not leaving any room for doubt of what she wants, and the girl’s smile is disbelieving, then back to wolfish. Starbuck stands up, drains the dregs of her drink and jerks her head to the door.
It’s raining outside. She tips her head back, droplets cooling, trickling down her throat, onto her collarbone. Everything feels sharp, bright, clear. There’s a storm coming.
“I don’t usually do this. I mean, uh, this. I don’t…Christ. Fucking sick of this. Shit was simpler when I-”
She breaks off. Starbuck can hear her pacing, two steps one way, one step the other.
“What’s your name?” she asks, not turning round.
“Ray. I know, funny name for a girl. It’s…it’s a long story.”
Nervous. It’s cute. “I’m Starbuck. Longer story. Do you want this?”
“I- Yeah.”
She turns around now, turns to face her -Ray- , brings up a hand to touch her face, showing her the tenderness Leoben used to…she was tender to him, sometimes, but it was more confused than this, not as sweet as the rain hammering down, loud music blaring from the bar, cars driving past, just her and Ray, simple.
Layered.
“My apartment’s a couple of blocks away. You wanna go there?”
A nod, then this little dance on the spot and she’s off walking, faster than most people, like she’s in training for something. Starbuck likes keeping pace with her, their shoulders bump together, they don’t need to talk, and sometimes Ray looks at her, grins. They kiss once, in the light from a shop window. Ray tastes sweet, kisses well, hand warm on the back of her neck, pulling her in close. More demanding than Leoben, weirdly, like she’s proving something by kissing her. A car comes round the corner; they break apart and walk on. They don’t bother seeking shelter from the rain; by the time they climb the stairs to her apartment, they’re soaking, water dripping from their hair. Ray’s vest clings to her, seethrough over her bra, bracelet beaded with water glinting on dull metal beads. Ray doesn’t seem to care, kisses her recklessly in the stairwell, presses her against the banister halfway up, grins at her, runs a hand through her hair and smiles a sharp fighter’s smile.
Gloves off, Starbuck thinks, giddily, absurdly.
She unlocks the door, half stumbles in. Ray reaches for the light switch, but she catches her wrist, jerking her head to the lack of curtains, then backs her to the door, kissing her, pinning her to the door, their fingers intertwined. Ray doesn’t stop moving- with, into, against, taking her boots off, kicking them away, still kissing- so it’s like they’re dancing. She has none of Leoben’s impatience, but something in the way Ray kisses, the little moans, the way her tongue skims over Starbuck’s lips is like a trigger, other times, other doors-
Other walls.
“You want this?” she whispers, giving her another chance, another out.
“I want it.”
She takes a step back and grins, feeling like she’s in her Viper again, powerful, on the edge of control just about to fall into-
Into Ray, into another kiss as Ray closes in on her, backs her against the wall and they move, skimming off the wall like they’re dancing, fighting over who will lead. Through to the bedroom, streetlights casting a yellow glow over half of the bed, casting the rest in shadows. Ray’s hurried, peeling off her vest and bra and looking at Starbuck almost defiantly, as if she expects her to find her unusual in some way. She’s skinny, too skinny, hipbones jutting out, ribs faintly outlined.
“You gonna stare all night?” Ray asks, hands going to the fly of her jeans. Starbuck takes the challenge, moves in close again and backs Ray up until her knees hit the edge of the bed. She reaches round, undoes Ray’s bra and slips it off her shoulders, grinning as Ray tries to keep her balance.
“I could, I guess. Keep you here and just look at you.”
They’re almost kissing; she breathes the words, leaning in and licking the side of Ray’s neck, lightly.
“I…I, uh prefer interaction,” Ray husks, hands tugging at the hem of Starbuck’s top. It’s damp still, warmed up to her body temperature. She shivers when it’s off, skin chilled, exposed. Ray’s clumsier with the bra, and she makes her clumsier, licking a long line down, from her throat to her collarbone, rainwater mixing with sweat. Ray keeps her balance, shifts so her legs are a shoulder width apart, letting Starbuck in closer, skin on skin. She’s about half a head taller than Starbuck, lanky with it but with a wiry strength that she doesn’t really expect in a civilian, so when Ray pulls her backwards with her onto the bed she lands on her back, taken by surprise.
She’s still wearing her boots. She’s still wearing her boots, and Ray’s kissing her, hands fumbling with the zipper of her pants so she feels like a fish drowning in air, trying to toe her boots off the get close to Ray who laughs into her mouth then gasps as she finally gets her boots and pants off, then rolls them so she’s on top of Ray.
“Stay,” she whispers, nipping at Ray’s lower lip. Ray looks like she wants to move again, so she undoes her jeans quickly, pulls them down and then off. Ray’s going commando, and she wants to look again, to pin her down and memorise every detail, but she’ll move again. She’s tense enough already, like she’ll spook at any moment, like she’s not used to any of this. She kisses her again, enjoys the feeling of closeness, of warmth until she calms down again. Strokes her, down her sides to her hips, then her flanks, then between her legs, to damp curls and soft skin. Gentling motions turn to teasing, making Ray gasp as she brings her finger up to Ray’s clit, down and in, firmer now until Ray’s clenched around her, stomach muscles trembling.
Arousal rests aching and heavy in her, fullness and emptiness at the same time, fed by her swearing, her gasps, the way she doesn’t quite know what to do with her body. Ray brings one of her arms up, tries to shield her face, bite her forearm to stop the noises from escaping. Starbuck stills her hand, abruptly, doesn’t need to tell Ray why. She kisses Ray instead, twines herself around her until it’s like they’re some sort of Ouroboros, until it feels like they can’t get any closer.
Ray’s close, making these little whimpers into Starbuck’s mouth, jerking her hips up, greedy for more, beyond shame and uncertainty, her hands gripping Starbuck’s back, clinging to her, tighter, closer, harder and she’s coming, tipping her head back, body bowstring-tense, nails digging into Starbuck’s back, too bitten-down to draw blood. She relaxes all at once, eyes closed, breathing unevenly. She’s still fluttering around Starbuck’s hand, and cries out, still sensitive when Starbuck pulls her fingers out.
Frakk, it’s been a while since she’s spent that long ignoring her own need, and she rolls over so she’s on her back, next to Ray, covers cool and dry, her skin hot and feversweaty. Her hands are still callused from flying, fingerpads rough as she drags them down from her collarbone, brushing them against her nipples, then-
Then Ray’s there, and it’s like she knows Starbuck’s body better than she knows her own, kissing her briefly then grasping her hips, and Starbuck can hardly believe she’s doing this, she’s so frakking confusing. Kisses down her stomach, breath hot, inflaming, then to her hipbone, sucking on the skin there, lazy, marking until Starbuck wants to shout at her, hurry her on. She bunches her fists in the covers, bites her lip. Slow tease, little touches directing where she wants Starbuck’s legs to go, and Starbuck’s left to feel, react.
Lightning. Wind’s up, too. She flies into it with Ray’s mouth, Ray’s tongue, cries into the storm until it feels like she’s gonna fall, plummet, and Ray’s there like Leoben was, always there, watching, waiting and she can’t think, can’t breathe, can only fall and need. Bright lights against tight shut eyes and it feels like she’s dying all over again. More layers to this, her fingers twisting in the coverlets, arching, sobbing and then-
Quiet. Quiet and calm. She breathes deeply, the lightning just lightning, Ray just Ray, her world back to being upside down. They go over to the bedroom window and watch the storm some more.