Christmas Ficathon: Day 2
Title: Mindfrakk
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Characters: Baltar, Head!Six
Rating: R
Word Count: 356
Summary: It's all in the mind. Takes place during season 1-ish. No major spoilers to speak of.
For narcissisma, who is as freakishly obsessed with Six/Baltar's twisted relationship as I am.
Tangled limbs, twisted sheets, and the sweet tang of sweat, so tactile he could feel her skin under the pads of his even when she was gone. It didn’t signify if she were human or cylon, real or in his head, a sign of his guilty conscience or a mark of his slipping sanity - he reveled in the feel of her wrapped around him. It was hardly making love, and so much more than frakking - it was blissful, stellar, euphoric. No woman, no human, moved like she did.
It thrilled him, how the hunter became the hunted. Fond as he was of the chase, there was something wonderfully erotic about surrendering to her. It would have been useless to resist, though he could hardly fathom why he’d want to; she was like a force of nature, unstoppable and demanding, and he wanted nothing more than to drown in her. She was in control in all things except one: that first exquisite thrust. She always allowed him that, whether for his pride or because she simply enjoyed it that way. It didn’t matter; he looked forward to the feeling of sliding into her slick, wet heat more than anything.
“Gaius?” Breath, unnaturally hot and thick brushed across his neck. The velvet touch of lips against his day’s growth of stubble brought his thoughts back. His eyes fluttered open.
She was astride him, naked and gloriously pale. The sun spilling golden through her hair was his first indication this wasn’t real. There was no sunlight in his bunk. Still, it certainly felt real. She shifted slightly, hands pressing into his shoulders. It most definitely felt real. He was hard inside her.
“You’re not real.” His breath hitched on the last word as she rolled her hips against him.
“Am I not?” Her lips parted in a smile, green eyes flickering mischievously before she caught his lip between her teeth and began to thrust in earnest.
His hands settled at her breasts, cupping and brushing his thumbs across her swollen nipples. He abandoned all coherent thought; reality, dream, or insanity, he’d have been a fool not to enjoy himself.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Characters: Baltar, Head!Six
Rating: R
Word Count: 356
Summary: It's all in the mind. Takes place during season 1-ish. No major spoilers to speak of.
For narcissisma, who is as freakishly obsessed with Six/Baltar's twisted relationship as I am.
Tangled limbs, twisted sheets, and the sweet tang of sweat, so tactile he could feel her skin under the pads of his even when she was gone. It didn’t signify if she were human or cylon, real or in his head, a sign of his guilty conscience or a mark of his slipping sanity - he reveled in the feel of her wrapped around him. It was hardly making love, and so much more than frakking - it was blissful, stellar, euphoric. No woman, no human, moved like she did.
It thrilled him, how the hunter became the hunted. Fond as he was of the chase, there was something wonderfully erotic about surrendering to her. It would have been useless to resist, though he could hardly fathom why he’d want to; she was like a force of nature, unstoppable and demanding, and he wanted nothing more than to drown in her. She was in control in all things except one: that first exquisite thrust. She always allowed him that, whether for his pride or because she simply enjoyed it that way. It didn’t matter; he looked forward to the feeling of sliding into her slick, wet heat more than anything.
“Gaius?” Breath, unnaturally hot and thick brushed across his neck. The velvet touch of lips against his day’s growth of stubble brought his thoughts back. His eyes fluttered open.
She was astride him, naked and gloriously pale. The sun spilling golden through her hair was his first indication this wasn’t real. There was no sunlight in his bunk. Still, it certainly felt real. She shifted slightly, hands pressing into his shoulders. It most definitely felt real. He was hard inside her.
“You’re not real.” His breath hitched on the last word as she rolled her hips against him.
“Am I not?” Her lips parted in a smile, green eyes flickering mischievously before she caught his lip between her teeth and began to thrust in earnest.
His hands settled at her breasts, cupping and brushing his thumbs across her swollen nipples. He abandoned all coherent thought; reality, dream, or insanity, he’d have been a fool not to enjoy himself.