fic: War Crimes (BSG; Kara/Kendra; adult)
War Crimes
Battlestar Galactica; Kara/Kendra; adult; spoilers through Razor; 812 words
"You keep my secret, sir, I'll keep yours."
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
War Crimes
Kara's not surprised to see Shaw down in the kitchen, though the needle is unexpected. They all have things they'd like to forget, and ways to make that happen, at least for a little while. Kara prefers to drink herself into oblivion, likes the way the edges blur and the world slides out of focus, but the arch of Shaw's eyebrows and the bow of her lips reminds Kara that there are things even better ways to forget than the hard burn of alcohol in her mouth and belly.
She puts the bottle of ambrosia down on the counter with a precise, metallic click and steps into Shaw's personal space. Kara can smell her breath and sweat, the rough soap they use in the showers--everyone smells the same for a few minutes, before body chemistry does its thing, and on Shaw, it's transmuted into something sharp and bitter. Kara imagines it'd sting like cheap booze on her tongue.
She leans in, her mouth a hair's width away from the smooth skin of Shaw's temple, and whispers, "Everyone's got to take the edge off." She figures Shaw will either punch her or kiss her. Kara will consider either a victory, and isn't really sure which reaction she wants more, isn't sure she doesn't want both, and Kendra Shaw is certainly capable of giving her that.
She doesn't get either; Shaw's nostrils flare and her fingers curl into fists, but she doesn't swing.
"I know a better way," Kara says, gaze flicking to the needle and then back to Shaw's face, aware of how Shaw is watching her, eyes wide and wary.
The pink tip of Shaw's tongue pokes out between her lips, giving her away before she can pull it back. "Better way?" she asks, steady, challenging, like she doesn't know exactly what Kara means.
"To take the edge off." Kara allows herself a grin before she presses her lips to Shaw's. Kissing a superior officer could get her in nearly as much trouble as decking one, but the risk is worth it when Shaw gasps against her lips. Kara pushes her tongue into the wet heat of Shaw's mouth, learning the slick surfaces of her teeth, the rough curl of her tongue. Shaw's personality is in her kisses, too--hard, demanding, straightforward, all edges and no give. Kara appreciates that about her, though she'll never admit it.
They stumble back against the counter, hands shoving up under shirts and down into pants, no time or patience for anything slow or fancy. Kara laughs breathlessly; Shaw bites down on her lower lip, a silent shut up, and Kara laughs again, imagining that dark head between her legs, wide mouth and pink tongue licking at her cunt, which tightens deliciously at the thought.
"What are you laughing at?" Shaw demands, her voice rough as gravel in Kara's ear.
"Us. This." She laughs again. "You can't laugh, you'll cry." Shaw raises a skeptical eyebrow, and when she opens her mouth to refute the cliché, Kara covers it with her own again.
She finds the slick heat between Shaw's legs, slides her fingers along the wet folds; she closes her eyes, licks at the sweat beading above Shaw's upper lip and collecting in the hollow of her throat. She pushes her fingers in and out in the tight space of Shaw's pants, thumb finding her clit and circling roughly, wringing a hoarse cry from her throat that makes Kara grin. She dips her head, mouths at the hard nipples poking at Shaw's shirt, and loses her concentration when Shaw's fingers flick over her own clit.
"I figured you'd know your way around," Kara murmurs, still with that reckless edge of laughter in her voice, which breaks into a gasp when Shaw nips her earlobe.
"Shut up," Shaw orders, and for once, Kara obeys.
They're all business then, soft, wet sounds and bitten-off curses until the bright, hot pulse of pleasure makes everything else fall away, small taste of oblivion even sweeter than ambrosia, the only thing better than flying, and Kara craves it like air, wants it to last forever. Knows it never does.
She pulls back before Shaw can push her away, wipes her glistening fingers on her pants. Shaw's lips are red and kiss-swollen, still slack with pleasure, and her eyes are heavy-lidded, hidden.
They clean up in silence, the air thick with the scent of sex they'll pretend they never had, at least until the next time.
Kara allows herself another small smile, bitter this time. She grabs the bottle she'd put down earlier. "You keep my secret, sir, I'll keep yours."
Shaw gives her a sharp nod, complicit and not happy about it, one more secret sinking between them.
Kara goes back to her rack, bottle ready for when the post-frak lethargy wears off, trading one kind of oblivion for another.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
Battlestar Galactica; Kara/Kendra; adult; spoilers through Razor; 812 words
"You keep my secret, sir, I'll keep yours."
Thanks to luzdeestrellas for betaing. Written for the West Wing title project.
~*~
War Crimes
Kara's not surprised to see Shaw down in the kitchen, though the needle is unexpected. They all have things they'd like to forget, and ways to make that happen, at least for a little while. Kara prefers to drink herself into oblivion, likes the way the edges blur and the world slides out of focus, but the arch of Shaw's eyebrows and the bow of her lips reminds Kara that there are things even better ways to forget than the hard burn of alcohol in her mouth and belly.
She puts the bottle of ambrosia down on the counter with a precise, metallic click and steps into Shaw's personal space. Kara can smell her breath and sweat, the rough soap they use in the showers--everyone smells the same for a few minutes, before body chemistry does its thing, and on Shaw, it's transmuted into something sharp and bitter. Kara imagines it'd sting like cheap booze on her tongue.
She leans in, her mouth a hair's width away from the smooth skin of Shaw's temple, and whispers, "Everyone's got to take the edge off." She figures Shaw will either punch her or kiss her. Kara will consider either a victory, and isn't really sure which reaction she wants more, isn't sure she doesn't want both, and Kendra Shaw is certainly capable of giving her that.
She doesn't get either; Shaw's nostrils flare and her fingers curl into fists, but she doesn't swing.
"I know a better way," Kara says, gaze flicking to the needle and then back to Shaw's face, aware of how Shaw is watching her, eyes wide and wary.
The pink tip of Shaw's tongue pokes out between her lips, giving her away before she can pull it back. "Better way?" she asks, steady, challenging, like she doesn't know exactly what Kara means.
"To take the edge off." Kara allows herself a grin before she presses her lips to Shaw's. Kissing a superior officer could get her in nearly as much trouble as decking one, but the risk is worth it when Shaw gasps against her lips. Kara pushes her tongue into the wet heat of Shaw's mouth, learning the slick surfaces of her teeth, the rough curl of her tongue. Shaw's personality is in her kisses, too--hard, demanding, straightforward, all edges and no give. Kara appreciates that about her, though she'll never admit it.
They stumble back against the counter, hands shoving up under shirts and down into pants, no time or patience for anything slow or fancy. Kara laughs breathlessly; Shaw bites down on her lower lip, a silent shut up, and Kara laughs again, imagining that dark head between her legs, wide mouth and pink tongue licking at her cunt, which tightens deliciously at the thought.
"What are you laughing at?" Shaw demands, her voice rough as gravel in Kara's ear.
"Us. This." She laughs again. "You can't laugh, you'll cry." Shaw raises a skeptical eyebrow, and when she opens her mouth to refute the cliché, Kara covers it with her own again.
She finds the slick heat between Shaw's legs, slides her fingers along the wet folds; she closes her eyes, licks at the sweat beading above Shaw's upper lip and collecting in the hollow of her throat. She pushes her fingers in and out in the tight space of Shaw's pants, thumb finding her clit and circling roughly, wringing a hoarse cry from her throat that makes Kara grin. She dips her head, mouths at the hard nipples poking at Shaw's shirt, and loses her concentration when Shaw's fingers flick over her own clit.
"I figured you'd know your way around," Kara murmurs, still with that reckless edge of laughter in her voice, which breaks into a gasp when Shaw nips her earlobe.
"Shut up," Shaw orders, and for once, Kara obeys.
They're all business then, soft, wet sounds and bitten-off curses until the bright, hot pulse of pleasure makes everything else fall away, small taste of oblivion even sweeter than ambrosia, the only thing better than flying, and Kara craves it like air, wants it to last forever. Knows it never does.
She pulls back before Shaw can push her away, wipes her glistening fingers on her pants. Shaw's lips are red and kiss-swollen, still slack with pleasure, and her eyes are heavy-lidded, hidden.
They clean up in silence, the air thick with the scent of sex they'll pretend they never had, at least until the next time.
Kara allows herself another small smile, bitter this time. She grabs the bottle she'd put down earlier. "You keep my secret, sir, I'll keep yours."
Shaw gives her a sharp nod, complicit and not happy about it, one more secret sinking between them.
Kara goes back to her rack, bottle ready for when the post-frak lethargy wears off, trading one kind of oblivion for another.
end
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~