BSG Fic...
BSG Fic
Title: Instinct (part 1 of 2)
Author:
snoopy0917
Rating: MA
Pairing: Bill Adama/Laura Roslin
Spoilers: Crossroads Part 1
A/N: It's the sequel to Inevitable (found here and here) and Insane (found here and here)
Many thanks to the lovely and talented
deepforestowl for the beta.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Translation: I own nothing. Merely a laptop, battered 5-star notebook, and fine point Bic pen. And this little story. The characters? SO not mine.
It was instinct.
No rationalization. No self-doubt. No questions or logic or discussion. It was an act entirely devoid of conscious thought. Just impulse and raw emotion.
It wasn’t what he’d wanted at all. It wasn’t what he’d expected. Bill had a plan. He liked plans. Plans were good. They had strategy and careful thought and contingencies. He’d worked on countless scenarios in his head, waiting patiently for the perfect one to develop and the perfect moment to implement it. Until then it was just hypothetical anyway.
It is. Until it isn’t.
Problem was strategic plans never worked in everyday life. If his marriage had taught him anything, it was that. Life was nothing like war. And women rarely reacted the way he expected. But, he was lucky. Laura was a pragmatist. Planned or impulsive didn’t matter as long as the end result was to her liking.
Yes, Laura was flexible. In more than one way as it turned out.
She’d been pissed about something. Really pissed. Anger radiated off her in near tangible waves. His crew scattered as she stalked through his ship, watching him in awed pity as he guided her to his quarters. Her guards watched with undisguised respect as he sealed the hatch, spinning the wheel to lock them away from the rest of the universe.
The lock had barely clanged into place when she began. Her voice, low and dangerous, purged vitriol with every word. Emotion propelled her back and forth across the room, heels wearing a path into his carpet. She hadn’t even removed her shoes - usually the first casualty to a sealed hatch.
She’d had another doctor’s appointment that afternoon.
He listened to her cadence, not her words. Afterwards, he’d never been able to remember the subject of the tirade. Probably Baltar. Or the Quorum. Or maybe Lee. It didn’t matter. The rant was just a cathartic release. A means to dispel the rage and tension and fear twisting her stomach.
Only two more days until treatments started. Fifty-odd hours of phantom health before Cottle hooked her to an IV and pumped poison into her veins.
Bill leaned against the table and watched her. His own emotions caught him by surprise, nerves churning his gut.
He wasn’t expecting it to be so intense. He should have known. It was the end of the world. Everything was intense now. Heightened and distilled into the important bits. There wasn’t anything else. There was nothing left to hope for, to reach towards other than abstract dreams and concepts. Just this. Now. While it lasted.
She transfixed him. Forced his heart into his throat and left him gasping for breath. Just being in the same room with her was enough to leave him dumbfounded, fumbling inside like the boy he hadn’t been in years.
But that was the way desire worked. It wormed its way into your senses. Into your veins. Into your soul. Overtook you. Consumed you. And now that he’d unleashed the idea in his brain, acknowledged it in his waking thoughts, now that he’d accepted it, he couldn’t think of anything else.
Her hands fluttered about, emphasizing each point with delicate firmness. Her hair cascaded past her shoulders, catching the light with each step, illuminating her already flushed skin. Her voice, brimming with passion and intelligence filled his home with the unique vibrancy that was Laura.
She was beautiful.
It seemed inconceivable that death could be growing inside of her.
His hands twitched where they rested safely on the table. His fingers brushed against papers he knew were hers, left behind because she knew she’d return. Pieces of her decorated his cabin. Her books crowded his shelves. Her work cluttered his desk. Her scent lingered in the air long after she’d left.
She was everywhere.
It was good.
And when she stopped near him for breath and affirmation, it was the most natural thing in the world to lean in and kiss her.
Laura forgot how to breathe.
Their second kiss was nothing like the first. It started the same. Slow and soft, his hand reached up to tilt her chin towards him. To align their mouths perfectly and press their lips together. Wet, warm pressure that thrilled her to her toes.
It quickly escalated out of control. She’d parted her lips. To gasp or speak or something. The simple movement slanted her mouth against his, inadvertently opening herself to him. And him to her.
She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t want to. She was tired of waiting. She didn’t have time to wait anymore.
Her tongue slipped into his mouth. His hand left her chin, palm pressing firmly along her jaw until he found her hair. It wove through the strands, pulling her impossibly close. His tongue reached forward to wrestle with hers.
Her arms wound around him. One hand dug through thick hair into his scalp, fusing their mouths together. The other grasped at his back, slid down the vast expanse, lined up their bodies, finally landing on his ass. And squeezing.
Hips collided. She groaned into his mouth, relishing the pained echo that wrenched from his throat.
Things devolved quickly into a blur of hot mouths and aching bodies.
She wasn’t thinking. She couldn’t think. They couldn’t think. The world narrowed to a blur of sensation.
It was perfect.
Hands roamed everywhere. Grasping. Grabbing. Tugging unsuccessfully at clothing. Imprinting the sense memory of flesh and fabric. Her jacket crumpled to the floor. She shimmied backwards, allowing her fingers more room to fight with the complicated fasteners of his uniform. Annoyed at the distance, Bill helped, stripping away the wool with crisp efficiency before his arms reclaimed her.
Her back connected with something solid. Surprise forced the breath from her lungs. The movement dislodged their mouths and they broke, gasping for much needed air. She forced her eyes open and found herself pressed against the wall next to his hatch.
Laura looked into his eyes. Bill looked even more surprised than she felt. She doubted he remembered moving them. His forehead rested against hers as they fought for breath. His eyes clouded as he took in their surroundings, their situation. She could almost see his brain turn back on.
“Laura”
There was something in the way he said her name, infusing it with so much that he refused to express.
A shaky hand smoothed back her hair as he began to disentangle them. Her practical side knew he was right. This was a bad idea. They were both too old for this. And not exactly in stellar health. And it would probably be wise to actually discuss things first.
Life’s a bitch and then you die.
Laura was tired of being responsible.
“Shut the frak up, Bill.”
She yanked him back towards her. Nails dug into his skull as she forced his mouth back to hers. Forced them both to stop thinking and feel. She felt good. She felt incredible. Wanton. Needy. Needed.
Alive.
Her lips left his to caress his face. She kissed and licked across the line of his stubble. Traced the shell of his ear with her teeth before biting the lobe.
Bill’s hands clenched on her waist. He surrendered. She’d known he would.
His mouth dropped to her neck, stubble reddening her skin. His hands possessed her body, roaming freely, trying to absorb every inch of supple flesh. Hers burrowed under his tanks, memorizing every inch of skin she could reach.
He pressed forward, pinning her tight against the wall. Her thigh pushed between his. He growled when she pressed against his cock, hot and hard against her leg, even through the layers of fabric.
His hands reached for the seam of her skirt, pulling it up to her waist, fingers unerringly drawn to the damp spot staining her panties. Her eyes fell closed when he dipped under the satin and touched her.
Her fingers attacked his fly, shoving zippers, buttons, and wool out of the way, until her hand freed his cock. His head shot upwards as she stroked him firmly, setting a hard and fast rhythm. She was done frakking around.
Bill hooked his thumbs into her underwear and shoved them towards the floor. Laura kicked a leg free and locked it around his thigh, pulling him towards her. His hand joined hers on his cock, groaning helplessly as the head first brushed against her wet folds.
They both cried out, inarticulate, as their bodies joined.
It was awkward. It was uncomfortable. The angle was all wrong. The wall was harsh against her back. His knees were too old to support their weight. Yards of fabric restricted both movement and touch.
It was perfect.
He lifted her leg higher around his waist, fighting for the right angle. His hands cupped her ass, digging into the flesh with each thrust. Her body slid further up the wall, hips grinding into his. The sharp edge of her shoe dug into his ass before the rhythmic movements jostled it loose, sending it clattering to the deck. Laura groaned at the lost leverage, raising an arm to grasp at the grooves in the wall, fingers aching as they fought for balance.
Their movements grew frenzied. Need overpowering.
Little desperate noises escaped from her throat with each thrust. They escalated, took on their own life until she chanted his name over and over, transforming the slight syllable into desperate prayer.
Her breathy cries, so close to his ear, so revealing, so close to what he’d dreamed, were too much for him. Bill came, hips snapping up harder into hers, fingers tightening to hold her in place, teeth clamping down involuntarily on the sliver of skin where neck met shoulder. The final bite of pleasure-pain knifed through her senses, shooting her over the edge as well. She thrashed in his arms as pleasure sliced through her limbs.
Absorbed in his climax, Bill was unprepared for her wild movements. They loosened his grip, dislodging their tenuous hold on the wall.
Reality intervened. They slid to the deck in a knot of sweaty limbs and rumpled clothing. The ecstasy slowly drained away, but they made no move to disentangle themselves.
Bill regained some sense of chivalry and shifted, propping himself against the bulkhead. Laura followed, spent limbs draping over his, head dropping to rest against his collarbone. Her uneven breaths tickled his neck. He brushed her hair away from her face, watching the fiery strands stick between his sweaty fingers and her slick forehead. He pressed his lips against her hairline, tasting the salt of her skin.
Laura grimaced as the unpleasant stickiness of sex began to slide down her thigh. She’d have to wear the skirt home when she finally left. And shipping her clothes out for an emergency cleaning could hardly be considered discrete.
Hands tightened at her waist when she moved to get up. Surprised, she sought his eyes and found them slowly filling with worry. And knowing him, self-loathing for taking her roughly against the wall. Never mind that she’d practically demanded it.
Her lips curled upwards as her body throbbed with memory of the climax. Not that she needed any inspiration to smile. She felt positively giddy.
Her hands cupped his face, fingers learning the lines of his cheeks. He leaned into the touch, watching intently as she angled his face just right and pressed her swollen lips to his.
“Bathroom,” She whispered apologetically. “I’ll be right back.”
Her back protested as she stood. He scrambled upwards to help her. Shaky legs eventually remembered how to function. Another soft, stolen kiss, a crinkle of her nose, and she disappeared into the bathroom.
Bill watched her go and willed his brain to catch up. It took a minute but he managed to pull himself together. At least, physically. Refastening his pants didn’t take much thought. He bent to pick up their jackets, shaking creases out of the cloth before draping them over the back of a chair. He looked around the room. Things almost looked normal. Her discarded heels the only evidence of what had transpired. And even those weren’t out of the ordinary. Except, of course, for the pair of navy panties half-stuffed inside one of the shoes.
When she finally emerged from the head, he was on his couch. Elbows on his knees, drink in his hands. Eyes fixed on her shoes and their satiny contents.
She followed his sightline and smiled. Walking over to the couch, she coaxed the glass from his hands, finished the liquor, and sank down next to him.
Unable to keep from touching him, her hand reached out, palm smoothing down his back, feeling the play of muscles flexing under worn cotton as he shifted.
He leaned back against the leather. Her other hand found his face again. He turned his head, kissing her palm tenderly before taking it between his hands. He traced her fingers, the delicate bones and veins, examined the contrast of their skin. Thick fingers slid through slender, interlocking their hands.
“This isn’t what I’d planned.”
She giggled softly at his confession, leaning into him as she rested her head on his shoulder and breathed in his scent. She fit just as he’d known she would. One arm disentangled from hers and crept around her shoulders. Fingers grazed her bicep as he ran them reassuringly up and down her arm. She sighed and burrowed further into the touch. It was just like New Caprica, only their senses were buzzing with a different type of high.
“It was good though,” She drawled, heavy languor slipping into her voice.
“Yeah,” He agreed. He pressed his lips to her forehead again, eyes refocusing on the shoes. Hesitance seeped into his thoughts, as he relived the encounter. Unwelcome, but he couldn’t stopper his thoughts. About the things he should have done differently. Especially the first time.
He shook his head. “This is crazy.”
“True,” She smiled to herself. “You’re not complaining, are you?”
Bill deflected the question. “My knees will later.”
He kissed her slowly, carefully, stopping to taste her. He’d missed her taste earlier in the haze of sensation, hadn’t taken the time to catalogue it. She was warm and sweet, with the hot spice of his liquor on her tongue. She tasted like home.
“Mmm…” She sighed softly when he released her. “You had a speech prepared, didn’t you?”
Bill was too old to blush. Or so he told himself. He grunted instead, knowing she’d see right through the noncommittal gesture.
Laura sat up, resting an elbow on the back of the couch. Bill let his arm drop down to her waist, coaxing blouse away from skirt to claim the small of her back. She rested her head in her free hand and looked down at him.
“Would you like to give it now?” She teased, goading him with her impish grin. The rational part of her couldn’t help but wonder if they should be talking about things. If she knew Bill, he was agonizing over the same thing. Such a fundamental change in their relationship shouldn’t be able to just happen. Without discussion or consideration or examination of how the shift would impact their lives and jobs. How things would be different.
Except, it had happened that way. And things wouldn’t really be different. Almost.
Bill shook his head, clearing them of any maudlin thoughts, “I wouldn’t want to talk you out of anything.”
Laura snorted, eyes lifting to the ceiling in a vain attempt to control her giggles. She couldn’t stop smiling.
“Nothing’s going to change, Bill” She reassured the niggling in both their stomachs. “The only difference is that now we’ll actually be having sex instead of thinking about having it.”
The idea seared through his brain, fanning the sated desire, burning his blood anew.
“You thought about it?” The words threatened to stick in his throat. Which was ridiculous. He knew she thought about it. But to be presented with the bare fact, to hear her admit it…
Laura lowered her mouth to his ear.
“I did more than think about it.” A kiss behind his lobe. “What did you think about, Bill?”
She needed to know, feeling surprisingly insecure.
“You, Laura. I thought about you. Always you.”
“Show me,” She pleaded, feeling her control slipping.
The second time was nothing like the first.
TBC..... here