An Act of Reverence | R | Battlestar Galactica
Title: An Act of Reverence
Prompt: God is close to Laura, and through Laura, D’Anna is close to Him.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; Z is for Zipper
Fandom: Laura Roslin/D’Anna, Battlestar Galactica
Requested by: love-capn-raydor
Rating: R
Word Count: 839
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’ve never written for this pairing before, so be kind! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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God has a reason for everything, D’Anna believes, and so she does not question why she’s in the tent of this human woman, or why she is so reverently bestowing kisses along her collarbone. Though Laura Roslin, the former president of the colonies and member of the insurgency, is her adversary, Laura Roslin, the woman of faith, is truly a sight to behold. D’Anna had found her praying, knelt upon a pillow on the ground, eyes closed, face upturned to the heavens. Her pale features had been illuminated by orange candlelight, her lips mouthing words that had obviously been repeated many times before.
It was breathtaking.
She’d closed the flaps of the tent and knelt down beside her, stealing a glance at the ragged prayer book, only drawing Laura’s attention when she unzipped her jacket.
“I’m praying,” Laura had said, and D’Anna had kissed her.
Now Laura is lying back on the tattered throw that serves as a rug over the hard, bare ground, and D’Anna is plying her soft body with kisses. Laura’s eyes are closed and D’Anna wonders if she’s praying again. Do her non-existent gods hear her? Do they answer?
D’Anna does not believe in Laura’s precious Lords of Kobol, but she respects the woman’s unswerving faith. Could she truly have been a vessel of Pythia’s teachings, leading her fulfill her destiny and reach this very moment in time? D’Anna, like other cylons, believes the mistakes of the human fleet have all been a part of God’s plan, but she cannot help but wonder if Laura’s prophecies were an act of God’s will.
She presses apart Laura’s legs, laving her tongue over slick folds. Laura breathes heavily, steadily through her nose, her lips forming words that D’Anna cannot hear. Did God choose Laura Roslin to see His visions? Did He select her for so precious a gift?
D’Anna has so many questions. She is so conflicted by her dreams, so at odds with the other Threes, so torn by her reverence and jealousy of this woman. What had God seen in Laura Roslin that He had not seen in her? Was she not a faithful servant? She licks this most intimate place, swirling her tongue around the hardened nub that forces Laura to gasp, hoping that the answers will be made clear.
There is a very primal part of D’Anna that longs to be rough with Laura. She wants to sink in her teeth, her fingers, leaving marks and drawing blood and forcing sounds from that haughty mouth. She wants to fuck her, to take her pleasure by force. Being between this woman’s legs has done something to her, has calmed her of her urgency. She does not make love to her, because D’Anna has never made love to anyone. This is something so much more than sex. It is an act of faith, of learning. God is close to Laura, and through Laura, D’Anna is close to Him. This, she believes, is no different than paying homage to God in the blessed church of her projections.
When Laura’s climax hits, she is silent. D’Anna can feel her shudder and pulse around her mouth, and D’Anna wonders if she would have called out to her gods if she hadn’t been stubbornly holding back her pleasure from a cylon.
She sits back on her heels when the spasms subside, wiping Laura’s arousal from her chin, and studies the sight before her. The candle is nearly spent, casting its remaining glow about the little tent. The Book of Pythia lies open upon an overturned crate, its pages stained with blood and dirt. Laura has slung an arm over her eyes, as if to return to her body in private.
D’Anna has always pictured faith to be so clean, so holy, so pristine. Laura’s faith is gritty and real, and she wonders if perhaps there is room for all faith to coalesce into one overwhelming burst of ardent prayer to the deity that guides them all through this bleak existence. D’Anna knows that when the candles have burnt out, Laura will pray in the dark. Her prayers, which are addressed to Pythia, will be received by God.
D’Anna gets to her feet and slides back into her jacket. The slow grind of the zipper’s teeth draws Laura’s attention once more. She rises up onto her elbows, her gaze regal, as if she’s not lying naked on the floor.
“Have you gotten what you came here for?” Laura asks, her voice hard, accusing.
D’Anna frowns and whispers honestly, “I don’t know.”
She slips out of the tent without another works, zipping her jacket higher to block out the biting New Caprican winds. She does not feel closer to God. She does not understand the pious serenity of Laura Roslin. She does not know where she fits into God’s plan.
D’Anna has nothing but questions and, as she arranges to have a bundle of candles delivered to Laura’s tent, she wonders if those questions aren’t the true sign of unswerving faith.
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Prompt: God is close to Laura, and through Laura, D’Anna is close to Him.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; Z is for Zipper
Fandom: Laura Roslin/D’Anna, Battlestar Galactica
Requested by: love-capn-raydor
Rating: R
Word Count: 839
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I’ve never written for this pairing before, so be kind! I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
-
God has a reason for everything, D’Anna believes, and so she does not question why she’s in the tent of this human woman, or why she is so reverently bestowing kisses along her collarbone. Though Laura Roslin, the former president of the colonies and member of the insurgency, is her adversary, Laura Roslin, the woman of faith, is truly a sight to behold. D’Anna had found her praying, knelt upon a pillow on the ground, eyes closed, face upturned to the heavens. Her pale features had been illuminated by orange candlelight, her lips mouthing words that had obviously been repeated many times before.
It was breathtaking.
She’d closed the flaps of the tent and knelt down beside her, stealing a glance at the ragged prayer book, only drawing Laura’s attention when she unzipped her jacket.
“I’m praying,” Laura had said, and D’Anna had kissed her.
Now Laura is lying back on the tattered throw that serves as a rug over the hard, bare ground, and D’Anna is plying her soft body with kisses. Laura’s eyes are closed and D’Anna wonders if she’s praying again. Do her non-existent gods hear her? Do they answer?
D’Anna does not believe in Laura’s precious Lords of Kobol, but she respects the woman’s unswerving faith. Could she truly have been a vessel of Pythia’s teachings, leading her fulfill her destiny and reach this very moment in time? D’Anna, like other cylons, believes the mistakes of the human fleet have all been a part of God’s plan, but she cannot help but wonder if Laura’s prophecies were an act of God’s will.
She presses apart Laura’s legs, laving her tongue over slick folds. Laura breathes heavily, steadily through her nose, her lips forming words that D’Anna cannot hear. Did God choose Laura Roslin to see His visions? Did He select her for so precious a gift?
D’Anna has so many questions. She is so conflicted by her dreams, so at odds with the other Threes, so torn by her reverence and jealousy of this woman. What had God seen in Laura Roslin that He had not seen in her? Was she not a faithful servant? She licks this most intimate place, swirling her tongue around the hardened nub that forces Laura to gasp, hoping that the answers will be made clear.
There is a very primal part of D’Anna that longs to be rough with Laura. She wants to sink in her teeth, her fingers, leaving marks and drawing blood and forcing sounds from that haughty mouth. She wants to fuck her, to take her pleasure by force. Being between this woman’s legs has done something to her, has calmed her of her urgency. She does not make love to her, because D’Anna has never made love to anyone. This is something so much more than sex. It is an act of faith, of learning. God is close to Laura, and through Laura, D’Anna is close to Him. This, she believes, is no different than paying homage to God in the blessed church of her projections.
When Laura’s climax hits, she is silent. D’Anna can feel her shudder and pulse around her mouth, and D’Anna wonders if she would have called out to her gods if she hadn’t been stubbornly holding back her pleasure from a cylon.
She sits back on her heels when the spasms subside, wiping Laura’s arousal from her chin, and studies the sight before her. The candle is nearly spent, casting its remaining glow about the little tent. The Book of Pythia lies open upon an overturned crate, its pages stained with blood and dirt. Laura has slung an arm over her eyes, as if to return to her body in private.
D’Anna has always pictured faith to be so clean, so holy, so pristine. Laura’s faith is gritty and real, and she wonders if perhaps there is room for all faith to coalesce into one overwhelming burst of ardent prayer to the deity that guides them all through this bleak existence. D’Anna knows that when the candles have burnt out, Laura will pray in the dark. Her prayers, which are addressed to Pythia, will be received by God.
D’Anna gets to her feet and slides back into her jacket. The slow grind of the zipper’s teeth draws Laura’s attention once more. She rises up onto her elbows, her gaze regal, as if she’s not lying naked on the floor.
“Have you gotten what you came here for?” Laura asks, her voice hard, accusing.
D’Anna frowns and whispers honestly, “I don’t know.”
She slips out of the tent without another works, zipping her jacket higher to block out the biting New Caprican winds. She does not feel closer to God. She does not understand the pious serenity of Laura Roslin. She does not know where she fits into God’s plan.
D’Anna has nothing but questions and, as she arranges to have a bundle of candles delivered to Laura’s tent, she wonders if those questions aren’t the true sign of unswerving faith.
-