[Fic] Get To Sea (BSG)
Title: Get To Sea
Pairing: Battlestar Galactica, Kara/Sam
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: Kara allows Sam the privilege of taking her to his beachfront vacation home (No-attacks Caprica AU). Written for bsg_kink Friday Night Fun Post, "Kara/Sam, the beach."
Author's Note: Title quote/Sam's speech courtesy of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. This is some literary porn, bitches.
It all started when Sam asked if she wanted to get out of Delphi for the weekend, to the beach.
Well, that’s not true. It all started when her A/C has been broken since forever, and also when she isn’t the kind of woman to allow her boyfriend to pay to get it fixed, millionaire pyramid superstar or no. But her apartment really was too hot to stay in (and much too hot to frak in), and he preferred to stay out of Caprica City as much as he could, during the off-season.
“Okay,” she finally agreed. “But I don’t want you to go all out on some ridiculous resort.”
“Resort?” Sam asked with a scoff. “Please. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth, whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul,” he rambled, and she wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but the sound of his voice was soothing in the sleepy heat of the afternoon, so she decided to let him finish. “Whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”
She blinked. “You done yet?”
“I was quoting one of Picon’s greatest literary treasures, you landlubbing savage.”
“And frakking proud of it. Remind me of your point? I lost track around the time you opened your mouth.”
“First thing this Fish did when he got to Caprica was buy a little place on the ocean in Qualai.”
And Kara should have known better than to trust him. “Little place?” she scoffed days later as she pulled her jeep through the gates and parked in front of the veritable mansion.
“You should see Sue-Shaun’s complex on Canceron,” Sam said with a shrug as he climbed out of the passenger seat. “I think it has its own zip code.”
And she kept it together. She kept it together all during the tour-the regulation pyramid court on the front lawn, the hot tub-containing master bathroom bigger than her whole apartment, the wet bar fully stocked with ambrosia that cost more than she made in a month. She never allowed any clue that his social status had anything to do with why she was frakking him.
Because it did not. Lieutenant Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, best frakkin' Viper jock in the Colonial Fleet, thank you, was no gold-digger, and she certainly was no breathless fangirl, either. Also, she really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
But.
But…there were some moments when she realized, truly realized, that her boyfriend Sam was The Samuel T Anders (and he was, by the way, just as coy with her as he was with the press about what the “T” stood for, so she secretly decided it was “Terrific-In-Bed” but told him with zero ceremony that she assumed it was something mortifying) and it thrilled her.
And the patio terrace was one of those moments.
It was made of light-colored wood, shaded by palm trees, with stairs that led down to the water. But that wasn’t what made her gasp-it was the view:
“Sun setting over the ocean” didn’t begin to describe it. The sun itself was red, and the dusting of cirrus clouds a glowing orange, which stood out against the cobalt sky. The water itself was a rippling orange-and-purple, and she could see the dark outlines of little sailboats in the distance, and pinpoints of red and green navigation lights beginning to flicker on. It was gorgeous.
Sam kicked off his shoes and grabbed Kara's hand, pulling her down the stairs and onto the sand. She left her shoes behind, too, and soon they were running down the beach, the still-warm sand beneath their bare toes.
He stopped at the water’s edge and pulled off his shirt. This was a view, too, she greatly admired, no matter how many times she saw it. She pulled him in close and ran her fingers over the muscles of his arms as they kissed.
“Let’s go for a swim,” he suggested.
“Left my bathing suit up in your lair,” she said.
“Didn’t take you for the modest type,” he teased, and his hands were warm on her skin, under her shirt. Before she had time to react, her bra was unhooked, the sneaky bastard.
They quickly shed their clothes and he shallow dove, surfacing in a spray of salt water. Her entry into the ocean wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, a fully upright walk, her hands held out above the waterline, her upper body dry. They met at waist-deep. Sam pulled her in for a kiss this time, his body damp against hers. She couldn’t resist running her hands through his hair, usually artfully tousled but now limp and wet.
Mid-kiss, he got one leg between hers and she moaned into his mouth, lifting her thigh to brush against his cock. And then-
And then he dunked her.
Kara's ass hit the ocean bottom before she was able to get her feet back under her. She sputtered as she rose out of the water, slicking her hair out of her face. “That was the move of a man who doesn’t want to have any sex for the rest of the weekend,” she said.
But Sam just grinned, the wicked one he always gave her when he gained the upper hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “The look on your face was almost worth it.”
She pounced on him, but he was too well-planted until she drove him back into deeper water, and then they were both sputtering, wrestling, groping. There was no place on her body he wouldn’t put his hands in the service of a good dunk, but she discovered pretty quickly that his height could work to her advantage when she climbed on his shoulders.
By the time they made it back to the shore, they were exhausted, panting heavily, blowing salt water out of their nasal cavities. The stars were starting to come out above them, and he lay flat on his back, hands folded beneath his head. Stargazing didn’t really mean much to her, not when the view from her cockpit was far more impressive, so she wasted no time in climbing on top of him, straddling his lower body between her legs.
“Oh, no,” Sam said, putting a hand on her chest. “Not here. You’ll be cursing me days from now when you’re still finding sand in all kinds of places it shouldn’t be.”
They rinsed off with the hose, just an ordinary green hose like the ones she she’d played in during hot summers as a kid on the base, and she put her thumb over the nozzle to spray him right in the face. Sam wrapped his arms around Kara's waist and carried her up the stairs as she struggled (not too hard, let’s be honest) against his grip.
They fell onto the bed, which was softer and bigger than it had any right to be, and she resisted a surprisingly strong urge to ask any questions, even thinly-veiled mocking ones, about the thread count. He lay on his back, hands folded under his head, and they picked up where they left off. She straddled him and bent, licking at the salty droplets of water that still clung to his neck. He put his hand on her face, and drew her upwards. They kissed in a deep mingling of lips and tongue and teeth as he rubbed a thumb over her jawline.
She brushed her thigh against his cock, and he stiffened, breath catching in a hitch in the back of his throat.
“What?” Kara asked, all innocence. “No games this time?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, reaching up and flipping her onto her back. Now he was above her, and he nuzzled his way down her body, paying particular attention to her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
She was already aching, by the time he lightly grazed her clit.
The man was something of a genius with his tongue, and that was one thing she did routinely give him the satisfaction of knowing. When she was coherent enough for words, that is. Now, though, Sam reduced her to nothing but whimpering noises. Her lower body was entirely out of her control, and she gripped the sheets in one hand and his hair in another, for fear that if she let go she’d slide right off the bed, never mind that she was completely flat. Dissolve into a little pool of liquid pleasure, maybe.
“Frak,” she said. “Oh, frak, oh, frak-” Sam actually laughed a little, a masculine rumble she could feel in her toes. And her world narrowed down into a single point, like her heartbeat had taken up residence in her clitoris. She rode the wave of pleasure, to intense pleasure, to something beyond that even, that toed the line of pain.
It was too much to take, and she exhaled, trying to find the words. “Need-ah, need you to stop.”
And the instant his mouth lost contact was the most intense of all. Kara took a few moments to lie there, panting, reclaiming control of her limbs. “You okay over there?” he asked.
She laughed, a bit weakly. “Gods.” She pulled herself up onto her elbows. Caught his beautiful blue eyes. “I frakking love you.”
“I frakking love you, too,” Sam replied.
Kara did not believe in letting oral sex that flawlessly performed go unrewarded, so as soon as she had the breath back in her body she reached for him, pinning him to the bed as she fondled his balls. He arched his neck back and she rolled them between the fingers of one hand, lightly stroking the underside of his dick with an outstretched finger of the other.
This quickly turned to oral, too, though she didn’t take the length of him in her mouth, focusing on the tip and the quick flickering of her tongue. He vocalized, every bit as wordless as he’d made her. He was full, hard. She pulled away, climbed off the bed.
He exhaled. “Kara, please-”
“Oh, don’t ‘Kara, please,’ me,” she chided. “Where do you keep the condoms in your unnecessarily large bathroom?”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t want ‘em to expire. Luggage, side pocket.” And luckily, his suitcase was only in the next room over. She tossed one to him and he ripped open the wrapper. Once he was ready, she maneuvered into position, the familiar straddle. She lowered herself onto him, and they exhaled nearly in unison. “Ah…”
Sam flexed his hips as she bent her knees, her hands gripping her own heels for support. But this was not necessarily a position she could hold for long, and her pace slowed. He noticed, well-acquainted with her signals by now. He slowed as well.
“If you’d like-” he began, and that was all the cue she needed.
This was that magic position they usually ended with, her on hands and knees as he slid inside, filling her completely, the best way they'd found for him to get at her g-spot. But with each increasing thrust she lost a little concentration, a little control over her muscles. Her arms gave out and she balanced mostly on her face, which would be uncomfortable if it weren’t offset by the fact that she could practically feel him at the back of her throat. It was only the grip of his big hands on her hips that kept her on her knees.
His thrusts got quicker, less coordinated. “Frak, baby,” Kara panted. “Godsdamn! You’re so frakking deep-”
And then Sam was shuddering, all semblance of control gone. He said nothing, but the pace of his breathing and the force of his movement enough for her to know. She tightened around him and he rode it as long as he could.
As he let go, she slid off her knees until she was lying flat on her front, basking in the afterglow. He tousled her hair and kissed her on the back of the neck. He was gone for a few minutes but then returned, lying beside her. She rolled onto her side and he onto his, their feet tangled together as she tucked the top of her head under his chin and he draped an arm around her waist, his hand lightly tracing a circle on her breast.
“Sammy?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Sam murmured sleepily.
“You really do have a nice house.”
***
A year later, she regretted nothing about the wedding or the precisely seventeen-minute engagement period that had preceded it.
Well. Except for the reporters. They buzzed like flies around her apartment, and the number-one topic in celebrity gossip rags-print, electronic, television-across the worlds was speculation and jokes about how long Samuel T Anders’ seemingly sudden marriage, to a non-celebrity, no less!, would last. Only one newspaper had done her the justice of identifying her as his "long-time girlfriend." Even Karl had sent her an e-mail making a crack about getting inside knowledge for the over/under pool (he’d pay for that, asshole).
They tried to keep the windows drawn and nest like the newlyweds they were. She lounged against him on the couch as they idly watched tv. Cop procedurals provided a perfectly adequate level of mindless background as they cuddled, avoiding the still-tender areas of their new tattoos. But then Backtalk came on. In retrospect she should have turned it off, but it was usually her favorite source of news-until thirty seconds into the monologue when the host made a particularly unwelcome speculation about her financial motivations for marrying Sam. She turned it off with a growl.
“What was that you said once about wanting to knock people’s hats off?” she grumbled.
“It’s the furthest thing from a damp, drizzly November in my soul, baby,” Sam replied, nuzzling her neck. “But if you want to get to sea…”
They spent less time packing than they had engaged.
***
ETA: Aaaaaand, a silly little drabble I wrote to accompany this AU. Starbuck, Helo, Boomer, Racetrack, and a back issue of a women's magazine.
Pairing: Battlestar Galactica, Kara/Sam
Rating: NC-17.
Summary: Kara allows Sam the privilege of taking her to his beachfront vacation home (No-attacks Caprica AU). Written for bsg_kink Friday Night Fun Post, "Kara/Sam, the beach."
Author's Note: Title quote/Sam's speech courtesy of Herman Melville's Moby Dick. This is some literary porn, bitches.
It all started when Sam asked if she wanted to get out of Delphi for the weekend, to the beach.
Well, that’s not true. It all started when her A/C has been broken since forever, and also when she isn’t the kind of woman to allow her boyfriend to pay to get it fixed, millionaire pyramid superstar or no. But her apartment really was too hot to stay in (and much too hot to frak in), and he preferred to stay out of Caprica City as much as he could, during the off-season.
“Okay,” she finally agreed. “But I don’t want you to go all out on some ridiculous resort.”
“Resort?” Sam asked with a scoff. “Please. Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth, whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul,” he rambled, and she wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but the sound of his voice was soothing in the sleepy heat of the afternoon, so she decided to let him finish. “Whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.”
She blinked. “You done yet?”
“I was quoting one of Picon’s greatest literary treasures, you landlubbing savage.”
“And frakking proud of it. Remind me of your point? I lost track around the time you opened your mouth.”
“First thing this Fish did when he got to Caprica was buy a little place on the ocean in Qualai.”
And Kara should have known better than to trust him. “Little place?” she scoffed days later as she pulled her jeep through the gates and parked in front of the veritable mansion.
“You should see Sue-Shaun’s complex on Canceron,” Sam said with a shrug as he climbed out of the passenger seat. “I think it has its own zip code.”
And she kept it together. She kept it together all during the tour-the regulation pyramid court on the front lawn, the hot tub-containing master bathroom bigger than her whole apartment, the wet bar fully stocked with ambrosia that cost more than she made in a month. She never allowed any clue that his social status had anything to do with why she was frakking him.
Because it did not. Lieutenant Kara "Starbuck" Thrace, best frakkin' Viper jock in the Colonial Fleet, thank you, was no gold-digger, and she certainly was no breathless fangirl, either. Also, she really didn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
But.
But…there were some moments when she realized, truly realized, that her boyfriend Sam was The Samuel T Anders (and he was, by the way, just as coy with her as he was with the press about what the “T” stood for, so she secretly decided it was “Terrific-In-Bed” but told him with zero ceremony that she assumed it was something mortifying) and it thrilled her.
And the patio terrace was one of those moments.
It was made of light-colored wood, shaded by palm trees, with stairs that led down to the water. But that wasn’t what made her gasp-it was the view:
“Sun setting over the ocean” didn’t begin to describe it. The sun itself was red, and the dusting of cirrus clouds a glowing orange, which stood out against the cobalt sky. The water itself was a rippling orange-and-purple, and she could see the dark outlines of little sailboats in the distance, and pinpoints of red and green navigation lights beginning to flicker on. It was gorgeous.
Sam kicked off his shoes and grabbed Kara's hand, pulling her down the stairs and onto the sand. She left her shoes behind, too, and soon they were running down the beach, the still-warm sand beneath their bare toes.
He stopped at the water’s edge and pulled off his shirt. This was a view, too, she greatly admired, no matter how many times she saw it. She pulled him in close and ran her fingers over the muscles of his arms as they kissed.
“Let’s go for a swim,” he suggested.
“Left my bathing suit up in your lair,” she said.
“Didn’t take you for the modest type,” he teased, and his hands were warm on her skin, under her shirt. Before she had time to react, her bra was unhooked, the sneaky bastard.
They quickly shed their clothes and he shallow dove, surfacing in a spray of salt water. Her entry into the ocean wasn’t quite as enthusiastic, a fully upright walk, her hands held out above the waterline, her upper body dry. They met at waist-deep. Sam pulled her in for a kiss this time, his body damp against hers. She couldn’t resist running her hands through his hair, usually artfully tousled but now limp and wet.
Mid-kiss, he got one leg between hers and she moaned into his mouth, lifting her thigh to brush against his cock. And then-
And then he dunked her.
Kara's ass hit the ocean bottom before she was able to get her feet back under her. She sputtered as she rose out of the water, slicking her hair out of her face. “That was the move of a man who doesn’t want to have any sex for the rest of the weekend,” she said.
But Sam just grinned, the wicked one he always gave her when he gained the upper hand. “I don’t know,” he said. “The look on your face was almost worth it.”
She pounced on him, but he was too well-planted until she drove him back into deeper water, and then they were both sputtering, wrestling, groping. There was no place on her body he wouldn’t put his hands in the service of a good dunk, but she discovered pretty quickly that his height could work to her advantage when she climbed on his shoulders.
By the time they made it back to the shore, they were exhausted, panting heavily, blowing salt water out of their nasal cavities. The stars were starting to come out above them, and he lay flat on his back, hands folded beneath his head. Stargazing didn’t really mean much to her, not when the view from her cockpit was far more impressive, so she wasted no time in climbing on top of him, straddling his lower body between her legs.
“Oh, no,” Sam said, putting a hand on her chest. “Not here. You’ll be cursing me days from now when you’re still finding sand in all kinds of places it shouldn’t be.”
They rinsed off with the hose, just an ordinary green hose like the ones she she’d played in during hot summers as a kid on the base, and she put her thumb over the nozzle to spray him right in the face. Sam wrapped his arms around Kara's waist and carried her up the stairs as she struggled (not too hard, let’s be honest) against his grip.
They fell onto the bed, which was softer and bigger than it had any right to be, and she resisted a surprisingly strong urge to ask any questions, even thinly-veiled mocking ones, about the thread count. He lay on his back, hands folded under his head, and they picked up where they left off. She straddled him and bent, licking at the salty droplets of water that still clung to his neck. He put his hand on her face, and drew her upwards. They kissed in a deep mingling of lips and tongue and teeth as he rubbed a thumb over her jawline.
She brushed her thigh against his cock, and he stiffened, breath catching in a hitch in the back of his throat.
“What?” Kara asked, all innocence. “No games this time?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” he replied, reaching up and flipping her onto her back. Now he was above her, and he nuzzled his way down her body, paying particular attention to her breasts, her stomach, her thighs.
She was already aching, by the time he lightly grazed her clit.
The man was something of a genius with his tongue, and that was one thing she did routinely give him the satisfaction of knowing. When she was coherent enough for words, that is. Now, though, Sam reduced her to nothing but whimpering noises. Her lower body was entirely out of her control, and she gripped the sheets in one hand and his hair in another, for fear that if she let go she’d slide right off the bed, never mind that she was completely flat. Dissolve into a little pool of liquid pleasure, maybe.
“Frak,” she said. “Oh, frak, oh, frak-” Sam actually laughed a little, a masculine rumble she could feel in her toes. And her world narrowed down into a single point, like her heartbeat had taken up residence in her clitoris. She rode the wave of pleasure, to intense pleasure, to something beyond that even, that toed the line of pain.
It was too much to take, and she exhaled, trying to find the words. “Need-ah, need you to stop.”
And the instant his mouth lost contact was the most intense of all. Kara took a few moments to lie there, panting, reclaiming control of her limbs. “You okay over there?” he asked.
She laughed, a bit weakly. “Gods.” She pulled herself up onto her elbows. Caught his beautiful blue eyes. “I frakking love you.”
“I frakking love you, too,” Sam replied.
Kara did not believe in letting oral sex that flawlessly performed go unrewarded, so as soon as she had the breath back in her body she reached for him, pinning him to the bed as she fondled his balls. He arched his neck back and she rolled them between the fingers of one hand, lightly stroking the underside of his dick with an outstretched finger of the other.
This quickly turned to oral, too, though she didn’t take the length of him in her mouth, focusing on the tip and the quick flickering of her tongue. He vocalized, every bit as wordless as he’d made her. He was full, hard. She pulled away, climbed off the bed.
He exhaled. “Kara, please-”
“Oh, don’t ‘Kara, please,’ me,” she chided. “Where do you keep the condoms in your unnecessarily large bathroom?”
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t want ‘em to expire. Luggage, side pocket.” And luckily, his suitcase was only in the next room over. She tossed one to him and he ripped open the wrapper. Once he was ready, she maneuvered into position, the familiar straddle. She lowered herself onto him, and they exhaled nearly in unison. “Ah…”
Sam flexed his hips as she bent her knees, her hands gripping her own heels for support. But this was not necessarily a position she could hold for long, and her pace slowed. He noticed, well-acquainted with her signals by now. He slowed as well.
“If you’d like-” he began, and that was all the cue she needed.
This was that magic position they usually ended with, her on hands and knees as he slid inside, filling her completely, the best way they'd found for him to get at her g-spot. But with each increasing thrust she lost a little concentration, a little control over her muscles. Her arms gave out and she balanced mostly on her face, which would be uncomfortable if it weren’t offset by the fact that she could practically feel him at the back of her throat. It was only the grip of his big hands on her hips that kept her on her knees.
His thrusts got quicker, less coordinated. “Frak, baby,” Kara panted. “Godsdamn! You’re so frakking deep-”
And then Sam was shuddering, all semblance of control gone. He said nothing, but the pace of his breathing and the force of his movement enough for her to know. She tightened around him and he rode it as long as he could.
As he let go, she slid off her knees until she was lying flat on her front, basking in the afterglow. He tousled her hair and kissed her on the back of the neck. He was gone for a few minutes but then returned, lying beside her. She rolled onto her side and he onto his, their feet tangled together as she tucked the top of her head under his chin and he draped an arm around her waist, his hand lightly tracing a circle on her breast.
“Sammy?” she asked.
“Hmm?” Sam murmured sleepily.
“You really do have a nice house.”
***
A year later, she regretted nothing about the wedding or the precisely seventeen-minute engagement period that had preceded it.
Well. Except for the reporters. They buzzed like flies around her apartment, and the number-one topic in celebrity gossip rags-print, electronic, television-across the worlds was speculation and jokes about how long Samuel T Anders’ seemingly sudden marriage, to a non-celebrity, no less!, would last. Only one newspaper had done her the justice of identifying her as his "long-time girlfriend." Even Karl had sent her an e-mail making a crack about getting inside knowledge for the over/under pool (he’d pay for that, asshole).
They tried to keep the windows drawn and nest like the newlyweds they were. She lounged against him on the couch as they idly watched tv. Cop procedurals provided a perfectly adequate level of mindless background as they cuddled, avoiding the still-tender areas of their new tattoos. But then Backtalk came on. In retrospect she should have turned it off, but it was usually her favorite source of news-until thirty seconds into the monologue when the host made a particularly unwelcome speculation about her financial motivations for marrying Sam. She turned it off with a growl.
“What was that you said once about wanting to knock people’s hats off?” she grumbled.
“It’s the furthest thing from a damp, drizzly November in my soul, baby,” Sam replied, nuzzling her neck. “But if you want to get to sea…”
They spent less time packing than they had engaged.
***
ETA: Aaaaaand, a silly little drabble I wrote to accompany this AU. Starbuck, Helo, Boomer, Racetrack, and a back issue of a women's magazine.