A/R REMIX: "Shadowlands"
Title: Shadowlands
Rating: MA
Original Author: larsfarm77
Original Story: Shadows and Light
He steps out of the head, closing the door behind him quietly before making his way over to his rack. The crest of emotion he had just tamped down threatens to overwhelm him again as he looks down on Laura, asleep just as she’d been when he came home. Blazer abandoned, she’s otherwise fully clothed, and her wig is slightly askew on her head where it rests against the pillow. He fights the urge to wake her, feeling the strongest need to look into her eyes right now and see her there, to know that he isn’t alone in all of this. Instead, he crawls carefully to the open side of the rack and settles under the covers as quietly as possible. Breathing a sigh of relief when she doesn’t seem to stir at his movement, he finally relaxes and closes his eyes, but no matter how hard he tries to clear his mind, the image of the fracture at the very core of his ship is impossible to shake.
He jumps when he feels something on his arm, and a soft hum responds to his startle reflex. Opening his eyes, he watches her fingertips play across the arm he has wrapped around her body to pull her close. Leaning in, he noses the fabric of her soft blouse aside and kisses her shoulder, pausing with his lips next to her skin.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
She shifts in his embrace and rolls over to face him, a soft smile on her face. “Don’t be. I was waiting for you.” She narrows her eyes as she examines his expression, and the slight mirth on her features is instantly replaced by worry. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
He takes a breath to prepare to tell her, but changes his mind. “Nothing, just a long day. Don’t worry about it.”
Another hum tells him that she doesn’t believe his lie, but will let him keep it for now. She presses a soft kiss to his lips and gives him another smile that makes his heart wrench. “Fine, tell me later.” Moving to get up, he releases her and watches as she slowly swings her legs over the side of the rack and cautiously gets to her feet. Feeling his eyes on her, she turns around to give him a wry grin as she tugs her blouse back into position.
“I’ll be right back, Admiral. Don’t go anywhere.”
He chuckles as she moves towards the head, but it threatens to turn into a sob as soon as she’s out of sight. He wants to call out to her, warn her about what she will see; more than that, he wants to prevent her from ever seeing that particular truth, but he can’t do it. He cannot spare her this grief, any more than he can cure her of her cancer. His knuckles are white with effort as he clutches the sheets as tightly, hoping that maybe she won’t notice the deep fissure in the bulkhead, and all that it implies.
She exits the head, and he watches as she makes her way to his closet, hanging up her blouse and pants next to his uniforms, and carefully sets her wig down on top of the lamp that has become its de-facto resting place when not in use. She is wearing nothing but a pair of too-large tanks, the hem falling just below the swell of her ass, her blue headscarf and an expression on her face that he knows means that she has in fact noticed, and is aware that the situation is so much more than the cracked bulkhead by his shower.
She approaches, but stops just short of getting in the rack, and he can feel the weight of her gaze. After a long moment she sighs and the mattress dips as she gets on the bed, foregoing laying down in her usual spot to crawl over and sit perched next to him on her knees.
Reluctantly he looks up to study her. Her skin is pale, her face drawn and tinged with grief and pain and exhaustion, but her eyes are more bright and clear than he’d seen them for weeks.
Already today she’s been stretching, running, pushing her body in ways she hasn’t been able to in months, and he wants her to have more pleasure than she can handle, to experience the very limit of the euphoria the lack of toxins in her body has brought on.
His breath hitches involuntarily at the memory, and once more his control wavers. She notices, she always notices, and in a move that belies her physical condition she’s suddenly straddling him, her scant weight on his upper legs, her knees buried in the mattress on either side of his hips. He reaches out instinctively to her side, steadying her around the waist when she sways slightly. “Laura.”
She ignores the warning in his tone and leans forward, kissing him once lightly on the lips, and then again more insistently, making her intentions clear. His body responds and he parts his lips and kisses back, even as he tries to pull away to speak.
“Laura, you don’t have to do this. You’re tired. Save your strength.”
He expects her to get angry at his rebuttal, even though he only has her best interests at heart, so he’s surprised when she pulls back a few inches and nods her agreement.
“You’re right, Bill. I am tired. And so are you. And I know I don’t have to. But I want to. There’s so little time left. I don’t want to waste it.” Her voice cracks on the last sentence, and she looks away as she tries to regain her composure.
And there it was. The truth that has haunted him since that night, the one that said that this time, the cost had been too high.
He had thought he was exhausted, sated, but this brief period of euphoria that Laura is experiencing is addicting, and he finds he can’t let himself miss a moment of it.
If there really is no tomorrow, would it be right to sleep through today?
He had known there would be a cost, but he had never imagined it would be this. If he lets himself admit it, everything else- the mutiny, Galactica falling apart around them- it was all predictable, obvious even, once you had the benefit of hindsight to see the clues. But this, her...
“Laura.” He reaches up to cup her jaw, and she leans into his palm. He says her name again and finally she looks at him, and he moves his thumb to gently brush the tears from the corner of her eye. The sad smile she gives him breaks what is left of his resolve, and he pulls her towards him.
Holding her gaze, he runs his hands down the regal curve of her neck, tracing the prominent ridge of her collarbone before moving the straps of the tank aside to press gentle kisses to the hollow on one side of her lower neck, then the other, before resting his forehead at her pulse point, taking a moment to feel the blood pumping through the vein.
He feels the vibration of her hum through his skin, and after helping her to sit back up he takes hold of the hem of the tanks, and at her small nod pulls the fabric up and off her body, tossing it to the side before more carefully untying the knot and slipping the silk scarf from her head. He brings his hands back around her, encircling her within his arms. He can feel the bony prominences of her spine under his fingertips as he traces down to her lower back. He cups her hip bones gently, then follows the line of her thighs to her center.
He traces the bare folds once, and she moans softly, moving her body into his hand. He chuckles at her eagerness, and again at the look she gives him when he moves his hands away. He knows her body isn’t ready yet. It takes longer now, even when her mind is wanting and he’s not willing to risk the chance that something go wrong tonight.
Her eyes close again as he moves his hands upward along her sides, rubbing and massaging lightly as he goes, willing heat into her chilled skin, life into the body that is falling down around her. Tears prick his eyes as his fingers travel the hills and valleys of her ribs, each one standing out in clear relief against her pale skin.
How could she have lost so much weight so quickly?
Even as he asks the question he knows the answer. It is the same one that brought her euphoria to a rapid end, robbed them of what should have been at least several days, a week or more. Responsibility. Stress. Worry. He blinks against more tears as he berates himself for letting this happen. He should have done more; he should have known what was coming and prevented it.
He should have fought harder.
He palms her breasts, the right supple and soft in his hand, the left slightly swollen, the tissue surrounding the firm mass irritated and sensitive. He feels her nipples firm, and the incongruence of the evidence of her arousal against the very clear proof of what is killing her is hard to comprehend.
What is one more day spent nauseated and cold in a sterile bed compared to fullness of sensation, of motion, of life in the body underneath him? Did he ever think that he would be able to touch her like this again without holding back?
She moans into the contact, and he massages both breasts lightly, careful to not cause undue pain on the left. He pulls her towards him again, laving his tongue along her right breast, swirling the taut nipple, even as his fingers continue to press lightly into the flesh of the left, feeling the tumor that is taking her from him. He traces the contours of the hard mass, so clear and defined within her skin; it should be so easy, he thinks, to simply pull it from her body, remove the foreign hardness and fix her.
He should have carried her back to Cottle, insisted they restart diloxin against her will. He knows that now. He should have pushed harder for surgery, for them to try Hera’s blood again. He thought her sacrifice was worth it, that to give up treatment would give her, give them some of the time back they had missed being rivals, being afraid, being responsible.
Her quick intake of air and her wince tells him he’s pressing too hard, and he withdraws his hand immediately, moving his head to kiss the top of her left breast lightly, then turns to rest his face against her chest, hearing the rapid flutter of her heart underneath him. She’s still here, he reminds himself.
It’s his turn to gasp when he feels her palm him, stroking lightly through the threadbare cotton of his shorts. He looks to her, a crooked grin upon her face, the skin above her wide eyes crinkling into the place her hairline used to be, and a chuckle makes its way out of his mouth before he knows it’s coming. She continues to massage him, and despite his misgivings, his body begins to respond. Even now, he can never say no to her.
Her peal of laughter is so free and beautiful that he loses all pretense of seriousness, leaning to press a kiss to the small of her back.
He groans and she giggles softly, an echo of happier times and yet still so uniquely and perfectly her. Again he supports her as she sits up and positions herself across his hips. He traces down her body once more, along the side of her breasts, her waist, and to the swell of her ass, the tops of her thighs, and she arches her back into his fingers as they trace her folds, finding home. The bit of moisture he finds there is a relief, and he dips a finger in it to spread it around before he shifts his position slightly and thrusts upwards and into her.
Instead of her previous eagerness, Laura is content to let him take his time, her eyes closed as he makes several small thrusts, each time checking her face for a reaction before pushing a little further, until he’s finally seated within her, and she smiles beatifically before opening her eyes to meet his gaze, then begins to rock against him.
Moving with her in a series of deep, measured strokes, he brings his lips to her shoulder. He kisses along her shoulder blade, the curve of her neck and chin, the soft, bare skin behind her ear, and along her scalp. No place on her head or neck is hidden from him, and he seeks out every sensitive spot. She’s trembling, her cries random and guttural.
It’s all he can do to control himself, to not thrust hard against her, to keep from pushing deeper as she moves against him, her upper body supported by his hands, yet still shaking from the strain. The room is quiet but for his labored breathing and her soft hums.
She throws her head back and her pale expanse of skin is bared fully to him, her breasts swaying softly as she continues to move with him. She’s so beautiful, will forever be beautiful, and his hips buck once, then once again of their own accord. He’s horrified at the gasp and wince his action brings, but she simply smiles and reaches down to where they are joined and strokes him again.
“Yes Bill, like that. I’m not going to break.” She says it without opening her eyes, concentrating on maintaining her rhythm and chasing her release.
He’s not sure about that, but he’s not willing to deny her this, not when he can see her strength faltering rapidly as her muscles quiver. Pulling her forward him to rest against his body, he reaches down and puts firm pressure on her clit in tandem with their thrusts. She bites her lip to sustain a sharp cry as the action brings her closer within seconds, and he knows now she’s ready, but waiting for him.
“It’s ok, Laura, I’m right there too. Come for me.” He pushes against her once more and nips lightly at her shoulder and finally her release comes, a soundless, keening cry against his neck before her body collapses on top of him, the last bit of her energy spent.
There is nothing for long seconds except her raspy shallow breathing against his chest, and he runs his palms against the skin of her back as he takes deep, slow breaths of air, trying to lull her body into a similar respiratory pattern. Finally she recovers enough to roll off him and settle on her side facing him. Her eyes flutter open for a moment as she brings a hand to follow the contours of his face.
“Thank you-“she starts, before having her thought cut off by several raspy coughs. As she catches her breath again she sees his concerned expression and pats his shoulder lightly. “I’m ok. Give me a few minutes, and then it’s your turn.”
Even as she says it her hand drops to rest across his chest and her eyes close once more.
“I’m fine, Laura. That was all I could ever need.”
She hums softly, again the one that says she knows it’s a lie. He wishes he could convince her that it isn’t.
“No, just give me a few minutes. Otherwise it’s not fair-“. Her voice trails on the last syllable, and almost immediately her breathing begins to slow and even out as she falls asleep. He turns slightly to press a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips rest there.
“It’s not fair,” he whispers into her chilled skin, swallowing hard against the knot rising in his throat. He brings a hand to her head, spreading his warmth to her as he fingers the sparse hairs that have begun to reappear on her scalp.
He closes his eyes and kisses her again.
It’s not fair.
Rating: MA
Original Author: larsfarm77
Original Story: Shadows and Light
He steps out of the head, closing the door behind him quietly before making his way over to his rack. The crest of emotion he had just tamped down threatens to overwhelm him again as he looks down on Laura, asleep just as she’d been when he came home. Blazer abandoned, she’s otherwise fully clothed, and her wig is slightly askew on her head where it rests against the pillow. He fights the urge to wake her, feeling the strongest need to look into her eyes right now and see her there, to know that he isn’t alone in all of this. Instead, he crawls carefully to the open side of the rack and settles under the covers as quietly as possible. Breathing a sigh of relief when she doesn’t seem to stir at his movement, he finally relaxes and closes his eyes, but no matter how hard he tries to clear his mind, the image of the fracture at the very core of his ship is impossible to shake.
He jumps when he feels something on his arm, and a soft hum responds to his startle reflex. Opening his eyes, he watches her fingertips play across the arm he has wrapped around her body to pull her close. Leaning in, he noses the fabric of her soft blouse aside and kisses her shoulder, pausing with his lips next to her skin.
“I’m sorry I woke you.”
She shifts in his embrace and rolls over to face him, a soft smile on her face. “Don’t be. I was waiting for you.” She narrows her eyes as she examines his expression, and the slight mirth on her features is instantly replaced by worry. “What’s wrong?”
Everything.
He takes a breath to prepare to tell her, but changes his mind. “Nothing, just a long day. Don’t worry about it.”
Another hum tells him that she doesn’t believe his lie, but will let him keep it for now. She presses a soft kiss to his lips and gives him another smile that makes his heart wrench. “Fine, tell me later.” Moving to get up, he releases her and watches as she slowly swings her legs over the side of the rack and cautiously gets to her feet. Feeling his eyes on her, she turns around to give him a wry grin as she tugs her blouse back into position.
“I’ll be right back, Admiral. Don’t go anywhere.”
He chuckles as she moves towards the head, but it threatens to turn into a sob as soon as she’s out of sight. He wants to call out to her, warn her about what she will see; more than that, he wants to prevent her from ever seeing that particular truth, but he can’t do it. He cannot spare her this grief, any more than he can cure her of her cancer. His knuckles are white with effort as he clutches the sheets as tightly, hoping that maybe she won’t notice the deep fissure in the bulkhead, and all that it implies.
She exits the head, and he watches as she makes her way to his closet, hanging up her blouse and pants next to his uniforms, and carefully sets her wig down on top of the lamp that has become its de-facto resting place when not in use. She is wearing nothing but a pair of too-large tanks, the hem falling just below the swell of her ass, her blue headscarf and an expression on her face that he knows means that she has in fact noticed, and is aware that the situation is so much more than the cracked bulkhead by his shower.
She approaches, but stops just short of getting in the rack, and he can feel the weight of her gaze. After a long moment she sighs and the mattress dips as she gets on the bed, foregoing laying down in her usual spot to crawl over and sit perched next to him on her knees.
Reluctantly he looks up to study her. Her skin is pale, her face drawn and tinged with grief and pain and exhaustion, but her eyes are more bright and clear than he’d seen them for weeks.
Already today she’s been stretching, running, pushing her body in ways she hasn’t been able to in months, and he wants her to have more pleasure than she can handle, to experience the very limit of the euphoria the lack of toxins in her body has brought on.
His breath hitches involuntarily at the memory, and once more his control wavers. She notices, she always notices, and in a move that belies her physical condition she’s suddenly straddling him, her scant weight on his upper legs, her knees buried in the mattress on either side of his hips. He reaches out instinctively to her side, steadying her around the waist when she sways slightly. “Laura.”
She ignores the warning in his tone and leans forward, kissing him once lightly on the lips, and then again more insistently, making her intentions clear. His body responds and he parts his lips and kisses back, even as he tries to pull away to speak.
“Laura, you don’t have to do this. You’re tired. Save your strength.”
He expects her to get angry at his rebuttal, even though he only has her best interests at heart, so he’s surprised when she pulls back a few inches and nods her agreement.
“You’re right, Bill. I am tired. And so are you. And I know I don’t have to. But I want to. There’s so little time left. I don’t want to waste it.” Her voice cracks on the last sentence, and she looks away as she tries to regain her composure.
And there it was. The truth that has haunted him since that night, the one that said that this time, the cost had been too high.
He had thought he was exhausted, sated, but this brief period of euphoria that Laura is experiencing is addicting, and he finds he can’t let himself miss a moment of it.
If there really is no tomorrow, would it be right to sleep through today?
He had known there would be a cost, but he had never imagined it would be this. If he lets himself admit it, everything else- the mutiny, Galactica falling apart around them- it was all predictable, obvious even, once you had the benefit of hindsight to see the clues. But this, her...
“Laura.” He reaches up to cup her jaw, and she leans into his palm. He says her name again and finally she looks at him, and he moves his thumb to gently brush the tears from the corner of her eye. The sad smile she gives him breaks what is left of his resolve, and he pulls her towards him.
Holding her gaze, he runs his hands down the regal curve of her neck, tracing the prominent ridge of her collarbone before moving the straps of the tank aside to press gentle kisses to the hollow on one side of her lower neck, then the other, before resting his forehead at her pulse point, taking a moment to feel the blood pumping through the vein.
He feels the vibration of her hum through his skin, and after helping her to sit back up he takes hold of the hem of the tanks, and at her small nod pulls the fabric up and off her body, tossing it to the side before more carefully untying the knot and slipping the silk scarf from her head. He brings his hands back around her, encircling her within his arms. He can feel the bony prominences of her spine under his fingertips as he traces down to her lower back. He cups her hip bones gently, then follows the line of her thighs to her center.
He traces the bare folds once, and she moans softly, moving her body into his hand. He chuckles at her eagerness, and again at the look she gives him when he moves his hands away. He knows her body isn’t ready yet. It takes longer now, even when her mind is wanting and he’s not willing to risk the chance that something go wrong tonight.
Her eyes close again as he moves his hands upward along her sides, rubbing and massaging lightly as he goes, willing heat into her chilled skin, life into the body that is falling down around her. Tears prick his eyes as his fingers travel the hills and valleys of her ribs, each one standing out in clear relief against her pale skin.
How could she have lost so much weight so quickly?
Even as he asks the question he knows the answer. It is the same one that brought her euphoria to a rapid end, robbed them of what should have been at least several days, a week or more. Responsibility. Stress. Worry. He blinks against more tears as he berates himself for letting this happen. He should have done more; he should have known what was coming and prevented it.
He should have fought harder.
He palms her breasts, the right supple and soft in his hand, the left slightly swollen, the tissue surrounding the firm mass irritated and sensitive. He feels her nipples firm, and the incongruence of the evidence of her arousal against the very clear proof of what is killing her is hard to comprehend.
What is one more day spent nauseated and cold in a sterile bed compared to fullness of sensation, of motion, of life in the body underneath him? Did he ever think that he would be able to touch her like this again without holding back?
She moans into the contact, and he massages both breasts lightly, careful to not cause undue pain on the left. He pulls her towards him again, laving his tongue along her right breast, swirling the taut nipple, even as his fingers continue to press lightly into the flesh of the left, feeling the tumor that is taking her from him. He traces the contours of the hard mass, so clear and defined within her skin; it should be so easy, he thinks, to simply pull it from her body, remove the foreign hardness and fix her.
He should have carried her back to Cottle, insisted they restart diloxin against her will. He knows that now. He should have pushed harder for surgery, for them to try Hera’s blood again. He thought her sacrifice was worth it, that to give up treatment would give her, give them some of the time back they had missed being rivals, being afraid, being responsible.
Her quick intake of air and her wince tells him he’s pressing too hard, and he withdraws his hand immediately, moving his head to kiss the top of her left breast lightly, then turns to rest his face against her chest, hearing the rapid flutter of her heart underneath him. She’s still here, he reminds himself.
It’s his turn to gasp when he feels her palm him, stroking lightly through the threadbare cotton of his shorts. He looks to her, a crooked grin upon her face, the skin above her wide eyes crinkling into the place her hairline used to be, and a chuckle makes its way out of his mouth before he knows it’s coming. She continues to massage him, and despite his misgivings, his body begins to respond. Even now, he can never say no to her.
Her peal of laughter is so free and beautiful that he loses all pretense of seriousness, leaning to press a kiss to the small of her back.
He groans and she giggles softly, an echo of happier times and yet still so uniquely and perfectly her. Again he supports her as she sits up and positions herself across his hips. He traces down her body once more, along the side of her breasts, her waist, and to the swell of her ass, the tops of her thighs, and she arches her back into his fingers as they trace her folds, finding home. The bit of moisture he finds there is a relief, and he dips a finger in it to spread it around before he shifts his position slightly and thrusts upwards and into her.
Instead of her previous eagerness, Laura is content to let him take his time, her eyes closed as he makes several small thrusts, each time checking her face for a reaction before pushing a little further, until he’s finally seated within her, and she smiles beatifically before opening her eyes to meet his gaze, then begins to rock against him.
Moving with her in a series of deep, measured strokes, he brings his lips to her shoulder. He kisses along her shoulder blade, the curve of her neck and chin, the soft, bare skin behind her ear, and along her scalp. No place on her head or neck is hidden from him, and he seeks out every sensitive spot. She’s trembling, her cries random and guttural.
It’s all he can do to control himself, to not thrust hard against her, to keep from pushing deeper as she moves against him, her upper body supported by his hands, yet still shaking from the strain. The room is quiet but for his labored breathing and her soft hums.
She throws her head back and her pale expanse of skin is bared fully to him, her breasts swaying softly as she continues to move with him. She’s so beautiful, will forever be beautiful, and his hips buck once, then once again of their own accord. He’s horrified at the gasp and wince his action brings, but she simply smiles and reaches down to where they are joined and strokes him again.
“Yes Bill, like that. I’m not going to break.” She says it without opening her eyes, concentrating on maintaining her rhythm and chasing her release.
He’s not sure about that, but he’s not willing to deny her this, not when he can see her strength faltering rapidly as her muscles quiver. Pulling her forward him to rest against his body, he reaches down and puts firm pressure on her clit in tandem with their thrusts. She bites her lip to sustain a sharp cry as the action brings her closer within seconds, and he knows now she’s ready, but waiting for him.
“It’s ok, Laura, I’m right there too. Come for me.” He pushes against her once more and nips lightly at her shoulder and finally her release comes, a soundless, keening cry against his neck before her body collapses on top of him, the last bit of her energy spent.
There is nothing for long seconds except her raspy shallow breathing against his chest, and he runs his palms against the skin of her back as he takes deep, slow breaths of air, trying to lull her body into a similar respiratory pattern. Finally she recovers enough to roll off him and settle on her side facing him. Her eyes flutter open for a moment as she brings a hand to follow the contours of his face.
“Thank you-“she starts, before having her thought cut off by several raspy coughs. As she catches her breath again she sees his concerned expression and pats his shoulder lightly. “I’m ok. Give me a few minutes, and then it’s your turn.”
Even as she says it her hand drops to rest across his chest and her eyes close once more.
“I’m fine, Laura. That was all I could ever need.”
She hums softly, again the one that says she knows it’s a lie. He wishes he could convince her that it isn’t.
“No, just give me a few minutes. Otherwise it’s not fair-“. Her voice trails on the last syllable, and almost immediately her breathing begins to slow and even out as she falls asleep. He turns slightly to press a kiss to her forehead, letting his lips rest there.
“It’s not fair,” he whispers into her chilled skin, swallowing hard against the knot rising in his throat. He brings a hand to her head, spreading his warmth to her as he fingers the sparse hairs that have begun to reappear on her scalp.
He closes his eyes and kisses her again.
It’s not fair.