Love Is...
Title: Love Is
Pairing: A/R
Word count: 300
A/N: Dug up this drabble thanks to leakypaintpen's discussion question about unfinished fics.
Bill nearly trips over the shoes she’d left carelessly strewn by the hatch. Laura sits on the couch, bare legs tucked under her as she watches him catch himself.
He unfastens the top button of his tunic and nods at her with a wordless smile as he walks to the cart to pour them each a drink.
She needs one as much as he does. She’s hunched over slightly, unconsciously flexing her feet, massaging an arch while she reads.
Handing her a glass, he lowers himself onto the couch next to her and takes a long draught. He sighs, relaxing into the soft leather. She doesn’t say anything, just keeps worrying her fingers against her soles as she reads.
“Give me your feet,” he orders. She can’t help but laugh; she’s heard him use that tone with his officers before, the ones he’s close to, right before dispensing some gentle Adama logic. Give me your eyes.
Finally she tears herself away from the stack of files. “Really?” she asks, doubtful. She tries to think back to the last time someone did this for her. A flurry of former lovers flits through her mind; not a single one stands out.
He nods, and she can see the sincerity in his expression.
Who is she to resist? It’s been a long day in unforgiving footwear. Grinning, she shifts her legs across his lap.
A moan escapes her lips as strong fingers make contact with weary muscle and brittle bone.
As she lets her mind wander, a realization strikes.
A host of constraints and concerns may keep them from saying those words out loud to each other, but he’s showing her, now. Love is a really good foot massage, she decides amid contented, involuntary hums.
And she loves him for it.
Pairing: A/R
Word count: 300
A/N: Dug up this drabble thanks to leakypaintpen's discussion question about unfinished fics.
Bill nearly trips over the shoes she’d left carelessly strewn by the hatch. Laura sits on the couch, bare legs tucked under her as she watches him catch himself.
He unfastens the top button of his tunic and nods at her with a wordless smile as he walks to the cart to pour them each a drink.
She needs one as much as he does. She’s hunched over slightly, unconsciously flexing her feet, massaging an arch while she reads.
Handing her a glass, he lowers himself onto the couch next to her and takes a long draught. He sighs, relaxing into the soft leather. She doesn’t say anything, just keeps worrying her fingers against her soles as she reads.
“Give me your feet,” he orders. She can’t help but laugh; she’s heard him use that tone with his officers before, the ones he’s close to, right before dispensing some gentle Adama logic. Give me your eyes.
Finally she tears herself away from the stack of files. “Really?” she asks, doubtful. She tries to think back to the last time someone did this for her. A flurry of former lovers flits through her mind; not a single one stands out.
He nods, and she can see the sincerity in his expression.
Who is she to resist? It’s been a long day in unforgiving footwear. Grinning, she shifts her legs across his lap.
A moan escapes her lips as strong fingers make contact with weary muscle and brittle bone.
As she lets her mind wander, a realization strikes.
A host of constraints and concerns may keep them from saying those words out loud to each other, but he’s showing her, now. Love is a really good foot massage, she decides amid contented, involuntary hums.
And she loves him for it.