Fic: various Laura/Kara ficlets
My ship war round-up for today:
Snowfall, Laura/Kara, T
It rarely snows heavily in Caprica City, so when they’d woken that morning to huge white flakes settling on the ground outside the window, Kara had squealed, actually squealed, leaping out of bed, throwing on some clothes and racing outside like an overexcitable child. Laura snuggles back down beneath the blankets, no desire to go out to join her. She feels the cold way too easily these days.
When Laura finally emerges from the warmth of the bed, she watches her out of the window, building what she assumes to be a snowman, though the shape was .... a little off, to say the least. A half hour later, she’s showered and dressed, making breakfast; pancakes and toast and coffee. It's all laid out on the table, so Laura goes to the window, leaning out of it to call Kara in to eat.
The snowball that hits her smack in the face is pretty soft, thank the gods; the high pitched surprised shriek that emerges from her mouth startling even her.
Kara's standing right below the window, the crack of her smile so wide, another huge snowball ready and waiting in her hand. Laura's eyes widen and she ducks, the snowball flying over her head and landing somewhere behind her on the floor of their bedroom, half of it splattered over the edges of the coverlet of their bed.
Kara’s laugh echoes round the little courtyard down below their apartment, as Laura peeks back over the edge of the windowsill.
“Captain Thrace, that’s inappropriate behaviour for indoors”, Laura calls down, ducking again as a third snowball sails past her ear and lands on the dresser, knocking Kara’s hairbrush onto the floor.
“Why are you still indoors then?” Kara shouts back up, bending to pack yet more snow together.
Because it's cold, because breakfast's ready, because I have a pile of papers to grade. None of which seems like a particularly great reason, so Laura shuts the window right as snowball number four crashes against the glass. Her hat and scarf and gloves are hanging by the door, and she pulls them all on along with her coat, and then sneaks out of the side door on the ground floor, knowing that Kara will be waiting around the front.
Her own first snowball goes wide, but the second gets Kara in the back of the head as she stands idly by the main entrance to the apartments, two snowballs at the ready. And then it’s on, snow everywhere, down Laura’s top, all over Kara’s hair.
It ends with Laura somehow being pushed back against Kara's giant snow ... thing, which collapses, Kara on top of her, and then there are kisses, cold noses rubbing against each other, wet gloves grabbing each other’s arms.
By this point, at least three other people have come down from the apartments to play in the snow, and there are children about building snowmen and it's far less fun than it was when it was just the two of them making marks in the pristine whiteness.
“You know the only reason I opened the window was to let you know breakfast was ready?” Laura whispers into Kara’s ear. So they get up and wander back inside. The coffee is cold and the pancakes need reheating, but it tastes so much better now. Laura sips her new cup of coffee, enjoying the way Kara’s eyes are sparkling and her damp hair clings to her cheeks, watching Kara do the same thing back at her. It’s not a surprise at all when Kara finishes her last piece of toast, then leaps up, coming round behind Laura to wrap her arms around her and kiss her cheek.
“Wanna go warm up again, snow baby?” Kara nuzzles against her ear. So they do, not noticing the damp patch on the coverlet at all.
* * *
Razorblades, Laura/Kara, T
Today's the day Laura wakes up and decides she can’t pretend her hair isn’t falling out anymore. None of the new styles she’s been trying out work to cover how thin it's become, and her hairbrush is so full of strands that she has to spend five minutes picking them all out over the trash, her throat burning with pent up tears. Kara doesn't say anything about it over breakfast, but there's concern in her eyes as she sits across the table.
In her lunchbreak at work, she surfs the net, making an appointment for two days time to go get a wig fitted. It puts her off the meagre lunch she brought with her, and she pushes it away.
When she gets home that evening, she digs around in the drawer, finding a pair of silver scissors and putting them on the counter in the bathroom, beside the new razor she bought.
She’s been standing there, staring at her reflection the mirror, unable to pick either implement up again, for fifteen minutes when Kara appears behind her in the doorway, holding a glass of scotch in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. She looks at Laura, then down at the counter, then comes up behind her and puts the drinks down next to the shining scissors.
“You want some help with that?” Kara murmurs quietly, her hand on Laura’s waist. It’s thirty seconds before Laura can bring herself to cover Kara’s hand and nod.
A stool is fetched, a towel round her shoulders, and then Kara’s dampening her hair and making the first few snips, bending after each one to drop a kiss against Laura's cheek, ear, neck, jawline. The more Laura wants to squeeze her eyes closed, the more she forces herself to keep them open, watching as the one beauty she’s always let herself be proud of flutters down around her feet. It hurts almost physically.
When Kara gets to the point of lathering up her hair, readying the razor, Laura reaches over for the wine glass and takes a deep draught.
Kara's slow and careful, the complete opposite of the way Kara treats herself. After she finishes, wiping away the remains of the foam, she takes a step back from Laura, letting Laura get used to the sight of her bare scalp in the mirror.
They stay there, in silence, for what seems like forever, Laura slowly reaching up to touch her head, feeling the unnatural smoothness, the contours of her scalp, the way her face looks gaunt and hollow. The tears pricking at her eyes don’t fall, but she can see the glassiness of them in the mirror.
“You look adorable,” Kara says, quietly, from behind her. “Like ... so beautiful.” When Laura doesn't answer, Kara picks up the scissors and hands them to Laura, nudging her to the side. “Stop cluttering up the stool, you. It’s my turn.”
That makes Laura drag her eyes away from her reflection, and she looks up at Kara, speaking for the first time since they started this whole thing. “What?”, her forehead wrinkled, her voice scratchy.
Kara’s earnest face gives way to a slight smile. “You look cute. I wanna look cute too. Just be careful, like I was, right?” When Laura doesn’t move, Kara takes the scissors back, reaching up behind herself and sawing through her short ponytail, til her hair hangs in loose, straggly golden stands around her face. “If you don’t want to do it, that's fine, but I’m going to end up looking like a freak if I can't reach the back of my own head.”
And somehow, Laura ends up standing behind Kara, wielding the scissors herself, while Kara winks at her from the mirror. It takes her mind off her own cold scalp while she focuses on snipping away at the silky strands, carefully shaping it around Kara’s head. Then Kara hands her the razor with a new blade attached, and Laura bites her lip as she carefully scrapes away the stubble left, the soft skin of Kara’s scalp slowly being revealed.
When Laura finally pulls the razor back down on the counter, Kara pulls her onto her lap, and they sit like that for a few minutes, looking at the pair of them in the mirror.
“You have a nicer shaped head than I do. No fair,” Kara says, and for the first time all day, Laura bursts out laughing.
The rest of the evening is spent the same way, laughing. Kara’s ears stick out a little, and it makes her pout. Laura can't get used to looking so pale, now her fall of auburn locks is gone. When they go to bed, Kara can’t stop kissing the top of Laura’s head, and it turns out to be a sweet spot for Laura, making her giggle and sigh.
And when they ventures out together the following morning to the market, hand in hand, Laura wearing a deep red headscarf around her brow, Kara with the world's dumbest beanie hat pulled down over her ears, it doesn’t matter if they get the occasional funny look. Laura just looks over at Kara, and Kara grins right back, squeezing her hand.
* * *
Correspondence, Laura/Kara, M
First night of Laura being away on that frakking week-long training course, and Kara can’t sleep. The bed feels empty and way too big, and even stretching right out like a starfish to try to enjoy the extra space doesn’t help. She tosses and turns, gets up at one point for a glass of water, then again half an hour later to use the bathroom, then again for a second glass of water.
Then she tries sleeping on Laura’s side of the bed, shifting over and curling her hands under the pillow to try to find the scent of Laura’s hair in the fabric.
The crackling sound from underneath pushes at her curiosity, and she lifts it, finding a pale blue envelope tucked underneath, her own name scrawled on the front in Laura’s looping handwriting. She tears it open, finding a letter inside.
Kara,
I knew you stole my pillow as well as my share of the blankets. No wonder I always wake up freezing, using you as my pillow instead.
I’m guessing you’re having trouble sleeping. I probably am too. Hotels are no fun when you're on your own. I’m sure I’ve tried the minibar and used the pool, but I’ve spent most of the evening sitting in my room, bored, flicking through tv channels wishing you were here, and trying to find ways to entertain myself.
Anyhow, I know you always sleep far better after you come. So I’m going to leave you some instructions, and I want you to follow them, then you’ll sleep absolutely fine.
There's one of these for every night I’m away, but they're hidden away, so you’ll have to look for them. Here's a clue for tomorrow night’s letter - it’s with a bunch of my things that you like more than I do. No peeking, though. I’ll know if you find all my letters at once - I know everything, remember?
Sweet dreams, baby. See you soon,
Laura
Below Laura's signature is a list, starting out with “Get out of those scrappy tanks and shorts I know you’re wearing, until you’re naked, just the way I like you.” Kara grins, doing as Laura instructs.
Half an hour later, she’s satiated, wet, and drowsy. As she starts to drift off to sleep, she glances towards Laura's underwear drawer, already anticipating the next letter.
* * *
Soothe, Laura/Kara, T
Kara has nightmares. Laura first discovered that on Kobol, the first night the group slept out under the stars and Kara came off watch, tucking herself under a bedroll just a few feet outside of Laura's small tent. She awoken to hear Kara whimpering under her breath, and Laura poked her head outside to find Kara curled tight in a ball, her fists clenched so tight that Laura could see the nails digging into her skin. Unsure of what to do, Laura hadn’t touched her.
The second night it happened, Laura had found herself crawling out to Kara’s side, stroking her arm gently and murmuring nonsense words of comfort quietly. Kara had woken with a start, pulled away, but once she'd come back to herself, had awkwardly thanked Laura, obviously uncomfortable with being touched (by the president? By Laura? By anyone?)
It's all different now. Now when Kara’s nightmares catch her sleeping mind, she herself turns into Laura’s arms, reaching out for Laura’s hand in her sleep. Even when Laura herself doesn’t wake up, she always knows in the morning what's been going on; Kara’s head tucked so close under her chin, Kara’s arms wrapped so tightly around her waist.
* * *
Patterns, Laura/Kara, PG
Sometimes they paint, side by side, standing the spare room with the big windows that they turned into a studio.
Their styles couldn’t be more different. Kara likes bright colours, splashes of emotion, abstract and vibrant. Her paintings say nothing and everything at once. She leaks all her hurt, her joy, her anger and her desire onto the canvas until it coalesces into something she can deal with, tangible in oils.
Laura paints languid watercolours. Delicate details of places they’ve been, people they’ve seen, dreams she’s had, stories she's read, all hazy and otherworldly. She captures her thoughts in soft colours, her hopes in tiny brushstrokes.
Laura loves Kara’s work. Kara adores Laura’s. Both knowing that painting is how they communicate the parts of themselves that won’t form into words.
* * *
Different, Laura/Kara, PG
The coastline to the west of Caprica City is relatively unspoiled; certainly compared to the tourist trap beaches of the eastern side. It's not much of a surprise, as the beaches themselves are rockier and harder to reach, and the wind coming in from out to sea can whip the waves high into a mass of froth and seaweed. On calm, sunny days, though, the light sparkles and glitters off the water and the only sound to be heard is that of the seabirds and the faint rustle of a breeze through the grass growing near the sand dunes. It's wild, and untamed, and suits Kara down to the ground.
Laura's cottage is perched on a low cliff overlooking one such beach; a small, white cabin with large windows, off the beaten track. Kara notes the lack of neighbours as the car sweeps up the country road leading to it, and realises why Laura insisted they stop for groceries on the way.
The invitation had been sudden; a phone call last night after Kara got back from her three weeks of training aboard the Solaria. Laura had sounded tired, a budget crisis and a minor school scandal having apparently conspired to give her a week-long migraine. Kara hadn't even known this place existed until then, which seemed an oversight after almost a year of dating, but then, she supposes, there's a lot of things she doesn't know about Laura, and a lot of things Laura doesn't know about her either. Kara's always wanted to keep this special, free of the taint of all that frakked-upness of the past, and so a lot of things just never come up.
When she tumbles in through the front door carrying Laura's neat black case and her own battered hold-all, she can't get over the decor. Though the cottage is fairly nondescript on the outside, inside, the place is so very Laura it hurts. Stripped wood floors, white walls, a large fireplace taking up half the wall of the main room. Bookcases along the other walls, except for the one in which a huge window gives an unspoiled view down to the sea.
The sofa is large and comfy looking, and Kara grins widely, dropping the cases to the ground and reaching for Laura's waist as she comes in, struggling under the weight of all the groceries she's brought.
"I guess you've frakked in every room of this place already, but not with me. We could make a start on that sofa once you put those damn bags down." She winks, tickling the soft skin of Laura's hip.
Laura gives her a crooked smile and slips away, walking towards what Kara assumes must be the kitchen, taking the bags with her.
As she disappears through the door, Kara hears her softly say "I don't bring people here," and it stops her in her tracks.
* * *
Bribery, Laura/Kara, T
Kara frakking hates these formal dinners Laura drags her too, now and then. Ever since Laura’s promotion to Superintendent of Schools, she’s ended up having to attend all kinds of political events the Mayor invites Laura to, all dressed up, making polite conversation with people she can’t stand, watching Laura move effortlessly around the room and not being able to go up to her and touch her the way she wants to.
“No one gives a frak about me, Laura. They won’t care if I’m there or not.” she complains when yet another silver-edged envelope lands on the doormat.
“You don’t have to come every time, but it’ll look weird if you're not there sometimes. Come on. For me?” And Laura knows Kara finds it almost impossible to say no to her, and so here they are again, getting out of the car, Laura in another of those sleek fitted dresses, low cut, black this time. It sets off her hair perfectly.
Kara climbs out after her, handing the keys to the valet, slipping her hand briefly into the pocket of her trousers.
Happy that Laura’s underwear is still safely there, she holds out her arm to Laura, and they walk in together, Laura’s lips pursed in a smirk, Kara for the first time, entering a mayoral party with a smile on her face.
Hee!
Snowfall, Laura/Kara, T
It rarely snows heavily in Caprica City, so when they’d woken that morning to huge white flakes settling on the ground outside the window, Kara had squealed, actually squealed, leaping out of bed, throwing on some clothes and racing outside like an overexcitable child. Laura snuggles back down beneath the blankets, no desire to go out to join her. She feels the cold way too easily these days.
When Laura finally emerges from the warmth of the bed, she watches her out of the window, building what she assumes to be a snowman, though the shape was .... a little off, to say the least. A half hour later, she’s showered and dressed, making breakfast; pancakes and toast and coffee. It's all laid out on the table, so Laura goes to the window, leaning out of it to call Kara in to eat.
The snowball that hits her smack in the face is pretty soft, thank the gods; the high pitched surprised shriek that emerges from her mouth startling even her.
Kara's standing right below the window, the crack of her smile so wide, another huge snowball ready and waiting in her hand. Laura's eyes widen and she ducks, the snowball flying over her head and landing somewhere behind her on the floor of their bedroom, half of it splattered over the edges of the coverlet of their bed.
Kara’s laugh echoes round the little courtyard down below their apartment, as Laura peeks back over the edge of the windowsill.
“Captain Thrace, that’s inappropriate behaviour for indoors”, Laura calls down, ducking again as a third snowball sails past her ear and lands on the dresser, knocking Kara’s hairbrush onto the floor.
“Why are you still indoors then?” Kara shouts back up, bending to pack yet more snow together.
Because it's cold, because breakfast's ready, because I have a pile of papers to grade. None of which seems like a particularly great reason, so Laura shuts the window right as snowball number four crashes against the glass. Her hat and scarf and gloves are hanging by the door, and she pulls them all on along with her coat, and then sneaks out of the side door on the ground floor, knowing that Kara will be waiting around the front.
Her own first snowball goes wide, but the second gets Kara in the back of the head as she stands idly by the main entrance to the apartments, two snowballs at the ready. And then it’s on, snow everywhere, down Laura’s top, all over Kara’s hair.
It ends with Laura somehow being pushed back against Kara's giant snow ... thing, which collapses, Kara on top of her, and then there are kisses, cold noses rubbing against each other, wet gloves grabbing each other’s arms.
By this point, at least three other people have come down from the apartments to play in the snow, and there are children about building snowmen and it's far less fun than it was when it was just the two of them making marks in the pristine whiteness.
“You know the only reason I opened the window was to let you know breakfast was ready?” Laura whispers into Kara’s ear. So they get up and wander back inside. The coffee is cold and the pancakes need reheating, but it tastes so much better now. Laura sips her new cup of coffee, enjoying the way Kara’s eyes are sparkling and her damp hair clings to her cheeks, watching Kara do the same thing back at her. It’s not a surprise at all when Kara finishes her last piece of toast, then leaps up, coming round behind Laura to wrap her arms around her and kiss her cheek.
“Wanna go warm up again, snow baby?” Kara nuzzles against her ear. So they do, not noticing the damp patch on the coverlet at all.
* * *
Razorblades, Laura/Kara, T
Today's the day Laura wakes up and decides she can’t pretend her hair isn’t falling out anymore. None of the new styles she’s been trying out work to cover how thin it's become, and her hairbrush is so full of strands that she has to spend five minutes picking them all out over the trash, her throat burning with pent up tears. Kara doesn't say anything about it over breakfast, but there's concern in her eyes as she sits across the table.
In her lunchbreak at work, she surfs the net, making an appointment for two days time to go get a wig fitted. It puts her off the meagre lunch she brought with her, and she pushes it away.
When she gets home that evening, she digs around in the drawer, finding a pair of silver scissors and putting them on the counter in the bathroom, beside the new razor she bought.
She’s been standing there, staring at her reflection the mirror, unable to pick either implement up again, for fifteen minutes when Kara appears behind her in the doorway, holding a glass of scotch in one hand, and a glass of wine in the other. She looks at Laura, then down at the counter, then comes up behind her and puts the drinks down next to the shining scissors.
“You want some help with that?” Kara murmurs quietly, her hand on Laura’s waist. It’s thirty seconds before Laura can bring herself to cover Kara’s hand and nod.
A stool is fetched, a towel round her shoulders, and then Kara’s dampening her hair and making the first few snips, bending after each one to drop a kiss against Laura's cheek, ear, neck, jawline. The more Laura wants to squeeze her eyes closed, the more she forces herself to keep them open, watching as the one beauty she’s always let herself be proud of flutters down around her feet. It hurts almost physically.
When Kara gets to the point of lathering up her hair, readying the razor, Laura reaches over for the wine glass and takes a deep draught.
Kara's slow and careful, the complete opposite of the way Kara treats herself. After she finishes, wiping away the remains of the foam, she takes a step back from Laura, letting Laura get used to the sight of her bare scalp in the mirror.
They stay there, in silence, for what seems like forever, Laura slowly reaching up to touch her head, feeling the unnatural smoothness, the contours of her scalp, the way her face looks gaunt and hollow. The tears pricking at her eyes don’t fall, but she can see the glassiness of them in the mirror.
“You look adorable,” Kara says, quietly, from behind her. “Like ... so beautiful.” When Laura doesn't answer, Kara picks up the scissors and hands them to Laura, nudging her to the side. “Stop cluttering up the stool, you. It’s my turn.”
That makes Laura drag her eyes away from her reflection, and she looks up at Kara, speaking for the first time since they started this whole thing. “What?”, her forehead wrinkled, her voice scratchy.
Kara’s earnest face gives way to a slight smile. “You look cute. I wanna look cute too. Just be careful, like I was, right?” When Laura doesn’t move, Kara takes the scissors back, reaching up behind herself and sawing through her short ponytail, til her hair hangs in loose, straggly golden stands around her face. “If you don’t want to do it, that's fine, but I’m going to end up looking like a freak if I can't reach the back of my own head.”
And somehow, Laura ends up standing behind Kara, wielding the scissors herself, while Kara winks at her from the mirror. It takes her mind off her own cold scalp while she focuses on snipping away at the silky strands, carefully shaping it around Kara’s head. Then Kara hands her the razor with a new blade attached, and Laura bites her lip as she carefully scrapes away the stubble left, the soft skin of Kara’s scalp slowly being revealed.
When Laura finally pulls the razor back down on the counter, Kara pulls her onto her lap, and they sit like that for a few minutes, looking at the pair of them in the mirror.
“You have a nicer shaped head than I do. No fair,” Kara says, and for the first time all day, Laura bursts out laughing.
The rest of the evening is spent the same way, laughing. Kara’s ears stick out a little, and it makes her pout. Laura can't get used to looking so pale, now her fall of auburn locks is gone. When they go to bed, Kara can’t stop kissing the top of Laura’s head, and it turns out to be a sweet spot for Laura, making her giggle and sigh.
And when they ventures out together the following morning to the market, hand in hand, Laura wearing a deep red headscarf around her brow, Kara with the world's dumbest beanie hat pulled down over her ears, it doesn’t matter if they get the occasional funny look. Laura just looks over at Kara, and Kara grins right back, squeezing her hand.
* * *
Correspondence, Laura/Kara, M
First night of Laura being away on that frakking week-long training course, and Kara can’t sleep. The bed feels empty and way too big, and even stretching right out like a starfish to try to enjoy the extra space doesn’t help. She tosses and turns, gets up at one point for a glass of water, then again half an hour later to use the bathroom, then again for a second glass of water.
Then she tries sleeping on Laura’s side of the bed, shifting over and curling her hands under the pillow to try to find the scent of Laura’s hair in the fabric.
The crackling sound from underneath pushes at her curiosity, and she lifts it, finding a pale blue envelope tucked underneath, her own name scrawled on the front in Laura’s looping handwriting. She tears it open, finding a letter inside.
Kara,
I knew you stole my pillow as well as my share of the blankets. No wonder I always wake up freezing, using you as my pillow instead.
I’m guessing you’re having trouble sleeping. I probably am too. Hotels are no fun when you're on your own. I’m sure I’ve tried the minibar and used the pool, but I’ve spent most of the evening sitting in my room, bored, flicking through tv channels wishing you were here, and trying to find ways to entertain myself.
Anyhow, I know you always sleep far better after you come. So I’m going to leave you some instructions, and I want you to follow them, then you’ll sleep absolutely fine.
There's one of these for every night I’m away, but they're hidden away, so you’ll have to look for them. Here's a clue for tomorrow night’s letter - it’s with a bunch of my things that you like more than I do. No peeking, though. I’ll know if you find all my letters at once - I know everything, remember?
Sweet dreams, baby. See you soon,
Laura
Below Laura's signature is a list, starting out with “Get out of those scrappy tanks and shorts I know you’re wearing, until you’re naked, just the way I like you.” Kara grins, doing as Laura instructs.
Half an hour later, she’s satiated, wet, and drowsy. As she starts to drift off to sleep, she glances towards Laura's underwear drawer, already anticipating the next letter.
* * *
Soothe, Laura/Kara, T
Kara has nightmares. Laura first discovered that on Kobol, the first night the group slept out under the stars and Kara came off watch, tucking herself under a bedroll just a few feet outside of Laura's small tent. She awoken to hear Kara whimpering under her breath, and Laura poked her head outside to find Kara curled tight in a ball, her fists clenched so tight that Laura could see the nails digging into her skin. Unsure of what to do, Laura hadn’t touched her.
The second night it happened, Laura had found herself crawling out to Kara’s side, stroking her arm gently and murmuring nonsense words of comfort quietly. Kara had woken with a start, pulled away, but once she'd come back to herself, had awkwardly thanked Laura, obviously uncomfortable with being touched (by the president? By Laura? By anyone?)
It's all different now. Now when Kara’s nightmares catch her sleeping mind, she herself turns into Laura’s arms, reaching out for Laura’s hand in her sleep. Even when Laura herself doesn’t wake up, she always knows in the morning what's been going on; Kara’s head tucked so close under her chin, Kara’s arms wrapped so tightly around her waist.
* * *
Patterns, Laura/Kara, PG
Sometimes they paint, side by side, standing the spare room with the big windows that they turned into a studio.
Their styles couldn’t be more different. Kara likes bright colours, splashes of emotion, abstract and vibrant. Her paintings say nothing and everything at once. She leaks all her hurt, her joy, her anger and her desire onto the canvas until it coalesces into something she can deal with, tangible in oils.
Laura paints languid watercolours. Delicate details of places they’ve been, people they’ve seen, dreams she’s had, stories she's read, all hazy and otherworldly. She captures her thoughts in soft colours, her hopes in tiny brushstrokes.
Laura loves Kara’s work. Kara adores Laura’s. Both knowing that painting is how they communicate the parts of themselves that won’t form into words.
* * *
Different, Laura/Kara, PG
The coastline to the west of Caprica City is relatively unspoiled; certainly compared to the tourist trap beaches of the eastern side. It's not much of a surprise, as the beaches themselves are rockier and harder to reach, and the wind coming in from out to sea can whip the waves high into a mass of froth and seaweed. On calm, sunny days, though, the light sparkles and glitters off the water and the only sound to be heard is that of the seabirds and the faint rustle of a breeze through the grass growing near the sand dunes. It's wild, and untamed, and suits Kara down to the ground.
Laura's cottage is perched on a low cliff overlooking one such beach; a small, white cabin with large windows, off the beaten track. Kara notes the lack of neighbours as the car sweeps up the country road leading to it, and realises why Laura insisted they stop for groceries on the way.
The invitation had been sudden; a phone call last night after Kara got back from her three weeks of training aboard the Solaria. Laura had sounded tired, a budget crisis and a minor school scandal having apparently conspired to give her a week-long migraine. Kara hadn't even known this place existed until then, which seemed an oversight after almost a year of dating, but then, she supposes, there's a lot of things she doesn't know about Laura, and a lot of things Laura doesn't know about her either. Kara's always wanted to keep this special, free of the taint of all that frakked-upness of the past, and so a lot of things just never come up.
When she tumbles in through the front door carrying Laura's neat black case and her own battered hold-all, she can't get over the decor. Though the cottage is fairly nondescript on the outside, inside, the place is so very Laura it hurts. Stripped wood floors, white walls, a large fireplace taking up half the wall of the main room. Bookcases along the other walls, except for the one in which a huge window gives an unspoiled view down to the sea.
The sofa is large and comfy looking, and Kara grins widely, dropping the cases to the ground and reaching for Laura's waist as she comes in, struggling under the weight of all the groceries she's brought.
"I guess you've frakked in every room of this place already, but not with me. We could make a start on that sofa once you put those damn bags down." She winks, tickling the soft skin of Laura's hip.
Laura gives her a crooked smile and slips away, walking towards what Kara assumes must be the kitchen, taking the bags with her.
As she disappears through the door, Kara hears her softly say "I don't bring people here," and it stops her in her tracks.
* * *
Bribery, Laura/Kara, T
Kara frakking hates these formal dinners Laura drags her too, now and then. Ever since Laura’s promotion to Superintendent of Schools, she’s ended up having to attend all kinds of political events the Mayor invites Laura to, all dressed up, making polite conversation with people she can’t stand, watching Laura move effortlessly around the room and not being able to go up to her and touch her the way she wants to.
“No one gives a frak about me, Laura. They won’t care if I’m there or not.” she complains when yet another silver-edged envelope lands on the doormat.
“You don’t have to come every time, but it’ll look weird if you're not there sometimes. Come on. For me?” And Laura knows Kara finds it almost impossible to say no to her, and so here they are again, getting out of the car, Laura in another of those sleek fitted dresses, low cut, black this time. It sets off her hair perfectly.
Kara climbs out after her, handing the keys to the valet, slipping her hand briefly into the pocket of her trousers.
Happy that Laura’s underwear is still safely there, she holds out her arm to Laura, and they walk in together, Laura’s lips pursed in a smirk, Kara for the first time, entering a mayoral party with a smile on her face.
Hee!