Date Night (3/3)
Rating: MA
Word Count: 1,900
Genre: PWP, Romance, Humor
Summary: Is it a first date if you’ve already been frakking for a year?
Series: Love in a Time of War: 7
A/N: This chapter is for tjonesy. You asked for it. (Even if you didn’t know it.)
Chapter Three:
“We’re too old for this,” fretted Laura.
“Again I say, speak for yourself,” grunted Bill, pushing the pillows behind his neck.
Clinging to the edge of the mattress, Laura said, “I can’t--“
She managed to get an elbow wedged between his knees for leverage. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“It may have been a while,” he said, offended. “But this is not my first time to this particular bull ride.”
“Well, I’m about to get bucked off,” she said, grabbing onto the chair arm for dear life as he tugged her upward. “Let’s go back to Caprica; this would have been a lot easier in my king-sized bed.”
He ordered, “Just put your leg there,” pushing her foot from his throat up onto the chair back.
“My leg doesn’t go that direction,” she told him.
“It’s going there now,” he said, holding onto her so that she wouldn’t fall.
She said, “This bed isn’t big enough--“
He insisted, “This is the only position that will fit,” and he pulled her closer. “Just have to get you right here,” he panted.
“I’m going to smother you,” she fussed.
As her sleek thighs wrapped around his ears, and his big hands covered her ass, pulling her even closer, he said, “I can’t think of a better way to die.”
When he tongue began exploring her folds, teasing at her opening, Laura realized that he may not be so crazy after all. Deciding to just go with the flow, she grasped his bobbing cock, slurping downward, cleaning the tacky residue that she’d left earlier.
Her heavy breasts brushed against his damp torso, reminding her of wandering through a muggy, tropical night. He smelled of the earth, slightly sour, humid; she was in the jungle, his solid thighs were tree trunks in her hands, his grunts against her searing skin were animal sounds from high in the branches. His penis in her mouth was a force, the power she felt in the dark tangle of leaves, lost, ensnared by nature, the attraction that held her captive--
She had to release him to gasp for breath--his fingers had replaced his tongue inside her, and his lips gripped her clit, leaving just the tip of his tongue to tease the hood back. She couldn’t breathe at all but had to spend her last oxygen on crying out his name, ragged and desperate. As she began to writhe, unable to control her limbs, his large hand steadied her ass to keep his mouth right there, please, yes, right there, she panted. His fingers--how many? She didn’t know, only that she felt full, tight, gripping the fingers as they rubbed her hard inside while his tongue flicked her clit just as hard and fast. The room lit white with her final dry-throated cry, and then she welcomed the blackness of her closed eyes.
Spent, she lay loosely on him, panting, trying to focus her blurry vision. He was not relenting. A few light kisses on the insides of her thighs, and then he was back at her, blowing cooling breathes onto her sensitive clit, closing in on it, again. She whimpered in desire-tinged protest, trying to slither away, diving down between his thighs as though looking for a hiding place.
She discovered his sac, reminding her ridiculously of two firm little kittens curled together in dark grass. He wasn’t a hairy man, thank the gods--she’d had enough body hair from Richard to last her a lifetime--and his smooth, tight skin fascinated her. Feeling light-headed and reckless, and besides, threaten the balls, and a man will back off; she licked one. He hummed in response, his touch becoming a tad less aggressive between her legs.
She plucked at the taut globe with her lips, and the Admiral of the Fleet giggled. Intrigued, she did the same to the other one--another giggle, rising in pitch, hissing against her labia. She couldn’t help it; she giggled back and that got a whimper from the vibration on his soft skin. She sucked one into her mouth, and he bucked up against her, his heavy cock pushing between her breasts.
“Laura,” was her name, but it was nearly unrecognizable when it came from him as a rough plea. She wasn’t going to stop anything that could make this man sounds so unhinged. Tonguing over to the other one, she suckled at it, causing him to hump harder against her chest.
She squeezed her breasts together, holding his cock fast, and released his sac with a satisfying slup sound. He was shouting nonsense, thrusting between her soft breasts. He reached for her, wanting to make her feel as desperate as he was, but he didn’t have a chance. Like a gladiator of old, she clung to her bucking bull for dear life.
He came with that bull’s roar, snakes of semen coiling between their bellies, smearing as she giggled and gasped with glee, still pressing her breasts around him, milking him dry.
They went limp in a tangle of limbs and she drawled, “Made ya come,” stating the obvious.
Now it was his turn to lie completely spent, arm flopped off the side of the mattress, gasping for breath and blinded by sweat and tears. Maybe she was right on this too old thing, but what a way to die.
Finally, he found the energy to kiss the inside of her knee. “Laura?”
“Mmph?” she said.
“Let me up.”
With mock outrage, she said, “Just like that; you’re going home?”
He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, the only part of him that didn’t seem to be covered with some bodily fluid. “I gotta clean us up.”
His fastidiousness always amused her; he had been the one to suggest getting dirty. Laura somehow rolled off him and glancing down at the mess all over her chest, decided he might have a point.
Besides, it was quite humorous to watch him try to stand, failing on the first attempt, valiantly get back upright, staggering, then reeling off towards the bathroom. Giggles overcame her, seeing his lily white ass flapping in the air circulator’s breeze.
That’s how he found her, still snickering, sprawled on her mattress among the rumbled worn bedding. “I think these sheets is a lost cause,” he said, first wiping her breasts and stomach off with a damp washcloth, then gently patting her dry with a tattered towel.
“Can’t be. Only got two, and the other set’s worse.”
“Damn,” he said, nudging her thighs open to begin carefully cleaning her still sensitive sex. “If I’d know you were going to blow through my reserve tanks, I would have brought a tarp up from the hanger deck.”
“Frak you,” she squealed, swatting his shoulder, getting one of his sweet grins in response. Damn, she loved him. She almost said it aloud, and bit down hard on her lips to stop herself.
Concern came across his face. “Did I hurt you?” he rasped, stilling his ministrations.
“No,” she whispered, turning her face into the chair arm. His hand resumed smoothing over her, brushing her damp red curls back so he could look, really look at her most intimate area.
He sat beside her, the room silent but for their labored breathing, the laughter gone. She watched him swallow as his fingers absentmindedly played along the tender skin, rubbing her clit so gently as to be almost not touching, yet just enough.
She leaned on his shoulder, giving over to the sensation. His focus was complete on his fingers and her reddening flesh as though seeing her for the first time instead of as a year-long lover. Maybe it would always feel this way.
She latched onto his neck. She loved his rough-skinned throat, the hard Adam’s apple that stroked up and down as he breathed, the thick cords of sinew and tendon, the slow thumping blood in the veins--it reminded her of his penis, but she could openly stare at his neck rising above his uniform collar all day long and no one knew why. She gave one weak chuckle at the silly thought, then another, then a needy gasp of the slow, low last orgasm.
Thoughtful, she hefted his flaccid penis, and he chuckled himself. “No chance, baby. You’ve killed me. You’ve knocked me out for at least 24 hours.”
“Oh, now, not that long,” she whispered in his ear.
He wiped his fingers clean on the washcloth, then dried them. When he kissed her quickly on the lips, she watched the wall drop across his eyes, shielding their warmth.
“Might as well be. I’d better go, right?”
She glanced at the clock. One hundred hours. “Yes,” she said, “I guess so.”
He stood and began looking around for his tanks and briefs.
“Do you want to shower? I think I can find another towel,” she offered.
“No,” he said, discovering that his briefs had somehow ended up across the room. “I cleaned up enough that I don’t reek of sex.”
“Can’t have that,” she said, finding her robe and slipping it on. “I don’t care how loyal the pilots are, they’d have to share that in the rec room.”
He’d gotten as far as pants and tanks, and she helped him on with his tunic, not because he needed help, but because she wanted to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she mumbled, leaning on his shoulder. “At that thirteen hundred hours meeting--Gods, I never thought I’d be able to remember military time, and now it’s second nature.”
He smiled against her hair, wildly curled from their activities. “My little soldier,” he said and she hummed back.
Finger combing his own tousled hair, he looked around for his bag. She found it first, and when she gave it to him, said, “Thank you so much, Admiral Adama, for a lovely evening.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, giving a half-bow as he’d been taught in his decorum classes many decades ago.
She tugged him towards the doorway as his eyes slid back to the disheveled bed.
“Goodnight,” he whispered against her lips, pressing her to the wall for one last kiss.
“Sweet dreams,” she promised him.
“Well, at least I know I won’t be having a wet dream,” he had to say and she could only roll her eyes.
She’d turned away, wandering back into her quarters without looking back; he was already gone to her. But he watched, because he loved watching her walk, the way she seemed to have no course, but always ended up right where she wanted to be.
Tonight it was at his gift in her old perfume bottle, and she leaned over one more time to breathe in the orchid’s scent, her slender hand lifting the tender petals close.
Resolute, he pushed through the curtain.
Down a level, Tory was still at work. Bill was uncomfortable for a moment; just how loud had they been? Then he decided, frak it. She knew why he was here, and chose to stay; what did that say about her?
He merely nodded when the young woman’s gaze lifted from her paperwork, but she said, sarcastic, “Good evening, Admiral,” with a questioning lilt.
“Yes, Miss Foster, it was,” he said, giving her his most steely gaze before marching onward. When he left Laura’s sleep area, the Admiral was back and she might as well know it.
The End
End notes: Well, that was fun. Back to the angst next week.
Word Count: 1,900
Genre: PWP, Romance, Humor
Summary: Is it a first date if you’ve already been frakking for a year?
Series: Love in a Time of War: 7
A/N: This chapter is for tjonesy. You asked for it. (Even if you didn’t know it.)
Chapter Three:
“We’re too old for this,” fretted Laura.
“Again I say, speak for yourself,” grunted Bill, pushing the pillows behind his neck.
Clinging to the edge of the mattress, Laura said, “I can’t--“
She managed to get an elbow wedged between his knees for leverage. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“It may have been a while,” he said, offended. “But this is not my first time to this particular bull ride.”
“Well, I’m about to get bucked off,” she said, grabbing onto the chair arm for dear life as he tugged her upward. “Let’s go back to Caprica; this would have been a lot easier in my king-sized bed.”
He ordered, “Just put your leg there,” pushing her foot from his throat up onto the chair back.
“My leg doesn’t go that direction,” she told him.
“It’s going there now,” he said, holding onto her so that she wouldn’t fall.
She said, “This bed isn’t big enough--“
He insisted, “This is the only position that will fit,” and he pulled her closer. “Just have to get you right here,” he panted.
“I’m going to smother you,” she fussed.
As her sleek thighs wrapped around his ears, and his big hands covered her ass, pulling her even closer, he said, “I can’t think of a better way to die.”
When he tongue began exploring her folds, teasing at her opening, Laura realized that he may not be so crazy after all. Deciding to just go with the flow, she grasped his bobbing cock, slurping downward, cleaning the tacky residue that she’d left earlier.
Her heavy breasts brushed against his damp torso, reminding her of wandering through a muggy, tropical night. He smelled of the earth, slightly sour, humid; she was in the jungle, his solid thighs were tree trunks in her hands, his grunts against her searing skin were animal sounds from high in the branches. His penis in her mouth was a force, the power she felt in the dark tangle of leaves, lost, ensnared by nature, the attraction that held her captive--
She had to release him to gasp for breath--his fingers had replaced his tongue inside her, and his lips gripped her clit, leaving just the tip of his tongue to tease the hood back. She couldn’t breathe at all but had to spend her last oxygen on crying out his name, ragged and desperate. As she began to writhe, unable to control her limbs, his large hand steadied her ass to keep his mouth right there, please, yes, right there, she panted. His fingers--how many? She didn’t know, only that she felt full, tight, gripping the fingers as they rubbed her hard inside while his tongue flicked her clit just as hard and fast. The room lit white with her final dry-throated cry, and then she welcomed the blackness of her closed eyes.
Spent, she lay loosely on him, panting, trying to focus her blurry vision. He was not relenting. A few light kisses on the insides of her thighs, and then he was back at her, blowing cooling breathes onto her sensitive clit, closing in on it, again. She whimpered in desire-tinged protest, trying to slither away, diving down between his thighs as though looking for a hiding place.
She discovered his sac, reminding her ridiculously of two firm little kittens curled together in dark grass. He wasn’t a hairy man, thank the gods--she’d had enough body hair from Richard to last her a lifetime--and his smooth, tight skin fascinated her. Feeling light-headed and reckless, and besides, threaten the balls, and a man will back off; she licked one. He hummed in response, his touch becoming a tad less aggressive between her legs.
She plucked at the taut globe with her lips, and the Admiral of the Fleet giggled. Intrigued, she did the same to the other one--another giggle, rising in pitch, hissing against her labia. She couldn’t help it; she giggled back and that got a whimper from the vibration on his soft skin. She sucked one into her mouth, and he bucked up against her, his heavy cock pushing between her breasts.
“Laura,” was her name, but it was nearly unrecognizable when it came from him as a rough plea. She wasn’t going to stop anything that could make this man sounds so unhinged. Tonguing over to the other one, she suckled at it, causing him to hump harder against her chest.
She squeezed her breasts together, holding his cock fast, and released his sac with a satisfying slup sound. He was shouting nonsense, thrusting between her soft breasts. He reached for her, wanting to make her feel as desperate as he was, but he didn’t have a chance. Like a gladiator of old, she clung to her bucking bull for dear life.
He came with that bull’s roar, snakes of semen coiling between their bellies, smearing as she giggled and gasped with glee, still pressing her breasts around him, milking him dry.
They went limp in a tangle of limbs and she drawled, “Made ya come,” stating the obvious.
Now it was his turn to lie completely spent, arm flopped off the side of the mattress, gasping for breath and blinded by sweat and tears. Maybe she was right on this too old thing, but what a way to die.
Finally, he found the energy to kiss the inside of her knee. “Laura?”
“Mmph?” she said.
“Let me up.”
With mock outrage, she said, “Just like that; you’re going home?”
He wiped his eyes with the backs of his hands, the only part of him that didn’t seem to be covered with some bodily fluid. “I gotta clean us up.”
His fastidiousness always amused her; he had been the one to suggest getting dirty. Laura somehow rolled off him and glancing down at the mess all over her chest, decided he might have a point.
Besides, it was quite humorous to watch him try to stand, failing on the first attempt, valiantly get back upright, staggering, then reeling off towards the bathroom. Giggles overcame her, seeing his lily white ass flapping in the air circulator’s breeze.
That’s how he found her, still snickering, sprawled on her mattress among the rumbled worn bedding. “I think these sheets is a lost cause,” he said, first wiping her breasts and stomach off with a damp washcloth, then gently patting her dry with a tattered towel.
“Can’t be. Only got two, and the other set’s worse.”
“Damn,” he said, nudging her thighs open to begin carefully cleaning her still sensitive sex. “If I’d know you were going to blow through my reserve tanks, I would have brought a tarp up from the hanger deck.”
“Frak you,” she squealed, swatting his shoulder, getting one of his sweet grins in response. Damn, she loved him. She almost said it aloud, and bit down hard on her lips to stop herself.
Concern came across his face. “Did I hurt you?” he rasped, stilling his ministrations.
“No,” she whispered, turning her face into the chair arm. His hand resumed smoothing over her, brushing her damp red curls back so he could look, really look at her most intimate area.
He sat beside her, the room silent but for their labored breathing, the laughter gone. She watched him swallow as his fingers absentmindedly played along the tender skin, rubbing her clit so gently as to be almost not touching, yet just enough.
She leaned on his shoulder, giving over to the sensation. His focus was complete on his fingers and her reddening flesh as though seeing her for the first time instead of as a year-long lover. Maybe it would always feel this way.
She latched onto his neck. She loved his rough-skinned throat, the hard Adam’s apple that stroked up and down as he breathed, the thick cords of sinew and tendon, the slow thumping blood in the veins--it reminded her of his penis, but she could openly stare at his neck rising above his uniform collar all day long and no one knew why. She gave one weak chuckle at the silly thought, then another, then a needy gasp of the slow, low last orgasm.
Thoughtful, she hefted his flaccid penis, and he chuckled himself. “No chance, baby. You’ve killed me. You’ve knocked me out for at least 24 hours.”
“Oh, now, not that long,” she whispered in his ear.
He wiped his fingers clean on the washcloth, then dried them. When he kissed her quickly on the lips, she watched the wall drop across his eyes, shielding their warmth.
“Might as well be. I’d better go, right?”
She glanced at the clock. One hundred hours. “Yes,” she said, “I guess so.”
He stood and began looking around for his tanks and briefs.
“Do you want to shower? I think I can find another towel,” she offered.
“No,” he said, discovering that his briefs had somehow ended up across the room. “I cleaned up enough that I don’t reek of sex.”
“Can’t have that,” she said, finding her robe and slipping it on. “I don’t care how loyal the pilots are, they’d have to share that in the rec room.”
He’d gotten as far as pants and tanks, and she helped him on with his tunic, not because he needed help, but because she wanted to.
“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she mumbled, leaning on his shoulder. “At that thirteen hundred hours meeting--Gods, I never thought I’d be able to remember military time, and now it’s second nature.”
He smiled against her hair, wildly curled from their activities. “My little soldier,” he said and she hummed back.
Finger combing his own tousled hair, he looked around for his bag. She found it first, and when she gave it to him, said, “Thank you so much, Admiral Adama, for a lovely evening.”
“The pleasure was all mine,” he said, giving a half-bow as he’d been taught in his decorum classes many decades ago.
She tugged him towards the doorway as his eyes slid back to the disheveled bed.
“Goodnight,” he whispered against her lips, pressing her to the wall for one last kiss.
“Sweet dreams,” she promised him.
“Well, at least I know I won’t be having a wet dream,” he had to say and she could only roll her eyes.
She’d turned away, wandering back into her quarters without looking back; he was already gone to her. But he watched, because he loved watching her walk, the way she seemed to have no course, but always ended up right where she wanted to be.
Tonight it was at his gift in her old perfume bottle, and she leaned over one more time to breathe in the orchid’s scent, her slender hand lifting the tender petals close.
Resolute, he pushed through the curtain.
Down a level, Tory was still at work. Bill was uncomfortable for a moment; just how loud had they been? Then he decided, frak it. She knew why he was here, and chose to stay; what did that say about her?
He merely nodded when the young woman’s gaze lifted from her paperwork, but she said, sarcastic, “Good evening, Admiral,” with a questioning lilt.
“Yes, Miss Foster, it was,” he said, giving her his most steely gaze before marching onward. When he left Laura’s sleep area, the Admiral was back and she might as well know it.
The End
End notes: Well, that was fun. Back to the angst next week.