FIC: All the Time
Title: All the Time
Author: bugs
Rating: Very gentle M?
Word Count: 494
A/N: It’s somadanne’s birthday so I’m tossing fic confetti at someone who loves our little A/R ship and encourages it so much.
I got inspiration from last week’s ar_drabbles challenge, ‘time to break the rules’ so it can be a ficlet, thus not offending any drabble purists. ;-)
~*~
“Madam President...” As we leave the Ward Room, Tory’s voice trails me like the baying of hunt hounds. “We have that meeting on Colonial One at fourteen hundred hours--“
When did Tory start using military time?
Our heels clack on the steel deck, the ticking of minutes passing.
“I’ll take thirty then,” I say firmly, stopping at the hatch with the faded letters Commander.
Tory’s eyes flick toward it. “You need to lie down?”
“Yes,” I say easily, and I suppose it’s true in a sense.
Checking her watch, she nods. “I’ll be back at 13:45, just in case you oversleep--“
“No need. I’ll meet you on the hangar.” I’m through the hatch before she can argue.
My pumps slipping off are another jerk of the clock’s arms moving forward, my blazer sliding down is the movement of the works.
“You should have been here sooner,” Bill says, putting aside his glasses and rising from his desk. His arm slips around my waist and he joins me in our course toward the rack. “You let them take all your time--“
“There’s never enough time for them,” I agree.
One afternoon, I’d been given months to live, but nearly everyone else died instead. Those months were minutes ticking away, not just a calendar flipping over. Every waking moment must be used. Never enough time, rushing, crushing in everything that must be done, and there was always more.
Then I found out how long days could be on New Caprica. Back in the Fleet, back to the familiar rush. Until time halted with words sounding like midnight chiming: “I’m sorry; the cancer’s returned.”
Now every minute is divided into seconds, then nanoseconds--I hold them in my tight fists, only allowing a few to trickle away.
I tick those fractions off with kisses down Bill’s chest. His fingertips tap at my vertebrae, keeping time.
Bill understands. His intimacies have been always measured by finite time; shore leave with his family; the length of a tune for a lap dance; the hour, max, that a sex worker gave her clients. He knows how to measure our moments, fulfilling our needs, yet never in a hurry.
He rocks between my thighs, a gentle rhythm matching my heartbeats. I breathe against his soft skin, each pore rising in a shy goosebump.
Now that my body can’t take much, we sneak up on our climax. A gentle wash of my profound satisfaction; his deep rumble a muffled hammer’s blow against my chest.
“I told Tory I’d meet her at the Raptor. When do you need to be back on CIC?”
“I’ll go with you to the hangar.”
“You don’t need to.” Still, it pleases me to have a boyfriend walk me home.
“Yes, I do.” He likes walking his girlfriend home. He shifts out of my arms. “We should go.”
I pull him back to my side. “Not yet. We have all the time in the universe.”
Author: bugs
Rating: Very gentle M?
Word Count: 494
A/N: It’s somadanne’s birthday so I’m tossing fic confetti at someone who loves our little A/R ship and encourages it so much.
I got inspiration from last week’s ar_drabbles challenge, ‘time to break the rules’ so it can be a ficlet, thus not offending any drabble purists. ;-)
~*~
“Madam President...” As we leave the Ward Room, Tory’s voice trails me like the baying of hunt hounds. “We have that meeting on Colonial One at fourteen hundred hours--“
When did Tory start using military time?
Our heels clack on the steel deck, the ticking of minutes passing.
“I’ll take thirty then,” I say firmly, stopping at the hatch with the faded letters Commander.
Tory’s eyes flick toward it. “You need to lie down?”
“Yes,” I say easily, and I suppose it’s true in a sense.
Checking her watch, she nods. “I’ll be back at 13:45, just in case you oversleep--“
“No need. I’ll meet you on the hangar.” I’m through the hatch before she can argue.
My pumps slipping off are another jerk of the clock’s arms moving forward, my blazer sliding down is the movement of the works.
“You should have been here sooner,” Bill says, putting aside his glasses and rising from his desk. His arm slips around my waist and he joins me in our course toward the rack. “You let them take all your time--“
“There’s never enough time for them,” I agree.
One afternoon, I’d been given months to live, but nearly everyone else died instead. Those months were minutes ticking away, not just a calendar flipping over. Every waking moment must be used. Never enough time, rushing, crushing in everything that must be done, and there was always more.
Then I found out how long days could be on New Caprica. Back in the Fleet, back to the familiar rush. Until time halted with words sounding like midnight chiming: “I’m sorry; the cancer’s returned.”
Now every minute is divided into seconds, then nanoseconds--I hold them in my tight fists, only allowing a few to trickle away.
I tick those fractions off with kisses down Bill’s chest. His fingertips tap at my vertebrae, keeping time.
Bill understands. His intimacies have been always measured by finite time; shore leave with his family; the length of a tune for a lap dance; the hour, max, that a sex worker gave her clients. He knows how to measure our moments, fulfilling our needs, yet never in a hurry.
He rocks between my thighs, a gentle rhythm matching my heartbeats. I breathe against his soft skin, each pore rising in a shy goosebump.
Now that my body can’t take much, we sneak up on our climax. A gentle wash of my profound satisfaction; his deep rumble a muffled hammer’s blow against my chest.
“I told Tory I’d meet her at the Raptor. When do you need to be back on CIC?”
“I’ll go with you to the hangar.”
“You don’t need to.” Still, it pleases me to have a boyfriend walk me home.
“Yes, I do.” He likes walking his girlfriend home. He shifts out of my arms. “We should go.”
I pull him back to my side. “Not yet. We have all the time in the universe.”