FIC: I Can't Make You Love Me
Title: I Can’t Make You Love Me
Author: bugs
Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst
Series: Love in the Time of War ~ 18
Rating: MA
Word Count: 6,600
Summary: For one night, Laura reaches out to Bill.
A/N: I know ufgator wants me to write in this universe more, so on the occasion of her birthday, I was happy to create this offering! Although I did cheat, and posted the first part of ar_drabbles and the second to makebillhappy . Both parts have been revised into one story but that explains the sense of déjà vu of you’ve read them.
~*~
At the rap, Laura slowly opened the heavy hatch of her quarters. It was Bill, with a steaming carafe of algae coffee on a tray and his grim face freshly shaved.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
She doesn’t mean the breakfast; he brings it every day whether she wants to eat or not, and waits, solid as a carved lion outside a temple, for her to pick at her food. He was there to be her escort to Cally’s funeral; she can tell from his dress grays. Normally, she would take a quiet enjoyment to see him in the fresher uniform with all his medals on the sash, but this morning it just meant another death.
Setting down the tray on the table, he said his line of their daily drama easily: “No problem.”
This was a part of the game they’d been playing ever since she moved out of his quarters. She says no, he shows up anyway, she leans into his warmth, then tells him to leave. She’d hate herself if she couldn’t justify her selfishness in the dark of night--dying women should grasp onto anything they need.
Lifting the plate cover, Bill revealed that he had finagled one of Cookie’s flaky croissants for her--what that man could do with algae.
The chair groaned under his weight as he sank into it. Laura was still dressing; she took a sip, slipped on her blouse, took a nibble of roll, stepped into her skirt, transforming from her robe and headscarf into Presidential form. He watched, but it wasn’t a scene of repressed passions; it was dreary and domestic.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, reading her line back to her as though prompting her performance.
“What?” She’s searching around; she can’t find her left shoe.
“Go to this funeral. Cally wasn’t--“
“Cally was a friend.” It was so easy to toss out New Caprica at him--a pebble landing in a pool of black water, its light weight becoming long ripples.
He dipped his head. “You need more rest.”
She raised the coffee cup to her lips. “That’s what this is for. Don’t worry about me.”
She looked around again. Now the wig. Spotting it on her desk, she snagged it and ducked into the head, ignoring his long released breath behind her. She still hasn’t put it on before him yet, nor had he seen her shaven head. Putting it on wasn’t an easy action yet like hooking on her bra, and she wasn’t ready for the second part.
When she came out, he pushed himself up from the table. She grabbed the coffee cup for one last sip.
He gently straightened her wig, then untucked her folded-up collar and smoothing it flat. With a nod, he deemed her ready.
But she leaned against his solid chest, resting for a moment. He lifted the plate. "Finish your roll," he chided.
She shoved the last bite in without arguing. He folded her hand over his forearm and led her to the hatch. “Let’s get this thing done,” he said grimly.
She swallowed her protests with the bite of roll.
When he opened the hatch, Tory stood there, her fist raised to knock. At the sight of the Admiral, she grimaced before quickly masking her expression.
Bill flashed the tiniest of smiles at her aide’s reaction and for some reason, this gladdened Laura.
~*~A week later:
“Bill, let’s go out on a date.”
He peered over his glasses at Laura. “What?”
He’d been conscious of her presence in his quarters, puttering around as she waited her turn at the desk while he did his logs, occasionally remarking on the pressing issues that were the meeting they were engaged in.
Apparently, he hadn’t been paying attention. Somehow, they’d gone from sugar shortages to dating. Laura had been in an odd mood since Cally’s funeral; they all had. Somehow, one diminutive knuckledragger had been the lynchpin for all of them.
“A date?” he asked.
She reshelved the book she’d been looking at and came closer, her grey-green eyes clever and bright under her blue headscarf. “Yes, you remember those things. A man, a woman, dressing up and going out; we’ve even done it a time or two. Perhaps alcohol is involved--“
He started to say something about Cottle’s ban on alcohol for her, but then thought better of it. He just nodded. “Yeah, I remember. It’s just been a while.”
Sure, he remembered. And had decided he couldn’t think about that anymore. But she would pick at the most unlikely scabs, this woman who had walked out of their home without a backward glance.
She ran a light hand across his back between his shoulder blades and he arched up a bit. It was a reflex he couldn’t ever stop. Laura Roslin is touching me, and I like it, he thought with childish glee. He didn’t need a date; this was enough.
“Bill, are you listening?”
“You want me to take you on a date.”
“No, I want to take you on a date,” she said definitely, moving off toward his wardrobe.
He rose slowly, feeling slightly invaded as she flung open the door. During their brief cohabitation, he’d given her the left side of the closet, but she was opening the right. “What’re you doin’?”
“Looking for something for you to wear.” She flipped through his garments. “A real date, William Adama. No uniform for you, no suit for me.”
He hovered behind her. “I don’t have many civvies. I’ve been trading them off over the years; didn’t see any need to keep them.”
She pulled out a faded pair of jeans. “These will do.”
“Uh, I don’t know about them,” he said. “They were next on my trade list. They’re pretty old.”
“They still look fine.”
“Well, they aren’t,” he said stiffly, snatching them from her grasp.
Her gaze flicked to his sturdy waistline and away. “I suppose I’ll let you surprise me.”
“Sure. And you surprise me.” Tossing the jeans back in the closet and closing the door, he led her to the sofa. They sank down on the cushions together and he tucked her under his arm. He didn’t like how easily she fit these days.
“Don’t worry about dressing up for me,” he said, “I like your suits--“
“I’m not wearing the white top.”
“Oh.”
“I want us to put everything aside for a night. Do you understand?”
Concerned at her intensity, he still nodded. He wanted to ask her if she’d be up for this, if she’d recovered from her most recent treatment, but he knew he couldn’t show that concern outside of the sickbay; it was their unspoken code.
Instead, he kept it about clothes. “Like on New Caprica?” he asked. “That dress was pretty--“
“And you wore your uniform,” she said dryly.
Tilting her head back, she scrutinized him carefully. “I assume you were trying to tell me something.”
“Like what?”
She snuggled closer and rubbed his faded tunic affectionately. “That you were still on duty.”
“So you want me off duty.”
“I’m worried about you, Bill.”
He gaped, incredulous. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Okay, and us.” Her slim hand tightens to a fist around one of his tunic buttons. “Our disagreement about Kara Thrace--“
“You are you and Starbuck is Starbuck.”
“Two separate chambers of your heart?”
“Yeah, that sounds right.”
“But your blood must flow to both, Bill.”
He furrowed his brow. He didn’t want to fight again.
As though reading his mind, she unfurled her hand and rubbed circles around his chest. “I don’t want to fight, Bill. So Starbuck’s off the table for the night, and all your other worries.” She peeked up at his again. “Perhaps that’ll be difficult.”
“I can let things go for an evening,” he promised.
She gave a definite nod as though sealing a bargain and stood. “I better go see what I can find in my wardrobe that’s in no way a suit.”
He began to feel a bit excited. “When’s our date?”
She found her pumps and slipped them on, then looked around for her wig. “Tomorrow night.” She snagged the clump of hair and went into the head.
He craned his neck, trying to see her as she replaced her wig. Although she felt comfortable enough to take it off in his quarters, she did it out of his view and put on a headscarf she carried in her briefcase. He still hadn’t seen her uncovered head.
“You’ll pick me up at nineteen hundred?” he called out.
She stepped through the head’s hatchway, her Madam President persona firmly in place. She flicked his nose as she sashayed past. “No, I’ll be here at seven.”
He could only shake his head. The hatch clanked shut behind her, and his gaze returned to the pair of jeans stuck in the closet door.
He retrieved them and took them into the head.
After a bit of huffing and puffing, he decided they fit well enough, just so long as he kept the waistband beneath his actual waistline. With the right shirt, they’d do the job. Redressing in his uniform, he admitted it was looking a bit tattered. And the other tunic wasn’t any better.
In his past dating experience, women liked to be out with a man in uniform. But perhaps Laura wanted them to blend in a bit wherever she planned to take him.
A public date. This would be daring for them. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew they weren’t fooling anyone that their feelings for each other weren’t completely professional, or even simply those of close friends and comrades. But for them to acknowledge those feelings publicly...
For his trading trip, he selected his purple satin shirt that Laura had worn on their ‘honeymoon.’ It still smelled of her. It caused his scar to flutter when he put the shirt in a small satchel, but he wasn’t going to be like Saul, sleeping with a tattered remnant of his lost woman later on.
He called the CIC and told Saul he’d be on the PCS Quattro for an hour. He’d give Laura this. Her offer of a date had given him something new to dwell on, something that wasn’t misguided children, trying to spot signposts, or dying lovers.
*
Bill trailed after Laura, his hand at the small of her back. He liked this view. She’d dressed simply, but somehow not his President. A new black V-necked sweater, snug in all the right places was paired with a deep red pencil skirt. Her clothing outlined her lush hips; her deep décolleté; her long thighs. Only her stiff hair didn’t swing in the familiar sweeping pattern along her shoulders.
She also carried a large handbag; she expected to pay tonight. He’d offered to carry it for her, but she refused.
“Joe’s?” he said as they came to the bar’s entrance. “I dunno, Laura--“
She tucked her arm in his. “Oh, come on, Bill. Let’s live it up like normal crewmembers.”
He looked down into her sparkling eyes and couldn’t say no. She didn’t know that the last time he was in this place, he’d had to demote Tyrol.
“Have you been here before?” she asked as she nodded to the surprised bartender.
“Just once,” he said, forcing on a smile.
She chose one of the tables in a dark corner, lit with a single candle. The loud chatter of the crowd changed to low buzz while they wove through the tables. Heads leaned closer together as all eyes followed them.
The waiter almost beat them to the table. Bill tried to order cold tea, but Laura jumped over him. “A tea for me, and an ambrosia for the gentleman,” she said firmly.
Bill didn’t want to drink in front of her but he tried to play the part of a date by thanking her, then added, “You look beautiful this evening.”
She gave him one of her wicked little smiles. “So do you,” she said, “That color is lovely on you.” He’d finally found a loose-draping velvet shirt in a heathered gray.
He narrowed his eyes, but her grin wasn’t mocking; it was full of fun. Her thin white fingers toyed with his sleeve. “And so soft,” she murmured.
He glanced over his shoulder. The three pilots at the next table quickly looked away.
“Are you flirting with me, Madam President?”
“Yes, Admiral. What are you going to do about it?”
With horror, he felt tears welling in his eyes. At this time when they should be close, when she should be relying on him for support, they seemed to do nothing but quarrel and snip, with a bit of cold silences tossed in. This felt pretty damn nice, even if he suspected that she was making an intentional effort for some odd reason.
“Your drinks,” the waiter announced, placing the glasses before them and shattering the moment.
Bill took too deep of a draft and coughed. “Would you like to dance?”
Across the hangar, a few couples shuffled around the tiny dance floor.
Laura stared down at her drink, then gave him a coy peek again under the stiff brush of her bangs. “I prefer to dance in your quarters.”
“Don’t trust me in public?” He drew a circle on the tabletop with his fingertip to keep from taking her hand.
“No,” she said on a wave of giggles.
He chuckled too.
She gazed past the dancers to the billiard tables. “Let’s play pool.”
“You play?” he asked, surprised.
“No, not once.” She pushed herself up. “But I think it’s high time I learned.”
He led her to the pool tables. They expected to wait for one to free up, but two deckhands suddenly remembered they had to return to duty and abandoned their play.
Laura thanked them and accepted one of the cue sticks.
“So I try to hit that ball?” she asked, pointing at the white ball.
He leaned on his cue, smiling at her serious expression. “That’s the idea.”
“You’re not taking me seriously.”
“Okay, okay.” He racked the balls.
When she still was puzzled looking, he said, “Let me show you the way to hold the cue.”
He wrapped his arms around her, leaning her over the table. He distinctly heard a gasp and a snicker from a table nearby, but chose to ignore them.
“This is sort of uncomfortable,” she fussed as he stretched her arm out to support the end of the cue stick.
“It just feels that way at first until you get used to it,” he rumbled in her ear.
“Bill Adama,” she said, trying not to giggle. He liked the way her body quavered as the laughter bubbled up.
“Don’t kill my action, baby.” He gently pulled her other arm back. “This used to be my go-to move in many a bar.”
“I thought all pilots knew how to play pool.” She squinted at the cue ball.
“Okay, shoot it,” he instructed.
She managed to hit the cue ball, but it missed all the other balls and careened around the table wildly, but at least didn’t fall into any pockets.
“Rook pilots knew to go to those bars where women pretended they didn’t know how to play.”
“So they’d expect this offer of yours.” Laura moved around the table, stalking her victim the cue ball.
He followed. “Yep. Everyone knew the game.”
She balanced her cue stick on her fingers and squinted at the cue ball. “When did this stop working?”
“I got married before I could find out.”
Her wig’s stiff hair kept falling forward; it wouldn’t tuck behind her ear. She growled in the back of her throat.
“Here.” He gently swept it back and held it at the base of her neck.
“Thanks.”
This time, the cue ball actually struck the four ball but the two balls lost their speed, stopping just before the pocket.
“Better,” he said.
She cocked her head, assessing the best angle for her next attempt to sink the shot.
“Here,” he said again, wrapping his arms around her again. “This is tricky.” He lifted her right arm above her head, and showed her how she’d make a sharp, downward blow to the ball.
“Will this work?”
“Trust me,” he said and stepped back.
She tried it, and the four ball managed to drop.
“Good girl,” he said with approval.
She laughed with delight. He smiled at her, happy that something simple could give her enjoyment.
She cocked her hip, supporting herself on her cue stick. “Why don’t you take a turn?”
“It’s still your turn until you miss a shot.”
“I missed already.”
Shaking his head at how she was making her own rules, he picked up his cue stick.
“So, this let me show you how to play pool thing wouldn’t have worked if we met, say, five years ago in Caprica City?” she asked.
He strode around the table slowly. She’d trapped the cue ball back by the pocket, far from the other balls.
“Well?”
He peered up at her. “As if.”
“As if what?”
“As if the member of Richard Adar’s cabinet would have looked twice at some scruffy old Colonial officer on shore leave.”
Instead of laughing, her face tightened. She came around the table so the crowd wouldn’t hear her say, “Gods, you drive me crazy when you do that.”
“What?” He made himself focus on lining up his shot.
“That,” she spat, as though that one word said everything.
And maybe it did. He knew what she meant. He didn’t bother to reply.
“Anyway, I don’t recall you exactly overcome with passion the moment you met me,” she sniped.
After his shot, he glanced up and looked her over slowly, remembering that schoolteacher in a ridiculous lilac suit with poofy hair. She’d definitely improved with time.
“Like that,” she said saucily.
He lined up his next shot. “Besides, you had a guy.”
He intended it as a joke, but her features went taut again.
“I’m sorry,” he said unhappily. She wanted this so bad, and he couldn’t seem to say anything right tonight.
“Don’t be.” Her chin went up and those hard eyes shone from under the wig’s stiff bangs.
He needed to change the subject and glanced upward. “Hadn’t seen that when I was here last time.”
She came to his side and peered up to the high hangar ceiling. An early model Viper hung from the rafters. “What is it?”
“That’s my old Viper,” he said.
Other people looked up as well, smiling.
“It’s a decoration?”
“I guess they don’t need it,” he said, depressed.
“Or they want to keep it for you.” She squeezed his arm. “You’ll fly off that old girl one last time when we get to Earth, right?”
He leaned forward to kiss her and felt every set of eyes in the room on them. Even the music seemed to dim.
“Say, why don’t we get out of here?” he said.
“You don’t like it here?” she asked, putting down her cue.
“It’s not the place,” he assured her. “I just don’t think we can do this public date thing very well.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said sadly.
“Let’s finish our drinks,” Bill suggested. “After all, you paid for them,” he pointed out practically.
At the table, he found his drink had gone warm, but he kept sipping. They couldn’t waste anything, even booze.
He saw Tyrol enter the bar. Shifting his chair slightly, he put his back to the deck hand.
“Oh, there’s poor Chief,” said Laura. “I saw the orders. You demoted him? Did he request that?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
She laid her hand over his tight fist on the tabletop. “What happened?”
“I heard he was being disruptive on the deck, was making dangerous errors. I came here, tried to talk to him...It didn’t end well.”
“Here?” Understanding came to her face.
“Yeah.” He drained his glass.
She motioned the waiter for the check. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I didn’t want to burden you--“
Her hands whitened on her purse as she closed it. “Bill, I swear--“
“He’s my man, my responsibility,” he said in that tone that broached no arguments. “Besides, you said you didn’t want me to talk about problems tonight,” he added craftily.
She squinted at his stoic face. “I think I need a long walk,” she said, frustrated.
“Of course,” he hopped up and held her chair back.
She stormed away, tossing over her shoulder, “I’m just not sure if I want you to come along.”
He followed, trying to ignore the stares.
Her Marines were waiting outside the bar, but they remained at attention until Bill passed as well, then fell in behind them.
Bill caught up soon enough. He’d learned that Laura’s walk was very kinetic but not very productive. He just had to dodge her jutting elbows and sharp-toed shoes.
Tucking her hand around his forearm, he took the purse from her hand, slipping it over his other arm.
“Thanks,” she grumbled.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t. It was me.”
He shrugged. It was both of them. But he couldn’t do much about it with two shadows.
“Why don’t you boys take a walk around the block?” he suggested to Laura’s guards.
The taller one looked confused and opened his mouth to protest until the dark-haired young man poked him in the ribs. “Yes, sir,” he said, realization dawning on his fresh features.
Laura tugged Bill to hurry, her face impish. “Great idea, Bill,” she murmured.
“I get them sometimes.”
They turned a corner and were alone in the dim corridor.
“Got any other ideas?” Her hand slipped from the crook of his elbow to his waist, then her palm slid even lower to cup his ass.
“You are in a mood tonight, Madam President.”
“Gods, I hope so,” she said with fervor.
“Laura--“
“Just go with the flow, okay, Bill?”
“Sure.”
“You’ve been so strong all evening. Not one mention of Lee or Kara or Baltar--“
“That one’s yours,” he said mildly.
Her eyes flamed. “Yeah, that little sex maniac.”
He rubbed my nose, agitated. “You seem pretty interested in his sex life.”
She stopped abruptly. “What?”
He froze as well. A wise sailor can always sense dangerous waters.
“I simply point out how that loathsome little creature continues to convince gullible women to feed his appetites--“ Her face was flushed.
“Sure.”
“It’s not fair!” She faced him. “When--“
He gathered her in his arms, keeping his grip loose. “Sure,” he repeated.
Her head nestled on his shoulder; the coarse bristles of her wig tickling his nose.
“It’s not fair,” she murmured again.
He was feeling a bit daring; still had his ambrosia buzz. “But he doesn’t have love.”
Her laugh had a rattle to it. “Admit it; you’d rather have sex groupies.”
As usual, she’d neatly sidestepped his advances.
He wouldn’t give up trying, though. “One is enough for me.”
Her tongue darted between her lips and she got that wicked expression he’d only had the pleasure to see on a few occasions.
“Where’s this stroll leading us?” she asked, leaning back from his embrace. Answering her own question, she laced her fingers in his and started toward his quarters.
*
When he was a young man, a good date always ended on the couch or the front seat of his car. Lacking a car, he was satisfied with his couch and Laura Roslin curled like a kitten on his lap, kissing him, wet probing of tongues and nipping of lips. But his hands kept going to her hair. Only it wasn’t her hair of course. He felt her wig slipping.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Taking a deep breath, Laura leaned her head on the couch back. She stared across the room for a moment, then seemed to make a decision.
Her hands went to her wig.
He stilled her arms. “You don’t have to--“
“It itches,” she said, but there was something else in her eyes. She was challenging him.
He helped her slide it from her slick scalp and gently put it aside.
“You’ve shaved it.”
“All or nothing,” she said defiantly.
One of the things he loved about Laura Roslin was her little vanities. In a universe of dull colors, listening to the same recordings day after day on the wireless, the bland residue of algae on the tongue, appreciating her bright beauty was one of his joys.
And he liked to think she dressed and had done her hair with him in mind. After he couldn’t keep his hands out of her hair on New Caprica, she must realize how much he enjoyed that particular feature. When she returned to the Fleet, it became thicker, longer, lusher, as though she was taunting him and his talk of distance.
Now it was gone. He began to nibble right behind her ear, a spot that had been difficult to access with her mane present, but always got a reaction.
She curled into his body again, humming in the back of her throat. She began unbuttoning his shirt, but he noticed her fingers were shaking.
“You all right?”
“Yes, Bill.” There was an edge in her voice. Sitting up, she slipped her sweater off. Her nipples were hard under her worn bra, but he also noticed goosebumps on her bare skin.
He tugged the blanket off the back of the couch. “Here, let’s keep you warm,” he said fussily, tucking it around her shoulders.
“That’s sexy looking,” she grumbled, shrugging it off.
“You always look sexy to me,” he said, sincere.
She got that petulant expression of someone who appreciates the sentiment but still doesn’t want to hear it. “Might as well be wearing that old robe of yours,” she muttered, pulling the blanket around her shaking limbs.
“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” he said, trying to lighten her mood.
She didn’t reply, only kissed him again, that deep, intense kiss that always was the prelude to sex for them.
He supposed they should talk before things went further, should make sure they were good, that there were no resentments remaining from resent events--
After slipping off his lap, she undid the fly of his jeans and her hand wormed inside his boxers. He decided that meant she was okay with everything.
“Should we move this to the rack?” he asked as he did some searching of his own to find her bra fastenings under the blanket.
“You know how much I like the couch.” But her reply seemed to have more to do with her drooping head than a great passion that couldn’t endure the two minute walk to the rack.
She couldn’t do this; he realized it in a sickening rush.
He stroked her cheek, manfully ignoring her mirroring motion on his half-hard cock. He tried the lame cop-out line: “It’s late--“
She sat up, yanking the blanket tightly around her. “Fine. If you don’t want to. I thought we could just forget everything for the night and enjoy ourselves--“
Bill fumbled with his tongue. She wasn’t going to concede that her body couldn’t respond and participate. Usually she wasn’t shy at letting him know what she wanted. By this point, she would have nudged his hand up her skirt to find her wet and swollen for his touch, the scent of her arousal rising. Tonight, her legs had remained firmly together.
She laid her heavy head on his shoulder. “It’s not fair,” she murmured yet again. “You deserve a woman who can give you what you need.”
Shocked, he stared down at her. What sort of man did she take him for? “I’m perfectly happy with the one I got,” he finally said.
“Yeah, sure,” she grumbled. “No hair, can’t have sex, chews out your ass on a regular basis.”
He smiled; he hadn’t given her enough credit a moment ago. “How do you know that’s not the woman I’ve been lookin’ for all my life?”
This time he did make her laugh.
“Idiot,” she said softly as she stared at his mouth.
Her fingers finished unbuttoning his shirt deliberately. “Nice; bare chest,” she said, her hand smoothing across his warm skin, tickling his scar.
He shivered at the sensation like a puppy receiving his first pet. “You don’t like the tanks?” he asked.
“They get a bit mundane.” She reminded him, “We’re just two people on a date tonight, after all.”
He could never truly let go, but he nodded anyway. “Sure.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” she murmured, reading his mind. Her hand slid over his belly and lower again.
“Laura--“
“Bill, is this where you do it?”
“Do what?” Of course he knew, but it would turn him on even more to hear her say it.
“When you’ve had a long, frustrating day, need to blow off some steam--“
“Uh, yeah.”
“Not the rack?”
“Couch better.”
“Not your desk?”
“Never!”
“Okay, okay.”
His sigh was long and shattering as she reached below his erection to heft his sac. She enjoyed touching this part of him more than any woman ever had--thoughts about her appreciation for steel balls raced through his mind.
“The shower?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
“I can see you in there,” she whispered. “I used that one a lot.”
“Used it?” He gulped as his hips had to rise off the cushion, moving into her grip.
“Yes, Bill.” Her tone turned bitter. “Before. When I could.”
“Oh, honey.” He nuzzled her neck, leaving gentle kisses along her skin.
“Yeah, life’s a bitch,” she said with no irony.
She kissed him on the mouth, easing his lips open for another one of her deep invasions. He welcomed it, his palm cradling her jaw to guide their kisses.
Her touch lightened on his cock, and he grumbled in the back of his throat. Pulling free, she gave him a crooked smile.
“What do you think about on this couch?”
“Depends.” As if on cue, his hand went into his shorts. Her fingernails traced down his sleeve to undo the cuff and push the fabric up. She loved to touch his forearms.
“Hmmm?” she encouraged.
“If I wanted things to go slow, I’d keep it simple.”
“Breasts?”
“No, that’s for later.”
She giggled and he began to feel slightly embarrassed. He tried to ease his hand out of his pants, but she pushed it back, then slipped her hand in too.
“Sorry. So what do you start with?”
“You going up or down a ladder tube,” he admitted.
“What?” Her tightening grip made him wince. Then her eyes narrowed. “I just bet you do...Really, Bill...”
He knew exactly the encounter she thought he was referring to. He’d taken her hard and fast in a ladder tube, knocking one thing off his life’s bucket list. And he had wallowed in guilt at his lapse of disgusting selfishness ever since.
“Not that,” he protested, unable to admit that he saved that dark encounter for other times.
The disapproval on her face eased away, leaving a painful yearning. He had to look away. He cleared his throat.
“When I’m going slow, it’s just your ass, your legs,” he said dreamily, then pointed out, “don’t like the pants days.”
“That’s...I’m shocked, Bill.”
Now she was contriving outrage, but he played along anyway. “Whatya mean?”
“I thought you had more honor.”
“I didn’t look up your skirt!” he protested, not adding until later, when it was okay because I’d seen you naked.
“Just the legs?” she asked.
“That’s enough to start,” he confirmed.
“Seems like it would take you a long time to get from there to bare breasts,” she said doubtfully.
“I like to savor things,” he said, self-conscious.
She began stroking his length again and his head lolled back on the cushion. Damn, that felt so frakkin’ good...Why did it feel better when it was a different hand?
“Who’s got the time, though?” she questioned. “My Gods, there’s always reports to do--“ She sounded faintly disapproving again.
“I’m not spending hours at it or anything,” he protested. “I’m an old man; I don’t list it as my hobby like some academy boy.”
She giggled against his neck, then turned it into kisses along his rough skin. But when she went to lick her palm before returning to her ministrations, she made a face. “Damn dry mouth,” she grumbled.
She found her large bag by the chest and rummaged through it. He took the opportunity to push his pants and underwear down. Might as well get comfortable...
She returned with a bottle of lotion. She complained that the Fleet-produced product was too greasy for her face, but it worked well for this. She dropped a dollop in his palm, then her hand.
Snuggling back into his body, her hand worked his foreskin over the head of his penis, making him groan deeply. She had this technique...He’d taught her some things he enjoyed, but her own smaller hand could do certain things he could never replicate.
He reached for her--her free hand, surprisingly strong, grabbed his wrist and removed his hand from her breast. She gave him only a shake of her head as explanation. He leaned back on the cushion, taking her unspoken command.
She pushed his shirt open all the way. Her free hand caressed whatever bare skin she could find, from his neck to his thighs, as though mapping his body for her memory.
“What about if you need to go fast?” she asked, her gaze holding his. He couldn’t hide anything from her; she’d known he had been withholding the truth earlier.
His fist twisted at the base of his cock, pressing down on his hardening sac and her hand worked closer to the head.
She wanted him to say it aloud; he can feel his pulse thumping under her blurring hand. His confession was painfully slow: “I think about that time I took you--“
Stopping him, she laughed as she bit lightly on his lower lip. “I got you to do it.”
He stared at her smirking face. “You...You wanted to do it?”
“Oh, Bill.” She hid that smile in his shoulder.
He blinked. It was as though the pictures on the tattered pages of his old issue of Nymph were suddenly different after four years. She’s wanted to do it, she’d tricked him into doing it, she liked that...
His fantasy irrevocably altered, he fell back on the cushion, his hips surging up. She cupped and rubbed his cock’s head, her hand sticky with lotion, feeling pretty damn close to when he was frakking her deep...
She grabbed one of his nipples, twisting it to the point of pleasure; she’d discovered that particular erogenous zone too.
He knew he wasn’t pretty when he climaxed, not like her, but he couldn’t try for a good look at this moment. His groans became low grunts and could only manage a weak, “Damn, Laura, you...” before he pushed her hand down to avoid the resulting flow.
When he finished, her hand rested on his heaving chest as her head settled on his shoulder again. “You are so beautiful when you do that,” she said, and he had to laugh with what breath he could find.
“Love is blind,” he said, then peeked over at her quickly. She only smiled back, her eyes shining with tears.
“My big man,” she said softly, but patted his cheek as though he was a silly little boy.
He glanced down at the mess on his belly and then away. “So...”
The awkwardness lengthened.
“So...” She sat up, tugging the blanket closer. “Can I spend the night?” she asked with studied casualness. “It’s an awfully long walk back to my quarters, and I’m tired...”
“Of course!” He hopped up, then winced between stiffness and wobbly legs. “Let me get you something to wear--“ He snatched his jeans to keep them from falling around his ankles.
“I brought my own gown,” she said, the causal air gone. Opening her purse again, she pulled out his favorite, the red satin negligee. No wonder her purse had been so large; she’d come prepared.
“Let get cleaned up--“ She took his hand and led him to the head.
He retrieved her toothbrush from the cabinet, offering it like a ritual object to a temple maiden. Rolling her eyes, she accepted it. They fell into their familiar pattern, switching places for washing, teeth brushing, using the toilet. He was grinning around his toothbrush, deeply happy.
A change in her routine; she smoothed lotion over her bare head instead of brushing her hair.
She caught his eye in the mirror. “This is your favorite part of the date, isn’t it?” she accused him.
He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, leaving a white circle of frothy toothpaste. “There were other highlights.”
At the rack, he took his usual position against the bulkhead. Laura was stiff in his arms, though, when he tried to snuggle.
“Bill, you understand, this is only for tonight.”
“You’re not moving back in?” Of course he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“No,” she whispered.
“What, it’s my birthday or something?” he said sarcastically, wiggling away from her as far as he could in the narrow rack. “If that’s it, you shoulda put a bow on your ass as a clue.”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
Blinking, he tried to remember the date. The specific days meant little anymore. It was just how many years they’d been in space, how many days Raptors went missing, how many hours a human could survive without water. You only looked back on the calendar’s pages; there was no reason to look forward. A birthday was a frivolity none of them bothered with anymore.
She rolled to face him. He saw the tears glistening on her eyelashes. “I’m sorry, Bill, if it seems like I was leading you on. That wasn’t my intension. I just wanted you to have a good time--“
His heart squeezed tight. This night had cost her. She wanted to hide in her guest quarters, blocking out every symptom and his sad eyes with the heavy hatch. Only in the sickbay did she let down her barriers and listen to his hopes and promises read off a crinkling page.
He should tell her it was all right, he wouldn’t push...Instead, he just sighed and pulled her close, fitting her shrinking body into his.
Cradling her smooth scalp in his palm, he whispered kisses across her face, washing away the tears. “Thanks, Laura. This was my best birthday ever.”
Her light kiss tickled the end of his nose. “Happy birthday, William Adama,” she said seriously.
Smiling, he flicked off the light. “It’s okay.” He tucked her head under his chin, trying to give her as much warmth as his scratchy old blanket had. “Let’s just take one night at a time.”
Her voice sounded strong for the first time that evening. “Our day will come, Bill. We’ll have our day.”
That was his best present of all; she still had hope.
The end
Author: bugs
Genre: Romance, Drama, Angst
Series: Love in the Time of War ~ 18
Rating: MA
Word Count: 6,600
Summary: For one night, Laura reaches out to Bill.
A/N: I know ufgator wants me to write in this universe more, so on the occasion of her birthday, I was happy to create this offering! Although I did cheat, and posted the first part of ar_drabbles and the second to makebillhappy . Both parts have been revised into one story but that explains the sense of déjà vu of you’ve read them.
~*~
At the rap, Laura slowly opened the heavy hatch of her quarters. It was Bill, with a steaming carafe of algae coffee on a tray and his grim face freshly shaved.
“You didn’t have to,” she said.
She doesn’t mean the breakfast; he brings it every day whether she wants to eat or not, and waits, solid as a carved lion outside a temple, for her to pick at her food. He was there to be her escort to Cally’s funeral; she can tell from his dress grays. Normally, she would take a quiet enjoyment to see him in the fresher uniform with all his medals on the sash, but this morning it just meant another death.
Setting down the tray on the table, he said his line of their daily drama easily: “No problem.”
This was a part of the game they’d been playing ever since she moved out of his quarters. She says no, he shows up anyway, she leans into his warmth, then tells him to leave. She’d hate herself if she couldn’t justify her selfishness in the dark of night--dying women should grasp onto anything they need.
Lifting the plate cover, Bill revealed that he had finagled one of Cookie’s flaky croissants for her--what that man could do with algae.
The chair groaned under his weight as he sank into it. Laura was still dressing; she took a sip, slipped on her blouse, took a nibble of roll, stepped into her skirt, transforming from her robe and headscarf into Presidential form. He watched, but it wasn’t a scene of repressed passions; it was dreary and domestic.
“You don’t have to do this,” he said, reading her line back to her as though prompting her performance.
“What?” She’s searching around; she can’t find her left shoe.
“Go to this funeral. Cally wasn’t--“
“Cally was a friend.” It was so easy to toss out New Caprica at him--a pebble landing in a pool of black water, its light weight becoming long ripples.
He dipped his head. “You need more rest.”
She raised the coffee cup to her lips. “That’s what this is for. Don’t worry about me.”
She looked around again. Now the wig. Spotting it on her desk, she snagged it and ducked into the head, ignoring his long released breath behind her. She still hasn’t put it on before him yet, nor had he seen her shaven head. Putting it on wasn’t an easy action yet like hooking on her bra, and she wasn’t ready for the second part.
When she came out, he pushed himself up from the table. She grabbed the coffee cup for one last sip.
He gently straightened her wig, then untucked her folded-up collar and smoothing it flat. With a nod, he deemed her ready.
But she leaned against his solid chest, resting for a moment. He lifted the plate. "Finish your roll," he chided.
She shoved the last bite in without arguing. He folded her hand over his forearm and led her to the hatch. “Let’s get this thing done,” he said grimly.
She swallowed her protests with the bite of roll.
When he opened the hatch, Tory stood there, her fist raised to knock. At the sight of the Admiral, she grimaced before quickly masking her expression.
Bill flashed the tiniest of smiles at her aide’s reaction and for some reason, this gladdened Laura.
~*~A week later:
“Bill, let’s go out on a date.”
He peered over his glasses at Laura. “What?”
He’d been conscious of her presence in his quarters, puttering around as she waited her turn at the desk while he did his logs, occasionally remarking on the pressing issues that were the meeting they were engaged in.
Apparently, he hadn’t been paying attention. Somehow, they’d gone from sugar shortages to dating. Laura had been in an odd mood since Cally’s funeral; they all had. Somehow, one diminutive knuckledragger had been the lynchpin for all of them.
“A date?” he asked.
She reshelved the book she’d been looking at and came closer, her grey-green eyes clever and bright under her blue headscarf. “Yes, you remember those things. A man, a woman, dressing up and going out; we’ve even done it a time or two. Perhaps alcohol is involved--“
He started to say something about Cottle’s ban on alcohol for her, but then thought better of it. He just nodded. “Yeah, I remember. It’s just been a while.”
Sure, he remembered. And had decided he couldn’t think about that anymore. But she would pick at the most unlikely scabs, this woman who had walked out of their home without a backward glance.
She ran a light hand across his back between his shoulder blades and he arched up a bit. It was a reflex he couldn’t ever stop. Laura Roslin is touching me, and I like it, he thought with childish glee. He didn’t need a date; this was enough.
“Bill, are you listening?”
“You want me to take you on a date.”
“No, I want to take you on a date,” she said definitely, moving off toward his wardrobe.
He rose slowly, feeling slightly invaded as she flung open the door. During their brief cohabitation, he’d given her the left side of the closet, but she was opening the right. “What’re you doin’?”
“Looking for something for you to wear.” She flipped through his garments. “A real date, William Adama. No uniform for you, no suit for me.”
He hovered behind her. “I don’t have many civvies. I’ve been trading them off over the years; didn’t see any need to keep them.”
She pulled out a faded pair of jeans. “These will do.”
“Uh, I don’t know about them,” he said. “They were next on my trade list. They’re pretty old.”
“They still look fine.”
“Well, they aren’t,” he said stiffly, snatching them from her grasp.
Her gaze flicked to his sturdy waistline and away. “I suppose I’ll let you surprise me.”
“Sure. And you surprise me.” Tossing the jeans back in the closet and closing the door, he led her to the sofa. They sank down on the cushions together and he tucked her under his arm. He didn’t like how easily she fit these days.
“Don’t worry about dressing up for me,” he said, “I like your suits--“
“I’m not wearing the white top.”
“Oh.”
“I want us to put everything aside for a night. Do you understand?”
Concerned at her intensity, he still nodded. He wanted to ask her if she’d be up for this, if she’d recovered from her most recent treatment, but he knew he couldn’t show that concern outside of the sickbay; it was their unspoken code.
Instead, he kept it about clothes. “Like on New Caprica?” he asked. “That dress was pretty--“
“And you wore your uniform,” she said dryly.
Tilting her head back, she scrutinized him carefully. “I assume you were trying to tell me something.”
“Like what?”
She snuggled closer and rubbed his faded tunic affectionately. “That you were still on duty.”
“So you want me off duty.”
“I’m worried about you, Bill.”
He gaped, incredulous. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Okay, and us.” Her slim hand tightens to a fist around one of his tunic buttons. “Our disagreement about Kara Thrace--“
“You are you and Starbuck is Starbuck.”
“Two separate chambers of your heart?”
“Yeah, that sounds right.”
“But your blood must flow to both, Bill.”
He furrowed his brow. He didn’t want to fight again.
As though reading his mind, she unfurled her hand and rubbed circles around his chest. “I don’t want to fight, Bill. So Starbuck’s off the table for the night, and all your other worries.” She peeked up at his again. “Perhaps that’ll be difficult.”
“I can let things go for an evening,” he promised.
She gave a definite nod as though sealing a bargain and stood. “I better go see what I can find in my wardrobe that’s in no way a suit.”
He began to feel a bit excited. “When’s our date?”
She found her pumps and slipped them on, then looked around for her wig. “Tomorrow night.” She snagged the clump of hair and went into the head.
He craned his neck, trying to see her as she replaced her wig. Although she felt comfortable enough to take it off in his quarters, she did it out of his view and put on a headscarf she carried in her briefcase. He still hadn’t seen her uncovered head.
“You’ll pick me up at nineteen hundred?” he called out.
She stepped through the head’s hatchway, her Madam President persona firmly in place. She flicked his nose as she sashayed past. “No, I’ll be here at seven.”
He could only shake his head. The hatch clanked shut behind her, and his gaze returned to the pair of jeans stuck in the closet door.
He retrieved them and took them into the head.
After a bit of huffing and puffing, he decided they fit well enough, just so long as he kept the waistband beneath his actual waistline. With the right shirt, they’d do the job. Redressing in his uniform, he admitted it was looking a bit tattered. And the other tunic wasn’t any better.
In his past dating experience, women liked to be out with a man in uniform. But perhaps Laura wanted them to blend in a bit wherever she planned to take him.
A public date. This would be daring for them. He wasn’t an idiot; he knew they weren’t fooling anyone that their feelings for each other weren’t completely professional, or even simply those of close friends and comrades. But for them to acknowledge those feelings publicly...
For his trading trip, he selected his purple satin shirt that Laura had worn on their ‘honeymoon.’ It still smelled of her. It caused his scar to flutter when he put the shirt in a small satchel, but he wasn’t going to be like Saul, sleeping with a tattered remnant of his lost woman later on.
He called the CIC and told Saul he’d be on the PCS Quattro for an hour. He’d give Laura this. Her offer of a date had given him something new to dwell on, something that wasn’t misguided children, trying to spot signposts, or dying lovers.
*
Bill trailed after Laura, his hand at the small of her back. He liked this view. She’d dressed simply, but somehow not his President. A new black V-necked sweater, snug in all the right places was paired with a deep red pencil skirt. Her clothing outlined her lush hips; her deep décolleté; her long thighs. Only her stiff hair didn’t swing in the familiar sweeping pattern along her shoulders.
She also carried a large handbag; she expected to pay tonight. He’d offered to carry it for her, but she refused.
“Joe’s?” he said as they came to the bar’s entrance. “I dunno, Laura--“
She tucked her arm in his. “Oh, come on, Bill. Let’s live it up like normal crewmembers.”
He looked down into her sparkling eyes and couldn’t say no. She didn’t know that the last time he was in this place, he’d had to demote Tyrol.
“Have you been here before?” she asked as she nodded to the surprised bartender.
“Just once,” he said, forcing on a smile.
She chose one of the tables in a dark corner, lit with a single candle. The loud chatter of the crowd changed to low buzz while they wove through the tables. Heads leaned closer together as all eyes followed them.
The waiter almost beat them to the table. Bill tried to order cold tea, but Laura jumped over him. “A tea for me, and an ambrosia for the gentleman,” she said firmly.
Bill didn’t want to drink in front of her but he tried to play the part of a date by thanking her, then added, “You look beautiful this evening.”
She gave him one of her wicked little smiles. “So do you,” she said, “That color is lovely on you.” He’d finally found a loose-draping velvet shirt in a heathered gray.
He narrowed his eyes, but her grin wasn’t mocking; it was full of fun. Her thin white fingers toyed with his sleeve. “And so soft,” she murmured.
He glanced over his shoulder. The three pilots at the next table quickly looked away.
“Are you flirting with me, Madam President?”
“Yes, Admiral. What are you going to do about it?”
With horror, he felt tears welling in his eyes. At this time when they should be close, when she should be relying on him for support, they seemed to do nothing but quarrel and snip, with a bit of cold silences tossed in. This felt pretty damn nice, even if he suspected that she was making an intentional effort for some odd reason.
“Your drinks,” the waiter announced, placing the glasses before them and shattering the moment.
Bill took too deep of a draft and coughed. “Would you like to dance?”
Across the hangar, a few couples shuffled around the tiny dance floor.
Laura stared down at her drink, then gave him a coy peek again under the stiff brush of her bangs. “I prefer to dance in your quarters.”
“Don’t trust me in public?” He drew a circle on the tabletop with his fingertip to keep from taking her hand.
“No,” she said on a wave of giggles.
He chuckled too.
She gazed past the dancers to the billiard tables. “Let’s play pool.”
“You play?” he asked, surprised.
“No, not once.” She pushed herself up. “But I think it’s high time I learned.”
He led her to the pool tables. They expected to wait for one to free up, but two deckhands suddenly remembered they had to return to duty and abandoned their play.
Laura thanked them and accepted one of the cue sticks.
“So I try to hit that ball?” she asked, pointing at the white ball.
He leaned on his cue, smiling at her serious expression. “That’s the idea.”
“You’re not taking me seriously.”
“Okay, okay.” He racked the balls.
When she still was puzzled looking, he said, “Let me show you the way to hold the cue.”
He wrapped his arms around her, leaning her over the table. He distinctly heard a gasp and a snicker from a table nearby, but chose to ignore them.
“This is sort of uncomfortable,” she fussed as he stretched her arm out to support the end of the cue stick.
“It just feels that way at first until you get used to it,” he rumbled in her ear.
“Bill Adama,” she said, trying not to giggle. He liked the way her body quavered as the laughter bubbled up.
“Don’t kill my action, baby.” He gently pulled her other arm back. “This used to be my go-to move in many a bar.”
“I thought all pilots knew how to play pool.” She squinted at the cue ball.
“Okay, shoot it,” he instructed.
She managed to hit the cue ball, but it missed all the other balls and careened around the table wildly, but at least didn’t fall into any pockets.
“Rook pilots knew to go to those bars where women pretended they didn’t know how to play.”
“So they’d expect this offer of yours.” Laura moved around the table, stalking her victim the cue ball.
He followed. “Yep. Everyone knew the game.”
She balanced her cue stick on her fingers and squinted at the cue ball. “When did this stop working?”
“I got married before I could find out.”
Her wig’s stiff hair kept falling forward; it wouldn’t tuck behind her ear. She growled in the back of her throat.
“Here.” He gently swept it back and held it at the base of her neck.
“Thanks.”
This time, the cue ball actually struck the four ball but the two balls lost their speed, stopping just before the pocket.
“Better,” he said.
She cocked her head, assessing the best angle for her next attempt to sink the shot.
“Here,” he said again, wrapping his arms around her again. “This is tricky.” He lifted her right arm above her head, and showed her how she’d make a sharp, downward blow to the ball.
“Will this work?”
“Trust me,” he said and stepped back.
She tried it, and the four ball managed to drop.
“Good girl,” he said with approval.
She laughed with delight. He smiled at her, happy that something simple could give her enjoyment.
She cocked her hip, supporting herself on her cue stick. “Why don’t you take a turn?”
“It’s still your turn until you miss a shot.”
“I missed already.”
Shaking his head at how she was making her own rules, he picked up his cue stick.
“So, this let me show you how to play pool thing wouldn’t have worked if we met, say, five years ago in Caprica City?” she asked.
He strode around the table slowly. She’d trapped the cue ball back by the pocket, far from the other balls.
“Well?”
He peered up at her. “As if.”
“As if what?”
“As if the member of Richard Adar’s cabinet would have looked twice at some scruffy old Colonial officer on shore leave.”
Instead of laughing, her face tightened. She came around the table so the crowd wouldn’t hear her say, “Gods, you drive me crazy when you do that.”
“What?” He made himself focus on lining up his shot.
“That,” she spat, as though that one word said everything.
And maybe it did. He knew what she meant. He didn’t bother to reply.
“Anyway, I don’t recall you exactly overcome with passion the moment you met me,” she sniped.
After his shot, he glanced up and looked her over slowly, remembering that schoolteacher in a ridiculous lilac suit with poofy hair. She’d definitely improved with time.
“Like that,” she said saucily.
He lined up his next shot. “Besides, you had a guy.”
He intended it as a joke, but her features went taut again.
“I’m sorry,” he said unhappily. She wanted this so bad, and he couldn’t seem to say anything right tonight.
“Don’t be.” Her chin went up and those hard eyes shone from under the wig’s stiff bangs.
He needed to change the subject and glanced upward. “Hadn’t seen that when I was here last time.”
She came to his side and peered up to the high hangar ceiling. An early model Viper hung from the rafters. “What is it?”
“That’s my old Viper,” he said.
Other people looked up as well, smiling.
“It’s a decoration?”
“I guess they don’t need it,” he said, depressed.
“Or they want to keep it for you.” She squeezed his arm. “You’ll fly off that old girl one last time when we get to Earth, right?”
He leaned forward to kiss her and felt every set of eyes in the room on them. Even the music seemed to dim.
“Say, why don’t we get out of here?” he said.
“You don’t like it here?” she asked, putting down her cue.
“It’s not the place,” he assured her. “I just don’t think we can do this public date thing very well.”
“I suppose you’re right,” she said sadly.
“Let’s finish our drinks,” Bill suggested. “After all, you paid for them,” he pointed out practically.
At the table, he found his drink had gone warm, but he kept sipping. They couldn’t waste anything, even booze.
He saw Tyrol enter the bar. Shifting his chair slightly, he put his back to the deck hand.
“Oh, there’s poor Chief,” said Laura. “I saw the orders. You demoted him? Did he request that?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
She laid her hand over his tight fist on the tabletop. “What happened?”
“I heard he was being disruptive on the deck, was making dangerous errors. I came here, tried to talk to him...It didn’t end well.”
“Here?” Understanding came to her face.
“Yeah.” He drained his glass.
She motioned the waiter for the check. “Why didn’t you tell me about it?”
“I didn’t want to burden you--“
Her hands whitened on her purse as she closed it. “Bill, I swear--“
“He’s my man, my responsibility,” he said in that tone that broached no arguments. “Besides, you said you didn’t want me to talk about problems tonight,” he added craftily.
She squinted at his stoic face. “I think I need a long walk,” she said, frustrated.
“Of course,” he hopped up and held her chair back.
She stormed away, tossing over her shoulder, “I’m just not sure if I want you to come along.”
He followed, trying to ignore the stares.
Her Marines were waiting outside the bar, but they remained at attention until Bill passed as well, then fell in behind them.
Bill caught up soon enough. He’d learned that Laura’s walk was very kinetic but not very productive. He just had to dodge her jutting elbows and sharp-toed shoes.
Tucking her hand around his forearm, he took the purse from her hand, slipping it over his other arm.
“Thanks,” she grumbled.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t. It was me.”
He shrugged. It was both of them. But he couldn’t do much about it with two shadows.
“Why don’t you boys take a walk around the block?” he suggested to Laura’s guards.
The taller one looked confused and opened his mouth to protest until the dark-haired young man poked him in the ribs. “Yes, sir,” he said, realization dawning on his fresh features.
Laura tugged Bill to hurry, her face impish. “Great idea, Bill,” she murmured.
“I get them sometimes.”
They turned a corner and were alone in the dim corridor.
“Got any other ideas?” Her hand slipped from the crook of his elbow to his waist, then her palm slid even lower to cup his ass.
“You are in a mood tonight, Madam President.”
“Gods, I hope so,” she said with fervor.
“Laura--“
“Just go with the flow, okay, Bill?”
“Sure.”
“You’ve been so strong all evening. Not one mention of Lee or Kara or Baltar--“
“That one’s yours,” he said mildly.
Her eyes flamed. “Yeah, that little sex maniac.”
He rubbed my nose, agitated. “You seem pretty interested in his sex life.”
She stopped abruptly. “What?”
He froze as well. A wise sailor can always sense dangerous waters.
“I simply point out how that loathsome little creature continues to convince gullible women to feed his appetites--“ Her face was flushed.
“Sure.”
“It’s not fair!” She faced him. “When--“
He gathered her in his arms, keeping his grip loose. “Sure,” he repeated.
Her head nestled on his shoulder; the coarse bristles of her wig tickling his nose.
“It’s not fair,” she murmured again.
He was feeling a bit daring; still had his ambrosia buzz. “But he doesn’t have love.”
Her laugh had a rattle to it. “Admit it; you’d rather have sex groupies.”
As usual, she’d neatly sidestepped his advances.
He wouldn’t give up trying, though. “One is enough for me.”
Her tongue darted between her lips and she got that wicked expression he’d only had the pleasure to see on a few occasions.
“Where’s this stroll leading us?” she asked, leaning back from his embrace. Answering her own question, she laced her fingers in his and started toward his quarters.
*
When he was a young man, a good date always ended on the couch or the front seat of his car. Lacking a car, he was satisfied with his couch and Laura Roslin curled like a kitten on his lap, kissing him, wet probing of tongues and nipping of lips. But his hands kept going to her hair. Only it wasn’t her hair of course. He felt her wig slipping.
“Sorry,” he mumbled.
Taking a deep breath, Laura leaned her head on the couch back. She stared across the room for a moment, then seemed to make a decision.
Her hands went to her wig.
He stilled her arms. “You don’t have to--“
“It itches,” she said, but there was something else in her eyes. She was challenging him.
He helped her slide it from her slick scalp and gently put it aside.
“You’ve shaved it.”
“All or nothing,” she said defiantly.
One of the things he loved about Laura Roslin was her little vanities. In a universe of dull colors, listening to the same recordings day after day on the wireless, the bland residue of algae on the tongue, appreciating her bright beauty was one of his joys.
And he liked to think she dressed and had done her hair with him in mind. After he couldn’t keep his hands out of her hair on New Caprica, she must realize how much he enjoyed that particular feature. When she returned to the Fleet, it became thicker, longer, lusher, as though she was taunting him and his talk of distance.
Now it was gone. He began to nibble right behind her ear, a spot that had been difficult to access with her mane present, but always got a reaction.
She curled into his body again, humming in the back of her throat. She began unbuttoning his shirt, but he noticed her fingers were shaking.
“You all right?”
“Yes, Bill.” There was an edge in her voice. Sitting up, she slipped her sweater off. Her nipples were hard under her worn bra, but he also noticed goosebumps on her bare skin.
He tugged the blanket off the back of the couch. “Here, let’s keep you warm,” he said fussily, tucking it around her shoulders.
“That’s sexy looking,” she grumbled, shrugging it off.
“You always look sexy to me,” he said, sincere.
She got that petulant expression of someone who appreciates the sentiment but still doesn’t want to hear it. “Might as well be wearing that old robe of yours,” she muttered, pulling the blanket around her shaking limbs.
“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it,” he said, trying to lighten her mood.
She didn’t reply, only kissed him again, that deep, intense kiss that always was the prelude to sex for them.
He supposed they should talk before things went further, should make sure they were good, that there were no resentments remaining from resent events--
After slipping off his lap, she undid the fly of his jeans and her hand wormed inside his boxers. He decided that meant she was okay with everything.
“Should we move this to the rack?” he asked as he did some searching of his own to find her bra fastenings under the blanket.
“You know how much I like the couch.” But her reply seemed to have more to do with her drooping head than a great passion that couldn’t endure the two minute walk to the rack.
She couldn’t do this; he realized it in a sickening rush.
He stroked her cheek, manfully ignoring her mirroring motion on his half-hard cock. He tried the lame cop-out line: “It’s late--“
She sat up, yanking the blanket tightly around her. “Fine. If you don’t want to. I thought we could just forget everything for the night and enjoy ourselves--“
Bill fumbled with his tongue. She wasn’t going to concede that her body couldn’t respond and participate. Usually she wasn’t shy at letting him know what she wanted. By this point, she would have nudged his hand up her skirt to find her wet and swollen for his touch, the scent of her arousal rising. Tonight, her legs had remained firmly together.
She laid her heavy head on his shoulder. “It’s not fair,” she murmured yet again. “You deserve a woman who can give you what you need.”
Shocked, he stared down at her. What sort of man did she take him for? “I’m perfectly happy with the one I got,” he finally said.
“Yeah, sure,” she grumbled. “No hair, can’t have sex, chews out your ass on a regular basis.”
He smiled; he hadn’t given her enough credit a moment ago. “How do you know that’s not the woman I’ve been lookin’ for all my life?”
This time he did make her laugh.
“Idiot,” she said softly as she stared at his mouth.
Her fingers finished unbuttoning his shirt deliberately. “Nice; bare chest,” she said, her hand smoothing across his warm skin, tickling his scar.
He shivered at the sensation like a puppy receiving his first pet. “You don’t like the tanks?” he asked.
“They get a bit mundane.” She reminded him, “We’re just two people on a date tonight, after all.”
He could never truly let go, but he nodded anyway. “Sure.”
“Thanks, sweetie,” she murmured, reading his mind. Her hand slid over his belly and lower again.
“Laura--“
“Bill, is this where you do it?”
“Do what?” Of course he knew, but it would turn him on even more to hear her say it.
“When you’ve had a long, frustrating day, need to blow off some steam--“
“Uh, yeah.”
“Not the rack?”
“Couch better.”
“Not your desk?”
“Never!”
“Okay, okay.”
His sigh was long and shattering as she reached below his erection to heft his sac. She enjoyed touching this part of him more than any woman ever had--thoughts about her appreciation for steel balls raced through his mind.
“The shower?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted.
“I can see you in there,” she whispered. “I used that one a lot.”
“Used it?” He gulped as his hips had to rise off the cushion, moving into her grip.
“Yes, Bill.” Her tone turned bitter. “Before. When I could.”
“Oh, honey.” He nuzzled her neck, leaving gentle kisses along her skin.
“Yeah, life’s a bitch,” she said with no irony.
She kissed him on the mouth, easing his lips open for another one of her deep invasions. He welcomed it, his palm cradling her jaw to guide their kisses.
Her touch lightened on his cock, and he grumbled in the back of his throat. Pulling free, she gave him a crooked smile.
“What do you think about on this couch?”
“Depends.” As if on cue, his hand went into his shorts. Her fingernails traced down his sleeve to undo the cuff and push the fabric up. She loved to touch his forearms.
“Hmmm?” she encouraged.
“If I wanted things to go slow, I’d keep it simple.”
“Breasts?”
“No, that’s for later.”
She giggled and he began to feel slightly embarrassed. He tried to ease his hand out of his pants, but she pushed it back, then slipped her hand in too.
“Sorry. So what do you start with?”
“You going up or down a ladder tube,” he admitted.
“What?” Her tightening grip made him wince. Then her eyes narrowed. “I just bet you do...Really, Bill...”
He knew exactly the encounter she thought he was referring to. He’d taken her hard and fast in a ladder tube, knocking one thing off his life’s bucket list. And he had wallowed in guilt at his lapse of disgusting selfishness ever since.
“Not that,” he protested, unable to admit that he saved that dark encounter for other times.
The disapproval on her face eased away, leaving a painful yearning. He had to look away. He cleared his throat.
“When I’m going slow, it’s just your ass, your legs,” he said dreamily, then pointed out, “don’t like the pants days.”
“That’s...I’m shocked, Bill.”
Now she was contriving outrage, but he played along anyway. “Whatya mean?”
“I thought you had more honor.”
“I didn’t look up your skirt!” he protested, not adding until later, when it was okay because I’d seen you naked.
“Just the legs?” she asked.
“That’s enough to start,” he confirmed.
“Seems like it would take you a long time to get from there to bare breasts,” she said doubtfully.
“I like to savor things,” he said, self-conscious.
She began stroking his length again and his head lolled back on the cushion. Damn, that felt so frakkin’ good...Why did it feel better when it was a different hand?
“Who’s got the time, though?” she questioned. “My Gods, there’s always reports to do--“ She sounded faintly disapproving again.
“I’m not spending hours at it or anything,” he protested. “I’m an old man; I don’t list it as my hobby like some academy boy.”
She giggled against his neck, then turned it into kisses along his rough skin. But when she went to lick her palm before returning to her ministrations, she made a face. “Damn dry mouth,” she grumbled.
She found her large bag by the chest and rummaged through it. He took the opportunity to push his pants and underwear down. Might as well get comfortable...
She returned with a bottle of lotion. She complained that the Fleet-produced product was too greasy for her face, but it worked well for this. She dropped a dollop in his palm, then her hand.
Snuggling back into his body, her hand worked his foreskin over the head of his penis, making him groan deeply. She had this technique...He’d taught her some things he enjoyed, but her own smaller hand could do certain things he could never replicate.
He reached for her--her free hand, surprisingly strong, grabbed his wrist and removed his hand from her breast. She gave him only a shake of her head as explanation. He leaned back on the cushion, taking her unspoken command.
She pushed his shirt open all the way. Her free hand caressed whatever bare skin she could find, from his neck to his thighs, as though mapping his body for her memory.
“What about if you need to go fast?” she asked, her gaze holding his. He couldn’t hide anything from her; she’d known he had been withholding the truth earlier.
His fist twisted at the base of his cock, pressing down on his hardening sac and her hand worked closer to the head.
She wanted him to say it aloud; he can feel his pulse thumping under her blurring hand. His confession was painfully slow: “I think about that time I took you--“
Stopping him, she laughed as she bit lightly on his lower lip. “I got you to do it.”
He stared at her smirking face. “You...You wanted to do it?”
“Oh, Bill.” She hid that smile in his shoulder.
He blinked. It was as though the pictures on the tattered pages of his old issue of Nymph were suddenly different after four years. She’s wanted to do it, she’d tricked him into doing it, she liked that...
His fantasy irrevocably altered, he fell back on the cushion, his hips surging up. She cupped and rubbed his cock’s head, her hand sticky with lotion, feeling pretty damn close to when he was frakking her deep...
She grabbed one of his nipples, twisting it to the point of pleasure; she’d discovered that particular erogenous zone too.
He knew he wasn’t pretty when he climaxed, not like her, but he couldn’t try for a good look at this moment. His groans became low grunts and could only manage a weak, “Damn, Laura, you...” before he pushed her hand down to avoid the resulting flow.
When he finished, her hand rested on his heaving chest as her head settled on his shoulder again. “You are so beautiful when you do that,” she said, and he had to laugh with what breath he could find.
“Love is blind,” he said, then peeked over at her quickly. She only smiled back, her eyes shining with tears.
“My big man,” she said softly, but patted his cheek as though he was a silly little boy.
He glanced down at the mess on his belly and then away. “So...”
The awkwardness lengthened.
“So...” She sat up, tugging the blanket closer. “Can I spend the night?” she asked with studied casualness. “It’s an awfully long walk back to my quarters, and I’m tired...”
“Of course!” He hopped up, then winced between stiffness and wobbly legs. “Let me get you something to wear--“ He snatched his jeans to keep them from falling around his ankles.
“I brought my own gown,” she said, the causal air gone. Opening her purse again, she pulled out his favorite, the red satin negligee. No wonder her purse had been so large; she’d come prepared.
“Let get cleaned up--“ She took his hand and led him to the head.
He retrieved her toothbrush from the cabinet, offering it like a ritual object to a temple maiden. Rolling her eyes, she accepted it. They fell into their familiar pattern, switching places for washing, teeth brushing, using the toilet. He was grinning around his toothbrush, deeply happy.
A change in her routine; she smoothed lotion over her bare head instead of brushing her hair.
She caught his eye in the mirror. “This is your favorite part of the date, isn’t it?” she accused him.
He dropped a quick kiss on her cheek, leaving a white circle of frothy toothpaste. “There were other highlights.”
At the rack, he took his usual position against the bulkhead. Laura was stiff in his arms, though, when he tried to snuggle.
“Bill, you understand, this is only for tonight.”
“You’re not moving back in?” Of course he knew the answer, but he wanted to hear her say it.
“No,” she whispered.
“What, it’s my birthday or something?” he said sarcastically, wiggling away from her as far as he could in the narrow rack. “If that’s it, you shoulda put a bow on your ass as a clue.”
“As a matter of fact, it is.”
Blinking, he tried to remember the date. The specific days meant little anymore. It was just how many years they’d been in space, how many days Raptors went missing, how many hours a human could survive without water. You only looked back on the calendar’s pages; there was no reason to look forward. A birthday was a frivolity none of them bothered with anymore.
She rolled to face him. He saw the tears glistening on her eyelashes. “I’m sorry, Bill, if it seems like I was leading you on. That wasn’t my intension. I just wanted you to have a good time--“
His heart squeezed tight. This night had cost her. She wanted to hide in her guest quarters, blocking out every symptom and his sad eyes with the heavy hatch. Only in the sickbay did she let down her barriers and listen to his hopes and promises read off a crinkling page.
He should tell her it was all right, he wouldn’t push...Instead, he just sighed and pulled her close, fitting her shrinking body into his.
Cradling her smooth scalp in his palm, he whispered kisses across her face, washing away the tears. “Thanks, Laura. This was my best birthday ever.”
Her light kiss tickled the end of his nose. “Happy birthday, William Adama,” she said seriously.
Smiling, he flicked off the light. “It’s okay.” He tucked her head under his chin, trying to give her as much warmth as his scratchy old blanket had. “Let’s just take one night at a time.”
Her voice sounded strong for the first time that evening. “Our day will come, Bill. We’ll have our day.”
That was his best present of all; she still had hope.
The end