another oldie
It's really weird to read fics that I wrote nearly a year ago...it's like reading someone else's work. Something I know by heart, yet it's foreign. Or maybe it's just time for me to eat something. Hm.
Title: Pillow Talk
Rating: T
Genre: Romance...sort of
Summary: It's not the most romantic moment Bill's ever experienced, and yet he finds himself liking it more than he should.
Set during season one sometime between 'Colonial Day' and 'Kobol's Last Gleaming'.
Disclaimer: Not mine...it all belongs to RDM, etc
A/N: I remember exactly which wall of my neighbor's house I was sanding when this plot bunny was born. It was just a bit of dialogue, but it was enough.
Bill Adama tilted his head to the side and considered the woman beside him in his rack. He couldn’t see her well in the dim light that filtered in from his living room and her face was obscured by her hair, but from her breathing he was sure she was awake.
“So tell me,” he broke the silence, his voice rumbling through the air around them, “were the rumors true?”
She shifted slightly before speaking.
“What rumors?”
“About you and Adar.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just a question,” Bill responded, not sure himself why he had asked, just that it had been on his mind.
“Yes,” she replied after a pause, “yes they were.”
“Hmm.”
“Is that a problem for you, Commander?” The president’s voice was wry, almost teasing and yet he sensed that he had bothered her with his question.
“No, I was just wondering.”
They lapsed back into silence. After a moment Bill shifted to look at the electric clock beside his rack. They had forty minutes before her aide was due to arrive, though he often returned early; punctual to a fault, that kid. So that really left them around thirty minutes; better to lay in bed for as long as possible, the only thing more awkward would be to get up and have to face one another in the light. At least now Bill was unable to see her face in the dark, not that he didn’t like her face, but her perpetual expression, impassive even after sex, drove him crazy.
Bill knew that the two times they’d frakked had nothing to do with affection or romance; it was a natural response for two consenting adults to seek one another out after a horrific event and try to find some sort of connection with another person, to feel like they weren’t completely alone. But Bill knew for Laura Roslin, it had very little to do with connection. In fact, it seemed as if by frakking him she was in fact disconnecting herself from any real sort of relationship with him.
The first time, after the Colonial Day dance, it had been quick - simply a release for the both of them; just a hurried frak in an unoccupied linen closet aboard Cloud Nine. She had seemed satisfied with that, and it had occurred to him then that perhaps the rumors about Laura Roslin and the former president had been true; she wasn’t as innocent or high minded as he had initially thought. Certainly not a naïve schoolteacher when it came to frakking in closets.
Bill’s train of thought was broken as Laura suddenly spoke again.
“I wasn’t in love with him, you know,” she told him, her breath warm against his chest as she turned on her side to face him in the dark. “It wasn’t about that.”
“Neither is this,” he responded evenly. It occurred to him that this was quite possibly the worst pillow talk conversation he had ever taken part in.
She gave a small laugh and laid her head back onto the single pillow.
“No, no it’s not.”
Bill could tell she hated this; laying here so close to him in his rack. He knew without having any evidence that if the bed had been bigger she would have been on the far side, away from his embrace. She seemed claustrophobic, as if being curled up with someone after sex made her nervous.
She probably isn’t used to it, he thought wryly, if she’s been frakking Adar.
The commander tried not to think about Laura Roslin being with Richard Adar. He now wished he hadn’t asked for confirmation about their relationship. She seemed so much better than that; granted, she had frakked him twice without any sort of emotional engagement, but who else was she going to sleep with? He was the only one who came close to her in age or status within the fleet; he was the only logical choice. On Caprica she could have had anyone; she was beautiful and intelligent with a good job and a great pair of legs. Yet she chose that political whore Adar, a married man no less. It made no sense, unless she was lying about being in love with him.
Laura shifted again. Bill knew he should perhaps move over to the very edge of the mattress, maybe even get up and let her have the rack to herself, but he had to admit he enjoyed laying there with her. He liked the smell of her hair and the way it felt against his naked chest and arms. Her skin was wonderfully smooth, but he knew better than to caress her back and arms as they lay together. This was not about that, he reminded himself. Instead he contented himself with the feel of his arm under her head and shoulders.
He glanced at the clock again; Billy would probably be knocking on the hatch in fifteen minutes, and they would both need time to dress.
“Is it time?”
Bill responded in the affirmative, though he wished he could have said no. Against his better judgment he liked holding this woman.
Without stopping to think, he pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, enjoying the feel of her soft hair against his lips before moving to switch on the light next to his rack. When he turned back to look at her she was staring at him from where she lay; there was an odd look on her face that Bill could not name. It almost said, I misjudged you Commander, I had hoped you wouldn’t be so affectionate, and that you could just accept a quick frak for what it was like any other man.
In the light, Bill thought the president looked tired. Not just from sex, but from all that she had been carrying around on her shoulders over the past few weeks since the attacks. There was a deep weariness in the lines around her eyes that he found himself tempted to kiss away. He could tell she wasn’t sleeping well, neither was he, such was price of leadership, but he could tell she needed the rest.
They dressed silently and she disappeared for a time into the head. Bill straightened the covers on his bed in case anyone happened to glance back at his bedroom and sense something amiss. It made him uncomfortable, the idea of hiding things, of sneaking around, especially on his own ship. But the president seemed entirely composed as she stepped out of the head and moved to collect her papers and briefcase from the coffee table.
Bill watched her from the entrance to his bedroom and marveled at how little all this had affected her. She seemed just as the same as she had hours earlier when they had sat on his couch discussing the fleet, before they had wrapped things up and instead of leaving for Colonial One right then; the president had glanced over at the commander. Their eyes had met, questioning. She had answered the unspoken question by standing and leading him to his own rack. Now here she was, suit practically unwrinkled, hair hanging perfectly against her shoulders and not a thing out of place, her face as impassive as ever. Bill had glanced into the mirror briefly, his uniform was straight, but he felt like a mess inside.
What was this that they were doing? He had to wonder. Was it an affair? An occasional frak when they both felt the need? Was this the last time, or only the beginning?
This is what he should have asked her as they laid in his rack, he reflected, not idiotic questions about Adar. But now in the golden light of his living room with business papers spread around, their respective uniforms in place, those questions seemed wildly inappropriate.
There was a knock on the hatch and Bill opened it himself, admitting the president’s young aide.
“Hello Commander,” Billy Keikeya smiled at the older man and looked past him into the room. “Is the president-“
“Ready to go, thank you Billy,” the president filled in, her voice bright and pleasant as she moved towards her aide.
“Thank you Commander,” she extended a hand, which he accepted reflexively. She had never called him Bill, not even in bed.
“Madam President,” he replied, shaking her hand, so small and delicate within his own, then released it.
Her polite smile never wavered as he looked at her, but she turned her face away quickly all the same. When she was gone Bill stared at the closed hatch for some time. He was still no closer to understanding her, or their relationship. He still wasn’t sure he approved of her as the president, or the decisions she made. But he knew that he liked the way she felt in his arms. It was dangerous really, the leaders of the fleet sleeping together, yet he felt that of the two, he would be the one who would have difficulty in distancing himself from their relationship if it ever came to that. And that thought scared the hell out of him.
Title: Pillow Talk
Rating: T
Genre: Romance...sort of
Summary: It's not the most romantic moment Bill's ever experienced, and yet he finds himself liking it more than he should.
Set during season one sometime between 'Colonial Day' and 'Kobol's Last Gleaming'.
Disclaimer: Not mine...it all belongs to RDM, etc
A/N: I remember exactly which wall of my neighbor's house I was sanding when this plot bunny was born. It was just a bit of dialogue, but it was enough.
Bill Adama tilted his head to the side and considered the woman beside him in his rack. He couldn’t see her well in the dim light that filtered in from his living room and her face was obscured by her hair, but from her breathing he was sure she was awake.
“So tell me,” he broke the silence, his voice rumbling through the air around them, “were the rumors true?”
She shifted slightly before speaking.
“What rumors?”
“About you and Adar.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Just a question,” Bill responded, not sure himself why he had asked, just that it had been on his mind.
“Yes,” she replied after a pause, “yes they were.”
“Hmm.”
“Is that a problem for you, Commander?” The president’s voice was wry, almost teasing and yet he sensed that he had bothered her with his question.
“No, I was just wondering.”
They lapsed back into silence. After a moment Bill shifted to look at the electric clock beside his rack. They had forty minutes before her aide was due to arrive, though he often returned early; punctual to a fault, that kid. So that really left them around thirty minutes; better to lay in bed for as long as possible, the only thing more awkward would be to get up and have to face one another in the light. At least now Bill was unable to see her face in the dark, not that he didn’t like her face, but her perpetual expression, impassive even after sex, drove him crazy.
Bill knew that the two times they’d frakked had nothing to do with affection or romance; it was a natural response for two consenting adults to seek one another out after a horrific event and try to find some sort of connection with another person, to feel like they weren’t completely alone. But Bill knew for Laura Roslin, it had very little to do with connection. In fact, it seemed as if by frakking him she was in fact disconnecting herself from any real sort of relationship with him.
The first time, after the Colonial Day dance, it had been quick - simply a release for the both of them; just a hurried frak in an unoccupied linen closet aboard Cloud Nine. She had seemed satisfied with that, and it had occurred to him then that perhaps the rumors about Laura Roslin and the former president had been true; she wasn’t as innocent or high minded as he had initially thought. Certainly not a naïve schoolteacher when it came to frakking in closets.
Bill’s train of thought was broken as Laura suddenly spoke again.
“I wasn’t in love with him, you know,” she told him, her breath warm against his chest as she turned on her side to face him in the dark. “It wasn’t about that.”
“Neither is this,” he responded evenly. It occurred to him that this was quite possibly the worst pillow talk conversation he had ever taken part in.
She gave a small laugh and laid her head back onto the single pillow.
“No, no it’s not.”
Bill could tell she hated this; laying here so close to him in his rack. He knew without having any evidence that if the bed had been bigger she would have been on the far side, away from his embrace. She seemed claustrophobic, as if being curled up with someone after sex made her nervous.
She probably isn’t used to it, he thought wryly, if she’s been frakking Adar.
The commander tried not to think about Laura Roslin being with Richard Adar. He now wished he hadn’t asked for confirmation about their relationship. She seemed so much better than that; granted, she had frakked him twice without any sort of emotional engagement, but who else was she going to sleep with? He was the only one who came close to her in age or status within the fleet; he was the only logical choice. On Caprica she could have had anyone; she was beautiful and intelligent with a good job and a great pair of legs. Yet she chose that political whore Adar, a married man no less. It made no sense, unless she was lying about being in love with him.
Laura shifted again. Bill knew he should perhaps move over to the very edge of the mattress, maybe even get up and let her have the rack to herself, but he had to admit he enjoyed laying there with her. He liked the smell of her hair and the way it felt against his naked chest and arms. Her skin was wonderfully smooth, but he knew better than to caress her back and arms as they lay together. This was not about that, he reminded himself. Instead he contented himself with the feel of his arm under her head and shoulders.
He glanced at the clock again; Billy would probably be knocking on the hatch in fifteen minutes, and they would both need time to dress.
“Is it time?”
Bill responded in the affirmative, though he wished he could have said no. Against his better judgment he liked holding this woman.
Without stopping to think, he pressed a light kiss to the top of her head, enjoying the feel of her soft hair against his lips before moving to switch on the light next to his rack. When he turned back to look at her she was staring at him from where she lay; there was an odd look on her face that Bill could not name. It almost said, I misjudged you Commander, I had hoped you wouldn’t be so affectionate, and that you could just accept a quick frak for what it was like any other man.
In the light, Bill thought the president looked tired. Not just from sex, but from all that she had been carrying around on her shoulders over the past few weeks since the attacks. There was a deep weariness in the lines around her eyes that he found himself tempted to kiss away. He could tell she wasn’t sleeping well, neither was he, such was price of leadership, but he could tell she needed the rest.
They dressed silently and she disappeared for a time into the head. Bill straightened the covers on his bed in case anyone happened to glance back at his bedroom and sense something amiss. It made him uncomfortable, the idea of hiding things, of sneaking around, especially on his own ship. But the president seemed entirely composed as she stepped out of the head and moved to collect her papers and briefcase from the coffee table.
Bill watched her from the entrance to his bedroom and marveled at how little all this had affected her. She seemed just as the same as she had hours earlier when they had sat on his couch discussing the fleet, before they had wrapped things up and instead of leaving for Colonial One right then; the president had glanced over at the commander. Their eyes had met, questioning. She had answered the unspoken question by standing and leading him to his own rack. Now here she was, suit practically unwrinkled, hair hanging perfectly against her shoulders and not a thing out of place, her face as impassive as ever. Bill had glanced into the mirror briefly, his uniform was straight, but he felt like a mess inside.
What was this that they were doing? He had to wonder. Was it an affair? An occasional frak when they both felt the need? Was this the last time, or only the beginning?
This is what he should have asked her as they laid in his rack, he reflected, not idiotic questions about Adar. But now in the golden light of his living room with business papers spread around, their respective uniforms in place, those questions seemed wildly inappropriate.
There was a knock on the hatch and Bill opened it himself, admitting the president’s young aide.
“Hello Commander,” Billy Keikeya smiled at the older man and looked past him into the room. “Is the president-“
“Ready to go, thank you Billy,” the president filled in, her voice bright and pleasant as she moved towards her aide.
“Thank you Commander,” she extended a hand, which he accepted reflexively. She had never called him Bill, not even in bed.
“Madam President,” he replied, shaking her hand, so small and delicate within his own, then released it.
Her polite smile never wavered as he looked at her, but she turned her face away quickly all the same. When she was gone Bill stared at the closed hatch for some time. He was still no closer to understanding her, or their relationship. He still wasn’t sure he approved of her as the president, or the decisions she made. But he knew that he liked the way she felt in his arms. It was dangerous really, the leaders of the fleet sleeping together, yet he felt that of the two, he would be the one who would have difficulty in distancing himself from their relationship if it ever came to that. And that thought scared the hell out of him.