FIC: Instruments of Vice (BSG, Bill/Kara)
Title: Instruments of Vice
Author: Drea and Carla (bluerosefairy and carla_scribbles)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Bill Adama/Kara Thrace.
Rating: NC-17, MA, whatever you want to call it. It's not for the kids.
Written for: The dooooooom-a-thon.
Chosen Taboos: May/December pairing, dominance/submission, banging the boss, power games, masturbation, voyeurism.
Prompt: "And maybe I'm not up for being a victim of love, when all my resistance will never be distance enough."
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, Ron Moore and David Eick recreated a sucktastic 70's scifi show and made it BEYOND awesome. We’re not them. Then they cast Edward James Olmos and Katee Sackhoff as two of their leads. We’re not them, either. We own nothing except the plot of this story, and a couple sets of DVDs. Please to not sue.
Spoilers: Takes place directly after the events of Part One of the miniseries, when Bill and Kara believe Lee has died, so chronologically, just the miniseries. But knowing the plot of "Act of Contrition" is definitely recommended.
Quotes: Summary and title taken from Act 5, Scene 3 of King Lear.
Author's Notes: We’d both like to thank the lovely petronelle, for kicking our sentences in the ass, helping us fix the entire second half, and generally being the best beta EVER. Sorry we kind of broke you by forcing you to beta Kara/Adama porn. It must have been unbearable. Um - oops?
~*~*~*~
When the world ends, all the rules you think you're able to follow suddenly, you come to understand, mean absolutely nothing.
Bill learns this - as he has learned everything worth knowing - the hard way.
~*~*~*~
"Tell me what you want, sir. Make this okay."
She's on her knees for him. And the first thing he thinks, the only thing he can think for that first long minute between seeing her and being able to speak, is no. He does not want her. He does not want any more of Kara Thrace's soul than he already owns. He cannot give in to the pulse of his blood and that voice in the back of his head telling him to take what she offers.
He's pretty sure she doesn't know what she's offering, and that she'd never even be here in his quarters this late at night if the Cylons hadn't come back. She wants someone to chase away her nightmares, tell her that it's going to be okay. He knows - and she knows - that it isn't, that everything is different now, except for them.
But now the Commander and the Lieutenant of the Galactica have faded into Bill and Kara and gods, why can't it ever be easy with her? She's looking up at him, still, her gaze steady and a little defiant, and no one should have the right to see her like this. He should tell her to get up and go to her quarters; he should, but his voice won't come, and all he can hear is her.
It's okay, I want this. I need you to tell me what to do.
And for a second, she breaks. She glances away at the door - he can see her starting to draw back in on herself - and gets to her feet. She’ll leave, they’ll never speak of this again, and that's what forces his hand. "Kara," he says, and she turns back to him; her eyes are wide, startled, half anticipation and half fear, and it all but breaks his heart. "Come here."
The set of her shoulders tenses, bicep muscles flexing, and those wide, wide eyes finally focus in on him. She takes a half-step toward him, stops, but can't disobey the order. Too long, too many "yes, sir's" between them, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed as she stops in front of him again. He reaches out, gently takes her chin in his hand, and represses the shudder of satisfaction as she turns catlike into his touch. He can do this to her, make her forget, make her feel again. His thumb traces the barest edge of her lower lip and her breath puffs out shakily against his skin.
Soft skin under his hand, fever-hot, and her eyelids fall half-closed; she's shaking, and he's only half-sure still it's not fear. "Tell me you're sure," he says, and he's damn thankful he managed to get the entire sentence out; even more so when she laughs, and the relief in that sound is almost like a sob.
"You're not my-" she says, breaks off, and he really doesn't want to know what was at the end of that sentence. "Yeah. I'm sure. Are you?"
And there's nothing to do, then, except lean in and kiss her.
This, at least, is somewhat familiar - he's done this before, after Zak's funeral. A searing, furtive kiss she stole between swigs of booze back in his hotel room, before he pressed his fingers to her lips and let her cry and scream out her grief. He swore at the time he wasn't enjoying her body pressed tightly to his, breath hot and sticky on his neck and the soft skin of her back warm under his fingers, but he'd never been able to stop the itch to feel her again. She is still his dead son's fiancée and times like these, he doesn't care that Zak had her first. Just wants to watch her burn in her own flame, rushing headlong into death and coming back to him far too alive.
She clings to him now with that same desperation, bitten-off nails sinking into his back through his tanks and mouth slick and hungry on his. Her lips are soft, softer than he remembers, and her mouth just opens up under his. She presses against him, and her arm snakes around his neck; she's half-laughing when they break for air, and he is as well -- adrenaline, nerves, the way you laugh when you realize you're not dead.
The way she laughs every time she steps out of her Viper.
"Oh yeah?" she says, and she's brighter than he's ever seen her. He still feels like he might break if he looks too closely.
It doesn't stop him.
~*~*~*~
"So that's a yes, right? Sir?"
"I don't think you need to ask," he says, forcing his voice steadier than he feels. Kara's eyes widen, just for a second, and even if she hadn't already told him, shown him - that would have been everything he needed to know. "But you asked me earlier," he says, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to let go of her, "to tell you what I want. I want you, Kara."
A soft gasp catches in the back of her throat, and her nails bite into his back through the tanks as she holds him tight. Like he's actually going anywhere. Like it's still in his hands.
"Why?"
Another thing she should never have to ask, but he knows why she does. Too many nameless, faceless women out there - older than her, saner than her - why would he choose her? Why now and not two years ago, when they could have written it off to grief and too much alcohol? Why, after the end of the world, when Lee went and died on them just like Zak? Why, when he should be thinking of her as a daughter but in actuality, has never tried?
Rather than articulate this to her, he pushes her backwards until her back hits his desk and she's pinned between it and his body. His fingers tangle in her hair and pull her head sideways to let him kiss and bite at her neck. He slides his mouth up to her ear, trailing his tongue over the shell and gods, she needs to make that sound more often. That needy, high-pitched whine that might be his name, but he's never heard it from her lips before.
And she's clinging to him still - her nails snag against the fabric of his tanks - as she rocks up against him with every inch of leverage she can get. He lets his mouth trail down to suck at a spot just behind her ear, and she gasps; he can feel her squirming, trying to find a better angle, get herself braced and her legs apart, and for a second he thinks of letting her. He half-thinks he'd like that: lift her up, pull her uniform trousers down, run his fingers across that skin, hot and fast the way he hasn't thought of wanting it in years.
But this isn't about that, not some drunken grope in the bunk room, fast and messy and both your pants zipped before anyone else gets back; this is Kara, and he can go slow. Forces himself to, kissing his way back down to her shoulder until he has to push the straps of her tanks aside to get at her skin - and slow or not, those are going to have to come off.
She's faster than he is, though, and has both tanks over her head and on the floor before he's even tried to slide his hands under them. And all that's left is skin - miles of hot, bare skin that he just has to taste; salty at the bend of her elbow, sweeter near her shoulders and collarbone, hot and musky on her neck. She gasps, hands lacing though his hair and urging him lower. He could take his time, linger around her breasts, discover through mouth and hands the particulars of making her scream or gasp or moan, but no - he knows what she likes and how she likes it.
She's an adrenaline junkie, and, at this particular point, she likes it rough. And it can't hurt to give her what she wants, this one time; pulling her hips into him, letting her legs wrap around his waist. He’ll admit to enjoying the broken cry she gives when she finally grinds herself against his cock like she's been wanting to for what seems like hours. He slides an arm around her back, lowering his head to graze her nipple with teeth and blunt fingers, and she pushes right back, begging for more.
"Gonna frak me, sir, or just play around?"
And he's never going to let her know what that does to him - not out loud, anyway. How he'll never hear her call him "sir" again without hearing it just like that, that break in her voice she's trying desperately to hide.
"That would depend." His fingers brush the inside of her leg, and she huffs out a frustrated little laugh. "You want me to frak you, Lieutenant?"
He can feel the shiver run through her, and her voice is soft and too-fast: "Oh, what, you want me to say please?" She rolls her hips against him, slow, and bites her lip; they're both in this over their heads. "I can - ah - I can say that. Sir."
Gods, she's doing it deliberately now, knowing how much it turns him on to hear that. His hand skirts the curve of her hip, fingers sliding under the waistband of her sweatpants, and she arches into the touch. Shameless, pushing towards him, trying to shift his hand closer to where she wants it, and she keens high and needy when he pulls back to go for the lace to her pants. He slides them down her hips, slow, trying not to let his hands shake too badly - trying and mostly failing, if the way she grins at him is anything to go by. Her pants fall into a pile next to their tanks, and he stops her legs from wrapping around him again. She groans in frustration, and he doesn't budge, not until her eyes meet his.
"Say it."
Her legs flex under his hands, all coiled strength from flying Vipers and he can't deny that doesn't affect him. Another time, he'd let her lock her ankles around his back and grip him mercilessly, but it's his game tonight. Whatever happens will be on his say-so.
"Look at me, Kara, and say it."
And she doesn't look away - she's clinging to the edge of the desk, her lip still caught between her teeth, but her eyes stay locked on his. Wide and hunted and gods, Kara. He almost wants to tell her to stop, it's all right, he doesn't need her to.
That'd be a lie, though, and it wouldn't do them any good to pretend.
"Please," she says, tense and so low he's not sure he should be able to hear her. "Please, I need-"
She bites down hard on the last word, whines and pushes up against his hands, and that's it, he couldn't ignore that if he had to.
~*~*~*~
He kisses her roughly, matching every bite and lick of her tongue as he relaxes his grip on her legs. She bucks hard against him, whimpering and grinding herself into his cock, and she's wet enough that he can feel her heat through even his uniform and her panties.
He breaks away from her mouth to run a hand down her back and rasp out, "Shh, I've got you."
A shudder goes through her, and she nods feverishly as she takes his hand, lacing her fingers with his, and slides them both under the waistband of her panties. Guides his fingers to her sex and moans brokenly as he picks up her rhythm, tight circles on her clit, shallow swipes against her labia and gods, he's not going to last long if she keeps this up. She leans in and kisses him again, biting at his lower lip; their hands trapped between them. They've got the worst angle for this, but he can still find a spot just there to the side of her clit that makes her whimper against his mouth when he strokes it. Does it again, slower; her hand tightens over his, and her hips lift into his palm, and he can't think of anything he wants more now than to watch her spin out of control.
"Let me," he whispers, and she nods, licks her lips; her hand pulls back to grab his wrist, and she's wet enough that he can slide a finger and then two inside her with no resistance at all. Tight and hot around his fingers, and she's shaking, but she leans back and smiles at him.
"Please?"
And that does it. He wants to watch her fall apart under his hands, wants to be the one to make Kara Thrace scream and beg for release, and she's asking him for it. Her hips rise and she cries out softly as he slides his fingers out of her. She makes a desperate grab for his hand, but he shakes his head, touching slick fingers to her mouth and shuddering as she takes them in.
She licks and sucks her wetness from his fingers, and gods, as long as he lives, he's never going to get that visual out of his head. Has to pull his hand away and taste her wetness on her mouth - hot and bittersweet. He can't pull away from this clash of lips and tongues and teeth to breathe, though, because it's Kara, and he's starting to crave the taste of her like nothing else he's ever experienced.
Kara's mouth is hard against his, demanding; she's too keyed up now to be anything like deliberate, and he doesn't think he's ever seen her like this. Heard a bit of it, maybe, in the way she laughs sometimes when she's flying - that wildness, the jagged edge to her breathing - but nothing like this. And he wants it, wants all of her he can get, her nails scratching at his shoulders and her mouth on his, her skin hot under his hands.
More than he could possibly know what to do with.
He's barely touching her, now, one hand at the small of her back and the other cradling her face, and she bites at his lip before she pulls away. "Sir," she says, and her voice cracks, and he almost can't breathe. "Do you want to frak me? Sir? Or should I just-" Her hand, sliding down between them, one finger curling in to stroke at the side of her clit. "Take care of it myself?"
He's not going to lie - his eyes roll back a little at that particular suggestion - and she doesn't miss it. Her grin widens, and she slides the grey cotton down her legs, kicking the panties to the floor. Eases back further on the desk - gods, he's never going to be able to sit at this desk again, is he? - and spreads her legs wide, letting him see her wet and bare. Her eyes lock onto his as she sinks two fingers into herself, letting loose a cry as she fraks herself sharp and fast, hips rolling and snapping in a hypnotic rhythm.
And as quiet as he's been for most of this encounter, he can't stop talking now, every moan and gasp from her spurring him on.
"Come on, Kara, let me hear you - that's it, baby, eyes on me, keep your eyes on me until you come. Let me see it, beautiful. Let me see you come."
Kara gasps as sharply as if he'd struck her, and for a moment he's sure he's gone too far. Hurt her, betrayed her trust, broken whatever this is between them - but she doesn't look away. Because it's true, he's hit her where it hurts.
It's an order, and she doesn't disobey his orders.
She moans, spreads her legs wider still, pulls her fingers back - wet, and he wants to suck them clean, wants to drop to his knees and lick her until she screams -- and adds a third one on the next stroke. She can't keep from shuddering as she keeps her eyes on his, and he can't help but admit that it hadn't been so much an order as a plea.
Stay with me, Kara. You are here and I am here, and we are doing this because it's the only thing that we haven't lost.
~*~*~*~
His breath is coming as shallowly as hers now, his hands splayed white-knuckled against his desk. Her head snaps back, choking as if she'd been drowning, and her thumb circles hard and tight against her clit. She's caught up in it now, shaking with the rhythm of it, making small urgent noises in her throat. Her free hand tightens convulsively on the edge of the desk, and her eyes flutter closed before she forces them open, still locked on his.
Kara doesn't flinch when her climax hits her, sharp and sudden. His arms come up to catch her as she arches forward off the desk. She’s burning up, still shaky in the aftermath, and for a minute, she’s content to let herself be held. He strokes her back as she curls against him and her breathing evens out - until her eyes open and she pulls away, face still flushed.
She grins at him, crooked and softer than usual and clearly an effort, but very real for all of that. "Just. Wow." The smile sharpens. "Sir."
"You're going to have to stop calling me that," and he can hear the roughness in his own voice. "I won't be able to hear it from you in public. Won't be able to look at you as it is - I don't need to add in not being able to hear you either."
She laughs, and goes quiet for a second, watching him, and his hands ache to pull her against him; she smells of sex and clean sweat, and it's driving him half-insane. "I like the way you look at me," she says, finally, swinging herself down off the desk.
Her body fits flush against his, and she's kissing him and snaking a hand down to unzip his pants. "And I think we should take this to a bed, don't you?"
He wishes he could truthfully say he could have held her forever like that, but his cock has been pulsing insistently against the seam of his pants for the past twenty minutes, and gods, he's going to go insane if he doesn't frak her now.
"Yeah," he says, not unshakily. "We should."
And he somehow manages to get over to his rack and out of his clothes without either tripping or making a complete idiot of himself. It’s a near-miss, though, when he tangles his left leg in his pants, and Kara’s not helping. She barely lets him get his boxers off before she's on him again, sliding her hands up his hips to rake softly down his chest, pulling him down next to her and pressing tightly to him.
For a moment, it's almost too much - he has to shut his eyes and bury his face in her neck and breathe, try to block out the heat of her against him, her hands mapping out his skin. Her leg hooked awkwardly around his; he shifts, and she moves along with him, and then her legs are around his waist and his cock is at the entrance to her, and he's forgetting even how to breathe. It's like going back in time, he thinks, and Kara's hands tighten into fists against his back as he slides into her
She shivers, and he kisses her; forehead, cheek, corner of her mouth. She licks her dry lips and turns her head to meet his mouth, teeth nipping at his lower lip. She’s hot around him, under him, her hands gripping tight to his back. He’s being a gentleman, he thinks, giving her some time to adjust, but she lets out a needy whine and runs her nails down his back as she rolls her hips against him.
"C'mon, sir", she grits out, flashing a grin when he shudders at that word again, "I won't break. Not even for you."
It’s a challenge, more than anything, and oh, does it hit him right between the eyes. There’s nothing he’s ever been able to deny her, and he can’t bring himself to call her bluff.
He pants his reply onto her skin, breathes it into the bare stretch of neck and collarbone - “Don’t need you to break, Kara. Just need you to come with me.”
“So make me”, she says, snapping her hips harder and harder against him, pulling him into her and pulling away just as fast.
Because this is what she likes, this is what she can take, and she's all but begging for it, and he can't - he can't do anything short of give it to her, as deep and as rough as he can make himself be with her. Frak her while her keens turn to gasps and then to broken noises that he thinks are halfway to laughter. She snaps her hips up to meet him on every stroke, straining against him, and her face, gods, her face is wide open, lips parted and eyes so wide he can't help but wonder what she sees. She's hot around him, tight, and her knees dig into his sides, and he's hissing nonsense into her skin - frak, Kara, mine, so good, please.
He's never, in all of his varied fantasies about her, thought of them in this way - frakking her face to face, deep as he can go, while she cries out again and again. And now that he's lived it, he knows he just might kill to do it again. She's close to coming again - he can feel her fingers flexing around his, mimicking her muscles around his cock - and her eyes have gone frantic as she shudders underneath him.
He pulls back as far as he can stand to and holds still for a second: loves the pull of her body against his, the way she hisses and swears before he slams into her again. She shouts and bites down on his shoulder, hard enough that he'll be walking around with her mark on him, and her legs tighten around him; he can feel her shaking on the edge, and he half-wants to keep her there forever even as he knows how beautiful she'll be when she comes.
"Tell me how much you want it," he breathes, and she gasps, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words.
"Yeah," and she bites her lip, "frak, please, just - oh gods, like that. Just like that."
It doesn't take much to push Kara over; a few deep strokes and she's wailing thin and high, her back arching as far as she can off the bed. Even though he tries to stroke her through it as she comes down - gods, he's so close himself he's shaking with the strain - she catches his hands in hers and reaches blindly for his mouth. In between heavy breaths, she licks across his bottom lip and breathes out "now, now, please now".
He's lost all sense of rhythm - she's still wide open under him, taking it - and her eyes suddenly light up in a wicked grin as she digs her nails into his back and arches up sharp against him.
"Give it up, sir."
Her turn to give the orders, then?
And he's gone then; driving against her, into her, so far out he's seeing black behind his eyes. Frakking her while she purrs and urges him on, her nails tracing patterns on his shoulders. She gasps once, high and trembling, with a sharp noise buried in it that could almost be his name, and the sound goes through him like a knife. Lays him open as he comes, breathing hard and crooning her name under his breath.
Kara, Kara, Kara, and he can say for sure now that he's lost.
~*~*~*~
He never wants to move, but she's sticky and restless under him, so he shifts onto his side, and doesn't say anything as she burrows against him.
She’s flying CAP in five hours. He can let her sleep until then.
Any and all feedback whatsoever will be squeed-over for days and printed out to hang on our respective fridges. Because we'd just like to know we're not completely insane for writing this.
Author: Drea and Carla (bluerosefairy and carla_scribbles)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Pairing: Bill Adama/Kara Thrace.
Rating: NC-17, MA, whatever you want to call it. It's not for the kids.
Written for: The dooooooom-a-thon.
Chosen Taboos: May/December pairing, dominance/submission, banging the boss, power games, masturbation, voyeurism.
Prompt: "And maybe I'm not up for being a victim of love, when all my resistance will never be distance enough."
Disclaimer: Once upon a time, Ron Moore and David Eick recreated a sucktastic 70's scifi show and made it BEYOND awesome. We’re not them. Then they cast Edward James Olmos and Katee Sackhoff as two of their leads. We’re not them, either. We own nothing except the plot of this story, and a couple sets of DVDs. Please to not sue.
Spoilers: Takes place directly after the events of Part One of the miniseries, when Bill and Kara believe Lee has died, so chronologically, just the miniseries. But knowing the plot of "Act of Contrition" is definitely recommended.
Quotes: Summary and title taken from Act 5, Scene 3 of King Lear.
Author's Notes: We’d both like to thank the lovely petronelle, for kicking our sentences in the ass, helping us fix the entire second half, and generally being the best beta EVER. Sorry we kind of broke you by forcing you to beta Kara/Adama porn. It must have been unbearable. Um - oops?
~*~*~*~
When the world ends, all the rules you think you're able to follow suddenly, you come to understand, mean absolutely nothing.
Bill learns this - as he has learned everything worth knowing - the hard way.
~*~*~*~
"Tell me what you want, sir. Make this okay."
She's on her knees for him. And the first thing he thinks, the only thing he can think for that first long minute between seeing her and being able to speak, is no. He does not want her. He does not want any more of Kara Thrace's soul than he already owns. He cannot give in to the pulse of his blood and that voice in the back of his head telling him to take what she offers.
He's pretty sure she doesn't know what she's offering, and that she'd never even be here in his quarters this late at night if the Cylons hadn't come back. She wants someone to chase away her nightmares, tell her that it's going to be okay. He knows - and she knows - that it isn't, that everything is different now, except for them.
But now the Commander and the Lieutenant of the Galactica have faded into Bill and Kara and gods, why can't it ever be easy with her? She's looking up at him, still, her gaze steady and a little defiant, and no one should have the right to see her like this. He should tell her to get up and go to her quarters; he should, but his voice won't come, and all he can hear is her.
It's okay, I want this. I need you to tell me what to do.
And for a second, she breaks. She glances away at the door - he can see her starting to draw back in on herself - and gets to her feet. She’ll leave, they’ll never speak of this again, and that's what forces his hand. "Kara," he says, and she turns back to him; her eyes are wide, startled, half anticipation and half fear, and it all but breaks his heart. "Come here."
The set of her shoulders tenses, bicep muscles flexing, and those wide, wide eyes finally focus in on him. She takes a half-step toward him, stops, but can't disobey the order. Too long, too many "yes, sir's" between them, and he doesn't know whether to be relieved or disappointed as she stops in front of him again. He reaches out, gently takes her chin in his hand, and represses the shudder of satisfaction as she turns catlike into his touch. He can do this to her, make her forget, make her feel again. His thumb traces the barest edge of her lower lip and her breath puffs out shakily against his skin.
Soft skin under his hand, fever-hot, and her eyelids fall half-closed; she's shaking, and he's only half-sure still it's not fear. "Tell me you're sure," he says, and he's damn thankful he managed to get the entire sentence out; even more so when she laughs, and the relief in that sound is almost like a sob.
"You're not my-" she says, breaks off, and he really doesn't want to know what was at the end of that sentence. "Yeah. I'm sure. Are you?"
And there's nothing to do, then, except lean in and kiss her.
This, at least, is somewhat familiar - he's done this before, after Zak's funeral. A searing, furtive kiss she stole between swigs of booze back in his hotel room, before he pressed his fingers to her lips and let her cry and scream out her grief. He swore at the time he wasn't enjoying her body pressed tightly to his, breath hot and sticky on his neck and the soft skin of her back warm under his fingers, but he'd never been able to stop the itch to feel her again. She is still his dead son's fiancée and times like these, he doesn't care that Zak had her first. Just wants to watch her burn in her own flame, rushing headlong into death and coming back to him far too alive.
She clings to him now with that same desperation, bitten-off nails sinking into his back through his tanks and mouth slick and hungry on his. Her lips are soft, softer than he remembers, and her mouth just opens up under his. She presses against him, and her arm snakes around his neck; she's half-laughing when they break for air, and he is as well -- adrenaline, nerves, the way you laugh when you realize you're not dead.
The way she laughs every time she steps out of her Viper.
"Oh yeah?" she says, and she's brighter than he's ever seen her. He still feels like he might break if he looks too closely.
It doesn't stop him.
~*~*~*~
"So that's a yes, right? Sir?"
"I don't think you need to ask," he says, forcing his voice steadier than he feels. Kara's eyes widen, just for a second, and even if she hadn't already told him, shown him - that would have been everything he needed to know. "But you asked me earlier," he says, and he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to let go of her, "to tell you what I want. I want you, Kara."
A soft gasp catches in the back of her throat, and her nails bite into his back through the tanks as she holds him tight. Like he's actually going anywhere. Like it's still in his hands.
"Why?"
Another thing she should never have to ask, but he knows why she does. Too many nameless, faceless women out there - older than her, saner than her - why would he choose her? Why now and not two years ago, when they could have written it off to grief and too much alcohol? Why, after the end of the world, when Lee went and died on them just like Zak? Why, when he should be thinking of her as a daughter but in actuality, has never tried?
Rather than articulate this to her, he pushes her backwards until her back hits his desk and she's pinned between it and his body. His fingers tangle in her hair and pull her head sideways to let him kiss and bite at her neck. He slides his mouth up to her ear, trailing his tongue over the shell and gods, she needs to make that sound more often. That needy, high-pitched whine that might be his name, but he's never heard it from her lips before.
And she's clinging to him still - her nails snag against the fabric of his tanks - as she rocks up against him with every inch of leverage she can get. He lets his mouth trail down to suck at a spot just behind her ear, and she gasps; he can feel her squirming, trying to find a better angle, get herself braced and her legs apart, and for a second he thinks of letting her. He half-thinks he'd like that: lift her up, pull her uniform trousers down, run his fingers across that skin, hot and fast the way he hasn't thought of wanting it in years.
But this isn't about that, not some drunken grope in the bunk room, fast and messy and both your pants zipped before anyone else gets back; this is Kara, and he can go slow. Forces himself to, kissing his way back down to her shoulder until he has to push the straps of her tanks aside to get at her skin - and slow or not, those are going to have to come off.
She's faster than he is, though, and has both tanks over her head and on the floor before he's even tried to slide his hands under them. And all that's left is skin - miles of hot, bare skin that he just has to taste; salty at the bend of her elbow, sweeter near her shoulders and collarbone, hot and musky on her neck. She gasps, hands lacing though his hair and urging him lower. He could take his time, linger around her breasts, discover through mouth and hands the particulars of making her scream or gasp or moan, but no - he knows what she likes and how she likes it.
She's an adrenaline junkie, and, at this particular point, she likes it rough. And it can't hurt to give her what she wants, this one time; pulling her hips into him, letting her legs wrap around his waist. He’ll admit to enjoying the broken cry she gives when she finally grinds herself against his cock like she's been wanting to for what seems like hours. He slides an arm around her back, lowering his head to graze her nipple with teeth and blunt fingers, and she pushes right back, begging for more.
"Gonna frak me, sir, or just play around?"
And he's never going to let her know what that does to him - not out loud, anyway. How he'll never hear her call him "sir" again without hearing it just like that, that break in her voice she's trying desperately to hide.
"That would depend." His fingers brush the inside of her leg, and she huffs out a frustrated little laugh. "You want me to frak you, Lieutenant?"
He can feel the shiver run through her, and her voice is soft and too-fast: "Oh, what, you want me to say please?" She rolls her hips against him, slow, and bites her lip; they're both in this over their heads. "I can - ah - I can say that. Sir."
Gods, she's doing it deliberately now, knowing how much it turns him on to hear that. His hand skirts the curve of her hip, fingers sliding under the waistband of her sweatpants, and she arches into the touch. Shameless, pushing towards him, trying to shift his hand closer to where she wants it, and she keens high and needy when he pulls back to go for the lace to her pants. He slides them down her hips, slow, trying not to let his hands shake too badly - trying and mostly failing, if the way she grins at him is anything to go by. Her pants fall into a pile next to their tanks, and he stops her legs from wrapping around him again. She groans in frustration, and he doesn't budge, not until her eyes meet his.
"Say it."
Her legs flex under his hands, all coiled strength from flying Vipers and he can't deny that doesn't affect him. Another time, he'd let her lock her ankles around his back and grip him mercilessly, but it's his game tonight. Whatever happens will be on his say-so.
"Look at me, Kara, and say it."
And she doesn't look away - she's clinging to the edge of the desk, her lip still caught between her teeth, but her eyes stay locked on his. Wide and hunted and gods, Kara. He almost wants to tell her to stop, it's all right, he doesn't need her to.
That'd be a lie, though, and it wouldn't do them any good to pretend.
"Please," she says, tense and so low he's not sure he should be able to hear her. "Please, I need-"
She bites down hard on the last word, whines and pushes up against his hands, and that's it, he couldn't ignore that if he had to.
~*~*~*~
He kisses her roughly, matching every bite and lick of her tongue as he relaxes his grip on her legs. She bucks hard against him, whimpering and grinding herself into his cock, and she's wet enough that he can feel her heat through even his uniform and her panties.
He breaks away from her mouth to run a hand down her back and rasp out, "Shh, I've got you."
A shudder goes through her, and she nods feverishly as she takes his hand, lacing her fingers with his, and slides them both under the waistband of her panties. Guides his fingers to her sex and moans brokenly as he picks up her rhythm, tight circles on her clit, shallow swipes against her labia and gods, he's not going to last long if she keeps this up. She leans in and kisses him again, biting at his lower lip; their hands trapped between them. They've got the worst angle for this, but he can still find a spot just there to the side of her clit that makes her whimper against his mouth when he strokes it. Does it again, slower; her hand tightens over his, and her hips lift into his palm, and he can't think of anything he wants more now than to watch her spin out of control.
"Let me," he whispers, and she nods, licks her lips; her hand pulls back to grab his wrist, and she's wet enough that he can slide a finger and then two inside her with no resistance at all. Tight and hot around his fingers, and she's shaking, but she leans back and smiles at him.
"Please?"
And that does it. He wants to watch her fall apart under his hands, wants to be the one to make Kara Thrace scream and beg for release, and she's asking him for it. Her hips rise and she cries out softly as he slides his fingers out of her. She makes a desperate grab for his hand, but he shakes his head, touching slick fingers to her mouth and shuddering as she takes them in.
She licks and sucks her wetness from his fingers, and gods, as long as he lives, he's never going to get that visual out of his head. Has to pull his hand away and taste her wetness on her mouth - hot and bittersweet. He can't pull away from this clash of lips and tongues and teeth to breathe, though, because it's Kara, and he's starting to crave the taste of her like nothing else he's ever experienced.
Kara's mouth is hard against his, demanding; she's too keyed up now to be anything like deliberate, and he doesn't think he's ever seen her like this. Heard a bit of it, maybe, in the way she laughs sometimes when she's flying - that wildness, the jagged edge to her breathing - but nothing like this. And he wants it, wants all of her he can get, her nails scratching at his shoulders and her mouth on his, her skin hot under his hands.
More than he could possibly know what to do with.
He's barely touching her, now, one hand at the small of her back and the other cradling her face, and she bites at his lip before she pulls away. "Sir," she says, and her voice cracks, and he almost can't breathe. "Do you want to frak me? Sir? Or should I just-" Her hand, sliding down between them, one finger curling in to stroke at the side of her clit. "Take care of it myself?"
He's not going to lie - his eyes roll back a little at that particular suggestion - and she doesn't miss it. Her grin widens, and she slides the grey cotton down her legs, kicking the panties to the floor. Eases back further on the desk - gods, he's never going to be able to sit at this desk again, is he? - and spreads her legs wide, letting him see her wet and bare. Her eyes lock onto his as she sinks two fingers into herself, letting loose a cry as she fraks herself sharp and fast, hips rolling and snapping in a hypnotic rhythm.
And as quiet as he's been for most of this encounter, he can't stop talking now, every moan and gasp from her spurring him on.
"Come on, Kara, let me hear you - that's it, baby, eyes on me, keep your eyes on me until you come. Let me see it, beautiful. Let me see you come."
Kara gasps as sharply as if he'd struck her, and for a moment he's sure he's gone too far. Hurt her, betrayed her trust, broken whatever this is between them - but she doesn't look away. Because it's true, he's hit her where it hurts.
It's an order, and she doesn't disobey his orders.
She moans, spreads her legs wider still, pulls her fingers back - wet, and he wants to suck them clean, wants to drop to his knees and lick her until she screams -- and adds a third one on the next stroke. She can't keep from shuddering as she keeps her eyes on his, and he can't help but admit that it hadn't been so much an order as a plea.
Stay with me, Kara. You are here and I am here, and we are doing this because it's the only thing that we haven't lost.
~*~*~*~
His breath is coming as shallowly as hers now, his hands splayed white-knuckled against his desk. Her head snaps back, choking as if she'd been drowning, and her thumb circles hard and tight against her clit. She's caught up in it now, shaking with the rhythm of it, making small urgent noises in her throat. Her free hand tightens convulsively on the edge of the desk, and her eyes flutter closed before she forces them open, still locked on his.
Kara doesn't flinch when her climax hits her, sharp and sudden. His arms come up to catch her as she arches forward off the desk. She’s burning up, still shaky in the aftermath, and for a minute, she’s content to let herself be held. He strokes her back as she curls against him and her breathing evens out - until her eyes open and she pulls away, face still flushed.
She grins at him, crooked and softer than usual and clearly an effort, but very real for all of that. "Just. Wow." The smile sharpens. "Sir."
"You're going to have to stop calling me that," and he can hear the roughness in his own voice. "I won't be able to hear it from you in public. Won't be able to look at you as it is - I don't need to add in not being able to hear you either."
She laughs, and goes quiet for a second, watching him, and his hands ache to pull her against him; she smells of sex and clean sweat, and it's driving him half-insane. "I like the way you look at me," she says, finally, swinging herself down off the desk.
Her body fits flush against his, and she's kissing him and snaking a hand down to unzip his pants. "And I think we should take this to a bed, don't you?"
He wishes he could truthfully say he could have held her forever like that, but his cock has been pulsing insistently against the seam of his pants for the past twenty minutes, and gods, he's going to go insane if he doesn't frak her now.
"Yeah," he says, not unshakily. "We should."
And he somehow manages to get over to his rack and out of his clothes without either tripping or making a complete idiot of himself. It’s a near-miss, though, when he tangles his left leg in his pants, and Kara’s not helping. She barely lets him get his boxers off before she's on him again, sliding her hands up his hips to rake softly down his chest, pulling him down next to her and pressing tightly to him.
For a moment, it's almost too much - he has to shut his eyes and bury his face in her neck and breathe, try to block out the heat of her against him, her hands mapping out his skin. Her leg hooked awkwardly around his; he shifts, and she moves along with him, and then her legs are around his waist and his cock is at the entrance to her, and he's forgetting even how to breathe. It's like going back in time, he thinks, and Kara's hands tighten into fists against his back as he slides into her
She shivers, and he kisses her; forehead, cheek, corner of her mouth. She licks her dry lips and turns her head to meet his mouth, teeth nipping at his lower lip. She’s hot around him, under him, her hands gripping tight to his back. He’s being a gentleman, he thinks, giving her some time to adjust, but she lets out a needy whine and runs her nails down his back as she rolls her hips against him.
"C'mon, sir", she grits out, flashing a grin when he shudders at that word again, "I won't break. Not even for you."
It’s a challenge, more than anything, and oh, does it hit him right between the eyes. There’s nothing he’s ever been able to deny her, and he can’t bring himself to call her bluff.
He pants his reply onto her skin, breathes it into the bare stretch of neck and collarbone - “Don’t need you to break, Kara. Just need you to come with me.”
“So make me”, she says, snapping her hips harder and harder against him, pulling him into her and pulling away just as fast.
Because this is what she likes, this is what she can take, and she's all but begging for it, and he can't - he can't do anything short of give it to her, as deep and as rough as he can make himself be with her. Frak her while her keens turn to gasps and then to broken noises that he thinks are halfway to laughter. She snaps her hips up to meet him on every stroke, straining against him, and her face, gods, her face is wide open, lips parted and eyes so wide he can't help but wonder what she sees. She's hot around him, tight, and her knees dig into his sides, and he's hissing nonsense into her skin - frak, Kara, mine, so good, please.
He's never, in all of his varied fantasies about her, thought of them in this way - frakking her face to face, deep as he can go, while she cries out again and again. And now that he's lived it, he knows he just might kill to do it again. She's close to coming again - he can feel her fingers flexing around his, mimicking her muscles around his cock - and her eyes have gone frantic as she shudders underneath him.
He pulls back as far as he can stand to and holds still for a second: loves the pull of her body against his, the way she hisses and swears before he slams into her again. She shouts and bites down on his shoulder, hard enough that he'll be walking around with her mark on him, and her legs tighten around him; he can feel her shaking on the edge, and he half-wants to keep her there forever even as he knows how beautiful she'll be when she comes.
"Tell me how much you want it," he breathes, and she gasps, her mouth opening and closing as she tries to find the words.
"Yeah," and she bites her lip, "frak, please, just - oh gods, like that. Just like that."
It doesn't take much to push Kara over; a few deep strokes and she's wailing thin and high, her back arching as far as she can off the bed. Even though he tries to stroke her through it as she comes down - gods, he's so close himself he's shaking with the strain - she catches his hands in hers and reaches blindly for his mouth. In between heavy breaths, she licks across his bottom lip and breathes out "now, now, please now".
He's lost all sense of rhythm - she's still wide open under him, taking it - and her eyes suddenly light up in a wicked grin as she digs her nails into his back and arches up sharp against him.
"Give it up, sir."
Her turn to give the orders, then?
And he's gone then; driving against her, into her, so far out he's seeing black behind his eyes. Frakking her while she purrs and urges him on, her nails tracing patterns on his shoulders. She gasps once, high and trembling, with a sharp noise buried in it that could almost be his name, and the sound goes through him like a knife. Lays him open as he comes, breathing hard and crooning her name under his breath.
Kara, Kara, Kara, and he can say for sure now that he's lost.
~*~*~*~
He never wants to move, but she's sticky and restless under him, so he shifts onto his side, and doesn't say anything as she burrows against him.
She’s flying CAP in five hours. He can let her sleep until then.
Any and all feedback whatsoever will be squeed-over for days and printed out to hang on our respective fridges. Because we'd just like to know we're not completely insane for writing this.