"Familial Arrangements" - Adama/Roslin Drabble
Title: Familial Arrangements
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 300 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for her beta and encouragement.
“Frak,” she cursed. Her mumbled expletive was loud enough that Bill could hear it clearly.
Concerned, he tapped lightly on the frame. “Everything okay in there?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Fine,” she replied. “I just, um, cut myself while shaving.”
“Oh.” Oh.
Moments later he heard the water turn off and the screech of the curtain being drawn back. He hastily turned his body to afford her some privacy.
“Bill? You can turn around.”
Ever since she had moved in with him, he found himself hyper aware of her presence. Her scent, her light, rhythmic breathing, her absent-minded humming; it was driving him slowly, and deliciously, insane.
He turned to face her and was confronted with the sight of a very wet Laura Roslin wearing nothing but his towel and a slight smirk.
“See?” She angled her bare leg. “It’s nothing. Just a little cut.”
“I’m glad that it wasn’t, um, worse,” he said lamely. Smooth Adama, real smooth.
“Go,” she indicated his vacant desk, “Cottle wants me to check in with him soon anyway.”
“Right,” he said. Cottle. Cancer. The real reason why she’s here.
“Hey,” she said softly, “once I’m done there, and you’re done here, maybe we can get through an entire meal without a crisis!” she said with false bravado and humour. “And I promise that I’ll be gentle with the other toiletries,” she added, smirking as she eyed the toothpaste tube.
“Right. Crisis-free,” he murmured amusedly.
“Are you implying that I am accident-prone?” He still wouldn’t let her live down the time that she yanked the shower curtain a bit too hard and successfully pulled the entire thing off of the bar.
“Yes,” he deadpanned. “But, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The intensity of his gaze warmed and comforted her.
“Neither would I,” she admitted softly.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: T
Word Count: 300 words
Disclaimer: Not my characters or television show.
A/N: Thanks to redrockcan for her beta and encouragement.
“Frak,” she cursed. Her mumbled expletive was loud enough that Bill could hear it clearly.
Concerned, he tapped lightly on the frame. “Everything okay in there?” he asked, trying to sound casual.
“Fine,” she replied. “I just, um, cut myself while shaving.”
“Oh.” Oh.
Moments later he heard the water turn off and the screech of the curtain being drawn back. He hastily turned his body to afford her some privacy.
“Bill? You can turn around.”
Ever since she had moved in with him, he found himself hyper aware of her presence. Her scent, her light, rhythmic breathing, her absent-minded humming; it was driving him slowly, and deliciously, insane.
He turned to face her and was confronted with the sight of a very wet Laura Roslin wearing nothing but his towel and a slight smirk.
“See?” She angled her bare leg. “It’s nothing. Just a little cut.”
“I’m glad that it wasn’t, um, worse,” he said lamely. Smooth Adama, real smooth.
“Go,” she indicated his vacant desk, “Cottle wants me to check in with him soon anyway.”
“Right,” he said. Cottle. Cancer. The real reason why she’s here.
“Hey,” she said softly, “once I’m done there, and you’re done here, maybe we can get through an entire meal without a crisis!” she said with false bravado and humour. “And I promise that I’ll be gentle with the other toiletries,” she added, smirking as she eyed the toothpaste tube.
“Right. Crisis-free,” he murmured amusedly.
“Are you implying that I am accident-prone?” He still wouldn’t let her live down the time that she yanked the shower curtain a bit too hard and successfully pulled the entire thing off of the bar.
“Yes,” he deadpanned. “But, I wouldn’t have it any other way.” The intensity of his gaze warmed and comforted her.
“Neither would I,” she admitted softly.