fic: Forbidden Encounter
“Finally,” Starbuck grunts as she hobbles over to Santana’s booth and sets herself down, wincing in pain as her cast knocks against the table and her crutches slip down to the ground. She sighs in annoyance.
“Having trouble?” Santana retorts with a sneer, bringing her glass to her lips and taking a calm sip. Starbuck sends her a glare, but Santana can see she’s hiding a smile. “We should call you Gimp from now on. Starbuck doesn’t suit a cripple.”
“Frak you, Songbird,” Starbuck returns sharply, leaning over and stealing Santana’s ambrosia as she reaches for it. “How about a tune?” she continues pointedly, tilting her head expectantly.
“Shut it, Gimp,” Santana replies, reaching for her drink. Starbuck pulls it out of her reach and downs it in one go, smacking her lips playfully. Santana laughs and sits back to slouch down in mock defiance and run a hand through her hair. “One fraking time you caught me singing in the shower - ”
“ - And we’ll never let you live it down,” comes from behind her.
“Hey, Lee,” Santana says as he sits down next to Starbuck. Santana doesn’t miss the way Starbuck’s sassy grin melts just a little to a heartfelt smile as Lee passes her the drink she hadn’t even asked for.
“I kind of like Songbird,” Lee remarks jokingly.
“Like hell.” Santana crosses her arms sullenly. “It’s the gayest thing ever.”
Starbuck snorts into her drink. “Fitting.”
Santana gives her an exasperated look. “You know what I mean. Razorblade is so much more bad-ass.”
“Can’t pick your callsign,” Lee comments.
“Easy for you to say, you’re named after a god,” Santana replies, and twirls her dog tag between her fingers. Starbuck takes a sip of her drink. “Hey Gimp, should you be drinking?”
Starbuck makes a face. “Doc’s taken me off painkillers, so hell yes I should be drinking. Plus I need to get the stench of Cylon raider out of me. I think a little ambrosia will do the trick.”
“Did you really fly that raider?” Santana asks, sitting forward conspiringly.
“You bet,” the blonde answers proudly.
Santana rests her chin on her palm, and asks, “What was it like?”
Starbuck catches Lee’s eye for a second, before she looks back at Santana and replies cryptically, “Like riding a goat.”
Santana raises an eyebrow and misses Lee’s sniggering laugh. She shrugs and starts to get up. “Drink,” she says by way of explanation, and Lee and Starbuck nod.
When she comes back, ambrosia in hand, Lee and Starbuck are in deep discussion.
“Frak no, he’s guilty. Traitorous bastard. There’s evidence.”
“I’m not so sure,” Starbuck replies.
“Do you really think my father would lock him up if he wasn’t sure?”
“Well, why does he have that woman under watch as well?” Starbuck counters.
“What are you guys talking about?” Santana asks as she takes a seat. Starbuck sits back in a huff, but Lee leans forward to explain.
“The whole Baltar deal. That woman… Shelly… Shelly…”
“Godfrey,” Starbuck supplies.
“Right, Godfrey, from the Gemenon Traveler - who accused Baltar of treason, of planting a bomb in the Colonial defense mainframe and allowing the Cylons to attack the Colonies.”
“Shit,” Santana hisses.
“I know.”
“Who is she? The woman?”
Lee opens his mouth to answer, but Starbuck beats him to it. “That’s exactly the point. No one really knows. She says knew Amarak, on the Olympic Carrier…” She pauses briefly, and looks at Lee tentatively. He catches her eye, and a look of guilt passes over both their faces, but Starbuck continues in a more subdued tone, “but she’s only come forward now. Who is she? No one’s ever seen her on board before now.”
“And what does that prove? That’s she doesn’t get out much?” Lee counters with a laugh, taking another sip of his drink.
“Use your brain, Lee,” Starbuck replies with an exasperated sigh and a flick to the side of Lee’s head.
“So, now, anyone you don’t know is a Cylon, is that it?” Lee asks incredulously. Starbuck rolls her eyes.
“No. What I’m saying is… No one knows her. No one’s seen her before. And she’s made some serious accusations against the one man who’s capable of creating a Cylon detector.”
Silence settles over them. Santana freezes mid-movement as she brings her drink to her lips, and looks at her friends uneasily.
“Do you really think she’s a Cylon?” she asks anxiously.
Starbuck sits back and frowns thoughtfully. “Baltar’s no saint. He’s come on to me plenty of times - “ Santana sees Lee clench his fist subconsciously “ - and he talks to himself like he’s Narcissus himself… but when he came by a few weeks ago when I was in sickbay and I mentioned the possibility that that bombing close to his lab was an attack on him - well, he seemed really freaked out. Maybe this is another - more clever - attack…”
An uneasy silence settles on them again. Suddenly, Lee breaks it with a laugh.
“Gods, Kara, you and your conspiracy theories… How do you ever get a wink of sleep?” he jokes, and nudges her shoulder with his. She breaks out in a grin, and raises her glass.
“By getting completely wasted with you lovely people,” she quips.
“Hear, hear,” Santana says with a smile, clinks her glass to Starbuck’s and Lee’s, and downs her drink. She looks up to see Starbuck eyeing her empty glass with disappointment. The injured lieutenant shifts her glance to her cast, then to the bar, and finally just sits back with a sour look on her face. Santana can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for her.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks. Before Starbuck has the chance to reply, she crinkles her face at the cheesy way the line came out. Starbuck picks up on it, and grins cheekily.
“Coming on to me, Songbird?” she jokes.
“Puh-lease. You’re not my type,” Santana replies with matching bravado.
“Tall, confident blondes with killer bodies? Since when?” Starbuck returns with a leer.
“I don’t dig gimps,” Santana replies with a sassy swish of her hair as she gets up.
“Frak you.”
Santana curls her top lip into a cheeky smile, glances at Starbuck through her lashes, and turns to the bar as she utters, “You wish.”
As she walks away, figure swaying with playful exaggeration, she hears her friends break out in laughter behind her, and smiles.
----
A few hours later, her smile has turned into a drunken beam, and her impish strut has turned into an unsteady swagger, but she couldn’t care less. Starbuck giggles from beside her, and knocks her crutch into another crate as they make their way down the hallway. Lee reaches out immediately to steady her as she starts to topple down.
“Such a gentleman,” Starbuck drawls as Lee wraps an arm around her waist and helps her hop down the hallway. He hands Santana one of her crutches, which Santana accepts with a giggle. She raises the metal object to her shoulder, and feigns looking down the barrel of a gun.
“What are you doing?” Lee asks with a laugh (and a wobble) as Santana crouches down and rounds the corner of the hallway, still armed with the crutch as though it were a rifle.
“Hunting Cylons,” she answers in a deadly serious voice, and crouches down behind a crate, raising her hand in a fist over her shoulder. Recognizing the gesture, both Starbuck and Lee stop walking instantly. When they realize their mistake as Santana grins at their gullibility, they both laugh.
“The dradis has been too quiet lately. I’m bored,” Santana says with a huff as she stands. She runs the crutch along the wall as they walk, tapping out an even rhythm.
“Don’t jinx it, Lopez,” Lee warns.
“Whatever. I need to kill something.”
“Taking out sexual frustration on Cylons, huh?” Starbuck quips.
Santana turns instantly, cocks her head, and raises an eyebrow. “Moi? Sexually frustrated? What planet are you on?” She walks backwards as Starbuck gives her a loaded glance - and trips on a barrel, loses her balance, and falls on her ass with an echoing bang. Starbuck and Lee burst out laughing. When Santana finally gets up and pats down her uniform with a sheepish expression, she sees Starbuck hanging onto Lee for dear life, who is still doubled over with laughter and is wiping a tear from his eye. Starbuck sobers up (metaphorically) first, and her amused smile turns into an impish, naughty grin.
“You know, those sexual frustrations… you should take them out with Cylons instead - like that Shelly Godfrey woman…” she murmurs wickedly.
Instantly, Lee straightens up and looks at the drunk hanging onto him with a fully horrified expression on his face. “Holy hell, Starbuck! Too far!”
“What?” Starbuck replies innocently. “She’s just her type. And you know the rumors.”
“What rumors?” Lee asks doubtfully.
“You know… that female Cylons are seductresses, playing with your emotions… tugging at heartstrings and drawstrings alike… Maybe that’s why Adama’s suspicious of the beautiful Madame Godfrey - she came on to him.”
“That’s just wrong…” Santana mumbles as Lee pulls a face.
“My thoughts exactly. Are we talking about Cylons or succubi here?” Lee asks incredulously. Starbuck shrugs noncommittally, and ignores Santana’s and Lee’s horrified faces.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead screwing a Cylon,” Santana replies with a mildly disgusted sneer.
Starbuck giggles wickedly. “Not true: If you were caught, you would be dead.”
Lee shakes his head in disbelief. “I think it’s time to get you back to sickbay, because you have seriously ascended to new levels of disturbing…”
Starbuck hums her disagreement, but buries her face in Lee’s neck anyway and lets him lead her around the corner. They arrive at the door, and Lee turns to Santana.
“Crutch.”
“What’d you just call me?” Santana says with a disbelieving raise of an eyebrow.
Lee lets out an amused laugh. “Give me the crutch, Parakeet.”
“Frak you, it’s Songbird.”
“Warmed up to it, have you?”
Santana smiles, and admits, begrudgingly, “Maybe.” She hands Lee the crutch. As he fumbles with it, she wrings her hands playfully. “I feel empty. I need that crutch. It’s my only weapon. What if a Cylon attacks?”
Lee figures out a way to carry Starbuck and both crutches, straightens up, and winks at Santana. “Use your charms.” He hoists his load, kicks open the door, and walks into sickbay. “See you, Songbird.”
“See you,” Santana replies, and turns down the hallway, mind on blank and staring at the ground as she mindlessly makes her way to her bunk. Her mind skips from thinking about Cylons to Baltar to vipers and to, as Starbuck had put it so eloquently, ‘tall, confident blondes with killer bodies’. She had been right - it was her type, and she’d had many a tug on her dogtag from girls just like Shelly Godfrey.
She turns another corner, and lost in thought, doesn’t notice she’s not alone until her downcast eyes land on a pair of black stilettos.
“Penny for your thoughts?” comes a low, playful female voice.
Her buzzed mind hears the voice, and intends to find the face, but not before her eyes take in the flawless legs, skintight blue dress, dipping cleavage, and curving neck of the breathtaking blonde before her. When her eyes finally make it up to the blonde’s face, her mind is convinced no sight can outshine this woman’s impossible body - a conviction that is quickly shot down when she basks in the beauty of the blonde’s teasing smile, luscious lips, and sparkling eyes.
“Uuhmm,” she mumbles lamely. The blonde giggles at her uncertainty, and Santana mentally chastises herself for her fumbling reply.
“That’s not a very interesting thought,” the stranger says coyly. When Santana stays silent, dumb with shock, she continues, “I can give you a better thought.” Slowly, she swirls a lock of her hair between her fingers, pulls it down across her neck, and runs her fingers briefly across her collarbone and continues along the edge of her dress, dipping lower and lower… Santana’s eyes can’t help but follow the movement, and her knees go embarrassingly weak at the sight. She brings her eyes reluctantly back up to the stranger’s face, and catches her knowing look.
“See? A much better thought.”
Santana scrapes her throat and straightens up. Get it together.
“Hi,” she says simply.
“Hi,” the stranger replies with a smile.
“Who are you?”
“Who do you think?” the woman replies lightly, raising an arm and resting it on the railing along the wall she’s draped herself against. Santana’s eyes follow the curve of her arm, to the tips of her slender, perfectly manicured fingers. Her mind briefly strays again.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen you on Galactica before.” The thought brings back Lee’s words: “… now, anyone you don’t know is a Cylon…”, but she shakes it off with an amused tilt of her head.
“Well, I’ve seen you.” The woman shamelessly drags her eyes over Santana’s body, taking in her figure and her uniform with a hungry expression. Santana shifts her weight, but, feigning confidence, takes a small, curious step forward anyway.
“You have?”
“Mmhmm...” The blonde catches Santana’s eye, and then looks away nonchalantly down the isle of the hallway. Santana’s interest is instantly piqued, and she takes another step closer. The stranger looks back at her with the movement, and gives her another knowing, naughty grin before standing up straight and stepping away slightly. She looks at Santana over her shoulder as she says, “So, who am I?” She turns and takes another step in front of Santana, who stares at her with captivation. “Make up my story.”
“What?” Santana asks in surprise.
“Make up something I like, and I’ll give you my name.”
“Uuhh… You’re lost.” It’s the first thing that pops into her mind. She rolls her eyes at herself when the blonde looks down and giggles.
“I’m not lost,” the stranger purrs, and catches Santana’s eye. Her piercing blue eyes stare into Santana’s brown ones, and she can’t look away. “I’ve found exactly what I’ve been looking for,” she continues, and takes a step towards Santana. “Try again.”
The teasing, extremely confident way the blonde is coming on to her is leaving Santana completely flustered. She’s usually the one that’s in control, surveying the situation with calm and composure as girls and guys chase her from hangar to bunk with undisguised interest and desire. It’s never been the other way around, but the gathering heat between her legs and the way her heartbeat is pounding in her head can attest to the fact that the new situation is anything but discouraging.
“You’ve escaped onto Galactica, running from the oppression of a Sagittaron leadership,” Santana suggests, the story forming in her mind of its own accord.
“Mmm, I like it…” the stranger purrs, and takes a step closer. Her hand brushes past Santana’s as she steps behind her, starting to circle slowly. The small touch send a wave of surprise through Santana’s body, and her mouth is parched with nerves.
“A brother… no, a lover… followed you here, intent on bringing you back.”
“Getting warmer.” The husky words are left by Santana’s ear as the stranger circles around her; the moisture condenses on her skin, and she shivers slightly.
“But she knows where you’re staying now… And so you can’t go back.” The gender of the lover is a test, and Santana waits hungrily for the answer. It comes in the form of a suggestive giggle behind her, and a whispered, “Warmer.” She yearns to look back, to spend every second drinking in the stranger’s beauty, but resists, and continues.
“So you’re left here, running from her all through the night, hoping to find a haven, safety, and, perhaps…” Santana pauses, and grins with growing confidence as she feels, more than hears, the blonde breathe intensely behind her, “someone who will protect you.”
“Very hot.” The words, left hotly on her other side, are accompanied by the slightest brush of fingers along her neck. As the blonde turns, she drags her fingers along the back of Santana’s neck, tracing thins tracks of fire and leaving Santana completely breathless.
Silence falls on them, during which Santana absorbs the stranger in front of her, so captivated that she has no idea where to look - her stunning eyes, rimmed by impossible lashes; her rosy lips and teasing tongue as she licks her top lip expectantly; the curve of her neck as she tilts her head with curiosity and interest; the edge of her dress as it hugs her cleavage, creating a path along which Santana’s eyes travel hungrily; the slight dip in the dress as it pulls across the beauty’s tight abs and bellybutton; or her killer legs, seemingly extending out into infinity until they meet the incredibly sexy stilettos.
The hand that was tracing along Santana’s neck falls on the fabric of her uniform, just under her collarbone, as Santana asks: “So, what’s your name?”
The fingers play along the edge of the uniform, just dipping under and brushing lightly over Santana’s skin. Santana stares, transfixed, at the blonde’s face as she giggles, and slowly brings her eyes through her lashes to look at Santana with teasing laughter.
“You can call me… Brittany.” Her name is accompanied by the playful undoing of Santana’s top button. Santana doesn’t take her eyes away from Brittany’s.
“Just Brittany? No last name?” She licks her lips to dry them in her breathlessness.
“Nope.” Another button comes undone. “Like Six. No last name.”
Santana’s eyebrows come together in a curious frown, tinged with suspicious recognition. “Who’s Six?”
“You know, the number? Numbers don’t have last names,” Brittany answers cryptically.
“Mmm…” Santana hums distractedly as Brittany pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in an achingly arousing gesture.
“Thank God I ran into you,” Brittany whispers teasingly.
“You mean, ‘thank the Gods’, don’t you?” Santana asks, raising an eyebrow at Brittany’s strange phrasing.
Brittany’s teasing smile turns bemused. “There’s more than one?”
“Yes, of course.”
The blonde pauses in her movement to undo Santana’s uniform, and looks down with a slightly befuddled expression. “Mm… I didn’t know that.” Santana’s eyebrows raise impossibly higher, but she doesn’t get a chance to comment.
“I’m from the Gemenon Traveler,” Brittany continues as she undoes another button, brushing off her momentary confusion.
Instantly, the suspicion is back as Lee’s words return to her foggy mind: “Shelly Godfrey, from the Gemenon Traveler…” The feeling of unease doesn’t leave as Brittany undoes another button, and she’s about to speak up, resist, but Brittany beats her to it.
“But it doesn’t matter where I’m from.”
“It… doesn’t?” Santana asks lamely. She can’t control the way her body is responding to Brittany’s touch as her other hand comes up to help with the last few buttons on her uniform jacket, or the way her quickened breathing and buzzed mind is making it difficult to hold on to the realization that this woman might be dangerous in much different ways than Santana is used to…
“No…” Brittany whispers softly as she takes a last step closer when the final button comes undone. “It doesn’t.” The words are soft puffs of air on Santana’s lips as she leans forward imperceptibly, drawn in by the stranger’s irresistible charms. Brittany’s hands move up slowly along Santana’s shirt, under her undone uniform jacket, ghosting over her abs, the curve of her breasts, and finally coming to rest, one hand at the back of her neck, playing teasingly with the soft curls, and the other entwining itself with the chain of her dog tag. Brittany tugs on it insistently, and Santana completely loses her train of thought as Brittany closes the remaining distance and kisses her.
The blonde molds her lips across Santana’s, kissing with an urgency and insistence Santana isn’t used to, but which, nonetheless, leaves her breathless within seconds. Brittany pulls Santana’s bottom lip between her teeth and bites down. Even as she winces, Santana’s pulse begins to beat rapidly in her head as the adrenaline rushes through her. She tries to pull back, but Brittany doesn’t let her, and pushes forward eagerly until Santana is trapped against the wall, one of Brittany’s hands a vice-grip in her neck, holding her in place, while the other has moved on from pulling on her dog tag to kneading her breast through her shirt.
Santana doesn’t know what to do with herself. Her knees buckle as Brittany, towering above her and overpowering her in a way she’s not remotely familiar with, pushes one of her legs between her own, and lifts up as Santana gasps onto her lips. She gropes her hands across the blonde’s body, desperate and needing the warm touch of the stranger beneath her to sate her desire. She tangles a hand in the stranger’s hair at the back of her neck, and tightens her grip subconsciously as the blonde presses her tongue between her lips, demanding entrance. Santana gives it eagerly, and soon they’re a mess of pressing bodies, probing tongues, and desperate hands, running on adrenaline, surprise, and undeniable lust.
Suddenly, Brittany pulls back from the kiss, and Santana lets out a breathless gasp somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Brittany grins from her advantageous position above Santana, and leans in just close enough to brush her lips past Santana’s cheek and whisper in her ear.
“It doesn’t matter where I’m from.” The blonde pauses, and Santana lets out a soft moan when she feels her pull her earlobe between her teeth. “But it matters where I’m going tonight…”
Santana opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out, and she’s left gaping in surprise like a beached fish.
“Where do you stay? What’s the number of your quarters?” Brittany hisses suggestively. She flicks out her tongue and teases it along the shell of Santana’s ear.
“Five-oh-six,” Santana manages with a shuddering whimper. Instantly, Brittany pulls back and struts away with a wicked smile on her face.
“I didn’t expect you to be so easy to seduce,” she says with a cocky bob of her head before she turns and stalks in the direction of Santana’s room.
Although her breathing still hasn’t evened out and her legs are pressed together, both to stabilize her and to help her resist the pounding ache between her legs, Brittany’s flirty words set off a small alarm in Santana’s mind. She shakes her head to clear the haze of alcohol and arousal, and tries to focus. What did Starbuck say not twenty minutes ago?
You know the rumors…. female Cylons are seductresses, playing with your emotions… tugging at heartstrings and drawstrings alike…
The thought leaves Santana dumbfounded. She looks up in shock as Brittany calls to her.
“Are you coming?” she teases, turning slightly and flicking her tongue out against her top lip as she takes in Santana’s flustered expression, open uniform, and messy hair.
All Santana can do is nod, and Brittany bounds away. Santana follows her movements keenly, suspiciously, with eyes trained to detect the dangerous, the different, and - most importantly - the Cylon threat.
Brittany is definitely different. But dangerous? Santana shakes her head in confusion, and starts to make her way down the hallways, retracing Brittany’s steps. Her mind is torn. She’s never seen Brittany before, and she can’t deny the girl’s behavior isn’t suspicious. Chances are, if she’s telling the truth, she flew in on the same raptor as Shelly Godfrey did - the same woman who Starbuck is convinced is a Cylon.
Santana stops in her tracks, and leans against the wall. She sighs her frustration and runs a hand through her disheveled hair.
If Brittany were a Cylon… Hell, Santana couldn’t even begin to fathom the consequences.
I wouldn’t be caught dead screwing a Cylon.
Her words come back to her with stunning clarity, and she lets out a bitter laugh. How quickly the situation had changed.
She throws her head back and sighs again, and then just remains the way she is. She closes her eyes, and against all odds, all the she sees in the darkness is Brittany. Brittany - circling like a panther stalking its prey. Brittany - leaving marks on her lips from bites and scratches in her neck from nails. Brittany - prancing with confidence down the hallways to her room - her room - expecting nothing else than Santana to follow. She shivers involuntarily with anticipation. What would she find when she got there? Her mind derails momentarily as it fills with images of Brittany strutting naked around her quarters, her body undulating with confidence and sex appeal as she hooks her fingers on Santana’s dog tag and relays in no uncertain terms how much she wants her as she pulls her against her naked body, stripping clothing in a heated dance of lips and tongues and hands…
“Frak me…” Santana mutters huskily.
Against all odds, all warnings, all consequences, she knows she’s thinking of going through with it. What’s the worse that could happen?
If you were caught, you would be dead.
Starbuck’s remembered warning jars her impending acceptance of the situation, and she takes a slow, steadying breath.
All that had been drilled into her by higher ranking officers, by Starbuck, by the whole fraking Colonial flight training the last few months boiled down to one thing: you’re already dead. It took away the fear when a raider was on her tail and she couldn’t think of a single maneuver to save her sorry ass. It made it easier to drag herself through another day of unsupportable opposition and hopeless battles against an enemy that had - as she felt she now knew from personal experience - infiltrated their defenses and vastly overpowered them on every playing field. And it definitely made it easier to feel up anyone she liked without risk of falling in love with them… but, damn, right now, all she wanted was to fraking live again.
The decision is easier than she expected. She stalks down the hallway, and within a minute, she kicks open the door to her quarters and enters.
She quickly looks around and sighs in relief. Boomer’s cot is empty - no surprise there; her fellow pilot had been acting strange for weeks, sleeping fitfully, sobbing sporadically, or otherwise not being around at all - and the rest of the cots had still not been filled since the accident that killed thirteen pilots and sent Santana into a higher rank. But, her room is by no means empty. In the center sits the cause of Santana’s torn confusion, undeniable curiosity, and unimaginable arousal.
If Santana hadn’t already made her mind up and given in to the idea that this encounter was forbidden on so many levels, the sight of Brittany would have left her helpless to resist at all or do anything but reach out and seize what she so desperately wanted. She takes in her flawless form with ravenous eyes.
Brittany sits on the edge of the center table with calculated poise. Her hands lay in her lap with feigned nonchalance as her crossed legs dangle over the edge. She subtly pats out a rhythm with her fingers on her bare legs, and pulls the other hand along her peachy skin to the edge of her lace underwear - a rarity in itself, given the post-Holocaust state of the fleet, and a fact not lost on Santana - and makes a teasing, achingly slow path along the edge of her panties. Santana follows the movement, until Brittany lays her hand flat on the table and leans back. Santana continues to stare, shamelessly roaming her eyes up Brittany’s abs to her voluptuous breasts clad in a matching lace bra and to the way Brittany has her head canted back slightly and is looking at her almost through corner of her eyes, like she’s so ready for Santana that she’s given her access to all of her without Santana even having had to ask. Santana licks her lips in anticipation, and a low growl escapes her lips.
“Finally,” Brittany drawls with confidence, tilting her head down and observing Santana with sparkling eyes through dark lashes. “I was beginning to think I would have go it alone tonight.” The deliberate jibe tightens Santana’s stomach muscles, and she takes a menacing step forward.
“Stop talking,” she warns, closing the remaining distance between her and Brittany. The blonde looks at her with a mixture of enraptured surprise and confused curiosity - tinged with unquestionable desire and longing at Santana taking the reigns. Good, Santana thinks, and smiles wickedly. If she was going to do this thing, she was going to do it fraking good.
Before Brittany has the chance to open her mouth and refuse her order of silence, Santana reaches out and pulls Brittany into an open-mouthed, passionate kiss. Brittany whimpers her surprise, but Santana tightens her hold at the back of Brittany’s neck and the whimper dies down quickly as Santana presses her tongue forward. Though her response time is decidedly slower than before, Santana is happy to feel Brittany respond to her touches eagerly, and feels the blonde grab hold of her loose uniform with obvious decision. She detaches herself from Brittany’s lips for a second - a second long enough for Brittany to help her shake off her jacket and pull off her undershirt. Brittany pulls back for a fraction of the vital second to admire Santana’s near-naked torso above her belted uniform pants before Santana pulls her back. She presses her hand against Brittany’s bra-clad breast, and Brittany whimpers again.
“God…” Brittany whispers. Santana ignores the lack of plural this time, and unhooks Brittany’s bra. She flings it away and instantly moves her kisses along Brittany’s neck. She bites down on the pulse point, and hears Brittany cry out - a cry of pain, but filled with enough desire that Santana feels no inclination to apologize.
“I can’t wait to feel you inside me…” Brittany moans, and Santana feels herself heat up at the lust-felt admission - particularly, between her legs. She runs her hands down Brittany’s body, tracing the curve of her back with her nails. Brittany returns the favor and Santana bites down on the skin of her neck as Brittany scratches her shoulders with sharp nails. Brittany whimpers again - Santana kisses the spot she just bit and Brittany falls (relatively) silent until Santana drags her lips down Brittany’s collarbone to the curve of her breasts and breathes hotly on a nipple.
“Yessss…” comes Brittany’s breathy mantra as Santana’s own sped-up breathing spurs on her teasing. She flicks out her tongue against Brittany’s nipple, and grins with satisfaction at the repetition of Brittany’s subconscious whisper. Achingly slowly, she takes her nipple into her mouth and sucks lightly, until Brittany’s ragged breathing brings her chest heaving up into Santana’s lips. She scratches her hand around from Brittany’s back to her rock-hard abs, and slowly makes her way down the plane of her abdomen to the edge of her panties. Brittany tenses her muscles at the touch, but Santana feels her dig her nails into her shoulder blades in encouragement.
Santana pulls on the lace panties with one hand, but it’s too damn difficult with Brittany still sitting on the table, and with a grunt, she pulls a little too hard and hears the expensive lace rip. She looks at Brittany with a semi-apologetic, but mostly teasing, expression. Once Brittany finds the self-control to steady her breathing enough to catch her look, she mirrors the expression enough to ease Santana’s worry.
“Doesn’t matter,” she gasps. “Keep them,” she adds as Santana pulls the panties away. With a laugh, she stuffs the ruined panties into a pocket of her uniform pants, smiling with satisfaction at the trophy - later, perhaps, it would serve as evidence, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Santana returns her hand to where she knows Brittany desperately needs it, and presses her fingers against Brittany’s clit. Brittany gasps in surprise, and arches against Santana, canting her hips up slightly to grant her access.
“Come on,” she moans desperately as Santana continues to lightly press down. Santana winces as Brittany’s nails dig deep into her shoulders - she’s sure they’ve drawn blood by now - and gives her what she wants: she dips lower and presses two fingers deep into Brittany. She shudders at the feel of Brittany closing around her fingers, and the way her body vibrates at the sensation nearly sends her mind into overdrive. She presses her body forward against Brittany in frustration at the distance still remaining between them. There’s no way she’ll get any release in his position.
The same can’t be said for Brittany. At Santana’s eager entrance, her face flushes with arousal, and her breathing speeds up impossibly faster. Her body hums with desire as Santana slowly starts to curl her fingers inside her, pressing deeper and higher with each aching movement.
“Oh, oh - ” Brittany’s encouraging cries come in time to Santana’s ministrations, and gradually, Brittany begins to move her hips in the same rhythm, shifting her body on the table to give Santana the best access possible.
Santana has never been so aroused, and she can’t hold back a primal cry of lust at the sight of Brittany eagerly moving against her fingers. She speeds up in time to Brittany’s movements, and soon, Brittany is crying out in building ecstasy as she inches closer to her satisfaction and Santana’s goal. Santana drags her nails along Brittany’s back and feels the vibrations of her body under her fingertips - heating up exquisitely slowly to a boiling point she has never before experienced with anyone. Her eyes grow wide as Brittany throws her head back and cries her release as the waves of her orgasm wash over her in boiling satisfaction and Santana’s fingertips burn on the ridge of her spine.
No sooner has she cried her release than she has Santana pushed back against the wall with both her hands pinned above her. Santana stands in shock at Brittany’s sudden strength, and a tinge of intuitive fear returns. It’s a side-effect of returning to the land of the living - no matter how much she felt it was worth it when she started this risky encounter, the land of the living contained a whole lot of fear, irrational or otherwise. She can’t look away from Brittany’s aggressive eyes as the blonde leans in slowly and continues to breathe hotly and unevenly from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her face is flushed, her ears tinged with heat, and she bites her lower lip in an attempt to even out her breathing. Santana waits with bated breath, muscles tensed in anticipation for a running escape or for putting up one hell of a fight.
“Frak, that was good…” Brittany drawls. Santana would be inclined to say she was oblivious to Santana’s sudden fear if it weren’t for the way her eyes flashed with nearly hostile knowledge. Now that she’d had her release, had her way with Santana, was that it? Santana almost giggles bitterly at the small wave of relief that washes over her at the thought of Brittany ending her right there and letting her escape from her prison of doubt and impending guilt.
But Brittany seems to have other plans. The presses the hand trapping Santana’s hand over her head strongly against her, digging Santana’s own nails into her skin in the process, and brings the other hand to the buckle of Santana’s uniform. The stranger fumbles with the buckle, and lets out a growl of frustration that leaves Santana weak at the knees. Suddenly the belt comes undone, and within a second, Santana’s hands are released as Brittany pulls down her pants (along with her panties) and shoves her into the corner of the room. Santana stumbles, but Brittany catches her before she falls, and drags her almost ruthlessly to the nearest cot. Again, Santana finds herself pinned down underneath Brittany’s hands.
“Do you want to feel me inside you?” Brittany whispers huskily. Santana’s stomach tightens at the words, and she whimpers as she nods. Brittany smiles, and Santana sees the hint of the teasing laugh of the Brittany she first met, instead of the primal creature hovering over her now, driving her wild with possibilities. Which one is the real Brittany? Santana is almost afraid to know the answer.
“You think you were good, don’t you?” Brittany continues, leaning closer and dragging her lips along Santana’s neck to the ridge of her jaw. Santana doesn’t move, captivated by the feel Brittany’s lips on her skin.
“I asked you a question.” Her voice lowers dangerously, and Santana whimpers a breathy ‘yes’ when Brittany presses a leg between both of hers. Brittany smiles in satisfaction.
“You haven’t had good until you’ve had me.”
The words are accompanied by a sharp bite on Santana’s earlobe, and she feels herself soak through her panties. Her dominance of Brittany not too long ago was a sure turn-on - but she’d never expected it would be if Brittany turned the tables on her the way she was doing right now.
Santana feels Brittany move her legs against her, kicking away her pants and shimmying closer to press against her. She lets out a soft moan, and Brittany smirks. She lets go of Santana’s hands above her head, and lifts slightly to pull off Santana’s bra. Santana helps her eagerly, and Brittany smirks at her desperation. As soon as the offending item is off (and hanging off the corner of Boomer’s locker), Brittany bends down and latches her lips on Santana’s nipple while her hand comes up to knead the other. Santana gasps as Brittany flicks her tongue out against her sensitive skin, and tangles her fingers in Brittany’s hair to urge her on. Brittany doesn’t need it - she molds her lips over Santana’s breast with instinctive skill, and Santana loses her breath time and time again as Brittany increases her rhythm until she’s lightheaded and pleading wordlessly for more.
Suddenly, Brittany grazes her teeth over Santana’s nipple, and Santana cries out.
“Brittany!”
As though waiting for the invitation, Brittany moves the hand busy on Santana’s other breast down her body and dips it between her legs. She presses her fingers against Santana’s clit, and Santana gasps again, followed by a pleading whimper. She catches Brittany’s glance, and is surprised to find her waiting with a request behind the sparkle in her eyes.
“Do it - ” Santana utters breathlessly.
Brittany smiles impishly and slips her fingers between Santana’s wet folds and into slick heat. Santana cries out in surprise and pleasure, and cants her hips up.
“Eager much… “ Brittany drawls teasingly, and Santana lets her focused, flushed face break into a smile.
“Frak you,” she whispers back, even as she pushes her hips up to match Brittany’s flawless rhythm.
“You already did,” Brittany replies with a soft laugh.
Santana opens her mouth to reply - with what, she has no idea - but then Brittany’s smile turns naughty again and she scissors her fingers just so and Santana cries out again because frak that feels good. She digs her fingers into Britt’s arm, urging her on as she continues to pulse her fingers inside her. Brittany brings her lips down to Santana’s neck eagerly, and pulls her earlobe between her teeth again - a move that drives Santana wild - a fact which, Santana is surprised to realize, Brittany has picked up on in no time.
Soon the rhythm has increased to an impossible beat, pushing, rubbing, rippling, and fretting their bodies against each other and pulling unwitting gasps from their throats. Santana feels the tense anticipation building in her muscles, like a spring pressed to breaking point and yearning to break free. She cants her hips up against Brittany’s hand one last time, and Brittany presses down harder than ever, and with a cry, Santana comes undone.
Santana arches her body up into Brittany, relishing the feel of her heated body bearing down on her, and letting herself fall completely into the danger, the release, the ecstasy of the night and of the dazzling stranger that brought her there. Consequences be damned. This was so worth it.
Slowly, Santana’s body cools down to a simmering boil and she lets out a panting breath. She catches Brittany’s satisfied smirk as the blonde hovers over her, and closes her eyes lazily.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, and lets her body relax fully. If, right at that moment, Brittany chose to tighten her hold, kick in to her programming, or whatever the Cylons had had planned for her, she wouldn’t put up a fight, or try to run. Fitting punishment, perhaps, but mostly, the pleasurable aftershocks of her orgasm were banishing all adrenaline for the sake of one thought: I don’t give a frak. Honestly, the thought that Brittany, this stunning human woman, could be a Cylon at all, seems almost comical in her mind. No way. Full-blooded, born-and-raised, emotional - woman, Santana thinks with satisfaction.
In her lazy daze, she feels Brittany move away from her. She misses the heat of her body, but doesn’t try to get up as she hears Brittany move around her quarters. She opens her eyes slowly just as Brittany is zipping up her dress. Santana raises herself slightly on her cot. She knew this couldn’t last, but she can’t help feeling slightly disappointed at Brittany’s quick exit.
“Will I see you again?”
Brittany turns to her, and smiles nostalgically. She bends down to pick up her heels, and then takes the few remaining steps towards Santana as Santana swings her legs over the side of her cot and looks up at the towering blonde.
“Maybe,” Brittany says softly, holding Santana’s gaze. Santana brings her hands to Brittany’s hips, and Brittany bends down slowly to capture Santana’s lips in a lingering kiss. Just after Santana dares to close her eyes, the kiss ends, and when she opens them, Brittany is gone from beneath her hands, and the door to her quarters swings shut slowly.
Santana lets out a sigh, and lays back on her cot. It’s a long time before she’s able to banish the thought of Brittany - woman, not Cylon (she’s convinced by now) - from her mind and drift off into a dreamless sleep.
---
The next day, Santana moves about the ship as though she’s moving through water. Her hangover could have something to do with it, but she knows Brittany is the main reason.
Brittany… Santana lets the thought linger in her mind like the taste of ambrosia on her tongue, soaking it up slowly and letting it intoxicate her with longing and satisfaction.
She lets out an amused huff as she remembers her drunken angst from the night before. Sure, it had fueled her desire in a way she now considers might not have been completely healthy, but come on… Brittany, a Cylon? Puh-lease. No woman could be more… woman than the one who had made Santana scream out her name last night. Santana laughs to herself wistfully. Once she saw Starbuck, she was going to give her a good talking to about Cylon-accusing and general paranoia. Lee was right. Neither Shelly Godfrey nor Brittany were anything but human.
She turns around a corner into a bustling hallway, lost in her musings, and is nearly knocked to the ground as a heavy body collides with her.
“Watch where you’re going!” she yells, instantly on the defensive. She looks into the face of her assailant, and her animosity turns into bemused surprise. “Lee.”
“Frak, Songbird, help me up,” Lee mutters from the floor.
“In a hurry?” Santana asks with amusement as she gives him a hand. Lee’s face doesn’t match her entertainment, and turns to a distracted scowl instead.
“Didn’t you hear?” he asks gruffly.
“Hear what?”
“Starbuck was right. Shelly Godfrey - she’s a Cylon.”
“What?” Santana breathes.
“Adama had two men tailing her, but they lost her. They say she turned a corner, and then she just - vanished,” Lee admits in an awed, low voice.
Santana feels her pulse beat in her throat again, and swallows thickly. “H-h-how?” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat quickly.
“I don’t know. We’re searching the ship for her, but no one’s seen her,” Lee manages. He doesn’t register the dumbfounded, guilty look on Santana’s face, and looks past her distractedly. “It’s a mess. I’ve got to go. If you see her - ”
“ - I’ll shoot her myself,” Santana answers instantly. Lee gives her an approving nod, and pushes past her.
Santana dips her hand into the pocket of her pants, and her throat clenches closed when her fingers encounter the soft fabric of Brittany’s lace panties.
She had been wrong - Brittany, Shelly Godfrey, both from the Gemenon Traveler, seductresses… liars… Cylons.
She stands frozen to her spot as strangers weave around her on their way - civilians with dejected expression, militia armed with rifles and pistols, specialists with exhausted, soot-streaked faces - and doesn’t see any of them… until…
Her eyes lift up instinctively when she feels someone watching her. Her eyes catch Brittany’s across the hallway, and her breath stops. Brittany’s blue eyes pierce into her own brown ones, and she winks impishly before standing up straight from her leaning position against the wall - so achingly familiar of the first moment Santana had laid eyes on her - and turning to walk away. Santana jump-starts her system, and follows, her pace picking up as she makes her way in the crowd after the elusive flash of blonde hair.
“Get out of my way - frak, just - MOVE - ” Santana utters as she pushes her way through the crowd, but she’s still moving through water. She places her hand on the handle of her sidearm at her hip, and pushes harder, until she’s only a few meters away - she can smell the intoxicating familiar scent of her, see the bite marks on her neck, feel the memories on her skin - so close, so damn -
“Brittany!” Santana yells warningly, and the blonde turns one last moment, blows her a seductive kiss, and then, with a final flash of blonde hair, turns the corner. Santana’s body moves swiftly into a sprint as she simultaneously pulls her pistol from its holster and brings the barrel up. She turns the corner and sees -
- nothing.
Santana drops the barrel of her gun and searches the lethargic crowd, but she knows it’s too late. Brittany has disappeared, leaving nothing in her wake but the the scratch marks on Santana’s back, the panties in her pocket, and a torn mind filled with memories of a forbidden encounter.
Fin
“Having trouble?” Santana retorts with a sneer, bringing her glass to her lips and taking a calm sip. Starbuck sends her a glare, but Santana can see she’s hiding a smile. “We should call you Gimp from now on. Starbuck doesn’t suit a cripple.”
“Frak you, Songbird,” Starbuck returns sharply, leaning over and stealing Santana’s ambrosia as she reaches for it. “How about a tune?” she continues pointedly, tilting her head expectantly.
“Shut it, Gimp,” Santana replies, reaching for her drink. Starbuck pulls it out of her reach and downs it in one go, smacking her lips playfully. Santana laughs and sits back to slouch down in mock defiance and run a hand through her hair. “One fraking time you caught me singing in the shower - ”
“ - And we’ll never let you live it down,” comes from behind her.
“Hey, Lee,” Santana says as he sits down next to Starbuck. Santana doesn’t miss the way Starbuck’s sassy grin melts just a little to a heartfelt smile as Lee passes her the drink she hadn’t even asked for.
“I kind of like Songbird,” Lee remarks jokingly.
“Like hell.” Santana crosses her arms sullenly. “It’s the gayest thing ever.”
Starbuck snorts into her drink. “Fitting.”
Santana gives her an exasperated look. “You know what I mean. Razorblade is so much more bad-ass.”
“Can’t pick your callsign,” Lee comments.
“Easy for you to say, you’re named after a god,” Santana replies, and twirls her dog tag between her fingers. Starbuck takes a sip of her drink. “Hey Gimp, should you be drinking?”
Starbuck makes a face. “Doc’s taken me off painkillers, so hell yes I should be drinking. Plus I need to get the stench of Cylon raider out of me. I think a little ambrosia will do the trick.”
“Did you really fly that raider?” Santana asks, sitting forward conspiringly.
“You bet,” the blonde answers proudly.
Santana rests her chin on her palm, and asks, “What was it like?”
Starbuck catches Lee’s eye for a second, before she looks back at Santana and replies cryptically, “Like riding a goat.”
Santana raises an eyebrow and misses Lee’s sniggering laugh. She shrugs and starts to get up. “Drink,” she says by way of explanation, and Lee and Starbuck nod.
When she comes back, ambrosia in hand, Lee and Starbuck are in deep discussion.
“Frak no, he’s guilty. Traitorous bastard. There’s evidence.”
“I’m not so sure,” Starbuck replies.
“Do you really think my father would lock him up if he wasn’t sure?”
“Well, why does he have that woman under watch as well?” Starbuck counters.
“What are you guys talking about?” Santana asks as she takes a seat. Starbuck sits back in a huff, but Lee leans forward to explain.
“The whole Baltar deal. That woman… Shelly… Shelly…”
“Godfrey,” Starbuck supplies.
“Right, Godfrey, from the Gemenon Traveler - who accused Baltar of treason, of planting a bomb in the Colonial defense mainframe and allowing the Cylons to attack the Colonies.”
“Shit,” Santana hisses.
“I know.”
“Who is she? The woman?”
Lee opens his mouth to answer, but Starbuck beats him to it. “That’s exactly the point. No one really knows. She says knew Amarak, on the Olympic Carrier…” She pauses briefly, and looks at Lee tentatively. He catches her eye, and a look of guilt passes over both their faces, but Starbuck continues in a more subdued tone, “but she’s only come forward now. Who is she? No one’s ever seen her on board before now.”
“And what does that prove? That’s she doesn’t get out much?” Lee counters with a laugh, taking another sip of his drink.
“Use your brain, Lee,” Starbuck replies with an exasperated sigh and a flick to the side of Lee’s head.
“So, now, anyone you don’t know is a Cylon, is that it?” Lee asks incredulously. Starbuck rolls her eyes.
“No. What I’m saying is… No one knows her. No one’s seen her before. And she’s made some serious accusations against the one man who’s capable of creating a Cylon detector.”
Silence settles over them. Santana freezes mid-movement as she brings her drink to her lips, and looks at her friends uneasily.
“Do you really think she’s a Cylon?” she asks anxiously.
Starbuck sits back and frowns thoughtfully. “Baltar’s no saint. He’s come on to me plenty of times - “ Santana sees Lee clench his fist subconsciously “ - and he talks to himself like he’s Narcissus himself… but when he came by a few weeks ago when I was in sickbay and I mentioned the possibility that that bombing close to his lab was an attack on him - well, he seemed really freaked out. Maybe this is another - more clever - attack…”
An uneasy silence settles on them again. Suddenly, Lee breaks it with a laugh.
“Gods, Kara, you and your conspiracy theories… How do you ever get a wink of sleep?” he jokes, and nudges her shoulder with his. She breaks out in a grin, and raises her glass.
“By getting completely wasted with you lovely people,” she quips.
“Hear, hear,” Santana says with a smile, clinks her glass to Starbuck’s and Lee’s, and downs her drink. She looks up to see Starbuck eyeing her empty glass with disappointment. The injured lieutenant shifts her glance to her cast, then to the bar, and finally just sits back with a sour look on her face. Santana can’t help but feel a little bit sorry for her.
“Can I buy you a drink?” she asks. Before Starbuck has the chance to reply, she crinkles her face at the cheesy way the line came out. Starbuck picks up on it, and grins cheekily.
“Coming on to me, Songbird?” she jokes.
“Puh-lease. You’re not my type,” Santana replies with matching bravado.
“Tall, confident blondes with killer bodies? Since when?” Starbuck returns with a leer.
“I don’t dig gimps,” Santana replies with a sassy swish of her hair as she gets up.
“Frak you.”
Santana curls her top lip into a cheeky smile, glances at Starbuck through her lashes, and turns to the bar as she utters, “You wish.”
As she walks away, figure swaying with playful exaggeration, she hears her friends break out in laughter behind her, and smiles.
----
A few hours later, her smile has turned into a drunken beam, and her impish strut has turned into an unsteady swagger, but she couldn’t care less. Starbuck giggles from beside her, and knocks her crutch into another crate as they make their way down the hallway. Lee reaches out immediately to steady her as she starts to topple down.
“Such a gentleman,” Starbuck drawls as Lee wraps an arm around her waist and helps her hop down the hallway. He hands Santana one of her crutches, which Santana accepts with a giggle. She raises the metal object to her shoulder, and feigns looking down the barrel of a gun.
“What are you doing?” Lee asks with a laugh (and a wobble) as Santana crouches down and rounds the corner of the hallway, still armed with the crutch as though it were a rifle.
“Hunting Cylons,” she answers in a deadly serious voice, and crouches down behind a crate, raising her hand in a fist over her shoulder. Recognizing the gesture, both Starbuck and Lee stop walking instantly. When they realize their mistake as Santana grins at their gullibility, they both laugh.
“The dradis has been too quiet lately. I’m bored,” Santana says with a huff as she stands. She runs the crutch along the wall as they walk, tapping out an even rhythm.
“Don’t jinx it, Lopez,” Lee warns.
“Whatever. I need to kill something.”
“Taking out sexual frustration on Cylons, huh?” Starbuck quips.
Santana turns instantly, cocks her head, and raises an eyebrow. “Moi? Sexually frustrated? What planet are you on?” She walks backwards as Starbuck gives her a loaded glance - and trips on a barrel, loses her balance, and falls on her ass with an echoing bang. Starbuck and Lee burst out laughing. When Santana finally gets up and pats down her uniform with a sheepish expression, she sees Starbuck hanging onto Lee for dear life, who is still doubled over with laughter and is wiping a tear from his eye. Starbuck sobers up (metaphorically) first, and her amused smile turns into an impish, naughty grin.
“You know, those sexual frustrations… you should take them out with Cylons instead - like that Shelly Godfrey woman…” she murmurs wickedly.
Instantly, Lee straightens up and looks at the drunk hanging onto him with a fully horrified expression on his face. “Holy hell, Starbuck! Too far!”
“What?” Starbuck replies innocently. “She’s just her type. And you know the rumors.”
“What rumors?” Lee asks doubtfully.
“You know… that female Cylons are seductresses, playing with your emotions… tugging at heartstrings and drawstrings alike… Maybe that’s why Adama’s suspicious of the beautiful Madame Godfrey - she came on to him.”
“That’s just wrong…” Santana mumbles as Lee pulls a face.
“My thoughts exactly. Are we talking about Cylons or succubi here?” Lee asks incredulously. Starbuck shrugs noncommittally, and ignores Santana’s and Lee’s horrified faces.
“I wouldn’t be caught dead screwing a Cylon,” Santana replies with a mildly disgusted sneer.
Starbuck giggles wickedly. “Not true: If you were caught, you would be dead.”
Lee shakes his head in disbelief. “I think it’s time to get you back to sickbay, because you have seriously ascended to new levels of disturbing…”
Starbuck hums her disagreement, but buries her face in Lee’s neck anyway and lets him lead her around the corner. They arrive at the door, and Lee turns to Santana.
“Crutch.”
“What’d you just call me?” Santana says with a disbelieving raise of an eyebrow.
Lee lets out an amused laugh. “Give me the crutch, Parakeet.”
“Frak you, it’s Songbird.”
“Warmed up to it, have you?”
Santana smiles, and admits, begrudgingly, “Maybe.” She hands Lee the crutch. As he fumbles with it, she wrings her hands playfully. “I feel empty. I need that crutch. It’s my only weapon. What if a Cylon attacks?”
Lee figures out a way to carry Starbuck and both crutches, straightens up, and winks at Santana. “Use your charms.” He hoists his load, kicks open the door, and walks into sickbay. “See you, Songbird.”
“See you,” Santana replies, and turns down the hallway, mind on blank and staring at the ground as she mindlessly makes her way to her bunk. Her mind skips from thinking about Cylons to Baltar to vipers and to, as Starbuck had put it so eloquently, ‘tall, confident blondes with killer bodies’. She had been right - it was her type, and she’d had many a tug on her dogtag from girls just like Shelly Godfrey.
She turns another corner, and lost in thought, doesn’t notice she’s not alone until her downcast eyes land on a pair of black stilettos.
“Penny for your thoughts?” comes a low, playful female voice.
Her buzzed mind hears the voice, and intends to find the face, but not before her eyes take in the flawless legs, skintight blue dress, dipping cleavage, and curving neck of the breathtaking blonde before her. When her eyes finally make it up to the blonde’s face, her mind is convinced no sight can outshine this woman’s impossible body - a conviction that is quickly shot down when she basks in the beauty of the blonde’s teasing smile, luscious lips, and sparkling eyes.
“Uuhmm,” she mumbles lamely. The blonde giggles at her uncertainty, and Santana mentally chastises herself for her fumbling reply.
“That’s not a very interesting thought,” the stranger says coyly. When Santana stays silent, dumb with shock, she continues, “I can give you a better thought.” Slowly, she swirls a lock of her hair between her fingers, pulls it down across her neck, and runs her fingers briefly across her collarbone and continues along the edge of her dress, dipping lower and lower… Santana’s eyes can’t help but follow the movement, and her knees go embarrassingly weak at the sight. She brings her eyes reluctantly back up to the stranger’s face, and catches her knowing look.
“See? A much better thought.”
Santana scrapes her throat and straightens up. Get it together.
“Hi,” she says simply.
“Hi,” the stranger replies with a smile.
“Who are you?”
“Who do you think?” the woman replies lightly, raising an arm and resting it on the railing along the wall she’s draped herself against. Santana’s eyes follow the curve of her arm, to the tips of her slender, perfectly manicured fingers. Her mind briefly strays again.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen you on Galactica before.” The thought brings back Lee’s words: “… now, anyone you don’t know is a Cylon…”, but she shakes it off with an amused tilt of her head.
“Well, I’ve seen you.” The woman shamelessly drags her eyes over Santana’s body, taking in her figure and her uniform with a hungry expression. Santana shifts her weight, but, feigning confidence, takes a small, curious step forward anyway.
“You have?”
“Mmhmm...” The blonde catches Santana’s eye, and then looks away nonchalantly down the isle of the hallway. Santana’s interest is instantly piqued, and she takes another step closer. The stranger looks back at her with the movement, and gives her another knowing, naughty grin before standing up straight and stepping away slightly. She looks at Santana over her shoulder as she says, “So, who am I?” She turns and takes another step in front of Santana, who stares at her with captivation. “Make up my story.”
“What?” Santana asks in surprise.
“Make up something I like, and I’ll give you my name.”
“Uuhh… You’re lost.” It’s the first thing that pops into her mind. She rolls her eyes at herself when the blonde looks down and giggles.
“I’m not lost,” the stranger purrs, and catches Santana’s eye. Her piercing blue eyes stare into Santana’s brown ones, and she can’t look away. “I’ve found exactly what I’ve been looking for,” she continues, and takes a step towards Santana. “Try again.”
The teasing, extremely confident way the blonde is coming on to her is leaving Santana completely flustered. She’s usually the one that’s in control, surveying the situation with calm and composure as girls and guys chase her from hangar to bunk with undisguised interest and desire. It’s never been the other way around, but the gathering heat between her legs and the way her heartbeat is pounding in her head can attest to the fact that the new situation is anything but discouraging.
“You’ve escaped onto Galactica, running from the oppression of a Sagittaron leadership,” Santana suggests, the story forming in her mind of its own accord.
“Mmm, I like it…” the stranger purrs, and takes a step closer. Her hand brushes past Santana’s as she steps behind her, starting to circle slowly. The small touch send a wave of surprise through Santana’s body, and her mouth is parched with nerves.
“A brother… no, a lover… followed you here, intent on bringing you back.”
“Getting warmer.” The husky words are left by Santana’s ear as the stranger circles around her; the moisture condenses on her skin, and she shivers slightly.
“But she knows where you’re staying now… And so you can’t go back.” The gender of the lover is a test, and Santana waits hungrily for the answer. It comes in the form of a suggestive giggle behind her, and a whispered, “Warmer.” She yearns to look back, to spend every second drinking in the stranger’s beauty, but resists, and continues.
“So you’re left here, running from her all through the night, hoping to find a haven, safety, and, perhaps…” Santana pauses, and grins with growing confidence as she feels, more than hears, the blonde breathe intensely behind her, “someone who will protect you.”
“Very hot.” The words, left hotly on her other side, are accompanied by the slightest brush of fingers along her neck. As the blonde turns, she drags her fingers along the back of Santana’s neck, tracing thins tracks of fire and leaving Santana completely breathless.
Silence falls on them, during which Santana absorbs the stranger in front of her, so captivated that she has no idea where to look - her stunning eyes, rimmed by impossible lashes; her rosy lips and teasing tongue as she licks her top lip expectantly; the curve of her neck as she tilts her head with curiosity and interest; the edge of her dress as it hugs her cleavage, creating a path along which Santana’s eyes travel hungrily; the slight dip in the dress as it pulls across the beauty’s tight abs and bellybutton; or her killer legs, seemingly extending out into infinity until they meet the incredibly sexy stilettos.
The hand that was tracing along Santana’s neck falls on the fabric of her uniform, just under her collarbone, as Santana asks: “So, what’s your name?”
The fingers play along the edge of the uniform, just dipping under and brushing lightly over Santana’s skin. Santana stares, transfixed, at the blonde’s face as she giggles, and slowly brings her eyes through her lashes to look at Santana with teasing laughter.
“You can call me… Brittany.” Her name is accompanied by the playful undoing of Santana’s top button. Santana doesn’t take her eyes away from Brittany’s.
“Just Brittany? No last name?” She licks her lips to dry them in her breathlessness.
“Nope.” Another button comes undone. “Like Six. No last name.”
Santana’s eyebrows come together in a curious frown, tinged with suspicious recognition. “Who’s Six?”
“You know, the number? Numbers don’t have last names,” Brittany answers cryptically.
“Mmm…” Santana hums distractedly as Brittany pulls her bottom lip between her teeth in an achingly arousing gesture.
“Thank God I ran into you,” Brittany whispers teasingly.
“You mean, ‘thank the Gods’, don’t you?” Santana asks, raising an eyebrow at Brittany’s strange phrasing.
Brittany’s teasing smile turns bemused. “There’s more than one?”
“Yes, of course.”
The blonde pauses in her movement to undo Santana’s uniform, and looks down with a slightly befuddled expression. “Mm… I didn’t know that.” Santana’s eyebrows raise impossibly higher, but she doesn’t get a chance to comment.
“I’m from the Gemenon Traveler,” Brittany continues as she undoes another button, brushing off her momentary confusion.
Instantly, the suspicion is back as Lee’s words return to her foggy mind: “Shelly Godfrey, from the Gemenon Traveler…” The feeling of unease doesn’t leave as Brittany undoes another button, and she’s about to speak up, resist, but Brittany beats her to it.
“But it doesn’t matter where I’m from.”
“It… doesn’t?” Santana asks lamely. She can’t control the way her body is responding to Brittany’s touch as her other hand comes up to help with the last few buttons on her uniform jacket, or the way her quickened breathing and buzzed mind is making it difficult to hold on to the realization that this woman might be dangerous in much different ways than Santana is used to…
“No…” Brittany whispers softly as she takes a last step closer when the final button comes undone. “It doesn’t.” The words are soft puffs of air on Santana’s lips as she leans forward imperceptibly, drawn in by the stranger’s irresistible charms. Brittany’s hands move up slowly along Santana’s shirt, under her undone uniform jacket, ghosting over her abs, the curve of her breasts, and finally coming to rest, one hand at the back of her neck, playing teasingly with the soft curls, and the other entwining itself with the chain of her dog tag. Brittany tugs on it insistently, and Santana completely loses her train of thought as Brittany closes the remaining distance and kisses her.
The blonde molds her lips across Santana’s, kissing with an urgency and insistence Santana isn’t used to, but which, nonetheless, leaves her breathless within seconds. Brittany pulls Santana’s bottom lip between her teeth and bites down. Even as she winces, Santana’s pulse begins to beat rapidly in her head as the adrenaline rushes through her. She tries to pull back, but Brittany doesn’t let her, and pushes forward eagerly until Santana is trapped against the wall, one of Brittany’s hands a vice-grip in her neck, holding her in place, while the other has moved on from pulling on her dog tag to kneading her breast through her shirt.
Santana doesn’t know what to do with herself. Her knees buckle as Brittany, towering above her and overpowering her in a way she’s not remotely familiar with, pushes one of her legs between her own, and lifts up as Santana gasps onto her lips. She gropes her hands across the blonde’s body, desperate and needing the warm touch of the stranger beneath her to sate her desire. She tangles a hand in the stranger’s hair at the back of her neck, and tightens her grip subconsciously as the blonde presses her tongue between her lips, demanding entrance. Santana gives it eagerly, and soon they’re a mess of pressing bodies, probing tongues, and desperate hands, running on adrenaline, surprise, and undeniable lust.
Suddenly, Brittany pulls back from the kiss, and Santana lets out a breathless gasp somewhere between a moan and a whimper. Brittany grins from her advantageous position above Santana, and leans in just close enough to brush her lips past Santana’s cheek and whisper in her ear.
“It doesn’t matter where I’m from.” The blonde pauses, and Santana lets out a soft moan when she feels her pull her earlobe between her teeth. “But it matters where I’m going tonight…”
Santana opens her mouth to respond, but no sound comes out, and she’s left gaping in surprise like a beached fish.
“Where do you stay? What’s the number of your quarters?” Brittany hisses suggestively. She flicks out her tongue and teases it along the shell of Santana’s ear.
“Five-oh-six,” Santana manages with a shuddering whimper. Instantly, Brittany pulls back and struts away with a wicked smile on her face.
“I didn’t expect you to be so easy to seduce,” she says with a cocky bob of her head before she turns and stalks in the direction of Santana’s room.
Although her breathing still hasn’t evened out and her legs are pressed together, both to stabilize her and to help her resist the pounding ache between her legs, Brittany’s flirty words set off a small alarm in Santana’s mind. She shakes her head to clear the haze of alcohol and arousal, and tries to focus. What did Starbuck say not twenty minutes ago?
You know the rumors…. female Cylons are seductresses, playing with your emotions… tugging at heartstrings and drawstrings alike…
The thought leaves Santana dumbfounded. She looks up in shock as Brittany calls to her.
“Are you coming?” she teases, turning slightly and flicking her tongue out against her top lip as she takes in Santana’s flustered expression, open uniform, and messy hair.
All Santana can do is nod, and Brittany bounds away. Santana follows her movements keenly, suspiciously, with eyes trained to detect the dangerous, the different, and - most importantly - the Cylon threat.
Brittany is definitely different. But dangerous? Santana shakes her head in confusion, and starts to make her way down the hallways, retracing Brittany’s steps. Her mind is torn. She’s never seen Brittany before, and she can’t deny the girl’s behavior isn’t suspicious. Chances are, if she’s telling the truth, she flew in on the same raptor as Shelly Godfrey did - the same woman who Starbuck is convinced is a Cylon.
Santana stops in her tracks, and leans against the wall. She sighs her frustration and runs a hand through her disheveled hair.
If Brittany were a Cylon… Hell, Santana couldn’t even begin to fathom the consequences.
I wouldn’t be caught dead screwing a Cylon.
Her words come back to her with stunning clarity, and she lets out a bitter laugh. How quickly the situation had changed.
She throws her head back and sighs again, and then just remains the way she is. She closes her eyes, and against all odds, all the she sees in the darkness is Brittany. Brittany - circling like a panther stalking its prey. Brittany - leaving marks on her lips from bites and scratches in her neck from nails. Brittany - prancing with confidence down the hallways to her room - her room - expecting nothing else than Santana to follow. She shivers involuntarily with anticipation. What would she find when she got there? Her mind derails momentarily as it fills with images of Brittany strutting naked around her quarters, her body undulating with confidence and sex appeal as she hooks her fingers on Santana’s dog tag and relays in no uncertain terms how much she wants her as she pulls her against her naked body, stripping clothing in a heated dance of lips and tongues and hands…
“Frak me…” Santana mutters huskily.
Against all odds, all warnings, all consequences, she knows she’s thinking of going through with it. What’s the worse that could happen?
If you were caught, you would be dead.
Starbuck’s remembered warning jars her impending acceptance of the situation, and she takes a slow, steadying breath.
All that had been drilled into her by higher ranking officers, by Starbuck, by the whole fraking Colonial flight training the last few months boiled down to one thing: you’re already dead. It took away the fear when a raider was on her tail and she couldn’t think of a single maneuver to save her sorry ass. It made it easier to drag herself through another day of unsupportable opposition and hopeless battles against an enemy that had - as she felt she now knew from personal experience - infiltrated their defenses and vastly overpowered them on every playing field. And it definitely made it easier to feel up anyone she liked without risk of falling in love with them… but, damn, right now, all she wanted was to fraking live again.
The decision is easier than she expected. She stalks down the hallway, and within a minute, she kicks open the door to her quarters and enters.
She quickly looks around and sighs in relief. Boomer’s cot is empty - no surprise there; her fellow pilot had been acting strange for weeks, sleeping fitfully, sobbing sporadically, or otherwise not being around at all - and the rest of the cots had still not been filled since the accident that killed thirteen pilots and sent Santana into a higher rank. But, her room is by no means empty. In the center sits the cause of Santana’s torn confusion, undeniable curiosity, and unimaginable arousal.
If Santana hadn’t already made her mind up and given in to the idea that this encounter was forbidden on so many levels, the sight of Brittany would have left her helpless to resist at all or do anything but reach out and seize what she so desperately wanted. She takes in her flawless form with ravenous eyes.
Brittany sits on the edge of the center table with calculated poise. Her hands lay in her lap with feigned nonchalance as her crossed legs dangle over the edge. She subtly pats out a rhythm with her fingers on her bare legs, and pulls the other hand along her peachy skin to the edge of her lace underwear - a rarity in itself, given the post-Holocaust state of the fleet, and a fact not lost on Santana - and makes a teasing, achingly slow path along the edge of her panties. Santana follows the movement, until Brittany lays her hand flat on the table and leans back. Santana continues to stare, shamelessly roaming her eyes up Brittany’s abs to her voluptuous breasts clad in a matching lace bra and to the way Brittany has her head canted back slightly and is looking at her almost through corner of her eyes, like she’s so ready for Santana that she’s given her access to all of her without Santana even having had to ask. Santana licks her lips in anticipation, and a low growl escapes her lips.
“Finally,” Brittany drawls with confidence, tilting her head down and observing Santana with sparkling eyes through dark lashes. “I was beginning to think I would have go it alone tonight.” The deliberate jibe tightens Santana’s stomach muscles, and she takes a menacing step forward.
“Stop talking,” she warns, closing the remaining distance between her and Brittany. The blonde looks at her with a mixture of enraptured surprise and confused curiosity - tinged with unquestionable desire and longing at Santana taking the reigns. Good, Santana thinks, and smiles wickedly. If she was going to do this thing, she was going to do it fraking good.
Before Brittany has the chance to open her mouth and refuse her order of silence, Santana reaches out and pulls Brittany into an open-mouthed, passionate kiss. Brittany whimpers her surprise, but Santana tightens her hold at the back of Brittany’s neck and the whimper dies down quickly as Santana presses her tongue forward. Though her response time is decidedly slower than before, Santana is happy to feel Brittany respond to her touches eagerly, and feels the blonde grab hold of her loose uniform with obvious decision. She detaches herself from Brittany’s lips for a second - a second long enough for Brittany to help her shake off her jacket and pull off her undershirt. Brittany pulls back for a fraction of the vital second to admire Santana’s near-naked torso above her belted uniform pants before Santana pulls her back. She presses her hand against Brittany’s bra-clad breast, and Brittany whimpers again.
“God…” Brittany whispers. Santana ignores the lack of plural this time, and unhooks Brittany’s bra. She flings it away and instantly moves her kisses along Brittany’s neck. She bites down on the pulse point, and hears Brittany cry out - a cry of pain, but filled with enough desire that Santana feels no inclination to apologize.
“I can’t wait to feel you inside me…” Brittany moans, and Santana feels herself heat up at the lust-felt admission - particularly, between her legs. She runs her hands down Brittany’s body, tracing the curve of her back with her nails. Brittany returns the favor and Santana bites down on the skin of her neck as Brittany scratches her shoulders with sharp nails. Brittany whimpers again - Santana kisses the spot she just bit and Brittany falls (relatively) silent until Santana drags her lips down Brittany’s collarbone to the curve of her breasts and breathes hotly on a nipple.
“Yessss…” comes Brittany’s breathy mantra as Santana’s own sped-up breathing spurs on her teasing. She flicks out her tongue against Brittany’s nipple, and grins with satisfaction at the repetition of Brittany’s subconscious whisper. Achingly slowly, she takes her nipple into her mouth and sucks lightly, until Brittany’s ragged breathing brings her chest heaving up into Santana’s lips. She scratches her hand around from Brittany’s back to her rock-hard abs, and slowly makes her way down the plane of her abdomen to the edge of her panties. Brittany tenses her muscles at the touch, but Santana feels her dig her nails into her shoulder blades in encouragement.
Santana pulls on the lace panties with one hand, but it’s too damn difficult with Brittany still sitting on the table, and with a grunt, she pulls a little too hard and hears the expensive lace rip. She looks at Brittany with a semi-apologetic, but mostly teasing, expression. Once Brittany finds the self-control to steady her breathing enough to catch her look, she mirrors the expression enough to ease Santana’s worry.
“Doesn’t matter,” she gasps. “Keep them,” she adds as Santana pulls the panties away. With a laugh, she stuffs the ruined panties into a pocket of her uniform pants, smiling with satisfaction at the trophy - later, perhaps, it would serve as evidence, but she’d cross that bridge when she came to it.
Santana returns her hand to where she knows Brittany desperately needs it, and presses her fingers against Brittany’s clit. Brittany gasps in surprise, and arches against Santana, canting her hips up slightly to grant her access.
“Come on,” she moans desperately as Santana continues to lightly press down. Santana winces as Brittany’s nails dig deep into her shoulders - she’s sure they’ve drawn blood by now - and gives her what she wants: she dips lower and presses two fingers deep into Brittany. She shudders at the feel of Brittany closing around her fingers, and the way her body vibrates at the sensation nearly sends her mind into overdrive. She presses her body forward against Brittany in frustration at the distance still remaining between them. There’s no way she’ll get any release in his position.
The same can’t be said for Brittany. At Santana’s eager entrance, her face flushes with arousal, and her breathing speeds up impossibly faster. Her body hums with desire as Santana slowly starts to curl her fingers inside her, pressing deeper and higher with each aching movement.
“Oh, oh - ” Brittany’s encouraging cries come in time to Santana’s ministrations, and gradually, Brittany begins to move her hips in the same rhythm, shifting her body on the table to give Santana the best access possible.
Santana has never been so aroused, and she can’t hold back a primal cry of lust at the sight of Brittany eagerly moving against her fingers. She speeds up in time to Brittany’s movements, and soon, Brittany is crying out in building ecstasy as she inches closer to her satisfaction and Santana’s goal. Santana drags her nails along Brittany’s back and feels the vibrations of her body under her fingertips - heating up exquisitely slowly to a boiling point she has never before experienced with anyone. Her eyes grow wide as Brittany throws her head back and cries her release as the waves of her orgasm wash over her in boiling satisfaction and Santana’s fingertips burn on the ridge of her spine.
No sooner has she cried her release than she has Santana pushed back against the wall with both her hands pinned above her. Santana stands in shock at Brittany’s sudden strength, and a tinge of intuitive fear returns. It’s a side-effect of returning to the land of the living - no matter how much she felt it was worth it when she started this risky encounter, the land of the living contained a whole lot of fear, irrational or otherwise. She can’t look away from Brittany’s aggressive eyes as the blonde leans in slowly and continues to breathe hotly and unevenly from the aftershocks of her orgasm. Her face is flushed, her ears tinged with heat, and she bites her lower lip in an attempt to even out her breathing. Santana waits with bated breath, muscles tensed in anticipation for a running escape or for putting up one hell of a fight.
“Frak, that was good…” Brittany drawls. Santana would be inclined to say she was oblivious to Santana’s sudden fear if it weren’t for the way her eyes flashed with nearly hostile knowledge. Now that she’d had her release, had her way with Santana, was that it? Santana almost giggles bitterly at the small wave of relief that washes over her at the thought of Brittany ending her right there and letting her escape from her prison of doubt and impending guilt.
But Brittany seems to have other plans. The presses the hand trapping Santana’s hand over her head strongly against her, digging Santana’s own nails into her skin in the process, and brings the other hand to the buckle of Santana’s uniform. The stranger fumbles with the buckle, and lets out a growl of frustration that leaves Santana weak at the knees. Suddenly the belt comes undone, and within a second, Santana’s hands are released as Brittany pulls down her pants (along with her panties) and shoves her into the corner of the room. Santana stumbles, but Brittany catches her before she falls, and drags her almost ruthlessly to the nearest cot. Again, Santana finds herself pinned down underneath Brittany’s hands.
“Do you want to feel me inside you?” Brittany whispers huskily. Santana’s stomach tightens at the words, and she whimpers as she nods. Brittany smiles, and Santana sees the hint of the teasing laugh of the Brittany she first met, instead of the primal creature hovering over her now, driving her wild with possibilities. Which one is the real Brittany? Santana is almost afraid to know the answer.
“You think you were good, don’t you?” Brittany continues, leaning closer and dragging her lips along Santana’s neck to the ridge of her jaw. Santana doesn’t move, captivated by the feel Brittany’s lips on her skin.
“I asked you a question.” Her voice lowers dangerously, and Santana whimpers a breathy ‘yes’ when Brittany presses a leg between both of hers. Brittany smiles in satisfaction.
“You haven’t had good until you’ve had me.”
The words are accompanied by a sharp bite on Santana’s earlobe, and she feels herself soak through her panties. Her dominance of Brittany not too long ago was a sure turn-on - but she’d never expected it would be if Brittany turned the tables on her the way she was doing right now.
Santana feels Brittany move her legs against her, kicking away her pants and shimmying closer to press against her. She lets out a soft moan, and Brittany smirks. She lets go of Santana’s hands above her head, and lifts slightly to pull off Santana’s bra. Santana helps her eagerly, and Brittany smirks at her desperation. As soon as the offending item is off (and hanging off the corner of Boomer’s locker), Brittany bends down and latches her lips on Santana’s nipple while her hand comes up to knead the other. Santana gasps as Brittany flicks her tongue out against her sensitive skin, and tangles her fingers in Brittany’s hair to urge her on. Brittany doesn’t need it - she molds her lips over Santana’s breast with instinctive skill, and Santana loses her breath time and time again as Brittany increases her rhythm until she’s lightheaded and pleading wordlessly for more.
Suddenly, Brittany grazes her teeth over Santana’s nipple, and Santana cries out.
“Brittany!”
As though waiting for the invitation, Brittany moves the hand busy on Santana’s other breast down her body and dips it between her legs. She presses her fingers against Santana’s clit, and Santana gasps again, followed by a pleading whimper. She catches Brittany’s glance, and is surprised to find her waiting with a request behind the sparkle in her eyes.
“Do it - ” Santana utters breathlessly.
Brittany smiles impishly and slips her fingers between Santana’s wet folds and into slick heat. Santana cries out in surprise and pleasure, and cants her hips up.
“Eager much… “ Brittany drawls teasingly, and Santana lets her focused, flushed face break into a smile.
“Frak you,” she whispers back, even as she pushes her hips up to match Brittany’s flawless rhythm.
“You already did,” Brittany replies with a soft laugh.
Santana opens her mouth to reply - with what, she has no idea - but then Brittany’s smile turns naughty again and she scissors her fingers just so and Santana cries out again because frak that feels good. She digs her fingers into Britt’s arm, urging her on as she continues to pulse her fingers inside her. Brittany brings her lips down to Santana’s neck eagerly, and pulls her earlobe between her teeth again - a move that drives Santana wild - a fact which, Santana is surprised to realize, Brittany has picked up on in no time.
Soon the rhythm has increased to an impossible beat, pushing, rubbing, rippling, and fretting their bodies against each other and pulling unwitting gasps from their throats. Santana feels the tense anticipation building in her muscles, like a spring pressed to breaking point and yearning to break free. She cants her hips up against Brittany’s hand one last time, and Brittany presses down harder than ever, and with a cry, Santana comes undone.
Santana arches her body up into Brittany, relishing the feel of her heated body bearing down on her, and letting herself fall completely into the danger, the release, the ecstasy of the night and of the dazzling stranger that brought her there. Consequences be damned. This was so worth it.
Slowly, Santana’s body cools down to a simmering boil and she lets out a panting breath. She catches Brittany’s satisfied smirk as the blonde hovers over her, and closes her eyes lazily.
“Shut up,” she mumbles, and lets her body relax fully. If, right at that moment, Brittany chose to tighten her hold, kick in to her programming, or whatever the Cylons had had planned for her, she wouldn’t put up a fight, or try to run. Fitting punishment, perhaps, but mostly, the pleasurable aftershocks of her orgasm were banishing all adrenaline for the sake of one thought: I don’t give a frak. Honestly, the thought that Brittany, this stunning human woman, could be a Cylon at all, seems almost comical in her mind. No way. Full-blooded, born-and-raised, emotional - woman, Santana thinks with satisfaction.
In her lazy daze, she feels Brittany move away from her. She misses the heat of her body, but doesn’t try to get up as she hears Brittany move around her quarters. She opens her eyes slowly just as Brittany is zipping up her dress. Santana raises herself slightly on her cot. She knew this couldn’t last, but she can’t help feeling slightly disappointed at Brittany’s quick exit.
“Will I see you again?”
Brittany turns to her, and smiles nostalgically. She bends down to pick up her heels, and then takes the few remaining steps towards Santana as Santana swings her legs over the side of her cot and looks up at the towering blonde.
“Maybe,” Brittany says softly, holding Santana’s gaze. Santana brings her hands to Brittany’s hips, and Brittany bends down slowly to capture Santana’s lips in a lingering kiss. Just after Santana dares to close her eyes, the kiss ends, and when she opens them, Brittany is gone from beneath her hands, and the door to her quarters swings shut slowly.
Santana lets out a sigh, and lays back on her cot. It’s a long time before she’s able to banish the thought of Brittany - woman, not Cylon (she’s convinced by now) - from her mind and drift off into a dreamless sleep.
---
The next day, Santana moves about the ship as though she’s moving through water. Her hangover could have something to do with it, but she knows Brittany is the main reason.
Brittany… Santana lets the thought linger in her mind like the taste of ambrosia on her tongue, soaking it up slowly and letting it intoxicate her with longing and satisfaction.
She lets out an amused huff as she remembers her drunken angst from the night before. Sure, it had fueled her desire in a way she now considers might not have been completely healthy, but come on… Brittany, a Cylon? Puh-lease. No woman could be more… woman than the one who had made Santana scream out her name last night. Santana laughs to herself wistfully. Once she saw Starbuck, she was going to give her a good talking to about Cylon-accusing and general paranoia. Lee was right. Neither Shelly Godfrey nor Brittany were anything but human.
She turns around a corner into a bustling hallway, lost in her musings, and is nearly knocked to the ground as a heavy body collides with her.
“Watch where you’re going!” she yells, instantly on the defensive. She looks into the face of her assailant, and her animosity turns into bemused surprise. “Lee.”
“Frak, Songbird, help me up,” Lee mutters from the floor.
“In a hurry?” Santana asks with amusement as she gives him a hand. Lee’s face doesn’t match her entertainment, and turns to a distracted scowl instead.
“Didn’t you hear?” he asks gruffly.
“Hear what?”
“Starbuck was right. Shelly Godfrey - she’s a Cylon.”
“What?” Santana breathes.
“Adama had two men tailing her, but they lost her. They say she turned a corner, and then she just - vanished,” Lee admits in an awed, low voice.
Santana feels her pulse beat in her throat again, and swallows thickly. “H-h-how?” Her voice breaks, and she clears her throat quickly.
“I don’t know. We’re searching the ship for her, but no one’s seen her,” Lee manages. He doesn’t register the dumbfounded, guilty look on Santana’s face, and looks past her distractedly. “It’s a mess. I’ve got to go. If you see her - ”
“ - I’ll shoot her myself,” Santana answers instantly. Lee gives her an approving nod, and pushes past her.
Santana dips her hand into the pocket of her pants, and her throat clenches closed when her fingers encounter the soft fabric of Brittany’s lace panties.
She had been wrong - Brittany, Shelly Godfrey, both from the Gemenon Traveler, seductresses… liars… Cylons.
She stands frozen to her spot as strangers weave around her on their way - civilians with dejected expression, militia armed with rifles and pistols, specialists with exhausted, soot-streaked faces - and doesn’t see any of them… until…
Her eyes lift up instinctively when she feels someone watching her. Her eyes catch Brittany’s across the hallway, and her breath stops. Brittany’s blue eyes pierce into her own brown ones, and she winks impishly before standing up straight from her leaning position against the wall - so achingly familiar of the first moment Santana had laid eyes on her - and turning to walk away. Santana jump-starts her system, and follows, her pace picking up as she makes her way in the crowd after the elusive flash of blonde hair.
“Get out of my way - frak, just - MOVE - ” Santana utters as she pushes her way through the crowd, but she’s still moving through water. She places her hand on the handle of her sidearm at her hip, and pushes harder, until she’s only a few meters away - she can smell the intoxicating familiar scent of her, see the bite marks on her neck, feel the memories on her skin - so close, so damn -
“Brittany!” Santana yells warningly, and the blonde turns one last moment, blows her a seductive kiss, and then, with a final flash of blonde hair, turns the corner. Santana’s body moves swiftly into a sprint as she simultaneously pulls her pistol from its holster and brings the barrel up. She turns the corner and sees -
- nothing.
Santana drops the barrel of her gun and searches the lethargic crowd, but she knows it’s too late. Brittany has disappeared, leaving nothing in her wake but the the scratch marks on Santana’s back, the panties in her pocket, and a torn mind filled with memories of a forbidden encounter.
Fin