Fic: Outside the Ring
“That can’t happen again.”
Frak him.
Her heels clicked heavily as she moved quickly through the corridor of Galactica, sharp echoes a staccato accompaniment to her fury. Angry beats making a wordless song. No lyrics permitted of course - on account of the audience. There was always a frakking audience. That was their godsdamn problem.
No. She wasn’t going to let him off the hook. He didn’t deserve it. He was their godsdamn problem. Nobody else.
That was better.
Stupid frakker. Shutting the door in her face. Pain and regret filling his eyes as he did. As if that made it okay. As if that made it right. Sympathetic glances from guards bearing witness to her belated revelation as she played the fool on his stoop. His words tonight had been meant for her too. Especially for her.
She eyed her escort warily as they marched into the hangar bay. They better frakking remember their job was to forget.
Not that she would any time soon. She fervently hoped Cottle was in his finest Cottle form right now as he sewed him back together, all while that stupid frakker was no doubt doing his best to rip his own heart to shreds with every stitch. How many times did she have to see his act performed in all its agonized glory to figure it out? She was running out of frakking medals to pin to his chest. No more. Good riddance to the guilt-ridden bastard.
She couldn’t wait to get back to her ship. Wash the blood off. If the stains were permanent she was going to be pissed. If only there were still such things as dry cleaners, she’d send him the godsdamned bill.
An arm suddenly barred her path, nearly tripping her as her party came to a sudden stop, hands reaching into holsters all around her. What frakking now? Nobody better kill her before she had the chance to send a choice few out the airlock.
She looked over and saw guns trained on a man slumped against a viper skid, bottle clutched in his hand.
Sam. He looked like shit. Of course, being married to Kara Thrace would do that to you. She was an honorary Adama after all.
“It’s okay,” she said stepping forward.
“But, Madame President, this man is not supposed to be here.”
“Are any of us really?” she asked with a dismissive laugh as she waved off her guards. “Mr. Anders is a friend of mine,” she reassured them as she plopped down unceremoniously beside him on the deck. No time like the present to prove the old adage that misery loves company.
“Pays to have friends in high places,” Sam offered with a crooked half-smile as he watched the guards slowly pull back to a respectable distance. He held up his bottle of rotgut. “Want a drink, friend?”
Taking him up on his offer, she reached for the bottle and took a long pull, grinning at his stunned expression as she handed it back. She knew he’d been half joking when he held it out to her, but frak propriety and appearances. She was in no mood for that shit now.
It wasn’t as if she hadn’t drunk like this with him before. He knew she had it in her. Fancy clothes, a powerful title, and indoor plumbing didn’t change anything after all. She was still stuck fighting the same damn battles. So it seemed was he.
The burn in her throat felt good as the warmth spread to her belly. This was one way to forget. She took the bottle back for another swig. “Tell me your troubles, Sam.”
“My marriage sucks.”
Simple and direct. She liked that about Sam. He was also loyal, and he loved without limits. He didn’t let all the bullshit out there, and they were frakking drowning in bullshit in this fleet, get in the way of his heart or his duty. Didn’t seem to be working out too well for him though. Then again, that was an Adama bullshit specialty.
“I’m sorry, Sam. Some people are having a harder time than others finding their footing now that we are free.”
Free? Was she drunk already or just deluded? His look told her he was contemplating the same question.
Sam took another drink. “It’ll never be,” he sighed. “I’m not what she really wants. That’s what I told her tonight after she dropped me to get to her precious ‘dance.’” After a long pause, he laughed bitterly. “I shoulda said ‘who.’”
She nodded knowingly. Yep, Adama bullshit. She’d seen it all for herself. She’d felt it all too. Of course, ‘who’ was not their problem. They were stuck on the ‘what.’ He was stuck on the ‘what.’ And she was frakking tired of waiting. Frak him for being worth it. Frak him even more for pretending not to be.
“I gotta get off this bucket, Laura.”
That gave her an idea. Sam looked so lost. Yet she could still see the untamed strength in him, the wildness tempered by an ever-present tenderness. As she looked into his eyes, she remembered that about him above all else. The way he could tear apart her demons and then soothe back her reason. She wanted that release again. Godsdamn it she deserved that release again. And so did he.
“Come home with me.”
Her proposition was insane, but so was this night. This life. She’d show him. She hadn’t always waited for him anyway. He’d never believe that of her of course. In his mind she could do no such wrong, the Laura of the Occupation unknown to him - first because of his absence, but now because of his obstinance.
She’d had her fill of his precious denial. His refusal to acknowledge a pain he could not stop and now could not heal. Taking all the blows himself, thinking his blood was a sacrament rather than a theft.
Tonight’s theater only made her want to prove it all over again. To be as bad as she possibly could. The past was broken. Shot through with fear and loneliness and desperation. The future wasn’t supposed to be. Well frak that for having been a lie.
Sam looked at her for a long time, searching her eyes for proof of her meaning. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she nodded, grateful he could see her for who she was and what she wanted. Could see the truth of her motives and not frakking care. Not frakking care, because he wanted the same. They had a right to their suffering too.
He stood on rapidly steadying feet and reached out a hand to her. If there was one thing Sam Anders knew, it was how to go to war on a moment’s notice. No matter the shape of the fight or the manner of weapon.
Laura stood and began walking toward her shuttle, Sam falling in behind her hot on her heels. “Mr. Anders will be accompanying us,” she explained to her escort. That’s all they frakking needed to know.
They sat across from each other on the shuttle. Not speaking. Just looking. The desire rediscovered so easily. He had been the subject of so many stray daydreams since they had returned to the stars, fragmented remembrances that kissed her skin and fired her belly before she had quickly pushed them away out of loyalty, out of hope. But loyalty was the currency of love’s losers, and hope the tonic of her fools. She and Sam were sadly both.
Not tonight.
~~//~~
She pulled the curtain shut, wicked smile playing at her lips as she pondered the shocked expression on the face of her head of security when she’d just told him she’d see to Mr. Anders’ accommodations herself. She’d pay for this, of course, but she had a surplus of loyalty and respect to draw on with her staff. About time she spent a little of it.
Sam’s fingers slid around her belly, as he gently nipped her ear, telling her she was beautiful, that he’d missed her soft curves.
She shrugged out of his embrace, a whispered “no” escaping her throat.
She didn’t want any gentle comfort tonight - no tender mercies, no pretenses of romance. She wanted to be frakked. Hard. Nothing else would nurture the rage seething inside until she was screaming with it, letting it all go in one blinding moment of no return.
That’s what she craved above all else. She didn’t want this anger any longer, or worse the resentment it had begun to breed. He’d never promised her anything. Those things she had lived for during the long, dark nights on New Caprica were lies she’d told herself to endure. Wishes and dreams for a time and place they were not meant to find. Too much to do in the here and now. Always had been. Always would be.
Losing him was unthinkable, though, and not just for them. They had responsibilities. So best to find a way to take gladly what he could permit himself to give. But for this night, the bastard could choke on it.
She turned and looked into Sam’s eyes, staring back at her raw and hungry, uncaring of the ice in her fire. He wasn’t here for romance either. Her eyes danced with his as heat pooled between her thighs. To frak him here in this place - no war, no separation, no excuse - she knew just what this night would prove to be.
Irrevocable.
Good.
“Just frak me, Sam.”
He was on her before she could even take a breath. Tongue pressing deep inside her mouth, seeking hers, his hands roaming everywhere. Reaching down to cup her ass, he picked her up as if she weighed nothing. She loved that. She wrapped her legs tight around his waist, thrilled to find him already hard, throwing her head back to let him lavish her neck with biting kisses.
She panted as he began walking her away from the curtain, backing her deeper into her office. Closing her eyes, she writhed against him, eager to feel the ripple of the next curtain against her back, signal that they were that much closer to her bed. She wanted to be beneath him. Now. His cock pounding into her. Punishing her foolish heart.
Instead she felt him dip her beneath him and heard a crash, chuckling into his neck as he dropped her unceremoniously onto her suddenly cleared desk. She opened her eyes and looked up to see him staring down at her - his expression still ravenous, but now the hunger of desperation giving way to a thirst for mischief. Fair enough. She’d done the most powerful desk in the universe frak too. No question it was a turn on. Of course this was not exactly how she’d been imagining reliving the experience now that she was most powerful, but frak him for making himself unavailable. Still, as she curled a leg around Sam’s waist, heel digging into his tight, perfect ass, and pulled him toward her, she thought he’d do quite nicely at fulfilling this particular fantasy.
He shoved her skirt up roughly, fabric bunching at her hips as he reached beneath it to quickly pull her panties down her legs and over her ankles, careful to leave her high heels on as he knelt down to remove the already damp scrap of silk. Another fantasy she duly noted and felt more than happy to indulge. There had been no such concessions to fashion on New Caprica. Pausing briefly on his knees, Sam kissed her ankle, swirling his tongue over the bone in a way that sparked her memory and made her even wetter for him. The hum in her throat sweet revelation that in this moment it was for nobody but him.
“Get up here,” she ordered with a pant as she felt him drag his tongue up the inside of her calf. As good as the tease felt, she wanted to be lost in him. No more wishing or wanting. Just doing.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, up on his feet and over her before she could breathe, kissing her hard, his hand slipping to his belt. Gods bless youth and athleticism. That was her thought as she ran a hand along his bicep and kissed him back, reveling in all that he could give her that that stupid frakker could not. Tugging at his lip with her teeth, she smiled as his tongue suddenly plunged deep into her mouth.
She wanted to giggle at his enthusiasm, at the messiness of their movements, the artlessness of their hunger, but then he was inside her without warning, so deep and full, stretching her to the point of pain. The perfect pain.
Greeting him with a gasp, she felt the world swirl away. She raised her hips instinctively, welcoming him deeper. Craving every millimeter of him that she could make her own.
Sam looked down as he settled inside her, seeking one last permission in her eyes, one last moment of clarity, but she was already gone. She gripped him tight instead, hips twisting almost imperceptibly.
“Frak yeah,” he groaned as he tossed her legs over his shoulders, fingers gripping her at the waist as he lifted her hips and began to thrust. Hard and fast. Ready to follow her straight into the abyss. So tired of being left behind.
Laura arched her back, reaching behind her shoulders to grab the edge of the desk, anchoring herself as Sam pounded into her. His thrusts so powerful she wondered if she had the strength to hang on. She had no choice but to push back hard against him with her hips, meeting him each time he slid in deep, squeezing him tight each time he hit bottom. His approving grunts matching her every plea to give it to her harder, faster. She liked it rough. One more thing he’d never know. Frak him. Another hard, hot thrust filled her then, a searing reminder that he had no place in this moment.
Her head lolled back on her shoulders, her neck long, as she panted and begged for more, wishing she had the strength left to reach up and pull Sam down to her, to feel his lips, his teeth scraping against the hollow of her throat, his tongue licking his way up to her chin, nipping and marking her as he went. She wanted to feel the same incredible pleasure pain there that she felt right now at her center. She couldn’t get enough of that feeling. Sharp and fiery, and enough she knew to make her come with a cry so frantic and full that it would smash everything to pieces and sweep it away.
It turned out not to matter, as Sam pulled one hand from her hip and roughly circled her clit with his fingers. That was all she needed to feel the coil of pleasure twisting in her belly snap, leaving her screaming as she writhed on the desk, fingers biting into the wood, her muscles clamping down hard on Sam’s cock.
She was vaguely aware of Sam swearing loudly and then thrusting into her erratically, the smacking sounds of their slick skin filling her ears, but oddly faint, as if it was all very far away. That’s when she realized she was far away - far away and drowning in raw adrenaline. It felt so damn good.
And so damn worth it.
~~//~~
He grunted lightly as he sat, the soft give of the leather welcome against his bruised body. Taking a long, generous sip of the liquor in his glass, he savored the burn in his throat. Cottle would be pissed, but there was no way he could do without tonight.
Looking up, Bill saw her staring back at him. He tried to tell himself that he hadn’t looked there on purpose, that he was still growing accustomed to seeing the new picture adorning his walls, but it would take several more gulps of this swill before he’d believe himself.
They looked good together. He could not deny that. But that was on a wall, where the only thing they could break was the glass that framed them at a comfortable distance. He took another sip from his glass and told himself once more he had done the right thing. It had not been easy, and surely she was still smarting a bit at his coldness at his hatch tonight, but she’d get over it quickly. She always did. She was unflappable. That was one of his favorite things about her.
He’d carry this weight for them.
Yes, it was the right thing. But the right thing didn’t stop the ache in his gut as he contemplated the soft sweep of Laura’s hair over her shoulders and the warm glint in her eyes that tempered the precise lines of her politician’s smile and the unbending steel of her stance. Even under glass, she was in quiet but complete command of the room.
Dropping the tips of his fingers beneath the fabric of his sweats to settle his hand at his waist, Bill took another pull from his glass as he catalogued her features, making little mental notes of every curve and line. He tried to ignore the tightening he felt in his groin, but eventually he became convinced that the right thing did not require surrender of this too.
Slipping his hand further beneath the frayed fabric and into his shorts, he stroked himself once tentatively, then again with more force, hardening quickly. Setting a lazy, halting rhythm, pain and booze and age all in play, he looked across to his reflection in her eyes. His hard flesh filling his palm, he told himself that someday the right thing would be something more than this.
That much he was willing to believe.
~~//~~
Laura stared into the mirror. It was a look she’d seen before. Sam’s voice calling her name broke her reverie - once again familiar. She stepped from the small head, pulling her thin robe tight around her. Sam was already out of the rack and dressing in anticipation of ship’s dawn.
He was not her road.
Smiling at him, she stepped forward to kiss him goodbye, appreciating that it needed no explanation - for either of them. Their tongues untangled slowly before he gathered her close and whispered his thanks in her hair as she swept one finger down over his tattoo, contemplating its match. Delicately smoothing the ink, she hoped he’d find his way back onto his road.
For her it was time to walk a new path. Her step already felt lighter for what she had broken and laid down tonight. Earth was enough to live for. Let the ghosts of New Caprica before its fall be just that. She kissed Sam once more, soft and slow, before he ducked through the curtain and was gone.
This time it really was goodbye.