fic: One Way Out (Roslin/Baltar)
I don't usually post the stuff I write on Friday nights at bsg_kink here, but I loved this one a lot so into the fic journal it goes, just so I can have quick access to it for myself on those lonely nights. It's from a couple weeks ago.
Title: One Way Out
Author: icedteainthebag
Pairing: Roslin/Baltar
Rating: MA
Word Count: 1,035
Summary Laura Roslin scares him as much as she tempts him.
Notes: Fulfilling geekbynight's wish of "Baltar/Roslin, in Baltar's cell on Galactica, Adama secretly watches on the security camera." Could be considered dubcon if your definition is broad, takes place in the brig.
Laura Roslin scares him as much as she tempts him. She always has. He's had as many fantasies about her riding his cock as he's had nightmares about her having him tortured in any number of despicable ways.
The question is, and it is an equivocal one to be sure, is why she has arrived at his cell in the brig-not flanked by guards, by the XO or by that bulldog Adama, but by herself.
By herself, not smiling.
He doesn't know how to greet her. A simple "How do you do?" seems terribly out of place. A "What the frak do you want?" seems more appropriate, but one misstep and she'll have her finger on the red button of an airlock with his name on it.
Was he afraid to die? Sometimes. Sometimes not any more.
She walks into his cell and shuts the door, locks it and puts the key in her breast pocket.
"Hello," he says.
Hello. Hello, hello, what else could he say?
She continues to approach him and he retreats until his back hits the grating of the wall. Everything's cold in this wretched place and there's no privacy to speak of, not even on the toilet. She gets very close to him and keeps his eye and then, quite to his surprise, she grabs at his crotch, eliciting a sharp yelp as she makes a fist of fabric.
She tilts her head, smiling wickedly as women often do, and starts to back up, pulling him along by the front of his trousers. Humiliation gets a new definition as Laura Roslin literally drags him by the balls across the brig. She tugs, she jerks. He feels himself getting hard anyway. The shame of it all. And then she notices-her palm stills against the fabric and she stops in her tracks, her smile turning into a steely eyed glare.
Then, she twists her hand deeper into the fabric and wraps her fingers around his cock, jerking him yet again forward as she backs up to his cot. Yes, led around by his prick. He again sees the metaphor here.
She sits down on the cot and looks up at him-her face right at the level of his twitching, pulsing dick-and the quickest flit of a fantasy passes through his head, then he banishes the thought that she came down here to suck him off. It would truly be a sign that the one true God existed if she did so.
Instead, she slides to the edge of the cot and pulls up the hem of her skirt.
"Get on your knees," she says.
He obeys almost instantly, the knock of grating against his knees rattling him to the core. There's a pain that sears through his kneecaps but he's in front of her with her skirt up and blessed be, it numbs it all.
"Take off my panties."
He looks around bewildered, then slides his hands up her legs and hooks his fingers into them. She lifts her hips and he pulls down the black scrap of fabric, worn as it is. He looks up at her again and sees nothing-no compassion, no emotion.
He watches her spread her legs and tilt her hips up, leaning back on her hands on the cot.
"Let's make a deal, Gaius." Her voice is smooth as silk. "You make me come, I'll let you go."
He sputters with laughter and confusion. "I'm sorry?"
Then he smells her arousal and looks at her pretty, precious cunt and decides not to be confused. He heard what she said.
He will surely be welcoming freedom soon.
He leans in and with his hands on her thighs, begins to lap slowly from bottom to top, eliciting a lecherous chuckle and a moan from the President. He does it again, faster, then again, deeper, tasting her tart and hot on the flat of his tongue. He's so busy at her knees, licking and flicking deeper, that he doesn't have much of a chance to process how he is finally eating presidential pussy. After all these years waiting, here he is, like a king. Like frakking royalty.
How very sweet it is.
"Is that all you've got?" she asks, raising her head to eye him.
He presses his mouth against her and sucks her inner lips between his teeth, nibbling and pulling, then begins to run his tongue in circles over the tiny bead of a clit he's found. Over and over he circles; harder and harder he presses, and her keening and moaning begins to increase in volume. The lovely Laura is indeed losing herself to his ministrations, her long legs sliding over his shoulders and her heels pressing desperately into his back. Clutching at him, wanting him.
"Gaius, I have a confession," she breathes, bucking her hips up against him.
"Mhmmmm," he murmurs against her wetness, not ready to stop to speak. He looks up at her and she turns her face to the left, then gestures with her head. He looks over and then up. Up, and up, and up the wall.
To the video camera in the corner of the cell.
"Admiral Adama is watching." She draws him closer with her feet, practically suffocating him in her slick flesh. She places her hand on his head, holding him firmly against her. "If you make me come, he's going to have you shot."
"Mngh Gwd," he sputters, but she won't let him loose.
"He said… Gods, just a little more, Gaius, yes… he said… firing squad. Oh, Gaius! Bill, did you... Gods! A… yes… " She bucks against his mouth with a cry. "A rookie firing squad. For practice."
He begins to struggle, pushing away from her with his hands and trying to escape the wrought-iron grip of her legs. "I don't… stop. Stop, please. This is no joke," he manages, his face slick from her.
With a fistful of hair she roughly pushes him away, then stands up and picks her panties up from the floor. Pushing down her skirt, she tosses them at his head as she saunters away, the sway of her hips no longer alluring.
"I guess you get to live," she says, "but you get to stay right here."
Title: One Way Out
Author: icedteainthebag
Pairing: Roslin/Baltar
Rating: MA
Word Count: 1,035
Summary Laura Roslin scares him as much as she tempts him.
Notes: Fulfilling geekbynight's wish of "Baltar/Roslin, in Baltar's cell on Galactica, Adama secretly watches on the security camera." Could be considered dubcon if your definition is broad, takes place in the brig.
Laura Roslin scares him as much as she tempts him. She always has. He's had as many fantasies about her riding his cock as he's had nightmares about her having him tortured in any number of despicable ways.
The question is, and it is an equivocal one to be sure, is why she has arrived at his cell in the brig-not flanked by guards, by the XO or by that bulldog Adama, but by herself.
By herself, not smiling.
He doesn't know how to greet her. A simple "How do you do?" seems terribly out of place. A "What the frak do you want?" seems more appropriate, but one misstep and she'll have her finger on the red button of an airlock with his name on it.
Was he afraid to die? Sometimes. Sometimes not any more.
She walks into his cell and shuts the door, locks it and puts the key in her breast pocket.
"Hello," he says.
Hello. Hello, hello, what else could he say?
She continues to approach him and he retreats until his back hits the grating of the wall. Everything's cold in this wretched place and there's no privacy to speak of, not even on the toilet. She gets very close to him and keeps his eye and then, quite to his surprise, she grabs at his crotch, eliciting a sharp yelp as she makes a fist of fabric.
She tilts her head, smiling wickedly as women often do, and starts to back up, pulling him along by the front of his trousers. Humiliation gets a new definition as Laura Roslin literally drags him by the balls across the brig. She tugs, she jerks. He feels himself getting hard anyway. The shame of it all. And then she notices-her palm stills against the fabric and she stops in her tracks, her smile turning into a steely eyed glare.
Then, she twists her hand deeper into the fabric and wraps her fingers around his cock, jerking him yet again forward as she backs up to his cot. Yes, led around by his prick. He again sees the metaphor here.
She sits down on the cot and looks up at him-her face right at the level of his twitching, pulsing dick-and the quickest flit of a fantasy passes through his head, then he banishes the thought that she came down here to suck him off. It would truly be a sign that the one true God existed if she did so.
Instead, she slides to the edge of the cot and pulls up the hem of her skirt.
"Get on your knees," she says.
He obeys almost instantly, the knock of grating against his knees rattling him to the core. There's a pain that sears through his kneecaps but he's in front of her with her skirt up and blessed be, it numbs it all.
"Take off my panties."
He looks around bewildered, then slides his hands up her legs and hooks his fingers into them. She lifts her hips and he pulls down the black scrap of fabric, worn as it is. He looks up at her again and sees nothing-no compassion, no emotion.
He watches her spread her legs and tilt her hips up, leaning back on her hands on the cot.
"Let's make a deal, Gaius." Her voice is smooth as silk. "You make me come, I'll let you go."
He sputters with laughter and confusion. "I'm sorry?"
Then he smells her arousal and looks at her pretty, precious cunt and decides not to be confused. He heard what she said.
He will surely be welcoming freedom soon.
He leans in and with his hands on her thighs, begins to lap slowly from bottom to top, eliciting a lecherous chuckle and a moan from the President. He does it again, faster, then again, deeper, tasting her tart and hot on the flat of his tongue. He's so busy at her knees, licking and flicking deeper, that he doesn't have much of a chance to process how he is finally eating presidential pussy. After all these years waiting, here he is, like a king. Like frakking royalty.
How very sweet it is.
"Is that all you've got?" she asks, raising her head to eye him.
He presses his mouth against her and sucks her inner lips between his teeth, nibbling and pulling, then begins to run his tongue in circles over the tiny bead of a clit he's found. Over and over he circles; harder and harder he presses, and her keening and moaning begins to increase in volume. The lovely Laura is indeed losing herself to his ministrations, her long legs sliding over his shoulders and her heels pressing desperately into his back. Clutching at him, wanting him.
"Gaius, I have a confession," she breathes, bucking her hips up against him.
"Mhmmmm," he murmurs against her wetness, not ready to stop to speak. He looks up at her and she turns her face to the left, then gestures with her head. He looks over and then up. Up, and up, and up the wall.
To the video camera in the corner of the cell.
"Admiral Adama is watching." She draws him closer with her feet, practically suffocating him in her slick flesh. She places her hand on his head, holding him firmly against her. "If you make me come, he's going to have you shot."
"Mngh Gwd," he sputters, but she won't let him loose.
"He said… Gods, just a little more, Gaius, yes… he said… firing squad. Oh, Gaius! Bill, did you... Gods! A… yes… " She bucks against his mouth with a cry. "A rookie firing squad. For practice."
He begins to struggle, pushing away from her with his hands and trying to escape the wrought-iron grip of her legs. "I don't… stop. Stop, please. This is no joke," he manages, his face slick from her.
With a fistful of hair she roughly pushes him away, then stands up and picks her panties up from the floor. Pushing down her skirt, she tosses them at his head as she saunters away, the sway of her hips no longer alluring.
"I guess you get to live," she says, "but you get to stay right here."