fic: porn battle, STTNG/BSG crossover, Laura Roslin/Beverly Crusher, R/etc
disclaimer: not mine.
fandoms: Star Trek: the Next Generation/Battlestar Galactica
genre: femslash, pwp
rating: R/NC17
pairing: Beverly Crusher/Laura Roslin
length: 1000 +
notes: This is for the BSG Porn Battle, but ran long. Sigh.
they do it in the dark
by ALC Punk!
It's the stockings that cause the problem. Well, and the legs inside of them. That problem is Beverly can't keep her eyes off the stockings, off Laura's legs as she walks through the holodeck program with her and has a certain air that just fits into their surroundings. Beverly's always been a sucker for period, especially with the skirts and the blouses and the stockings, and now that's paying off.
She should have chosen a different program to introduce Laura Roslin to the technology. Something that required giant snow-suits, possibly. Wesley had an old skiing program she sometimes still used.
Something that didn't have high bar-stools which revealed a lot of leg.
But then again, she wouldn't have been able to blatantly ogle Laura's legs in a snow-suit. Not that Laura seemed to care. Besides, she's just looking. Not touching. No, no thinking about touching, even though Bev has a pretty good idea that they'd be silky under her fingers. She tries to shut down that line of thought and concentrate on the here and now.
Laura catches the angle of her gaze and a slight smile crosses her lips. She un-crosses, then re-crosses her legs with an elaborate nonchalance before leaning closer to Beverly, her elbow on the bar. "I'm looking for a detective. No where I can find one?"
If it's a pick-up line, it's a little bland. Beverly fiddles with the toothpick in her martini, then tries for a smile, putting the thought of Laura's long long legs behind her. Mostly. "Might be able to help you with that."
Picking up an olive from the little bowl on the bar, Laura purses her lips and sucks at it for a moment before popping it fully into her mouth. She doesn't reply verbally, just gives Beverly look for look.
Bev licks her lips, trying not to give away how dry her mouth is or how much she suddenly wants to lean over and taste the salt on Laura's lips. "Depends on what kinda detective," she hedges, her voice a little too breathless.
"Do you have an office, Beverly?" Leaning closer, Laura's voice dips, "I can explain my... problem there. Over drinks perhaps."
Or over her desk, legs spread, with her skirt pushed up to her waist. Beverly swallows at the image, but doesn't pull back. "My office would be a good idea." The simulation doesn't have the twenty-fourth century's morality, after all. Two women kissing in a bar would be seen as scandalous.
Bev drops money for their tab, knowing it's as fake as the wood beneath their fingers and the paneling under their feet. Her hand slips under Laura's elbow, guiding her out and into the street, where the color of the 1940's washes over them, making them pause to enjoy it for the moment. Simple, ordinary people, doing simple, normal things. And yet, not so normal, in an age with space ships and laser beams.
"Your office," Laura prompts, turning her head and smiling at her. "This is a very fascinating piece of technology. But it's not what I'm interested in at the moment."
Good. "This way."
The holodeck adjusts around them, bringing the office within a few paces. Bev hopes that Dixon's secretary is out for lunch as she escorts Laura up the staircase and into the outer office. She is, and Bev stretches up to tease the spare key from its hiding place before unlocking the inner door.
Synthahol bubbles in her veins as she pulls Laura inside and turns towards her, anticipation making her breathing quicken again.
Laura meets her halfway, kissing her too gently for a moment before pushing Bev up against the doorframe, hands on either side of her waist. She tastes like salt and the martinis they were drinking, and something else Beverly can't quite place.
It's intoxicating, but she still has the presence of mind to get them the rest of the way inside and shut the door, blocking out the light from the outer office. Her other senses sharpen, feeling Laura's hands on her waist through the silk, the scent of the perfume or soap she'd used that morning, the almost indecent sound their lips are making as they kiss. Beverly moans out a little, encouraging Laura, her own hands brushing along the president of the colonies' shoulders and neck, fingers tangling in her hair as the kiss intensifies.
Somehow, they get to the desk, and Laura shoves papers and pens off before letting Beverly help her up onto it.
Laura's legs are silky-smooth under the stockings, and Beverly just closes her eyes for a moment, hands sliding up and down, listening to Laura's breath quicken a little more with each stroke. Before Madame President can get too impatient, Beverly walks her fingers under Laura's skirt and touches the bare skin of her upper thighs.
"Harder." Laura's command is almost guttural and Beverly obeys, eyes snapping open to watch as Laura leans back on her hands, skirt almost around her waist.
A flick of her fingers, and the wool and silk are bunched, displaying silky panties and black and cream garters. "Nice." Beverly presses forwards, her fingers tugging and slipping beneath Laura's not-so-regulation under-things. She's damp, but not slippery-slick yet, so Bev goes back to kissing her, fingertips teasing.
Laura's hand tugs at Bev's coiffure, spilling it out of its pins. "More."
Kissing her again, Beverly smiles, "There'll be more. Have patience."
They could exchange ridiculous lines about who's the doctor and who's the president, but there's no need for that. Not when Beverly pushes a finger into her, and Laura digs her nails into Beverly's shoulders.
Her wrist aches before she's half-done, working out what makes Laura gasp and moan, what twists clamp her tight around Beverly's fingers. A thumb pressed against her clit makes Laura suck Beverly's tongue in her mouth, but the repeated brushing and scrapings of her nail against the sensitive bit of flesh are what finally send her over the edge.
Beverly pulls back, watching Laura come on her hand and feeling irrationally proud of herself, her free hand stroking Laura's knee through her stockings. The sounds she's making go straight to Beverly's legs, and she considers pulling free and falling into the chair, tugging her skirt up to get at her own wet folds.
"Thank you, detective," Laura manages, hands back on the desk, keeping her propped up.
"My pleasure, ma'am." The exaggerated drawl sounds almost like it belongs in the time period around them. Beverly leans forward and kisses Laura again, then steps away to find the chair. With a quick yank on the zipper, she drops her skirt on the floor before dropping into the leather, one leg hooked up over the arm. Her panties are almost soaked and she doesn't bite back the moan that escapes her when she slides her hand underneath the elastic.
"So I see," Laura says, her voice amused and warm and sexy all at once. She tilts her head, "I like to watch."
It's all the invitation Beverly needs.
-f-
fandoms: Star Trek: the Next Generation/Battlestar Galactica
genre: femslash, pwp
rating: R/NC17
pairing: Beverly Crusher/Laura Roslin
length: 1000 +
notes: This is for the BSG Porn Battle, but ran long. Sigh.
they do it in the dark
by ALC Punk!
It's the stockings that cause the problem. Well, and the legs inside of them. That problem is Beverly can't keep her eyes off the stockings, off Laura's legs as she walks through the holodeck program with her and has a certain air that just fits into their surroundings. Beverly's always been a sucker for period, especially with the skirts and the blouses and the stockings, and now that's paying off.
She should have chosen a different program to introduce Laura Roslin to the technology. Something that required giant snow-suits, possibly. Wesley had an old skiing program she sometimes still used.
Something that didn't have high bar-stools which revealed a lot of leg.
But then again, she wouldn't have been able to blatantly ogle Laura's legs in a snow-suit. Not that Laura seemed to care. Besides, she's just looking. Not touching. No, no thinking about touching, even though Bev has a pretty good idea that they'd be silky under her fingers. She tries to shut down that line of thought and concentrate on the here and now.
Laura catches the angle of her gaze and a slight smile crosses her lips. She un-crosses, then re-crosses her legs with an elaborate nonchalance before leaning closer to Beverly, her elbow on the bar. "I'm looking for a detective. No where I can find one?"
If it's a pick-up line, it's a little bland. Beverly fiddles with the toothpick in her martini, then tries for a smile, putting the thought of Laura's long long legs behind her. Mostly. "Might be able to help you with that."
Picking up an olive from the little bowl on the bar, Laura purses her lips and sucks at it for a moment before popping it fully into her mouth. She doesn't reply verbally, just gives Beverly look for look.
Bev licks her lips, trying not to give away how dry her mouth is or how much she suddenly wants to lean over and taste the salt on Laura's lips. "Depends on what kinda detective," she hedges, her voice a little too breathless.
"Do you have an office, Beverly?" Leaning closer, Laura's voice dips, "I can explain my... problem there. Over drinks perhaps."
Or over her desk, legs spread, with her skirt pushed up to her waist. Beverly swallows at the image, but doesn't pull back. "My office would be a good idea." The simulation doesn't have the twenty-fourth century's morality, after all. Two women kissing in a bar would be seen as scandalous.
Bev drops money for their tab, knowing it's as fake as the wood beneath their fingers and the paneling under their feet. Her hand slips under Laura's elbow, guiding her out and into the street, where the color of the 1940's washes over them, making them pause to enjoy it for the moment. Simple, ordinary people, doing simple, normal things. And yet, not so normal, in an age with space ships and laser beams.
"Your office," Laura prompts, turning her head and smiling at her. "This is a very fascinating piece of technology. But it's not what I'm interested in at the moment."
Good. "This way."
The holodeck adjusts around them, bringing the office within a few paces. Bev hopes that Dixon's secretary is out for lunch as she escorts Laura up the staircase and into the outer office. She is, and Bev stretches up to tease the spare key from its hiding place before unlocking the inner door.
Synthahol bubbles in her veins as she pulls Laura inside and turns towards her, anticipation making her breathing quicken again.
Laura meets her halfway, kissing her too gently for a moment before pushing Bev up against the doorframe, hands on either side of her waist. She tastes like salt and the martinis they were drinking, and something else Beverly can't quite place.
It's intoxicating, but she still has the presence of mind to get them the rest of the way inside and shut the door, blocking out the light from the outer office. Her other senses sharpen, feeling Laura's hands on her waist through the silk, the scent of the perfume or soap she'd used that morning, the almost indecent sound their lips are making as they kiss. Beverly moans out a little, encouraging Laura, her own hands brushing along the president of the colonies' shoulders and neck, fingers tangling in her hair as the kiss intensifies.
Somehow, they get to the desk, and Laura shoves papers and pens off before letting Beverly help her up onto it.
Laura's legs are silky-smooth under the stockings, and Beverly just closes her eyes for a moment, hands sliding up and down, listening to Laura's breath quicken a little more with each stroke. Before Madame President can get too impatient, Beverly walks her fingers under Laura's skirt and touches the bare skin of her upper thighs.
"Harder." Laura's command is almost guttural and Beverly obeys, eyes snapping open to watch as Laura leans back on her hands, skirt almost around her waist.
A flick of her fingers, and the wool and silk are bunched, displaying silky panties and black and cream garters. "Nice." Beverly presses forwards, her fingers tugging and slipping beneath Laura's not-so-regulation under-things. She's damp, but not slippery-slick yet, so Bev goes back to kissing her, fingertips teasing.
Laura's hand tugs at Bev's coiffure, spilling it out of its pins. "More."
Kissing her again, Beverly smiles, "There'll be more. Have patience."
They could exchange ridiculous lines about who's the doctor and who's the president, but there's no need for that. Not when Beverly pushes a finger into her, and Laura digs her nails into Beverly's shoulders.
Her wrist aches before she's half-done, working out what makes Laura gasp and moan, what twists clamp her tight around Beverly's fingers. A thumb pressed against her clit makes Laura suck Beverly's tongue in her mouth, but the repeated brushing and scrapings of her nail against the sensitive bit of flesh are what finally send her over the edge.
Beverly pulls back, watching Laura come on her hand and feeling irrationally proud of herself, her free hand stroking Laura's knee through her stockings. The sounds she's making go straight to Beverly's legs, and she considers pulling free and falling into the chair, tugging her skirt up to get at her own wet folds.
"Thank you, detective," Laura manages, hands back on the desk, keeping her propped up.
"My pleasure, ma'am." The exaggerated drawl sounds almost like it belongs in the time period around them. Beverly leans forward and kisses Laura again, then steps away to find the chair. With a quick yank on the zipper, she drops her skirt on the floor before dropping into the leather, one leg hooked up over the arm. Her panties are almost soaked and she doesn't bite back the moan that escapes her when she slides her hand underneath the elastic.
"So I see," Laura says, her voice amused and warm and sexy all at once. She tilts her head, "I like to watch."
It's all the invitation Beverly needs.
-f-