Qualia
Title: Qualia
Author: icedteainthebag
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Bill Adama/Laura Roslin
Rating: MA
Summary: This is their getaway; for once, nothing and nobody will disturb them.
"This is unbelievable."
Laura is awestruck. The room before her is stunning. The soft light from a lamp on the bedside table casts a surreal glow across everything, muting the colors into warm, comforting tones. Soft carpet under their feet and a faint smell of flowers in the air-it's been so long since she's smelled anything like this. There is a king-sized bed in the center of it all. Paintings surround them on the walls-they're Montclair originals, beautiful, tragic reminders of a past war that was once long forgotten.
"It's what you wanted, isn't it?" Bill asks, his satisfaction evident.
Laura views him peripherally, enjoying the feeling of smiling. It's such an indulgence these days. "Yes. It's exactly what I wanted."
It's more than that. It's what she's needed. She can't believe they're actually here, in this room, alone. They'd been by themselves plenty of times, but this time is different. Everybody has been given explicit instructions. Billy had protested, but she'd insisted on their privacy, despite his dismay at the idea.
This is their getaway; for once, nothing and nobody will disturb them.
They stand beside each other in the room, admiring it. It doesn't feel awkward or uncomfortable, but there is an air of curious anticipation as she feels his hand nudge hers and she grasps it, lacing their fingers together. It makes her smile.
Laura's thrilled that he's wearing a black turtleneck and jeans. It's such a departure for him. Her dress is silver, a color she's always loved. Her choice of outfit has seemed to impress him too-he's looking at her now like he wants to take it off.
"Do you want to sit down?" he asks.
"Not yet," she says simply, running her thumb over the back of his hand before she lets go of it.
She's so tired of sitting.
Walking to the window on the other side of the room, she nudges the drapes open and sees the courtyard below-lush and green with large, white blossoms everywhere.
She takes her time looking, then closes her eyes and breathes in. He walks up behind her, his chest grazing her back.
"What are they?"
"Magnolias," she says softly, running her fingers over the thick red material of the drape. "I think I can smell them, Bill."
He hums and runs his fingers over her arm as she examines the blossoms-if she took the time to count them, she'd be there for hours.
She turns to face him. "I wouldn't mind sitting now."
Bill glances at the table, then the bed, then back at her with a small smile. With a low, decisive hum, she walks over to the end of the bed and sits, kicking off her shoes and folding her hands in her lap. Barely containing a giggle of delight, she watches as he toes off his boots and joins her, the bed dipping as he sits down.
"There's an old adage on Tauron that I think bears repeating here," he says.
She reaches over and holds his hand again, raising her eyebrows. "And what is that, Admiral?"
He smiles at that-his new rank still sounds strange when she says it, but she can see how proud he is, even though it's been weeks. "Beds are not for sitting."
She lets out her laughter in an unintentionally sharp chirp, then covers her mouth. She leans against him, their shoulders pressed together, and looks up into his eyes. "Well, then. What are they for?"
He looks happy. She doesn't know if she's ever seen him this jubilant. He moves his hand to her face, cupping her chin. Her lips part and she smiles at him.
"I'd rather show you than tell you," he says.
"Please," she responds, a hint of urgency in her voice.
He chuckles. "Let's try this again."
Laura closes her eyes as he kisses her softly on the lips. He lingers, like the last time. She slips her tongue over his upper lip, her heartbeat quickening when he opens his mouth to her, letting her in. She whimpers when she feels him returning the gesture, the gentle back and forth rousing her senses as their lips press more firmly together.
His moan is unexpectedly soft when she slides her hands up his shirt, the feel of his skin turning her on even more. Their kisses are long and languid because they can be.
"I'm really enjoying this," she says.
"I'm really enjoying you." He kisses her again, his tongue claiming hers this time around. His palms are warm through the silky fabric of her dress as he rubs her sides. She sighs into his mouth, her fingertips lazily charting the topography of his chest.
Bill's mouth moves to her neck. She tilts her head as he nuzzles and kisses her there. Her body's reaction is strong and she nearly pushes him down right there, but resists. Her breathing speeds up. He catches her ear, his tongue tracing it, making her moan and lean into him. She lets one hand drift under his shirt to the small of his back, while the other travels downward to the hot, hard outline she finds under the denim. She grows hotter the instant she presses her palm against it; his low growl takes her breath away.
"You like that?" she manages with a satisfied chuckle. It's a rhetorical question, and he knows it. He kisses her shoulder and collarbone, tongue flicking her skin.
She plays with his zipper, tugging it down and slipping her finger under the button, pulling on it. "Off."
The button is undone and he sheds his jeans quickly, then kisses her before he's even sitting down again. She feels as eager as he does, tugging up his shirt and kissing him until they have to part lips to get it over his head. He tosses it aside and she giggles at what the turtleneck has done to his hair. It's sticking up a little in front-he looks boyish until she smoothes it down.
"Now you," he says, drawing back, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. She takes a breath, her heart beating in her temples. She smiles at him and pulls her dress over her head, tossing her hair. It falls down over her shoulders.
She's not wearing a bra. She looks down at her chest, her gaze lingering as she presses her palm against her breast, then looks up at him. His deep breath is audible; she touches his cheek and leans in, kissing him once more.
His hands move to her breasts. It feels so good to be touched like this; it feels nothing but good. She's relieved as their bodies inch closer. She makes soft sounds of approval as her nipples respond to his caresses and as she makes his respond in turn.
It's hard to believe that they're still who they are, sitting in this hotel room, making out like a couple of horny adolescents. She likes this feeling.
He slips his hand down her stomach and beneath her underwear. He cups her heat and she gasps at the sensation of his fingers slipping deeper. She feels her chest tighten, but unexpectedly feels no pain. She becomes more cognizant of her breathing as she begins to pant. She takes another gulp of air, then another, panic washing over her, and she can't catch her breath.
"Bill," she manages, her voice strangled. He immediately looks at her, his hand at rest between her legs.
"It's okay. You're okay," he says, his free hand cupping her cheek.
She doesn't mean to be afraid; she just is.
"Laura, breathe. You're okay. Breathe with me." She takes a sharp breath, holding it in, then lets it out all at once. She watches him nod as she matches her breaths with his. "Breathe with me. There you go." His thumb strokes her face as she settles, leaning into his palm. The comfort is slow to come, but she finally feels it and accepts it.
"Okay," she says. "I'm sorry about that."
His hand feels so good pressing up against her, when she remembers it's there.
"We can stop this," he says. "Maybe we should."
She kisses his palm. "No. I want you to touch me. Just like you are." She moves against the hand between her thighs. "Or did you forget?"
Bill's smile is brief, desire in his eyes as he begins to lightly trace her again. "I'm still here."
He kisses her. She feels herself start to throb at the gentle teasing of his tongue and his hand.
"It feels so good," she says against his mouth. He hums, agreeing, his fingers circling until they slowly enter her. She hears the low groan in his throat and answers with her own. She kisses him harder, begging for more. He grunts against her mouth and scoots upward on the bed.
Beds are not for sitting; she has a new respect for the Tauronese.
She follows him, disappointed at the loss of his touch for the seconds it takes them to hit the pillows. She wriggles out of her underwear and he wriggles out of his; they catch each other's eyes and grin before their mouths find each other again. Their bodies wind together, tangle around each other. Her leg slides over his hip and his fingers find her again, right as her hand encircles his hardness and begins to stroke, pulling a low groan out of him.
She tries to hold back but this feeling is too good; she's too hot for him to wait, and she's afraid they'll lose time, that this will all end as abruptly as it started.
Laura falls onto her back and he follows; she parts her legs and he settles against her, elbows propping him up as he kisses her again. His erection grazes her and they both chuckle and moan into each other, shifting.
"Now, please," she says. Her fingers tease his back. "I'm just so worried something's going to happen."
"We'll be fine," he assures her. "But you don't have to ask me twice."
She breathes, blinking, and the seconds before he enters her are almost unbearable. He slips his hand between them, directing himself inside, gently, smoothly. He feels like she'd always imagined he would, filling her, his body warm against her own.
"Gods, yes." She touches his cheek. "Bill, this is it."
He begins to rock into her, his expression also one of disbelief. "Finally," he says, brushing his lips across hers.
She kisses him back, her breath hard across his cheek as her body responds to his slow motions. She hears a faint noise then, though she tries to ignore it-the lightbulb within the lampshade is buzzing, a barely discernable sound that seems to follow an undulating pattern. Low, high, low. She writhes under him, her hips rocking to the rhythm of it; they're dancing to the energy of this space, their bodies joined together. His mouth feathers kisses along her neck and jaw.
"You feel so good," she breathes, her hands exploring his heated skin.
"You do too," he says, kissing her lips slowly, over and over in time with his gentle thrusts. "So good, Laura. Gods, it's amazing."
She feels his hesitation; he's holding back, and the last thing she wants is him to act in self-restraint.
"More," she says, lifting her hips to encourage him. "I can handle it."
He kisses her nose. "You sure?"
She runs her fingers through the back of his hair and kisses him hard, jerking her hips up against his and squeezing her muscles around him. This gets him going, his whimper muffled against her lips as he thrusts into her, hard, nearly taking her breath away. There's no panic this time; she's not going to hurt now. She moves her mouth away and whispers encouragement against his cheek. He listens, soft groans in the back of his throat.
She feels so strong, and swirled with the pleasure vibrating through her body is the desperate need to show him how very strong this has made her feel.
"Turn on your back," she says with a pant, pushing up against his body. "I want to ride you."
She feels free.
Bill obeys her, turning over with a huff of breath as he lands on the pillow. Now that he's been inside her, she feels empty without him there. She crawls over him, and, straddling his hips, settles around him, taking him in again. Her back arcs with the pure indulgence of finally having this man she's so desperately wanted.
His hands roam her body, making her shiver as she starts to work him, her hands flat against his chest. She breathes slowly, deliberately. She'll show him she doesn't need him to be gentle; she wants to take him and wants to be taken by him. She can feel her hair tickling the middle of her back as his hips begin to respond-her soft whimpers and his low groans, a symphony to her ears, their bodies the instruments.
An intense jolt of pleasure travels along her frame as his fingers find the right spot between their bodies. It's been so long since she's let herself feel this-the curl of his fingers drives her crazy as they begin to stroke and coax her orgasm out of her. It feels like he's touched her like this a thousand times before, but he hasn't. Not like this.
"So good," she whispers, looking down at him at last. His eyes are on her, reflecting disbelief and arousal all at the same time. "Bill, so close, so close..."
She didn't know it was possible. She hopes it is; just saying those words to him heightens the sensation.
He shudders under her, his fingers working faster, his breathing ragged. "Me too."
The pure joy of his words sends a swirl of excitement through her abdomen until she's soaring and she realizes it's not going to stop. She cries out when she comes, both out of surprise and of the pure feeling radiating through her entire body. She's alive.
She is alive.
Laura feels sweat running down her neck as she twists her hips on him, her fingernails raking over his nipples. "Come on, Bill. Inside me. We're here. Together. This is it."
His hands slide to her hips and he grips her with nearly bruising strength, pressing into her as she whimpers. Aftershocks tremble through her body and she grinds down onto him. His sudden orgasm elicits a sharp noise from within him, deep and low, something she's never heard but always somehow imagined. Her name is barely audible as he rolls his hips under her.
"Gods," she breathes, lying down on his chest, sticky and hot. "Bill."
The lightbulb within the lamp is buzzing, and then the light flickers. Her eyes open wider-it's the feeling of panic again, of everything ending too soon. She clings to him as his arms wrap around her. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The room begins to get darker.
"Laura, stay with me."
She breathes and there are small pinpricks of pain that follow. Her body shakes. She kisses his skin; it's tasteless. She can't smell him. Something's wrong.
"I want to, I want to." She's so desperate. It's not time.
"I don't want this to end." His voice is rough.
She feels a sharp stab of pain in her breast, pressed so tightly between them.
Oh, gods, Bill. Oh, gods, not yet.
She shakes. She can only see darkness and can barely feel him. She thinks her body is crying, but she doesn't feel tears.
She breathes, squeezing her eyes shut.
It hurts.
She breathes.
******
Laura's body is thrumming, throbbing, more alive than it's felt in a very long time. This energy slowly and surely turns to a dull ache that moves over her body like a wave chasing away her afterglow, the euphoria provided by their retreat only temporary.
The holoband is heavy on her head. It is no longer buzzing in her ears; it's dead.
She hears the hum of Colonial One--the hum of her home.
The pain in her chest has returned, as strong as ever. She becomes aware of the heat radiating within the thick white robe that's cocooning what's left of her once-healthy body. She feels her body twitching, reminding her of its momentary release. She draws air, pulls it as deep as she can even though it hurts, then lets it out when the prickling heated burn inside is too much to bear.
She feels his hand slide across hers and realizes she's gripping the armrest so hard her arm is shaking.
"Laura?" he asks softly.
She swallows, her throat dry. "I'm here."
She feels him shift, the leather creaking as he rises from the chair beside her. He doesn't let go of her hand. Fingers gently brush her one cheek and she feels him grasp the holoband. He removes it. Her head nods, lighter, a gentle bobbing to the thrumming of her heartbeat. She feels drowsy and lethargic, worn.
She doesn't want to open her eyes just yet.
"Was that okay?" His voice is to her side again, his finger tracing circles on the back of her hand.
A smile twitches across her lips, then, finally, her lungs allow her a breathy chuckle. "It was incredible."
She looks at him then. It takes so much energy to view him through the haze of half-closed lashes. He's smiling. She loves it when he smiles.
"I can't believe you still had those," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Mister 'No Technology On My Ship.'"
He chuckles. "They were in a box, safely stored. They were my father's. I'm surprised they worked as long as they did before yours died." His pause is long. He's remembering something and she quietly lets him. She loves to watch him think. "Some things you can't let go of."
Their smiles fade. His finger is still tracing her hand, over and over.
"I know," she says. "It's okay."
They're quiet and she lets her eyelids flutter closed. She's so tired. She hates this omnipresent fatigue, but she's given up on the idea that it will someday ebb.
"We need to get you into bed." He squeezes her hand.
She nods with reluctant acquiescence and another dry swallow. Her tongue traces her cracked lips. "So tired. I'm sorry. Give me a minute."
His hand leaves hers. She takes three breaths, each one an attempt to build up the strength it will take to bring herself upright.
You can do this. You can stand up.
She senses him leaning over her and feels his breath on her cheek. "Lean forward."
One more breath and she constricts her abdominal muscles, gritting her teeth to obey his command, her face contorting into a grimace as she rises slightly. She feels his arm slip under her and across her back.
"Easy," he says next to her ear. She relaxes into him when she realizes what he's doing. She slides her arms around his neck, clasping her hands tightly at the base of it, without question.
He slips his other arm under her knees and takes a long breath as he begins to lift. He grunts with the effort and struggles, then places her back down. She lets out a laugh that ends with a cough. He seems to be finding this a harder task than it appeared.
"I'm not that heavy, you know," she whispers, turning her face to his. He looks at her, their lips brushing together.
"I'm no young buck, either."
She tilts her chin up, her bottom lip grazing over his, so light it tickles. He kisses her and she feels her heartbeat flutter. She parts her lips, their tongues greeting gently.
She wants so much more than this. She wants more time.
"Here we go." His arms tighten around her.
Her throat constricts. "Okay."
He lifts her up this time as he lets out the breath he's been holding. He stands, steadying on his feet and clutching her firmly against his body. She feels a tear escape as she looks up into his eyes.
"Thank you," she says. She hopes he can't hear how she feels at this moment, her entire chest racked with the ache of holding everything inside again.
He kisses her wet cheek once and begins to walk, working them sideways through the narrow doorway that separates her public from her private life.
He carries her to her makeshift bed and eases her down into a sitting position, then sits beside her. "Is there anything you need?" he asks, brushing a long strand of hair away from her face.
She turns her body to him, biting her lower lip with a nod. "Take off your tunic."
A confused expression crosses his face. "Laura, I-"
"This is what I need," she says immediately. "Take it off, Bill."
His chin lowers as his fingers fumble with the buttons. She knows this isn't normally the case. He pulls it from his shoulders, the cotton tanks below it stretched across his chest. He looks at her again, patiently waiting, as always.
She smiles. "Those too."
He lingers longer this time, his eyes searching hers, until his concern morphs into acceptance. He takes a breath and pulls the thin fabric over his head, both tanks at once, tossing them onto the floor. He turns to her, his chest rising and falling with his breath. She lets her eyes roam the defined, bulky muscles of his arms and shoulders, then follow the faded scar down his chest.
He was near death once too. She wonders if he remembers how it feels.
"Lie back." He opens his mouth to speak and she shakes her head. "Don't say a thing. Please, just do it."
His eyes are glassy now and she keeps her lip from quivering as she watches him lie back onto the pillow. She's waited so long to see him like this, to see him looking at her with a hint of expectation.
She pulls at the tie at her waist, letting her robe fall open, slack at her sides. Her chest is bare, the small curve of her stomach meeting her underwear. She's thinner. She rarely looks at herself in the mirror now, too afraid of the truths it tells. She meets his eyes again; he's been watching.
This is something he's wanted too.
She pulls the robe open more, her breasts fully exposed to him. This is all she can offer. His eyes linger on her and she feels a flush spread across her chest as she watches his brow furrow in an attempt to evade tears.
It takes all the strength she has left to pull her body over his. She settles down atop him cautiously, their bare chests pressing together. Her breath hisses out as she feels the tumor in her breast and the pain that spindles out from it.
She bites back a whimper and takes slow, shallow breaths to soothe the lump in her throat.
"It's okay," he whispers. The feeling of skin on skin is comforting as she presses her cheek below his shoulder. His fingers drift down her terrycloth-covered back.
He breathes; her body rises with his. Her breaths are shorter. They seem insignificant, almost pointless. She feels his lips moving against the top of her head.
She thinks to ask him what he's saying, but maybe she's not meant to hear his words.
Author: icedteainthebag
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Bill Adama/Laura Roslin
Rating: MA
Summary: This is their getaway; for once, nothing and nobody will disturb them.
"This is unbelievable."
Laura is awestruck. The room before her is stunning. The soft light from a lamp on the bedside table casts a surreal glow across everything, muting the colors into warm, comforting tones. Soft carpet under their feet and a faint smell of flowers in the air-it's been so long since she's smelled anything like this. There is a king-sized bed in the center of it all. Paintings surround them on the walls-they're Montclair originals, beautiful, tragic reminders of a past war that was once long forgotten.
"It's what you wanted, isn't it?" Bill asks, his satisfaction evident.
Laura views him peripherally, enjoying the feeling of smiling. It's such an indulgence these days. "Yes. It's exactly what I wanted."
It's more than that. It's what she's needed. She can't believe they're actually here, in this room, alone. They'd been by themselves plenty of times, but this time is different. Everybody has been given explicit instructions. Billy had protested, but she'd insisted on their privacy, despite his dismay at the idea.
This is their getaway; for once, nothing and nobody will disturb them.
They stand beside each other in the room, admiring it. It doesn't feel awkward or uncomfortable, but there is an air of curious anticipation as she feels his hand nudge hers and she grasps it, lacing their fingers together. It makes her smile.
Laura's thrilled that he's wearing a black turtleneck and jeans. It's such a departure for him. Her dress is silver, a color she's always loved. Her choice of outfit has seemed to impress him too-he's looking at her now like he wants to take it off.
"Do you want to sit down?" he asks.
"Not yet," she says simply, running her thumb over the back of his hand before she lets go of it.
She's so tired of sitting.
Walking to the window on the other side of the room, she nudges the drapes open and sees the courtyard below-lush and green with large, white blossoms everywhere.
She takes her time looking, then closes her eyes and breathes in. He walks up behind her, his chest grazing her back.
"What are they?"
"Magnolias," she says softly, running her fingers over the thick red material of the drape. "I think I can smell them, Bill."
He hums and runs his fingers over her arm as she examines the blossoms-if she took the time to count them, she'd be there for hours.
She turns to face him. "I wouldn't mind sitting now."
Bill glances at the table, then the bed, then back at her with a small smile. With a low, decisive hum, she walks over to the end of the bed and sits, kicking off her shoes and folding her hands in her lap. Barely containing a giggle of delight, she watches as he toes off his boots and joins her, the bed dipping as he sits down.
"There's an old adage on Tauron that I think bears repeating here," he says.
She reaches over and holds his hand again, raising her eyebrows. "And what is that, Admiral?"
He smiles at that-his new rank still sounds strange when she says it, but she can see how proud he is, even though it's been weeks. "Beds are not for sitting."
She lets out her laughter in an unintentionally sharp chirp, then covers her mouth. She leans against him, their shoulders pressed together, and looks up into his eyes. "Well, then. What are they for?"
He looks happy. She doesn't know if she's ever seen him this jubilant. He moves his hand to her face, cupping her chin. Her lips part and she smiles at him.
"I'd rather show you than tell you," he says.
"Please," she responds, a hint of urgency in her voice.
He chuckles. "Let's try this again."
Laura closes her eyes as he kisses her softly on the lips. He lingers, like the last time. She slips her tongue over his upper lip, her heartbeat quickening when he opens his mouth to her, letting her in. She whimpers when she feels him returning the gesture, the gentle back and forth rousing her senses as their lips press more firmly together.
His moan is unexpectedly soft when she slides her hands up his shirt, the feel of his skin turning her on even more. Their kisses are long and languid because they can be.
"I'm really enjoying this," she says.
"I'm really enjoying you." He kisses her again, his tongue claiming hers this time around. His palms are warm through the silky fabric of her dress as he rubs her sides. She sighs into his mouth, her fingertips lazily charting the topography of his chest.
Bill's mouth moves to her neck. She tilts her head as he nuzzles and kisses her there. Her body's reaction is strong and she nearly pushes him down right there, but resists. Her breathing speeds up. He catches her ear, his tongue tracing it, making her moan and lean into him. She lets one hand drift under his shirt to the small of his back, while the other travels downward to the hot, hard outline she finds under the denim. She grows hotter the instant she presses her palm against it; his low growl takes her breath away.
"You like that?" she manages with a satisfied chuckle. It's a rhetorical question, and he knows it. He kisses her shoulder and collarbone, tongue flicking her skin.
She plays with his zipper, tugging it down and slipping her finger under the button, pulling on it. "Off."
The button is undone and he sheds his jeans quickly, then kisses her before he's even sitting down again. She feels as eager as he does, tugging up his shirt and kissing him until they have to part lips to get it over his head. He tosses it aside and she giggles at what the turtleneck has done to his hair. It's sticking up a little in front-he looks boyish until she smoothes it down.
"Now you," he says, drawing back, a glimmer of anticipation in his eyes. She takes a breath, her heart beating in her temples. She smiles at him and pulls her dress over her head, tossing her hair. It falls down over her shoulders.
She's not wearing a bra. She looks down at her chest, her gaze lingering as she presses her palm against her breast, then looks up at him. His deep breath is audible; she touches his cheek and leans in, kissing him once more.
His hands move to her breasts. It feels so good to be touched like this; it feels nothing but good. She's relieved as their bodies inch closer. She makes soft sounds of approval as her nipples respond to his caresses and as she makes his respond in turn.
It's hard to believe that they're still who they are, sitting in this hotel room, making out like a couple of horny adolescents. She likes this feeling.
He slips his hand down her stomach and beneath her underwear. He cups her heat and she gasps at the sensation of his fingers slipping deeper. She feels her chest tighten, but unexpectedly feels no pain. She becomes more cognizant of her breathing as she begins to pant. She takes another gulp of air, then another, panic washing over her, and she can't catch her breath.
"Bill," she manages, her voice strangled. He immediately looks at her, his hand at rest between her legs.
"It's okay. You're okay," he says, his free hand cupping her cheek.
She doesn't mean to be afraid; she just is.
"Laura, breathe. You're okay. Breathe with me." She takes a sharp breath, holding it in, then lets it out all at once. She watches him nod as she matches her breaths with his. "Breathe with me. There you go." His thumb strokes her face as she settles, leaning into his palm. The comfort is slow to come, but she finally feels it and accepts it.
"Okay," she says. "I'm sorry about that."
His hand feels so good pressing up against her, when she remembers it's there.
"We can stop this," he says. "Maybe we should."
She kisses his palm. "No. I want you to touch me. Just like you are." She moves against the hand between her thighs. "Or did you forget?"
Bill's smile is brief, desire in his eyes as he begins to lightly trace her again. "I'm still here."
He kisses her. She feels herself start to throb at the gentle teasing of his tongue and his hand.
"It feels so good," she says against his mouth. He hums, agreeing, his fingers circling until they slowly enter her. She hears the low groan in his throat and answers with her own. She kisses him harder, begging for more. He grunts against her mouth and scoots upward on the bed.
Beds are not for sitting; she has a new respect for the Tauronese.
She follows him, disappointed at the loss of his touch for the seconds it takes them to hit the pillows. She wriggles out of her underwear and he wriggles out of his; they catch each other's eyes and grin before their mouths find each other again. Their bodies wind together, tangle around each other. Her leg slides over his hip and his fingers find her again, right as her hand encircles his hardness and begins to stroke, pulling a low groan out of him.
She tries to hold back but this feeling is too good; she's too hot for him to wait, and she's afraid they'll lose time, that this will all end as abruptly as it started.
Laura falls onto her back and he follows; she parts her legs and he settles against her, elbows propping him up as he kisses her again. His erection grazes her and they both chuckle and moan into each other, shifting.
"Now, please," she says. Her fingers tease his back. "I'm just so worried something's going to happen."
"We'll be fine," he assures her. "But you don't have to ask me twice."
She breathes, blinking, and the seconds before he enters her are almost unbearable. He slips his hand between them, directing himself inside, gently, smoothly. He feels like she'd always imagined he would, filling her, his body warm against her own.
"Gods, yes." She touches his cheek. "Bill, this is it."
He begins to rock into her, his expression also one of disbelief. "Finally," he says, brushing his lips across hers.
She kisses him back, her breath hard across his cheek as her body responds to his slow motions. She hears a faint noise then, though she tries to ignore it-the lightbulb within the lampshade is buzzing, a barely discernable sound that seems to follow an undulating pattern. Low, high, low. She writhes under him, her hips rocking to the rhythm of it; they're dancing to the energy of this space, their bodies joined together. His mouth feathers kisses along her neck and jaw.
"You feel so good," she breathes, her hands exploring his heated skin.
"You do too," he says, kissing her lips slowly, over and over in time with his gentle thrusts. "So good, Laura. Gods, it's amazing."
She feels his hesitation; he's holding back, and the last thing she wants is him to act in self-restraint.
"More," she says, lifting her hips to encourage him. "I can handle it."
He kisses her nose. "You sure?"
She runs her fingers through the back of his hair and kisses him hard, jerking her hips up against his and squeezing her muscles around him. This gets him going, his whimper muffled against her lips as he thrusts into her, hard, nearly taking her breath away. There's no panic this time; she's not going to hurt now. She moves her mouth away and whispers encouragement against his cheek. He listens, soft groans in the back of his throat.
She feels so strong, and swirled with the pleasure vibrating through her body is the desperate need to show him how very strong this has made her feel.
"Turn on your back," she says with a pant, pushing up against his body. "I want to ride you."
She feels free.
Bill obeys her, turning over with a huff of breath as he lands on the pillow. Now that he's been inside her, she feels empty without him there. She crawls over him, and, straddling his hips, settles around him, taking him in again. Her back arcs with the pure indulgence of finally having this man she's so desperately wanted.
His hands roam her body, making her shiver as she starts to work him, her hands flat against his chest. She breathes slowly, deliberately. She'll show him she doesn't need him to be gentle; she wants to take him and wants to be taken by him. She can feel her hair tickling the middle of her back as his hips begin to respond-her soft whimpers and his low groans, a symphony to her ears, their bodies the instruments.
An intense jolt of pleasure travels along her frame as his fingers find the right spot between their bodies. It's been so long since she's let herself feel this-the curl of his fingers drives her crazy as they begin to stroke and coax her orgasm out of her. It feels like he's touched her like this a thousand times before, but he hasn't. Not like this.
"So good," she whispers, looking down at him at last. His eyes are on her, reflecting disbelief and arousal all at the same time. "Bill, so close, so close..."
She didn't know it was possible. She hopes it is; just saying those words to him heightens the sensation.
He shudders under her, his fingers working faster, his breathing ragged. "Me too."
The pure joy of his words sends a swirl of excitement through her abdomen until she's soaring and she realizes it's not going to stop. She cries out when she comes, both out of surprise and of the pure feeling radiating through her entire body. She's alive.
She is alive.
Laura feels sweat running down her neck as she twists her hips on him, her fingernails raking over his nipples. "Come on, Bill. Inside me. We're here. Together. This is it."
His hands slide to her hips and he grips her with nearly bruising strength, pressing into her as she whimpers. Aftershocks tremble through her body and she grinds down onto him. His sudden orgasm elicits a sharp noise from within him, deep and low, something she's never heard but always somehow imagined. Her name is barely audible as he rolls his hips under her.
"Gods," she breathes, lying down on his chest, sticky and hot. "Bill."
The lightbulb within the lamp is buzzing, and then the light flickers. Her eyes open wider-it's the feeling of panic again, of everything ending too soon. She clings to him as his arms wrap around her. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. The room begins to get darker.
"Laura, stay with me."
She breathes and there are small pinpricks of pain that follow. Her body shakes. She kisses his skin; it's tasteless. She can't smell him. Something's wrong.
"I want to, I want to." She's so desperate. It's not time.
"I don't want this to end." His voice is rough.
She feels a sharp stab of pain in her breast, pressed so tightly between them.
Oh, gods, Bill. Oh, gods, not yet.
She shakes. She can only see darkness and can barely feel him. She thinks her body is crying, but she doesn't feel tears.
She breathes, squeezing her eyes shut.
It hurts.
She breathes.
******
Laura's body is thrumming, throbbing, more alive than it's felt in a very long time. This energy slowly and surely turns to a dull ache that moves over her body like a wave chasing away her afterglow, the euphoria provided by their retreat only temporary.
The holoband is heavy on her head. It is no longer buzzing in her ears; it's dead.
She hears the hum of Colonial One--the hum of her home.
The pain in her chest has returned, as strong as ever. She becomes aware of the heat radiating within the thick white robe that's cocooning what's left of her once-healthy body. She feels her body twitching, reminding her of its momentary release. She draws air, pulls it as deep as she can even though it hurts, then lets it out when the prickling heated burn inside is too much to bear.
She feels his hand slide across hers and realizes she's gripping the armrest so hard her arm is shaking.
"Laura?" he asks softly.
She swallows, her throat dry. "I'm here."
She feels him shift, the leather creaking as he rises from the chair beside her. He doesn't let go of her hand. Fingers gently brush her one cheek and she feels him grasp the holoband. He removes it. Her head nods, lighter, a gentle bobbing to the thrumming of her heartbeat. She feels drowsy and lethargic, worn.
She doesn't want to open her eyes just yet.
"Was that okay?" His voice is to her side again, his finger tracing circles on the back of her hand.
A smile twitches across her lips, then, finally, her lungs allow her a breathy chuckle. "It was incredible."
She looks at him then. It takes so much energy to view him through the haze of half-closed lashes. He's smiling. She loves it when he smiles.
"I can't believe you still had those," she says, raising an eyebrow. "Mister 'No Technology On My Ship.'"
He chuckles. "They were in a box, safely stored. They were my father's. I'm surprised they worked as long as they did before yours died." His pause is long. He's remembering something and she quietly lets him. She loves to watch him think. "Some things you can't let go of."
Their smiles fade. His finger is still tracing her hand, over and over.
"I know," she says. "It's okay."
They're quiet and she lets her eyelids flutter closed. She's so tired. She hates this omnipresent fatigue, but she's given up on the idea that it will someday ebb.
"We need to get you into bed." He squeezes her hand.
She nods with reluctant acquiescence and another dry swallow. Her tongue traces her cracked lips. "So tired. I'm sorry. Give me a minute."
His hand leaves hers. She takes three breaths, each one an attempt to build up the strength it will take to bring herself upright.
You can do this. You can stand up.
She senses him leaning over her and feels his breath on her cheek. "Lean forward."
One more breath and she constricts her abdominal muscles, gritting her teeth to obey his command, her face contorting into a grimace as she rises slightly. She feels his arm slip under her and across her back.
"Easy," he says next to her ear. She relaxes into him when she realizes what he's doing. She slides her arms around his neck, clasping her hands tightly at the base of it, without question.
He slips his other arm under her knees and takes a long breath as he begins to lift. He grunts with the effort and struggles, then places her back down. She lets out a laugh that ends with a cough. He seems to be finding this a harder task than it appeared.
"I'm not that heavy, you know," she whispers, turning her face to his. He looks at her, their lips brushing together.
"I'm no young buck, either."
She tilts her chin up, her bottom lip grazing over his, so light it tickles. He kisses her and she feels her heartbeat flutter. She parts her lips, their tongues greeting gently.
She wants so much more than this. She wants more time.
"Here we go." His arms tighten around her.
Her throat constricts. "Okay."
He lifts her up this time as he lets out the breath he's been holding. He stands, steadying on his feet and clutching her firmly against his body. She feels a tear escape as she looks up into his eyes.
"Thank you," she says. She hopes he can't hear how she feels at this moment, her entire chest racked with the ache of holding everything inside again.
He kisses her wet cheek once and begins to walk, working them sideways through the narrow doorway that separates her public from her private life.
He carries her to her makeshift bed and eases her down into a sitting position, then sits beside her. "Is there anything you need?" he asks, brushing a long strand of hair away from her face.
She turns her body to him, biting her lower lip with a nod. "Take off your tunic."
A confused expression crosses his face. "Laura, I-"
"This is what I need," she says immediately. "Take it off, Bill."
His chin lowers as his fingers fumble with the buttons. She knows this isn't normally the case. He pulls it from his shoulders, the cotton tanks below it stretched across his chest. He looks at her again, patiently waiting, as always.
She smiles. "Those too."
He lingers longer this time, his eyes searching hers, until his concern morphs into acceptance. He takes a breath and pulls the thin fabric over his head, both tanks at once, tossing them onto the floor. He turns to her, his chest rising and falling with his breath. She lets her eyes roam the defined, bulky muscles of his arms and shoulders, then follow the faded scar down his chest.
He was near death once too. She wonders if he remembers how it feels.
"Lie back." He opens his mouth to speak and she shakes her head. "Don't say a thing. Please, just do it."
His eyes are glassy now and she keeps her lip from quivering as she watches him lie back onto the pillow. She's waited so long to see him like this, to see him looking at her with a hint of expectation.
She pulls at the tie at her waist, letting her robe fall open, slack at her sides. Her chest is bare, the small curve of her stomach meeting her underwear. She's thinner. She rarely looks at herself in the mirror now, too afraid of the truths it tells. She meets his eyes again; he's been watching.
This is something he's wanted too.
She pulls the robe open more, her breasts fully exposed to him. This is all she can offer. His eyes linger on her and she feels a flush spread across her chest as she watches his brow furrow in an attempt to evade tears.
It takes all the strength she has left to pull her body over his. She settles down atop him cautiously, their bare chests pressing together. Her breath hisses out as she feels the tumor in her breast and the pain that spindles out from it.
She bites back a whimper and takes slow, shallow breaths to soothe the lump in her throat.
"It's okay," he whispers. The feeling of skin on skin is comforting as she presses her cheek below his shoulder. His fingers drift down her terrycloth-covered back.
He breathes; her body rises with his. Her breaths are shorter. They seem insignificant, almost pointless. She feels his lips moving against the top of her head.
She thinks to ask him what he's saying, but maybe she's not meant to hear his words.