FIC: Decommissioning (1/1) NC-17 BSG
TITLE: Decommissioning
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Lee/Maggie
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Out with the old, in with the new
DISCLAIMER: Battlestar Galactica and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta. Written for the Wet & Wild Challenge-A-Thon Thing!
“Hey, Major!”
Lee turns, even though he isn’t a Major anymore. Isn’t anything anymore, really, except maybe Mr. Adama. “Not a Major anymore, Racetrack.”
She’s leaning against the bulkhead, a bottle of ambrosia in one hand. Her body is lean and hard, all muscle except for the soft curves that fill out her gray tank. “Yeah, well, that means you’re not a lot of things anymore.” She pushes off and takes a step toward him, somewhere between a pilot’s swagger and a drunken stagger. “A Major. The CAG..” She reaches him and rests her hand on his chest, fingers tracing the collar of his sweater. “My superior officer.” Lee watches her hand and licks his lips. “Off limits.”
“Racetrack.” He curves his fingers around her wrist, feeling her pulse.
“Margaret.” She smiles and steps closer to him. “Not pilots right now.”
“Not a pilot at all.”
”Frak that.” Her finger slides to his collarbone. “Always a pilot.” She steps back, adjusting her grip so she’s holding his wrist now, keeping them together. “C’mon, Major.”
“I told you…”
“Lee, then.” She looks back and raises her eyebrows.
His breath catches at the heat in her voice, far more meaning in the small word than there should be. “I don’t think…”
“That’s right.” She leads him through the hallways of Galactica toward the room he’s been bunking in since his life started falling apart, where it’s starting to fall back into place. “Don’t think.”
She stops outside the hatch, tightening her grip just slightly. Lee meets her eyes and she’s smiling, amused and hungry. “This is a bad idea, Maggie.”
“This is the best idea I’ve had in a long frakking time, Lee.” She says his name like it’s hot in her mouth, wrapping her tongue around it. “Open the hatch.”
Lee does as she says, and Maggie doesn’t waste any time, crowding him in the hatchway and pushing him back. He stumbles slightly and she takes advantage of the moment to dog the hatch. He eyes her with a mixture of apprehension and appreciation as he leans back against the table. The surface is covered with his grandfather’s law books, tributes to principles that Lee can’t help but believe in, even if they’re more fantasy and fiction than reality. Maggie takes a pull off the bottle of ambrosia, the color slightly off from the fermented algae, and trails a hand along one of the books, feeling the embossing on the spine. “I’ve always liked a well-read man.” She takes another drink, her smile wicked. “Of course, around here, that generally means someone can actually spell the words he’s pissing on the wall of the head. Not used to someone with real books that aren’t tech manuals.”
“These are law books. Not that much different than tech manuals.” Lee watches her fingers caress the gold lettering.
“That’s like saying scriptures aren’t that much different than tech manuals or Fleet regs. Of course, I guess sometimes they’re a religion to whoever’s reading them.” She looks up, her eyes hooded by her long lashes. “Are these your religion?”
“Hardly that. I’m not a believer.”
Maggie laughs and takes another drink then leans in, her breath hot and sweet with the liquor. “You are too, Lee Adama. You don’t believe in Gods and scriptures or even the Fleet, but you believe.” She licks her lips, the tip of her tongue catches at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not exactly why I’m here though.”
“Why are you here?”
Maggie laughs, full and throaty, the sound husky and warm and it sends a hot chill down Lee’s spine. “Oh, you know, Lee.” She bites his lower lip and sucks on it, pulling away just long enough to take a drink of the ambrosia before leaning in again and sharing the taste with him, sliding her tongue against his. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“Want you to tell me.”
Maggie leans in closer still, reaching behind him to push the books to the opposite end of the table, her forward movement pushing Lee back onto the flat surface. “I want you out of that shirt.” She catches the collar and tugs at it. “Shall we see if either of us get what we want?”
Lee manages to sit up just enough to tug the shirt over his head, though it takes Maggie’s assistance given that she’s practically on top of him. She makes a noise as it hits the floor, her eyes focused on the flat stretch of his stomach. She drops a hand down to trace the lines of muscle. “You got what you wanted.”
She nods and bites her lower lip. “Mm-hmm.” Before Lee can ask for what he wants, Maggie tips the bottle of ambrosia over his chest and watches it slowly pour out down onto his skin. Lee gasps and jerks at the coldness of it, the sound intensified as Maggie leans forward and starts chasing the liquid with her tongue. Maggie’s not silent, making low noises as she sucks and licks the ambrosia, leaving heat burning his skin in her wake.
“Frak. Maggie.” Lee’s hips thrust up off the table as she bites his nipple, teasing it between her teeth and brushing her tongue over the hardened nub. “Frak.”
She laughs low against him and smoothes her hands over his hips. “Getting there, Major. Give a girl a chance to get her motor running.”
“Is your motor ever not running, Racetrack?”
Maggie pulls back and gives him a look, her fingers busy sliding along the waistband of his trousers to the fly, unfastening it easily. “Not so you’d notice, Adama.” She traces the dark triangle of hair that leads down into his briefs and steps away to tug the trousers down. Lee angles away from the table just enough to help and Maggie laughs. “I expected indignant protests and outrage.”
“Is that why you haven’t done this before?” Lee props himself up on the table, his skin sticky with ambrosia residue. Maggie offers him another smile and tugs off her tanks. Her bra is likely somewhere back in the room where the party was, unless Hot Dog stuffed it in his pocket on the way out the door. She doesn’t seem to care though, and Lee doesn’t have any complaints about how her nipples stand at attention, unencumbered by the service-issued lingerie.
“I haven’t done this before because you wouldn’t have let me.” She undoes her slacks and lets them fall, her fingers pushing at the gray briefs and sending them to the floor as well. With an easy gesture, she reaches up and undoes the band holding her hair back, letting it all tumble around her face. Lee can’t help but be reminded of mosaics and pictures in the museums he visited as a kid, Gods and Goddesses and gods-damn Margaret Edmondson as a kind of Venus, kicking off her boots and clothes and sucking down another slug of ambrosia before leaning in and letting it slip between her lips, spilling coolly across his navel.
“Gods.” Lee gasps as she catches the liquid again, sucking it up from his skin. Her hands tug at his briefs and he lifts his hips to let her strip them off, bracing himself for the cold shock as she takes another hit from the bottle and lowers her mouth dangerously close to the swell of his cock as she frees it from the fabric. “Maggie…”
She swallows the booze and swallows a laugh and swallows him down nearly in one motion, taking Lee deep in her mouth. Her lips close tight around the base of his cock and he jerks, surprised that the heat of her mouth, forgetting nearly everything in that moment, not the least of which is that ambrosia heats up on the tongue. She gets him wet and slick, her tongue and teeth playing an easy game with him, pressing to the vein on the underside of his cock as she pulls back, teeth grazing the ridge for just a moment before she sucks hard at the head. Lee curls his hands around the edge of the table, his back arched away from the surface.
She pulls back, her grin self-satisfied and smug and if Lee hadn’t known she was a pilot, he’d have guessed it that second, though he’d have pegged her for Viper jockey rather than Raptor. “Do you ever shut up, Major?” She hoists herself onto the table above him, her body sleek and pale in the yellowed lights. He releases the table to touch the slope of her thighs, stroking the smooth skin as she settles over him, her knees against his thighs, her feet brushing his knees. Lee watches her as she grabs the bottle again, bringing it to his lips and tipping it so that just a small dribble of ambrosia runs out. He opens his mouth, closing his eyes as she pours it slowly, swallowing as she pulls the bottle away, though he nearly chokes as she continues the stream of liquid down his chin and neck and chest again.
“Maggie.” He opens his eyes and for a moment, every tale he’s ever heard told about Racetrack races through his mind - She’s part goddess, part witch. She’s mountain woman, full of spells and secrets. She’s not quite human. - and she looks the part. Hair in a wild tangle around her shoulders and naked skin a flushed pale. Her smile is all wicked, a goddess on a rampage, as she upends the last of the bottle, letting the liquid splatter in a thick stream over his cock. “Frak!”
She doesn’t give him more time than that to react, sinking down on him. The ambrosia lives up to its name, and he feels it against his skin as she surrounds him. It’s hot and wet just like her and she slides along his shaft with a slow ease that makes every muscle clench. He’s wet and sticky and surrounded by Maggie’s body, wanting to share. He runs his fingers through the liquid pooled on his chest then paints her nipples, watching the skin react as her head falls back and she makes a sound, low in her throat.
They move together like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and they have, though not with each other, but no one’s all that different anymore, another body in another rack in the nameless, faceless dead of space. When she comes, she tightens her knees into his thighs and moans his name, and Lee’s body jerks in response, his own orgasm pulsing deep, her name just as ready on his lips.
Maggie slides off of him after a few moments even though he can still see the telltale signs of arousal. He looks at his rack then at her. “You flying soon?”
“Now I know you’re leaving if you have to ask me that.” She laughs and stands there, her body shiny with sweat and alcohol. “Off for another rotation.”
“Stay.”
“Stay?”
Lee nods and straightens, reaching for her hand and tugging her close again. “Stay one time before I have to go.”
AUTHOR: Laura Smith
PAIRING: Lee/Maggie
RATING: NC-17
SUMMARY: Out with the old, in with the new
DISCLAIMER: Battlestar Galactica and all the characters therein belong to people who are not me. I make no profit from this, I just like playing with them.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to inlovewithnight for the beta. Written for the Wet & Wild Challenge-A-Thon Thing!
“Hey, Major!”
Lee turns, even though he isn’t a Major anymore. Isn’t anything anymore, really, except maybe Mr. Adama. “Not a Major anymore, Racetrack.”
She’s leaning against the bulkhead, a bottle of ambrosia in one hand. Her body is lean and hard, all muscle except for the soft curves that fill out her gray tank. “Yeah, well, that means you’re not a lot of things anymore.” She pushes off and takes a step toward him, somewhere between a pilot’s swagger and a drunken stagger. “A Major. The CAG..” She reaches him and rests her hand on his chest, fingers tracing the collar of his sweater. “My superior officer.” Lee watches her hand and licks his lips. “Off limits.”
“Racetrack.” He curves his fingers around her wrist, feeling her pulse.
“Margaret.” She smiles and steps closer to him. “Not pilots right now.”
“Not a pilot at all.”
”Frak that.” Her finger slides to his collarbone. “Always a pilot.” She steps back, adjusting her grip so she’s holding his wrist now, keeping them together. “C’mon, Major.”
“I told you…”
“Lee, then.” She looks back and raises her eyebrows.
His breath catches at the heat in her voice, far more meaning in the small word than there should be. “I don’t think…”
“That’s right.” She leads him through the hallways of Galactica toward the room he’s been bunking in since his life started falling apart, where it’s starting to fall back into place. “Don’t think.”
She stops outside the hatch, tightening her grip just slightly. Lee meets her eyes and she’s smiling, amused and hungry. “This is a bad idea, Maggie.”
“This is the best idea I’ve had in a long frakking time, Lee.” She says his name like it’s hot in her mouth, wrapping her tongue around it. “Open the hatch.”
Lee does as she says, and Maggie doesn’t waste any time, crowding him in the hatchway and pushing him back. He stumbles slightly and she takes advantage of the moment to dog the hatch. He eyes her with a mixture of apprehension and appreciation as he leans back against the table. The surface is covered with his grandfather’s law books, tributes to principles that Lee can’t help but believe in, even if they’re more fantasy and fiction than reality. Maggie takes a pull off the bottle of ambrosia, the color slightly off from the fermented algae, and trails a hand along one of the books, feeling the embossing on the spine. “I’ve always liked a well-read man.” She takes another drink, her smile wicked. “Of course, around here, that generally means someone can actually spell the words he’s pissing on the wall of the head. Not used to someone with real books that aren’t tech manuals.”
“These are law books. Not that much different than tech manuals.” Lee watches her fingers caress the gold lettering.
“That’s like saying scriptures aren’t that much different than tech manuals or Fleet regs. Of course, I guess sometimes they’re a religion to whoever’s reading them.” She looks up, her eyes hooded by her long lashes. “Are these your religion?”
“Hardly that. I’m not a believer.”
Maggie laughs and takes another drink then leans in, her breath hot and sweet with the liquor. “You are too, Lee Adama. You don’t believe in Gods and scriptures or even the Fleet, but you believe.” She licks her lips, the tip of her tongue catches at the corner of his mouth. “That’s not exactly why I’m here though.”
“Why are you here?”
Maggie laughs, full and throaty, the sound husky and warm and it sends a hot chill down Lee’s spine. “Oh, you know, Lee.” She bites his lower lip and sucks on it, pulling away just long enough to take a drink of the ambrosia before leaning in again and sharing the taste with him, sliding her tongue against his. “Don’t pretend you don’t.”
“Want you to tell me.”
Maggie leans in closer still, reaching behind him to push the books to the opposite end of the table, her forward movement pushing Lee back onto the flat surface. “I want you out of that shirt.” She catches the collar and tugs at it. “Shall we see if either of us get what we want?”
Lee manages to sit up just enough to tug the shirt over his head, though it takes Maggie’s assistance given that she’s practically on top of him. She makes a noise as it hits the floor, her eyes focused on the flat stretch of his stomach. She drops a hand down to trace the lines of muscle. “You got what you wanted.”
She nods and bites her lower lip. “Mm-hmm.” Before Lee can ask for what he wants, Maggie tips the bottle of ambrosia over his chest and watches it slowly pour out down onto his skin. Lee gasps and jerks at the coldness of it, the sound intensified as Maggie leans forward and starts chasing the liquid with her tongue. Maggie’s not silent, making low noises as she sucks and licks the ambrosia, leaving heat burning his skin in her wake.
“Frak. Maggie.” Lee’s hips thrust up off the table as she bites his nipple, teasing it between her teeth and brushing her tongue over the hardened nub. “Frak.”
She laughs low against him and smoothes her hands over his hips. “Getting there, Major. Give a girl a chance to get her motor running.”
“Is your motor ever not running, Racetrack?”
Maggie pulls back and gives him a look, her fingers busy sliding along the waistband of his trousers to the fly, unfastening it easily. “Not so you’d notice, Adama.” She traces the dark triangle of hair that leads down into his briefs and steps away to tug the trousers down. Lee angles away from the table just enough to help and Maggie laughs. “I expected indignant protests and outrage.”
“Is that why you haven’t done this before?” Lee props himself up on the table, his skin sticky with ambrosia residue. Maggie offers him another smile and tugs off her tanks. Her bra is likely somewhere back in the room where the party was, unless Hot Dog stuffed it in his pocket on the way out the door. She doesn’t seem to care though, and Lee doesn’t have any complaints about how her nipples stand at attention, unencumbered by the service-issued lingerie.
“I haven’t done this before because you wouldn’t have let me.” She undoes her slacks and lets them fall, her fingers pushing at the gray briefs and sending them to the floor as well. With an easy gesture, she reaches up and undoes the band holding her hair back, letting it all tumble around her face. Lee can’t help but be reminded of mosaics and pictures in the museums he visited as a kid, Gods and Goddesses and gods-damn Margaret Edmondson as a kind of Venus, kicking off her boots and clothes and sucking down another slug of ambrosia before leaning in and letting it slip between her lips, spilling coolly across his navel.
“Gods.” Lee gasps as she catches the liquid again, sucking it up from his skin. Her hands tug at his briefs and he lifts his hips to let her strip them off, bracing himself for the cold shock as she takes another hit from the bottle and lowers her mouth dangerously close to the swell of his cock as she frees it from the fabric. “Maggie…”
She swallows the booze and swallows a laugh and swallows him down nearly in one motion, taking Lee deep in her mouth. Her lips close tight around the base of his cock and he jerks, surprised that the heat of her mouth, forgetting nearly everything in that moment, not the least of which is that ambrosia heats up on the tongue. She gets him wet and slick, her tongue and teeth playing an easy game with him, pressing to the vein on the underside of his cock as she pulls back, teeth grazing the ridge for just a moment before she sucks hard at the head. Lee curls his hands around the edge of the table, his back arched away from the surface.
She pulls back, her grin self-satisfied and smug and if Lee hadn’t known she was a pilot, he’d have guessed it that second, though he’d have pegged her for Viper jockey rather than Raptor. “Do you ever shut up, Major?” She hoists herself onto the table above him, her body sleek and pale in the yellowed lights. He releases the table to touch the slope of her thighs, stroking the smooth skin as she settles over him, her knees against his thighs, her feet brushing his knees. Lee watches her as she grabs the bottle again, bringing it to his lips and tipping it so that just a small dribble of ambrosia runs out. He opens his mouth, closing his eyes as she pours it slowly, swallowing as she pulls the bottle away, though he nearly chokes as she continues the stream of liquid down his chin and neck and chest again.
“Maggie.” He opens his eyes and for a moment, every tale he’s ever heard told about Racetrack races through his mind - She’s part goddess, part witch. She’s mountain woman, full of spells and secrets. She’s not quite human. - and she looks the part. Hair in a wild tangle around her shoulders and naked skin a flushed pale. Her smile is all wicked, a goddess on a rampage, as she upends the last of the bottle, letting the liquid splatter in a thick stream over his cock. “Frak!”
She doesn’t give him more time than that to react, sinking down on him. The ambrosia lives up to its name, and he feels it against his skin as she surrounds him. It’s hot and wet just like her and she slides along his shaft with a slow ease that makes every muscle clench. He’s wet and sticky and surrounded by Maggie’s body, wanting to share. He runs his fingers through the liquid pooled on his chest then paints her nipples, watching the skin react as her head falls back and she makes a sound, low in her throat.
They move together like they’ve done this a thousand times before, and they have, though not with each other, but no one’s all that different anymore, another body in another rack in the nameless, faceless dead of space. When she comes, she tightens her knees into his thighs and moans his name, and Lee’s body jerks in response, his own orgasm pulsing deep, her name just as ready on his lips.
Maggie slides off of him after a few moments even though he can still see the telltale signs of arousal. He looks at his rack then at her. “You flying soon?”
“Now I know you’re leaving if you have to ask me that.” She laughs and stands there, her body shiny with sweat and alcohol. “Off for another rotation.”
“Stay.”
“Stay?”
Lee nods and straightens, reaching for her hand and tugging her close again. “Stay one time before I have to go.”