Misbehaving
Title: Misbehaving
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: R/MA15/NC17
Spoilers: 3.01 Occupation/Precipice; 3.09 - Unfinished Business
Pairing: Laura Roslin/William Adama; Thomas Zarek
Genre: Smut
Synopsis: A little weed and a little alcohol lead our favorite couple into a little misbehaving...
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to SciFi and lots of other people but not me.
Notes: This was written back in May 2007 for the spread_the_fear Planetary Paranoia challenge, and was an equal winner in the "Too hot for cannon" and "People's choice" categories
Challenge parameters: fic must contain:
! - Bondage of some kind. (it does not have to imply a sexual situation - but it can...)
!! - It must take place on a planet.
!!! - Feature hostile wildlife and/or inappropriate use of a tent peg.
!V - The phrase, ‘I’m not dead yet’.
V - Paranoia
Laura didn't know what possessed her to do it. She'd never done it before, and - prior to this point in time - she would have sworn she wasn't the sort of person who would think about doing something like it, let alone actually carry through with it. It was the sort of thing she'd expect from someone like… like… Ellen Tigh, her mind supplied the name, as the annoying blonde woman's laugh echoed from further along the long trestle table.
But here she was; Laura Roslin - ex-president of the Colonies, principal and teacher at the New Caprica elementary school - eating dinner with her foot firmly nestled against a certain stern-faced Admiral's crotch.
It had started innocently enough, she supposed: the long communal dining tables at the Ground Breaking party had been crowded, and by the time she and Bill finished their… recreational substances, the only places they could sit were opposite each other. So the first time it happened it had been an accident - she was simply stretching her legs under the table and her bare foot accidentally brushed Bill's leg. Nothing untoward or improper whatsoever. Completely innocent. Across the table, Bill had barely reacted to the glancing contact and continued eating his bowl of "New Caprican mystery stew", as it had been advertised.
Piqued by his lack of reaction and emboldened by a combination of alcohol and weed, she reached out her foot again and deliberately ran it up Bill's calf.
He sat frozen for a spilt second; eyes flicking in her direction in surprise, and then continued eating the stew as if nothing had happened.
'Is that how it's going to be?' she though, not considering the irrationality of the thought or action, only determined to get a rise out of the self-possessed military officer. She languidly repeated the movement in a downward direction, then back up again. No mistaking that as an accident, Bill.
He carefully put his cutlery down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stared across the table at her.
She lifted an eyebrow in challenge.
'Got your attention now, have I?' she thought.
Then, with a wicked grin, she provocatively edged her foot along his lap towards a more… sensitive destination. Above the table, he didn't seem to move, but quick as lightning a hand grasped her ankle and prevented any further forward progress. She pouted, and tried to wiggle free, but the grip remained firm.
Fine. Time for a tactical retreat, then. Unfortunately, he didn't cooperate, and her foot remained firmly trapped on his lap.
Then she felt a delicate touch on her instep. She squirmed with renewed determination to get away, but her ankle may just as well have been shackled in place for all the progress she made. She screwed up her face, grimacing and twitching as the ticklish touch continued. The man seated next to her gave her a sideways glance. Maybe he thought she was having a fit or something.
Just when she thought she was going to have to break down and beg for mercy, salvation came from an unexpected source.
"Admiral!" Saul Tigh roared as he staggered up to Bill, clapping him on the shoulder. Bill was forced to stop his tickling torture and release her ankle as he reached out to steady his old friend. "What do you think of Baltar's shindig so far? Food stinks, but the company is great." His eyes dropped to Laura's cleavage, which was nicely framed by the tight cut of the camisole beneath her wrap, then reached out and grabbed his wife's ass. Ellen squealed theatrically and draped herself about her husband's neck, laughing. Laura kept her smile fixed. Gods that woman was irritating.
But they might be useful to her campaign. While not military, she was enough of a tactician to take advantage of the distraction and pushed forward with a sneak attack into now undefended territory. She concealed a smug smile as she reached her objective and saw Bill twitch.
"Yes, the company is… distracting," he answered Tigh. He looked at the mug of alcohol in the other man's hand. "How are you doing Saul?" Laura was impressed he managed to keep his tone even, as she flexed her toes against his groin and made an impressive discovery.
'Oh my,' she though, her gaze dropping involuntarily, as if she might possibly see past the table that unfortunately provided concealment.
"Well on my way to drunk," Tigh joked, hoisting the mug in salute and taking a swig. Ellen giggled, annoyingly. "In fact, we're just on our way to partake in more of Baltar's hospitality. Would you two care to join us?" He grinned charmingly at Laura.
Ellen's look could have vaporised a Basestar, but her husband completely missed it. He also missed what was probably a matching look on Laura's face. Voluntarily spend time with Ellen Tigh? Absolutely not. No frakking way.
Despite his intake of certain substances, Bill was quicker on the uptake than his XO, and his gaze flicked from one woman to the other, accurately assessing the level of dislike between them.
"You two go along," he demurred. "We might join you later."
Tigh threw his CO a casual salute, and then staggered off in the direction of the drinks table with Ellen in tow.
Laura sighed with relief, then felt Bill's eyes burning hotly into her from across the table as the movement translated down her leg to her foot. Oops. Oh well, might as well have some more fun.
"Aren't you going to finish your stew, Bill?" she asked in a low, sultry voice, eating a bite of her own meal.
"I believe I've had sufficient food for the time being," he replied.
She allowed herself a small, smug smile of victory, and deliberately moved her foot against him again.
Then almost overbalanced, and had to catch herself against the table as suddenly he wasn't there. Instead, he was at her side; his hand encircling her wrist and drawing her to her feet.
"I believe you were going to show me… the water recycling plant," he blurted, appearing to improvise for the benefit of their dining companions. Then he was off, weaving his way through the tent city dragging her along with him.
Considering that today was the first time he'd been to the settlement, she was extremely impressed - if a little out of breath - at his display of navigational skills that guided them through the warren right to her tent.
"Bill…" she meant to apologise for teasing him like that in public, but didn't have the chance as he pulled her roughly to him.
She let out a gasp of surprise that turned into a moan of appreciation as their bodies pressed against each other from chest to knee. Her hands rested on his arms for balance; one of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other on her lower back, forcing the contact closer. A leg had found its way between hers, and she was aware of the growing sensation in a certain part of her anatomy that was being stimulated by the contact. She could also feel that certain bulge she'd been impressed with earlier nestled against her hip. Eyes on each other's face; breathing the same air, their mouths drifted closer together. The heat radiated off him, pouring through his unfastened tunic, warming every part of her. Her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of the kiss; she could feel his breath against her lips. Then…
Then nothing. No kiss; no caresses. Nothing. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her with a smug expression on his face.
"Oh, I don’t think so, Ms Roslin," he said, eyes gleaming. "I don't think so at all. I haven't quite forgiven you for that little… demonstration at the dinner table."
"And what might I do to earn your forgiveness," she asked in a breathy voice, batting her eyelids at him.
"Stop that," he ordered, swatting her backside as she giggled.
Then a speculative gleam lit his eyes.
"Tell me," he said slowly, "what do you think the penalty might be for putting the ex-President of the Colonies over my knee and spanking her?"
She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly in place. He wasn't serious, was he? But then again, they were both being a little… silly, thanks to those nice recreational substances.
"You're bluffing," she said drawing herself up to her full height, trying to stare him down.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Transferring the hand that had been in her hair to her wrist, he reached down and retrieved a discarded tent peg from the ground.
Laura eyed the long metal spike with apprehension, as the gleam in his eyes grew downright wicked. He drove it into deep the pile of sandbags outside her tent, wiggling it to make sure it was firm. Hmm. Not good. She tried yanking her wrist from his grasp, but he easily held her with a slightly condescending smile. Damn his superior strength.
So escape was not an option. Maybe distraction would work better.
"Bill…" she whispered in his ear, making sure her breath blew across the sensitive skin of his neck, followed by her lips.
She thought it had worked, when she felt one of his hands fumbling with the front of her wrap-around top. Instead, he used the loose ends to quickly and efficiently bind her wrists together in front of her. Ignoring her protests and struggles, he sat on the sandbags and unceremoniously pulled her off her feet, so she was laying face-down across his lap.
Okay; definitely not bluffing. Struggling and distraction hadn't worked. Maybe she'd just have to go ahead and apologise.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking over her shoulder at him.
He ignored the apology and fastened her bound hands to the stake.
"I'm sorry I groped you in public and promise never to do it again."
Still no response. Frak; she had to offer something in compensation.
"And I promise… to give you the rest of my stash if you untie me now."
She might as well have been talking to a deaf man. Instead of answering, he ran his hand over the curve of her ass and down her leg to the hem of her skirt.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement nearby.
Oh gods, please don't let someone catch them like this.
"Bill… someone's watching… over there," she said urgently, jerking her chin in the direction of some deep shadows.
He glanced briefly in the direction, then back at her.
"I don't see anything," he stated, slowly drawing up the back of the skirt.
She felt the chill of the night air brush across her legs as the skirt was gradually lifted higher and higher until her panties were exposed.
The black, lacy, barely-there panties with the ribbon ties at the hips that held the front and backs together. The bottom half of the sexy black underwear she'd deliberately worn tonight; just in case.
Her head sank down onto her arms, her face flaming.
"Hmm, nice," he whispered, tracing around the edge of the material. "Not the sort of thing I'd expect a nice, prim and proper school teacher to be wearing under her skirts." She felt him finger the ribbon holding the front and back together at the hips. "And so very convenient."
Her head lifted, and she glared over her shoulder at him. The glare that she'd developed in her years as a teacher dealing with unruly students; the glare she'd perfected over the last two years dealing with the gods-cursed Quorum of Twelve.
"Don't you dare!" she ordered in her best commanding voice.
Neither the glare nor the command had any effect on William Adama whatsoever.
He leisurely pulled at the end of one ribbon, and she felt the fastening loosen. The action was mirrored on the other side, then he drew back the material, leaving her bare to the night sky.
Another flicker of movement caught her eye.
"Bill… please… Someone's watching." She'd never live this down if someone came along and saw her draped across the Admiral's knee, backside bared to the world. She'd absolutely die of embarrassment.
"You're just being paranoid, Ms Roslin," he stated calmly, slowly running a hand up the back of her leg, his thumb curling around to stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh as it went. She gasped.
"Bastard," she hissed, then yelped as his hand smacked down hard on her backside. She imagined what Bill must be seeing - a red hand-print branded across the fair skin of her bottom. A soothing caress followed. Then another smack; another caress.
She could feel the moisture pooling at the apex of her thighs and her legs involuntarily drifted further apart. The blood was rushing to her butt, and the whole area was throbbing. Pounding. Dammit, she was getting too turned on by this.
After the next slap, his hand dropped between her legs, caressing her intimately. Unashamedly, she ground herself against him, trying to relive the mounting need. He let her for a moment, then took his hand away. She groaned in frustration.
Another smack, and she jerked against him, her clit rubbing against his leg. Gods, she was this close to coming. And from the hardness she could feel against her hip, he was in a similar condition.
Bill mustn't have been as thorough with his knots as she'd thought, as she realised that while her hands were still bound, they were no longer fastened to the tent peg. Quickly, she twisted around, so that she was straddling his lap.
"So have I been punished sufficiently, Admiral, sir?" she purred, grinding against him.
"This time, he gasped, fumbling for his fly. "Next time, the penalty will be much more severe." His cock sprang free from the confining material of his pants.
Positioning herself carefully, she then sank down; taking him in slowly until he was fully inside her. One of his hands wrapped itself through her hair, and dragged her mouth down to his for a searing kiss. The other hand was busy under her skirt, stroking her as she rocked up and down.
She'd been right: they were close. In a matter of moments she convulsed around him, triggering his orgasm. She sat there for a few minutes, her head against his shoulder with his cock still inside her as the aftershocks continued. Feather-like kisses brushed the side of her face, and she lifted her lips to his.
Then she hissed as his hands brushed against her tender backside.
"Are you all right?" he murmured into her hair.
"I'm not dead yet," she joked, lifting off him. "But I think maybe I should administer the 'punishment' next time. The bruises had only just disappeared from last time and now I'm going to have a fresh set."
They settled onto the sandbags, snuggling.
"Next time," he promised.
------------------------------
From the deep shadows of a nearby tent, Tom Zarek drew a shaky breath, then tucked himself back inside his trousers and headed back to the party.
Author: Rowen
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: R/MA15/NC17
Spoilers: 3.01 Occupation/Precipice; 3.09 - Unfinished Business
Pairing: Laura Roslin/William Adama; Thomas Zarek
Genre: Smut
Synopsis: A little weed and a little alcohol lead our favorite couple into a little misbehaving...
Disclaimer: Battlestar Galactica belongs to SciFi and lots of other people but not me.
Notes: This was written back in May 2007 for the spread_the_fear Planetary Paranoia challenge, and was an equal winner in the "Too hot for cannon" and "People's choice" categories
Challenge parameters: fic must contain:
! - Bondage of some kind. (it does not have to imply a sexual situation - but it can...)
!! - It must take place on a planet.
!!! - Feature hostile wildlife and/or inappropriate use of a tent peg.
!V - The phrase, ‘I’m not dead yet’.
V - Paranoia
Laura didn't know what possessed her to do it. She'd never done it before, and - prior to this point in time - she would have sworn she wasn't the sort of person who would think about doing something like it, let alone actually carry through with it. It was the sort of thing she'd expect from someone like… like… Ellen Tigh, her mind supplied the name, as the annoying blonde woman's laugh echoed from further along the long trestle table.
But here she was; Laura Roslin - ex-president of the Colonies, principal and teacher at the New Caprica elementary school - eating dinner with her foot firmly nestled against a certain stern-faced Admiral's crotch.
It had started innocently enough, she supposed: the long communal dining tables at the Ground Breaking party had been crowded, and by the time she and Bill finished their… recreational substances, the only places they could sit were opposite each other. So the first time it happened it had been an accident - she was simply stretching her legs under the table and her bare foot accidentally brushed Bill's leg. Nothing untoward or improper whatsoever. Completely innocent. Across the table, Bill had barely reacted to the glancing contact and continued eating his bowl of "New Caprican mystery stew", as it had been advertised.
Piqued by his lack of reaction and emboldened by a combination of alcohol and weed, she reached out her foot again and deliberately ran it up Bill's calf.
He sat frozen for a spilt second; eyes flicking in her direction in surprise, and then continued eating the stew as if nothing had happened.
'Is that how it's going to be?' she though, not considering the irrationality of the thought or action, only determined to get a rise out of the self-possessed military officer. She languidly repeated the movement in a downward direction, then back up again. No mistaking that as an accident, Bill.
He carefully put his cutlery down, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and stared across the table at her.
She lifted an eyebrow in challenge.
'Got your attention now, have I?' she thought.
Then, with a wicked grin, she provocatively edged her foot along his lap towards a more… sensitive destination. Above the table, he didn't seem to move, but quick as lightning a hand grasped her ankle and prevented any further forward progress. She pouted, and tried to wiggle free, but the grip remained firm.
Fine. Time for a tactical retreat, then. Unfortunately, he didn't cooperate, and her foot remained firmly trapped on his lap.
Then she felt a delicate touch on her instep. She squirmed with renewed determination to get away, but her ankle may just as well have been shackled in place for all the progress she made. She screwed up her face, grimacing and twitching as the ticklish touch continued. The man seated next to her gave her a sideways glance. Maybe he thought she was having a fit or something.
Just when she thought she was going to have to break down and beg for mercy, salvation came from an unexpected source.
"Admiral!" Saul Tigh roared as he staggered up to Bill, clapping him on the shoulder. Bill was forced to stop his tickling torture and release her ankle as he reached out to steady his old friend. "What do you think of Baltar's shindig so far? Food stinks, but the company is great." His eyes dropped to Laura's cleavage, which was nicely framed by the tight cut of the camisole beneath her wrap, then reached out and grabbed his wife's ass. Ellen squealed theatrically and draped herself about her husband's neck, laughing. Laura kept her smile fixed. Gods that woman was irritating.
But they might be useful to her campaign. While not military, she was enough of a tactician to take advantage of the distraction and pushed forward with a sneak attack into now undefended territory. She concealed a smug smile as she reached her objective and saw Bill twitch.
"Yes, the company is… distracting," he answered Tigh. He looked at the mug of alcohol in the other man's hand. "How are you doing Saul?" Laura was impressed he managed to keep his tone even, as she flexed her toes against his groin and made an impressive discovery.
'Oh my,' she though, her gaze dropping involuntarily, as if she might possibly see past the table that unfortunately provided concealment.
"Well on my way to drunk," Tigh joked, hoisting the mug in salute and taking a swig. Ellen giggled, annoyingly. "In fact, we're just on our way to partake in more of Baltar's hospitality. Would you two care to join us?" He grinned charmingly at Laura.
Ellen's look could have vaporised a Basestar, but her husband completely missed it. He also missed what was probably a matching look on Laura's face. Voluntarily spend time with Ellen Tigh? Absolutely not. No frakking way.
Despite his intake of certain substances, Bill was quicker on the uptake than his XO, and his gaze flicked from one woman to the other, accurately assessing the level of dislike between them.
"You two go along," he demurred. "We might join you later."
Tigh threw his CO a casual salute, and then staggered off in the direction of the drinks table with Ellen in tow.
Laura sighed with relief, then felt Bill's eyes burning hotly into her from across the table as the movement translated down her leg to her foot. Oops. Oh well, might as well have some more fun.
"Aren't you going to finish your stew, Bill?" she asked in a low, sultry voice, eating a bite of her own meal.
"I believe I've had sufficient food for the time being," he replied.
She allowed herself a small, smug smile of victory, and deliberately moved her foot against him again.
Then almost overbalanced, and had to catch herself against the table as suddenly he wasn't there. Instead, he was at her side; his hand encircling her wrist and drawing her to her feet.
"I believe you were going to show me… the water recycling plant," he blurted, appearing to improvise for the benefit of their dining companions. Then he was off, weaving his way through the tent city dragging her along with him.
Considering that today was the first time he'd been to the settlement, she was extremely impressed - if a little out of breath - at his display of navigational skills that guided them through the warren right to her tent.
"Bill…" she meant to apologise for teasing him like that in public, but didn't have the chance as he pulled her roughly to him.
She let out a gasp of surprise that turned into a moan of appreciation as their bodies pressed against each other from chest to knee. Her hands rested on his arms for balance; one of his hands was tangled in her hair, the other on her lower back, forcing the contact closer. A leg had found its way between hers, and she was aware of the growing sensation in a certain part of her anatomy that was being stimulated by the contact. She could also feel that certain bulge she'd been impressed with earlier nestled against her hip. Eyes on each other's face; breathing the same air, their mouths drifted closer together. The heat radiated off him, pouring through his unfastened tunic, warming every part of her. Her eyes fluttered closed in anticipation of the kiss; she could feel his breath against her lips. Then…
Then nothing. No kiss; no caresses. Nothing. She opened her eyes and found him looking at her with a smug expression on his face.
"Oh, I don’t think so, Ms Roslin," he said, eyes gleaming. "I don't think so at all. I haven't quite forgiven you for that little… demonstration at the dinner table."
"And what might I do to earn your forgiveness," she asked in a breathy voice, batting her eyelids at him.
"Stop that," he ordered, swatting her backside as she giggled.
Then a speculative gleam lit his eyes.
"Tell me," he said slowly, "what do you think the penalty might be for putting the ex-President of the Colonies over my knee and spanking her?"
She tried to draw back, but he held her firmly in place. He wasn't serious, was he? But then again, they were both being a little… silly, thanks to those nice recreational substances.
"You're bluffing," she said drawing herself up to her full height, trying to stare him down.
Apparently that was the wrong thing to say. Transferring the hand that had been in her hair to her wrist, he reached down and retrieved a discarded tent peg from the ground.
Laura eyed the long metal spike with apprehension, as the gleam in his eyes grew downright wicked. He drove it into deep the pile of sandbags outside her tent, wiggling it to make sure it was firm. Hmm. Not good. She tried yanking her wrist from his grasp, but he easily held her with a slightly condescending smile. Damn his superior strength.
So escape was not an option. Maybe distraction would work better.
"Bill…" she whispered in his ear, making sure her breath blew across the sensitive skin of his neck, followed by her lips.
She thought it had worked, when she felt one of his hands fumbling with the front of her wrap-around top. Instead, he used the loose ends to quickly and efficiently bind her wrists together in front of her. Ignoring her protests and struggles, he sat on the sandbags and unceremoniously pulled her off her feet, so she was laying face-down across his lap.
Okay; definitely not bluffing. Struggling and distraction hadn't worked. Maybe she'd just have to go ahead and apologise.
"I'm sorry," she said, looking over her shoulder at him.
He ignored the apology and fastened her bound hands to the stake.
"I'm sorry I groped you in public and promise never to do it again."
Still no response. Frak; she had to offer something in compensation.
"And I promise… to give you the rest of my stash if you untie me now."
She might as well have been talking to a deaf man. Instead of answering, he ran his hand over the curve of her ass and down her leg to the hem of her skirt.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement nearby.
Oh gods, please don't let someone catch them like this.
"Bill… someone's watching… over there," she said urgently, jerking her chin in the direction of some deep shadows.
He glanced briefly in the direction, then back at her.
"I don't see anything," he stated, slowly drawing up the back of the skirt.
She felt the chill of the night air brush across her legs as the skirt was gradually lifted higher and higher until her panties were exposed.
The black, lacy, barely-there panties with the ribbon ties at the hips that held the front and backs together. The bottom half of the sexy black underwear she'd deliberately worn tonight; just in case.
Her head sank down onto her arms, her face flaming.
"Hmm, nice," he whispered, tracing around the edge of the material. "Not the sort of thing I'd expect a nice, prim and proper school teacher to be wearing under her skirts." She felt him finger the ribbon holding the front and back together at the hips. "And so very convenient."
Her head lifted, and she glared over her shoulder at him. The glare that she'd developed in her years as a teacher dealing with unruly students; the glare she'd perfected over the last two years dealing with the gods-cursed Quorum of Twelve.
"Don't you dare!" she ordered in her best commanding voice.
Neither the glare nor the command had any effect on William Adama whatsoever.
He leisurely pulled at the end of one ribbon, and she felt the fastening loosen. The action was mirrored on the other side, then he drew back the material, leaving her bare to the night sky.
Another flicker of movement caught her eye.
"Bill… please… Someone's watching." She'd never live this down if someone came along and saw her draped across the Admiral's knee, backside bared to the world. She'd absolutely die of embarrassment.
"You're just being paranoid, Ms Roslin," he stated calmly, slowly running a hand up the back of her leg, his thumb curling around to stroke the sensitive skin of her inner thigh as it went. She gasped.
"Bastard," she hissed, then yelped as his hand smacked down hard on her backside. She imagined what Bill must be seeing - a red hand-print branded across the fair skin of her bottom. A soothing caress followed. Then another smack; another caress.
She could feel the moisture pooling at the apex of her thighs and her legs involuntarily drifted further apart. The blood was rushing to her butt, and the whole area was throbbing. Pounding. Dammit, she was getting too turned on by this.
After the next slap, his hand dropped between her legs, caressing her intimately. Unashamedly, she ground herself against him, trying to relive the mounting need. He let her for a moment, then took his hand away. She groaned in frustration.
Another smack, and she jerked against him, her clit rubbing against his leg. Gods, she was this close to coming. And from the hardness she could feel against her hip, he was in a similar condition.
Bill mustn't have been as thorough with his knots as she'd thought, as she realised that while her hands were still bound, they were no longer fastened to the tent peg. Quickly, she twisted around, so that she was straddling his lap.
"So have I been punished sufficiently, Admiral, sir?" she purred, grinding against him.
"This time, he gasped, fumbling for his fly. "Next time, the penalty will be much more severe." His cock sprang free from the confining material of his pants.
Positioning herself carefully, she then sank down; taking him in slowly until he was fully inside her. One of his hands wrapped itself through her hair, and dragged her mouth down to his for a searing kiss. The other hand was busy under her skirt, stroking her as she rocked up and down.
She'd been right: they were close. In a matter of moments she convulsed around him, triggering his orgasm. She sat there for a few minutes, her head against his shoulder with his cock still inside her as the aftershocks continued. Feather-like kisses brushed the side of her face, and she lifted her lips to his.
Then she hissed as his hands brushed against her tender backside.
"Are you all right?" he murmured into her hair.
"I'm not dead yet," she joked, lifting off him. "But I think maybe I should administer the 'punishment' next time. The bruises had only just disappeared from last time and now I'm going to have a fresh set."
They settled onto the sandbags, snuggling.
"Next time," he promised.
------------------------------
From the deep shadows of a nearby tent, Tom Zarek drew a shaky breath, then tucked himself back inside his trousers and headed back to the party.