BSG fic: A Not So Blank Canvas (pg-13)
Title: A Not So Blank Canvas
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~1,300
Beta: lizardbeth_j
Characters/Pairings: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Recipient: beyondrubicon
Summary: I know I should’ve waited for you to come back, but I just wanted you to have a home to come back to.
Author’s note: I just realized I never posted this anywhere but the Pyramid of Dreams ficathon. Oops. Written for the pyramidofdreams fic exchange for the prompt setting up their home on New Caprica. Thanks for making it better than it was, Liz!
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The walk from the landing area was chilly, the sky overcast, and Kara was glad she’d thought to bring her old leather jacket with her. Without it, the ten-minute walk to her new home would’ve been pretty damned unpleasant; as it was, her nose and ears were a little cold, but the rest of her was just fine. She rounded the corner and broke into a smile at the sight of Sam and Jammer, tossing a ball back and forth in the open area across the road from their tent. Sam saw her at about the same moment, said something to Jammer, and shot the ball hard toward the other man’s chest. Jammer caught it, but only just. Sam met her just outside their door.
The second she reached it, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her in close, mischief dancing in his eyes. “What the frak are you doing?” Kara’s voice lifted in an embarrassing squeak as Sam, grinning ferociously, lifted her off her feet.
“Sweeping you off your feet?” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending a delicious shiver through her body.
“Idiot. Put me down.”
“Soon.” Sam ducked under the flap of their tent, Kara in his arms, a newly minted civilian. Returning from her last official duty rotation was bittersweet; part of her wondered what the frak she was doing. How could she possibly think mustering out was a good idea? What about flying? The thought of not flying wasn’t bad right now, but what about a month from now? A year? Would it be like some sort of phantom limb, the need to have the stick in her hand and push the boundaries of good sense in some corkscrew turn, gone and yet still there at the edge of consciousness? But the rest of her, the part that wanted that chance at a normal life that she’d thought lost for good, or that maybe had never existed at all, that part of her wanted nothing more than to return planetside, to her new home and to her Sammy. She grinned. He hated being called Sammy.
“How ‘bout now, Sammy? Put me down?” The fool was going to throw his back out or something, and then what fun would he be?
Sam gripped her shoulders tighter as he allowed her legs to swing down to the dirt floor inside the tent. “What’s your hurry?”
“It’s kinda hard to ravish you if I’m floating in the air.” She nipped at his earlobe. “No leverage,” she whispered in his ear, making him shiver, then nuzzled at his cheek and jawline until he turned his face toward her and she could kiss him full on the mouth. “Mmm… You taste good, Sam.”
Shifting both of them until they were flush together, front to front, he licked into her mouth. “So do you.”
Kara hooked her fingers into his belt and rubbed against him, smiling into his mouth at his sharp intake of breath. “See, Sammy? Leverage…”
“I’ll show you leverage, Thrace.” He crowded against her, backed her into the room and across the floor until her knees hit the edge of their bed and she abruptly sat, tried to pull her down with him, but he resisted. Her hands still at his belt, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes more or less level with hers. He searched her face, waiting for something.
Cocking her head, she gave him a half-frown, half-smile, and then, lust no longer clouding her vision quite so thoroughly as it had a couple of minutes before, she let her gaze wander the tent. Or, room, really. The first thing she noticed was that there were lit candles on just about every flat surface, lending the space warmth and light and making the shadows dance. Her eyes widened a little when she saw an easel and makeshift artist’s table near the north wall of the tent, beside the only window, its flap tied down against the chill in the air outside. “Samuel T. Anders, you’ve been busy.”
She blinked, stood, finally letting go of his belt, but only to catch his hand and pull him along with her as she walked around the tent. When she left to fly that last CAP, she’d thought it so small, the only thing in it their bed, but now she was forced to revise her opinion to cozy. She spun around, eyes taking in everything, as only an experienced CAG could.
In addition to a nook where she could paint using natural daylight, he’d put together a small living area that could be separated from the sleeping area by a curtain, which was pulled to the side. There was a table covered by a red cloth; Kara suspected the table was a storage crate of some sort. On either side of the table was a pair of stools that looked like they were put together using some of the scrub wood, fragile looking yet strong as steel and so readily available near the settlement, run through a pair of metal panels that looked suspiciously like cover plates stolen from a Raptor. The walls, rather than the bare canvas she’d left, were covered by colorful rugs that blocked the wind that blew constantly. And in the center of the room was-
“Where the frak did you get hold of a wood stove?” She looked over at him and he shrugged.
“I know a guy who knows a guy…”
Kara shot him a dubious look. “Okay, smartass, where did Tyrol get hold of a stove?”
Sam grinned. “Have to ask him. All I know is he found one for us in exchange for help with construction over the next few months.”
“You or me?”
“Possibly both, but I only promised him my services.”
Her attention was caught again by the easel in the corner and she let go of Sam’s hand, took the few steps to reach it. Stacked against the wall of the tent behind it were several blank canvases of various sizes. She opened the single drawer of the table and found it divided into compartments to keep the brushes and knives and paints from becoming a useless jumble. A jar of mineral spirits, or maybe just some of Chief’s moonshine, sat on the table beside a small glass and a stack of clean rags. He’d thought of everything, from set up to clean up. She looked over her shoulder at Sam.
He still stood by the stove where she’d left him, his hands in his pants pockets. His eyes met hers and his brows rose in question as he said, “Too much?”
She walked over to him and put her arms around his neck, kissed the tip of his nose. “Did you think I’d be pissed off?”
He shrugged and pulled his hands from his pockets, wrapped his arms around her. “I know I should’ve waited for you to come back, but I just wanted you to have a home to come back to. We didn’t talk about a lot of this…”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Stop. I hate this kind of crap, so this is a good thing, Sammy. Now all I have to do is relax. Maybe paint something.” She turned around within the circle of his arms until she faced the easel again and leaned back against him, her hands over his. “How did you manage all the painting stuff?”
“Karl helped me gather it all up.”
“Helo? When? He was on duty with me the last two days…”
“Well, yeah, it took a little longer than that. I had it all stashed away before you left.”
She lifted his right hand and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you, Sam Anders. I’m glad I came back for you.”
Rating: PG-13
Word count: ~1,300
Beta: lizardbeth_j
Characters/Pairings: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Recipient: beyondrubicon
Summary: I know I should’ve waited for you to come back, but I just wanted you to have a home to come back to.
Author’s note: I just realized I never posted this anywhere but the Pyramid of Dreams ficathon. Oops. Written for the pyramidofdreams fic exchange for the prompt setting up their home on New Caprica. Thanks for making it better than it was, Liz!
-------------------------------------------------
The walk from the landing area was chilly, the sky overcast, and Kara was glad she’d thought to bring her old leather jacket with her. Without it, the ten-minute walk to her new home would’ve been pretty damned unpleasant; as it was, her nose and ears were a little cold, but the rest of her was just fine. She rounded the corner and broke into a smile at the sight of Sam and Jammer, tossing a ball back and forth in the open area across the road from their tent. Sam saw her at about the same moment, said something to Jammer, and shot the ball hard toward the other man’s chest. Jammer caught it, but only just. Sam met her just outside their door.
The second she reached it, he grabbed her by the hand and pulled her in close, mischief dancing in his eyes. “What the frak are you doing?” Kara’s voice lifted in an embarrassing squeak as Sam, grinning ferociously, lifted her off her feet.
“Sweeping you off your feet?” he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending a delicious shiver through her body.
“Idiot. Put me down.”
“Soon.” Sam ducked under the flap of their tent, Kara in his arms, a newly minted civilian. Returning from her last official duty rotation was bittersweet; part of her wondered what the frak she was doing. How could she possibly think mustering out was a good idea? What about flying? The thought of not flying wasn’t bad right now, but what about a month from now? A year? Would it be like some sort of phantom limb, the need to have the stick in her hand and push the boundaries of good sense in some corkscrew turn, gone and yet still there at the edge of consciousness? But the rest of her, the part that wanted that chance at a normal life that she’d thought lost for good, or that maybe had never existed at all, that part of her wanted nothing more than to return planetside, to her new home and to her Sammy. She grinned. He hated being called Sammy.
“How ‘bout now, Sammy? Put me down?” The fool was going to throw his back out or something, and then what fun would he be?
Sam gripped her shoulders tighter as he allowed her legs to swing down to the dirt floor inside the tent. “What’s your hurry?”
“It’s kinda hard to ravish you if I’m floating in the air.” She nipped at his earlobe. “No leverage,” she whispered in his ear, making him shiver, then nuzzled at his cheek and jawline until he turned his face toward her and she could kiss him full on the mouth. “Mmm… You taste good, Sam.”
Shifting both of them until they were flush together, front to front, he licked into her mouth. “So do you.”
Kara hooked her fingers into his belt and rubbed against him, smiling into his mouth at his sharp intake of breath. “See, Sammy? Leverage…”
“I’ll show you leverage, Thrace.” He crowded against her, backed her into the room and across the floor until her knees hit the edge of their bed and she abruptly sat, tried to pull her down with him, but he resisted. Her hands still at his belt, he dropped to his knees in front of her, his eyes more or less level with hers. He searched her face, waiting for something.
Cocking her head, she gave him a half-frown, half-smile, and then, lust no longer clouding her vision quite so thoroughly as it had a couple of minutes before, she let her gaze wander the tent. Or, room, really. The first thing she noticed was that there were lit candles on just about every flat surface, lending the space warmth and light and making the shadows dance. Her eyes widened a little when she saw an easel and makeshift artist’s table near the north wall of the tent, beside the only window, its flap tied down against the chill in the air outside. “Samuel T. Anders, you’ve been busy.”
She blinked, stood, finally letting go of his belt, but only to catch his hand and pull him along with her as she walked around the tent. When she left to fly that last CAP, she’d thought it so small, the only thing in it their bed, but now she was forced to revise her opinion to cozy. She spun around, eyes taking in everything, as only an experienced CAG could.
In addition to a nook where she could paint using natural daylight, he’d put together a small living area that could be separated from the sleeping area by a curtain, which was pulled to the side. There was a table covered by a red cloth; Kara suspected the table was a storage crate of some sort. On either side of the table was a pair of stools that looked like they were put together using some of the scrub wood, fragile looking yet strong as steel and so readily available near the settlement, run through a pair of metal panels that looked suspiciously like cover plates stolen from a Raptor. The walls, rather than the bare canvas she’d left, were covered by colorful rugs that blocked the wind that blew constantly. And in the center of the room was-
“Where the frak did you get hold of a wood stove?” She looked over at him and he shrugged.
“I know a guy who knows a guy…”
Kara shot him a dubious look. “Okay, smartass, where did Tyrol get hold of a stove?”
Sam grinned. “Have to ask him. All I know is he found one for us in exchange for help with construction over the next few months.”
“You or me?”
“Possibly both, but I only promised him my services.”
Her attention was caught again by the easel in the corner and she let go of Sam’s hand, took the few steps to reach it. Stacked against the wall of the tent behind it were several blank canvases of various sizes. She opened the single drawer of the table and found it divided into compartments to keep the brushes and knives and paints from becoming a useless jumble. A jar of mineral spirits, or maybe just some of Chief’s moonshine, sat on the table beside a small glass and a stack of clean rags. He’d thought of everything, from set up to clean up. She looked over her shoulder at Sam.
He still stood by the stove where she’d left him, his hands in his pants pockets. His eyes met hers and his brows rose in question as he said, “Too much?”
She walked over to him and put her arms around his neck, kissed the tip of his nose. “Did you think I’d be pissed off?”
He shrugged and pulled his hands from his pockets, wrapped his arms around her. “I know I should’ve waited for you to come back, but I just wanted you to have a home to come back to. We didn’t talk about a lot of this…”
She put her hand over his mouth. “Stop. I hate this kind of crap, so this is a good thing, Sammy. Now all I have to do is relax. Maybe paint something.” She turned around within the circle of his arms until she faced the easel again and leaned back against him, her hands over his. “How did you manage all the painting stuff?”
“Karl helped me gather it all up.”
“Helo? When? He was on duty with me the last two days…”
“Well, yeah, it took a little longer than that. I had it all stashed away before you left.”
She lifted his right hand and kissed his knuckles. “Thank you, Sam Anders. I’m glad I came back for you.”