Hurrah! I wrote a thing!
Title: yesterday is right behind me like a loaded gun
Summary: Jenna doesn't know what she's running to.
Fandom: Blake's 7/Battlestar Galactica
Word Count: 686
Timeline: After 3x01, "Aftermath" (B7), AU (BSG)
Rating/Contents: NC-17
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Jenna Stannis
A/N: For the Sex Is Not the Enemy ficathon, based on this picture. There just can't be enough "Kara picks someone up in a bar" stories. I feel like that could be a ficathon all on its own.
Once she's away from the Liberator, it's like everything becomes clearer, snapping into focus; somehow, it took leaving to realize that her life had become completely insane, even by her standards. But once she starts, she can't stop running, not even sure what she's running to.
She hops five planets before she feels safe even stopping for a drink. People are swarming on all the relatively unharmed planets, and the kind of places that Jenna usually finds herself drinking are the places that get the most crowded, swelling up with the planet hoppers, the smugglers, all the people who live as tentatively as she does. She'll slip in quietly enough; the Federation have much better targets than her, anyway.
Jenna goes down to the strip of bars by the docks- there's always a strip of bars by the docks- and picks one out more or less at random. She takes a seat and has a look around; the crowd is tense and nervous, which doesn't surprise her. It's still early; they'll forget their troubles soon enough, and that's when the real fun will begin.
She's just finished her first when someone comes up beside her and taps her on the shoulder. Jenna's hand goes to the gun on her hip; but when she turns, she doesn't see what she expects. It's a woman, wearing grey and black, and nothing about her looks Federation at all. Her blonde hair is short, cropped close to her face; it suits her, the way it never suited Jenna. She's trim and fit, sort of dangerous looking- and she's looking at Jenna like Jenna's just about to be her next meal.
"Can I buy you a drink?" the woman says, her lips curling; it's not a smile, really, too predatory and self-amused to be classified as anything but a smirk. The way she's smirking says that the game is already up, that Jenna's already been cut from the herd and claimed, whether she likes it or not.
Avon would like her, Jenna thinks.
She plays it cool, taking a long moment to look the stranger up and down. "Sure," she says, nodding to the bar stool next to her and letting her hand fall away from her weapon.
She slides up onto it, swinging her legs around so that they're brushing against Jenna's. "Starbuck," she says, leaning in confidentially.
"Jenna Stannis," she says, feeling bold and careless all of a sudden, in a way she hasn't in god only knows how long. It feels good, unfamiliar and a little thrilling, just to act like she always used to be able to.
Starbuck's smile gets even wider, but she doesn't say anything; she just sips her drink and hooks Jenna's chair with her foot, pulling them closer together.
She likes Starbuck already.
Later, Starbuck's got her laid out across the bed in a room upstairs, taking her apart with ease. It's been so long since she's had anyone's hands on her body, much less someone with such clever, nimble fingers, and she doesn't see any use at all in hiding how much she likes it. It doesn't last as long as she wants, not when she's so hard up to start with, especially not when Starbuck's mouth keeps finding out all her secrets. When she comes, she clutches at the headboard and screams, actually screams, loud and clear and exactly like she's wanted to for so long.
Starbuck tips her head back and laughs, delighted and smug, but Jenna's on her before she knows what hits her, pushing her down into the sheets and kissing her all over her face, sliding their bodies together.
Later still, while Jenna is zipping up her boots, Starbuck turns to her and says, "I've got a business proposition for you," smiling again in that way that says she already knows how this will end.
It's on the tip of her tongue to say that she's got to get back to the Liberator, that she's got work to do; she swallows it down. "I haven't got anywhere else to be," Jenna tells her, a funny kind of euphoria settling on her at the thought.
Starbuck grins.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/208277.html.
comments over there.
Summary: Jenna doesn't know what she's running to.
Fandom: Blake's 7/Battlestar Galactica
Word Count: 686
Timeline: After 3x01, "Aftermath" (B7), AU (BSG)
Rating/Contents: NC-17
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Jenna Stannis
A/N: For the Sex Is Not the Enemy ficathon, based on this picture. There just can't be enough "Kara picks someone up in a bar" stories. I feel like that could be a ficathon all on its own.
Once she's away from the Liberator, it's like everything becomes clearer, snapping into focus; somehow, it took leaving to realize that her life had become completely insane, even by her standards. But once she starts, she can't stop running, not even sure what she's running to.
She hops five planets before she feels safe even stopping for a drink. People are swarming on all the relatively unharmed planets, and the kind of places that Jenna usually finds herself drinking are the places that get the most crowded, swelling up with the planet hoppers, the smugglers, all the people who live as tentatively as she does. She'll slip in quietly enough; the Federation have much better targets than her, anyway.
Jenna goes down to the strip of bars by the docks- there's always a strip of bars by the docks- and picks one out more or less at random. She takes a seat and has a look around; the crowd is tense and nervous, which doesn't surprise her. It's still early; they'll forget their troubles soon enough, and that's when the real fun will begin.
She's just finished her first when someone comes up beside her and taps her on the shoulder. Jenna's hand goes to the gun on her hip; but when she turns, she doesn't see what she expects. It's a woman, wearing grey and black, and nothing about her looks Federation at all. Her blonde hair is short, cropped close to her face; it suits her, the way it never suited Jenna. She's trim and fit, sort of dangerous looking- and she's looking at Jenna like Jenna's just about to be her next meal.
"Can I buy you a drink?" the woman says, her lips curling; it's not a smile, really, too predatory and self-amused to be classified as anything but a smirk. The way she's smirking says that the game is already up, that Jenna's already been cut from the herd and claimed, whether she likes it or not.
Avon would like her, Jenna thinks.
She plays it cool, taking a long moment to look the stranger up and down. "Sure," she says, nodding to the bar stool next to her and letting her hand fall away from her weapon.
She slides up onto it, swinging her legs around so that they're brushing against Jenna's. "Starbuck," she says, leaning in confidentially.
"Jenna Stannis," she says, feeling bold and careless all of a sudden, in a way she hasn't in god only knows how long. It feels good, unfamiliar and a little thrilling, just to act like she always used to be able to.
Starbuck's smile gets even wider, but she doesn't say anything; she just sips her drink and hooks Jenna's chair with her foot, pulling them closer together.
She likes Starbuck already.
Later, Starbuck's got her laid out across the bed in a room upstairs, taking her apart with ease. It's been so long since she's had anyone's hands on her body, much less someone with such clever, nimble fingers, and she doesn't see any use at all in hiding how much she likes it. It doesn't last as long as she wants, not when she's so hard up to start with, especially not when Starbuck's mouth keeps finding out all her secrets. When she comes, she clutches at the headboard and screams, actually screams, loud and clear and exactly like she's wanted to for so long.
Starbuck tips her head back and laughs, delighted and smug, but Jenna's on her before she knows what hits her, pushing her down into the sheets and kissing her all over her face, sliding their bodies together.
Later still, while Jenna is zipping up her boots, Starbuck turns to her and says, "I've got a business proposition for you," smiling again in that way that says she already knows how this will end.
It's on the tip of her tongue to say that she's got to get back to the Liberator, that she's got work to do; she swallows it down. "I haven't got anywhere else to be," Jenna tells her, a funny kind of euphoria settling on her at the thought.
Starbuck grins.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/208277.html.
comments over there.