BSG Fic: A Touch Bloody Minded (Roslin/Cain)
Title: A Touch Bloody Minded
Rating: MA
Pairing: Roslin/Cain
Summary: Written for the prompt "Roslin/Cain, a bit too much to drink, touch" over at bsg-kink
“It won’t kill you but it’ll frak with your brain pretty good and I know how much you like to hold on to your faculties, so to speak.”
Cottle meant his words about mixing chamalla and alcohol as a warning; the old doctor certainly couldn’t have imagined the prim and proper school teacher turned president’s interest would be piqued by the idea of getting high and drunk past the point of oblivion.
Being underestimated had its advantages, Laura thought as she took another gulp of Ambrosia, as did being almost a total mystery to everyone who’d managed to survive the holocaust. She wasn’t a drug person, per se, but her friends on Caprica knew she liked to lose control, albeit safely and privately. She wasn’t a murderer either but she’d just ordered an assassination. She told her reflection that fact plus it being the middle of the night and dying painfully besides were good enough excuses for downing two chamalla tablets and as many full glasses of ambrosia.
Laura barely made it to her cot before the drug cocktail started to kick in. The chamalla heightened her senses, especially touch, and she wriggled a bit against the silk of her night gown just to enjoy the sensation. She would have sworn she could feel the ambrosia coursing through her veins, turning her limbs to jelly and making her head spin pleasurably.
The curtain rustled and the president lifted herself as much as she could to identify the intruder. Instead of the gangly legs of her aide she’d expected she saw military boots, perfectly shined, and legs clad in blue wool. Helena Cain came fully into the room before the president had to puzzle out who the frak was in her bedroom at this time of night.
Laura stilled, fear and a jumbled mix of thoughts fighting for space in her addled brain. What had this woman done to Billy and her guards to get in here? She realized on an instinctive level that she could barely move, much less fight off an attack. As the Admiral came to leer over her she thought absently how it would be easier for Bill to remove Cain from power if she’d assassinated the president.
Cain stared down at Roslin, running her eyes up and down her barely covered body. Laura shivered in surprise when her gaze lingered on her breasts and she suddenly felt the sensation of something, a feather she thought, running in smooth circles around one nipple and then the other. The feather moved with the Admiral’s eyes as she dragged them slowly downward. Laura stifled a moan when Cain skipped her sex to drink in every inch of her long legs, starting with her toes and moving ever so slowly up until she stopped to examine the soft skin of her inner thighs.
It was only then that Laura realized that Cain hadn’t even touched her and she was already so wet she could smell her own arousal from between the legs she’d unconsciously splayed. Cain glanced at the darkened spot on the purple silk and Laura yelped at the sudden sensation of the feather tracing her clit.
Just as suddenly the feather was gone and Roslin looked up to meet Cain’s eyes, pleading silently for her to continue whatever the frak she’d been doing. Instead the younger woman bent down and took Laura’s chin in her hand, gently tracing her lips before claiming them with her own. The kiss was rough and Laura made it rougher in her need, sucking and exploring with her tongue until the Admiral released her to alternate kisses and bites down her neck.
Laura felt like she might explode; her body was pulsing almost dangerously and she could feel her arousal escaping her underwear and running down her legs. She unceremoniously grabbed Cain’s hair and forced her mouth to the fabric covering her breast. The Admiral quickly got the message, shoved the fabric aside and took the nipple in her mouth with a harsh sucking sound.
The president arched her neck back, panting and moaning as she writhed, the sensation at her breast so intense, so pleasurable in contrast to the usual pain, that it was almost too much to bear.
“Too much, too much,” she breathed as she pulled at Cain’s long, dark hair but the woman simply sank her teeth into the flesh and Laura’s vision went grey as her eyes rolled back into her head. Laura felt like she’d left her body as she could suddenly see the scene from above. She watched herself start humping the air, grunting ferally and begging for relief, and then she saw the admiral’s shoulders jiggle as she laughed at her Commander in Chief’s predicament.
Finally Cain relented and abandoned her mission with the president’s breasts to divest her of her thoroughly soaked underwear. Laura, from her strange place in and above this encounter, thought she should probably be embarrassed that she was pleading at the top of her lungs, “oh, gods, please, please, please,” and might have been had she not been so sure she’d die only slightly prematurely but in a far more embarrassing position if she didn’t come soon.
Cain wasted no time in thrusting two fingers inside and Laura frakked them with abandon, still screaming although she’d lost any semblance of coherence. She returned to her body the moment Cain’s lips latched onto her clit and she was so ready it took just two licks before her body exploded and she began to sieze violently on the bed, grabbing helplessly at the linens as she grunted and moaned her release. Each time her body moved it triggered an aftershock and just as she thought she might actually hurt herself if she came anymore she heard someone calling her back to reality.
“Madame President?”
Laura opened her eyes at the sound of her aide’s voice, tentative and worried. She looked around, momentarily confused as to where Cain had gone since her fingers were still buried in her cunt, before she pieced together that it was her own fingers that had brought her to the brink.
“I’m fine, Billy. Just a dream,” she managed. He made that little noise she’d learned meant he felt bad for her along with the worry and she knew he was thinking of his poor, dying boss, forced to choose between agonizing pain and horrifying dreams.
No, Laura thought with a roll of her eyes, Billy nor Cottle nor Adama would ever believe sweet, serious President Roslin got stoned out of her mind and got off, hard, on being frakked by a woman whose death she'd ordered hours earlier.
Somehow, even though she didn’t know the woman and hopefully never would, something told her Helena Cain wouldn’t be surprised in the least.
Rating: MA
Pairing: Roslin/Cain
Summary: Written for the prompt "Roslin/Cain, a bit too much to drink, touch" over at bsg-kink
“It won’t kill you but it’ll frak with your brain pretty good and I know how much you like to hold on to your faculties, so to speak.”
Cottle meant his words about mixing chamalla and alcohol as a warning; the old doctor certainly couldn’t have imagined the prim and proper school teacher turned president’s interest would be piqued by the idea of getting high and drunk past the point of oblivion.
Being underestimated had its advantages, Laura thought as she took another gulp of Ambrosia, as did being almost a total mystery to everyone who’d managed to survive the holocaust. She wasn’t a drug person, per se, but her friends on Caprica knew she liked to lose control, albeit safely and privately. She wasn’t a murderer either but she’d just ordered an assassination. She told her reflection that fact plus it being the middle of the night and dying painfully besides were good enough excuses for downing two chamalla tablets and as many full glasses of ambrosia.
Laura barely made it to her cot before the drug cocktail started to kick in. The chamalla heightened her senses, especially touch, and she wriggled a bit against the silk of her night gown just to enjoy the sensation. She would have sworn she could feel the ambrosia coursing through her veins, turning her limbs to jelly and making her head spin pleasurably.
The curtain rustled and the president lifted herself as much as she could to identify the intruder. Instead of the gangly legs of her aide she’d expected she saw military boots, perfectly shined, and legs clad in blue wool. Helena Cain came fully into the room before the president had to puzzle out who the frak was in her bedroom at this time of night.
Laura stilled, fear and a jumbled mix of thoughts fighting for space in her addled brain. What had this woman done to Billy and her guards to get in here? She realized on an instinctive level that she could barely move, much less fight off an attack. As the Admiral came to leer over her she thought absently how it would be easier for Bill to remove Cain from power if she’d assassinated the president.
Cain stared down at Roslin, running her eyes up and down her barely covered body. Laura shivered in surprise when her gaze lingered on her breasts and she suddenly felt the sensation of something, a feather she thought, running in smooth circles around one nipple and then the other. The feather moved with the Admiral’s eyes as she dragged them slowly downward. Laura stifled a moan when Cain skipped her sex to drink in every inch of her long legs, starting with her toes and moving ever so slowly up until she stopped to examine the soft skin of her inner thighs.
It was only then that Laura realized that Cain hadn’t even touched her and she was already so wet she could smell her own arousal from between the legs she’d unconsciously splayed. Cain glanced at the darkened spot on the purple silk and Laura yelped at the sudden sensation of the feather tracing her clit.
Just as suddenly the feather was gone and Roslin looked up to meet Cain’s eyes, pleading silently for her to continue whatever the frak she’d been doing. Instead the younger woman bent down and took Laura’s chin in her hand, gently tracing her lips before claiming them with her own. The kiss was rough and Laura made it rougher in her need, sucking and exploring with her tongue until the Admiral released her to alternate kisses and bites down her neck.
Laura felt like she might explode; her body was pulsing almost dangerously and she could feel her arousal escaping her underwear and running down her legs. She unceremoniously grabbed Cain’s hair and forced her mouth to the fabric covering her breast. The Admiral quickly got the message, shoved the fabric aside and took the nipple in her mouth with a harsh sucking sound.
The president arched her neck back, panting and moaning as she writhed, the sensation at her breast so intense, so pleasurable in contrast to the usual pain, that it was almost too much to bear.
“Too much, too much,” she breathed as she pulled at Cain’s long, dark hair but the woman simply sank her teeth into the flesh and Laura’s vision went grey as her eyes rolled back into her head. Laura felt like she’d left her body as she could suddenly see the scene from above. She watched herself start humping the air, grunting ferally and begging for relief, and then she saw the admiral’s shoulders jiggle as she laughed at her Commander in Chief’s predicament.
Finally Cain relented and abandoned her mission with the president’s breasts to divest her of her thoroughly soaked underwear. Laura, from her strange place in and above this encounter, thought she should probably be embarrassed that she was pleading at the top of her lungs, “oh, gods, please, please, please,” and might have been had she not been so sure she’d die only slightly prematurely but in a far more embarrassing position if she didn’t come soon.
Cain wasted no time in thrusting two fingers inside and Laura frakked them with abandon, still screaming although she’d lost any semblance of coherence. She returned to her body the moment Cain’s lips latched onto her clit and she was so ready it took just two licks before her body exploded and she began to sieze violently on the bed, grabbing helplessly at the linens as she grunted and moaned her release. Each time her body moved it triggered an aftershock and just as she thought she might actually hurt herself if she came anymore she heard someone calling her back to reality.
“Madame President?”
Laura opened her eyes at the sound of her aide’s voice, tentative and worried. She looked around, momentarily confused as to where Cain had gone since her fingers were still buried in her cunt, before she pieced together that it was her own fingers that had brought her to the brink.
“I’m fine, Billy. Just a dream,” she managed. He made that little noise she’d learned meant he felt bad for her along with the worry and she knew he was thinking of his poor, dying boss, forced to choose between agonizing pain and horrifying dreams.
No, Laura thought with a roll of her eyes, Billy nor Cottle nor Adama would ever believe sweet, serious President Roslin got stoned out of her mind and got off, hard, on being frakked by a woman whose death she'd ordered hours earlier.
Somehow, even though she didn’t know the woman and hopefully never would, something told her Helena Cain wouldn’t be surprised in the least.