[bsg porn battle offerings: sam/leoben, kara/sam/leoben, kara/leoben]
I wrote three things for the recent BSG porn battle!
(Okay, two of them are pornier than the first one.)
Stasis
Sam looks like he's asleep, sunk deep within the viscous fluid of the Hybrid's metal pool, but Leoben can see his eyes flickering beneath closed lids. He is dreaming.
Leoben reaches out, careful--aware that this may be some sort of blasphemy--and trails his fingers lightly against the cool metal. It is hard to see this figure, shorn hair and pale skin, and think of him as the man Leoben once knew as Sam Anders. Anders, all quick temper and defiance. Such a good mate for Kara, matching her in fury and resolve. All those things that Leoben thinks must be very tiring, to be always at their mercy.
Sam, one of his creators. It is strange to think of that. Was it him who made me, designed me to look as I do, pale eyes and fair hair?
Leoben sighs. "I wish you would wake up. I wish I could speak to you." Leoben is unobtrusive when he wishes to be, he has heard the others talking; his brethren Cylon, the Five who are the progenitors of them all. A man who walks in the shadows between the worlds of the possible and the actual learns how to be quiet. He knows that Sam has been granted clarity even if he cannot express the wonders of what he has seen, knows that there are truths trapped deep in the well of madness his mind has become.
"It is God's way," Leoben says to him, brushing his fingers tenderly against Sam's jaw. "The knowledge he has given you, it is too great for you to know, the words are too many for you to speak." Leoben's fingers glide silently over Sam's slightly-parted lips. They are cool to the touch, and he can feel only the slightest bit of air against his fingertips. Sam is caught in stasis, neither living or dead, neither awake nor asleep.
Leoben finds the device that connects Sam to the Hybrid's mainframe and hooks it up, the chamber coming to life with a sudden red flash beneath the milky white fluid surrounding him. (red spilled like blood, like the sun). Sam's eyes fly open, staring nowhere, as empty as jewels and as deep as the sea.
"To know the face of God is to know madness," Leoben tells him. "Talk to me, brother."
Sam's mouth opens and his mystic's words pour forth; Leoben lets it wash over him, lets himself feel the timbre and the weight of what Sam is saying more than the words themselves. He seeks the patterns, searches for the meaning, determined that there must be something. Leoben doubted his faith when he saw Kara's body burned beside the wreck of her Viper, but he realizes now that was foolish of him. Kara is an angel, and the ways of God are not for him to understand. He should have remembered that. Some prophet he is, to be so easily spooked.
"...end of line."
Leoben looks at Sam and nods, then reaches out and pulls the plug. The water settles and the red fades away; Sam's eyes drift closed as if they were never open. Leoben leans down and presses his mouth to Sam's temple in a reverent kiss, like a benediction. He does not think he and Sam Anders shall ever speak again in this life.
That night, Leoben dreams of Sam standing whole and glowing like an angel next to his bed. He speaks in riddles and talks about the earth, about things that grow, about seedlings and flowering plants. Leoben can barely look at him, he's so bright, and he has to shield his eyes. Sam laughs, grabs him by the shoulders. Kisses him deep and slow, limbs easy and languid, body pressed hard against Leoben's own.
"You'll see," Sam says, laughing. "Your faith will be restored. It wasn't in vain. You've played your part, Leoben. It's going to be fine."
Sam tastes like things that grow; rich earth, fertile soil, cool water. The light drowns out Sam's face until all Leoben can see is the sun.
He never goes back.
No Harm
Leoben has Sam pushed against a wall, and is kissing him fiercely. Sam's hand is twined in Leoben's short hair, his other hand fisted in Leoben's shirt. Leoben can feel electricity burning up his spine from the contact, the sudden shift from anger to lust.
Kara is leaning against the wall, watching them, having walked in seconds before. She's smirking, but there's is a flush to her cheeks and tension in her posture that speaks to her enjoyment. This, between him and Sam, is something unexpected; born in the darkness of war that lingers like a specter in every kiss, every touch.
Leoben cannot see their future, he is too caught up in it--Sam's hands on his body, Sam's tongue in his mouth. Kara's soft laugh, racing tactile across his skin like a caress. But Leoben can see the blurred edges of what will be when his mind trembles just on the edge of sleep; some conflagration that will burn them both up, his wayward angels, and he understands that when this ends he will lose them both. Leoben feels their time together slipping away like sand between his fingers.
It is the prophet's way. To see, to know, but not to share their fate.
Kara's voice is only slightly mocking when she speaks. "Fighting again, boys?"
Sam shoves at Leoben, pushing him away to look over at Kara. His mouth is swollen and his shirt's un-tucked, his hair made messy by Leoben's grasp. "Hey, baby." Sam's voice is low and shot through with lust; he's hard against Leoben's hip. He moves his hands to Leoben's waist and keeps him pulled in close.
"Hey, yourself. What was it this time? Leoben talking about streams again?" Kara's voice from behind him, and then he feels her-her breasts pressed against his back. The contrast between her body and Sam's makes him shiver hard, caught between them, the tether that keeps them grounded to what is and what will be.
Kara's hand slides down over his stomach and Leoben stops thinking, tilts his head back to kiss her, still thrilling at how easy her kisses come now. Her hand rubs hard over his cock, and she laughs into his mouth. Of all the things he's tasted on her lips, laughter is the rarest and the sweetest of all.
"No," Sam says, voice low and gravelly. It's the same voice he uses in the dark when he's spread beneath Leoben, naked and warm, saying frak, do it, just--Leoben, c'mon, I need-- all strangled and rough. "Mother-frakker was talking shit about my game."
Kara makes a sound against his mouth and pulls away.. Her palm is moving up and down Leoben's cock, slow, pressing just enough to make him start to pant. "Your game? Haven't heard Leoben complaining."
Sam grins, reaching up to pat Kara on the cheek. She nips at his fingers and Sam slides them in her mouth, in and out, slow and deliberate. "About Pyramid, Thrace. In the quarter-finals against Picon, he was saying I should have fouled out. I scored the game-winning goal, you know. We'd've lost if I'd been pulled out of play."
"You kicked that player when he was down," Leoben responds, smirking, and Sam's eyes narrow again.
"No more than that jackass Benson, look, Conoy--" Leoben thinks this is funny, Sam using the made-up last name no one else ever remembers he has--"those refs were Picon fans, everyone watching that game knew it, and Benson should have fouled out six minutes into the half anyway--"
"Boys," Kara interrupts, just as Leoben is about to respond, because they're caught up in cosmic destiny, but he knows Pyramid (it's about the patterns, like everything else), and besides, he was there.
Kara doesn't let him finish. She does something wicked with her hand that makes Leoben moan and his hips hitch forward, making Sam buck in return. "Time to stop talking." She puts one hand on the back of Leoben's neck and pushes. Sam meets him halfway, and Leoben runs his hands up Sam's chest and kisses him. Leoben feels the electric thrum of their connection burning electric and luminous, and he closes his eyes and lets it wash it over him. One day, too soon, he will open his eyes and he will be alone.
But not today.
Quiet
"You have to be quiet," Leoben tells her, his hand running up the slick skin of her back. She's naked on her bed, stripped bare down to nothing and her hair in her eyes. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that she'd always sworn this would never happen, either. Her body craves a darker touch than Sam's, bright-lit with love and adoration that she doesn't deserve. Leoben says he loves her and maybe he does, but there's enough blood between them to make this all right, to make it exactly what she wants.
Paint smears on his face, on hers, his hands desperate on her body with the mandala at her back.
"Frak you," Kara bites out, shifting on the bed. The sheets beneath her are tangled and sweat-soaked. Leoben is fully dressed, his face still bruised from her fists when she attacked him in the storage hold.
It doesn't help, does it? ...Nothing feels quite like it did before.
"If Sam finds me here he'll kill me, Kara," Leoben continues, fingers going lower, rubbing between her legs. "Though that might be what you want." He leans down and touches his mouth to her ear, and his voice makes her shiver. "You're so wound up, so tense, your mind can't stay still, can't relax--did you try this with him? Did you want him to make it hurt, do it rough, just so you could feel something?"
Kara bites back a moan as his fingers slip inside, rough, just a little painful. Leoben's breath spills hot against her ear, she bucks against the mattress and grabs the sheets tight in her fists. "Yes."
"It didn't work, did it?"
"No," Kara moans, shivering, and she's close, so close, she can feel it building and building, the pleasure wracking her body like waves. The music, that frakking music, it's still there, she doesn't think it's ever going to go away.
"I hear it too," Leoben murmurs, like he's in her head, and she shoves hard against him to glare at him because she's tired of this, tired of all these things that are in her head that aren't her.
Frak it. I don't even know what I am, anymore. "Frak me. Do it."
"Kara, I told you, this emptiness will be filled when you finally fulfill your destiny. Open yourself to God's purpose, and--"
"One more word about God, Leoben, and I am putting you out of the mother-frakking airlock." Kara's panting, desperate. "Leoben, I need something--my head, I can't stop hearing that godsdamned music and that stupid frakking mandala--"
Leoben's hand is gone and then he's behind her, drawing her up on her knees in her crowded bunk. His hands anchor her shoulders and the gods-damned room spins even though she's not moving; behind her eyes she sees the mandala, a sick bloom of colors she can't make go away. Kara cries out when Leoben thrusts inside of her, and it drives the colors up and out of her, flowing out of her eyes and her mouth--
"Kara," he gasps, and she looks over her shoulder at him. He looks transcendent, still marked with blood, he looks like he's he's frakking glowing. He holds her by the back of the neck, his other hand back between her legs, clothes disheveled and eyes star-bright-wild. "You're burning, you're--"
"Shut up," she says, desperate and close, so close. The pleasure bleeds white, covering the spill of blue and white and yellow of the mandala that is always there, ever-present in the darkness behind her eyes.
Leoben shoves her down with his hand on her neck, hissing "bite the pillow," his hands gripping bruising-tight now at her hips as he drives harder inside of her.
Kara reaches out and braces against the wall of her bunk, biting the material of the thin pillow between her teeth. It keeps her from shouting as she comes; that would only rouse the Marines and Sam's anger. She can hear Leoben's choked groan as he comes, feels him spill inside of her. For a moment there is nothing; no music, no mandala, no restless and angry crew beyond the walls of her cabin. There is only Leoben's harsh breathing and the gradual ease of long-held tension. The pleasure is secondary; her real relief comes from the silence.
Leoben's right. It won't last.
(Okay, two of them are pornier than the first one.)
Stasis
Sam looks like he's asleep, sunk deep within the viscous fluid of the Hybrid's metal pool, but Leoben can see his eyes flickering beneath closed lids. He is dreaming.
Leoben reaches out, careful--aware that this may be some sort of blasphemy--and trails his fingers lightly against the cool metal. It is hard to see this figure, shorn hair and pale skin, and think of him as the man Leoben once knew as Sam Anders. Anders, all quick temper and defiance. Such a good mate for Kara, matching her in fury and resolve. All those things that Leoben thinks must be very tiring, to be always at their mercy.
Sam, one of his creators. It is strange to think of that. Was it him who made me, designed me to look as I do, pale eyes and fair hair?
Leoben sighs. "I wish you would wake up. I wish I could speak to you." Leoben is unobtrusive when he wishes to be, he has heard the others talking; his brethren Cylon, the Five who are the progenitors of them all. A man who walks in the shadows between the worlds of the possible and the actual learns how to be quiet. He knows that Sam has been granted clarity even if he cannot express the wonders of what he has seen, knows that there are truths trapped deep in the well of madness his mind has become.
"It is God's way," Leoben says to him, brushing his fingers tenderly against Sam's jaw. "The knowledge he has given you, it is too great for you to know, the words are too many for you to speak." Leoben's fingers glide silently over Sam's slightly-parted lips. They are cool to the touch, and he can feel only the slightest bit of air against his fingertips. Sam is caught in stasis, neither living or dead, neither awake nor asleep.
Leoben finds the device that connects Sam to the Hybrid's mainframe and hooks it up, the chamber coming to life with a sudden red flash beneath the milky white fluid surrounding him. (red spilled like blood, like the sun). Sam's eyes fly open, staring nowhere, as empty as jewels and as deep as the sea.
"To know the face of God is to know madness," Leoben tells him. "Talk to me, brother."
Sam's mouth opens and his mystic's words pour forth; Leoben lets it wash over him, lets himself feel the timbre and the weight of what Sam is saying more than the words themselves. He seeks the patterns, searches for the meaning, determined that there must be something. Leoben doubted his faith when he saw Kara's body burned beside the wreck of her Viper, but he realizes now that was foolish of him. Kara is an angel, and the ways of God are not for him to understand. He should have remembered that. Some prophet he is, to be so easily spooked.
"...end of line."
Leoben looks at Sam and nods, then reaches out and pulls the plug. The water settles and the red fades away; Sam's eyes drift closed as if they were never open. Leoben leans down and presses his mouth to Sam's temple in a reverent kiss, like a benediction. He does not think he and Sam Anders shall ever speak again in this life.
That night, Leoben dreams of Sam standing whole and glowing like an angel next to his bed. He speaks in riddles and talks about the earth, about things that grow, about seedlings and flowering plants. Leoben can barely look at him, he's so bright, and he has to shield his eyes. Sam laughs, grabs him by the shoulders. Kisses him deep and slow, limbs easy and languid, body pressed hard against Leoben's own.
"You'll see," Sam says, laughing. "Your faith will be restored. It wasn't in vain. You've played your part, Leoben. It's going to be fine."
Sam tastes like things that grow; rich earth, fertile soil, cool water. The light drowns out Sam's face until all Leoben can see is the sun.
He never goes back.
No Harm
Leoben has Sam pushed against a wall, and is kissing him fiercely. Sam's hand is twined in Leoben's short hair, his other hand fisted in Leoben's shirt. Leoben can feel electricity burning up his spine from the contact, the sudden shift from anger to lust.
Kara is leaning against the wall, watching them, having walked in seconds before. She's smirking, but there's is a flush to her cheeks and tension in her posture that speaks to her enjoyment. This, between him and Sam, is something unexpected; born in the darkness of war that lingers like a specter in every kiss, every touch.
Leoben cannot see their future, he is too caught up in it--Sam's hands on his body, Sam's tongue in his mouth. Kara's soft laugh, racing tactile across his skin like a caress. But Leoben can see the blurred edges of what will be when his mind trembles just on the edge of sleep; some conflagration that will burn them both up, his wayward angels, and he understands that when this ends he will lose them both. Leoben feels their time together slipping away like sand between his fingers.
It is the prophet's way. To see, to know, but not to share their fate.
Kara's voice is only slightly mocking when she speaks. "Fighting again, boys?"
Sam shoves at Leoben, pushing him away to look over at Kara. His mouth is swollen and his shirt's un-tucked, his hair made messy by Leoben's grasp. "Hey, baby." Sam's voice is low and shot through with lust; he's hard against Leoben's hip. He moves his hands to Leoben's waist and keeps him pulled in close.
"Hey, yourself. What was it this time? Leoben talking about streams again?" Kara's voice from behind him, and then he feels her-her breasts pressed against his back. The contrast between her body and Sam's makes him shiver hard, caught between them, the tether that keeps them grounded to what is and what will be.
Kara's hand slides down over his stomach and Leoben stops thinking, tilts his head back to kiss her, still thrilling at how easy her kisses come now. Her hand rubs hard over his cock, and she laughs into his mouth. Of all the things he's tasted on her lips, laughter is the rarest and the sweetest of all.
"No," Sam says, voice low and gravelly. It's the same voice he uses in the dark when he's spread beneath Leoben, naked and warm, saying frak, do it, just--Leoben, c'mon, I need-- all strangled and rough. "Mother-frakker was talking shit about my game."
Kara makes a sound against his mouth and pulls away.. Her palm is moving up and down Leoben's cock, slow, pressing just enough to make him start to pant. "Your game? Haven't heard Leoben complaining."
Sam grins, reaching up to pat Kara on the cheek. She nips at his fingers and Sam slides them in her mouth, in and out, slow and deliberate. "About Pyramid, Thrace. In the quarter-finals against Picon, he was saying I should have fouled out. I scored the game-winning goal, you know. We'd've lost if I'd been pulled out of play."
"You kicked that player when he was down," Leoben responds, smirking, and Sam's eyes narrow again.
"No more than that jackass Benson, look, Conoy--" Leoben thinks this is funny, Sam using the made-up last name no one else ever remembers he has--"those refs were Picon fans, everyone watching that game knew it, and Benson should have fouled out six minutes into the half anyway--"
"Boys," Kara interrupts, just as Leoben is about to respond, because they're caught up in cosmic destiny, but he knows Pyramid (it's about the patterns, like everything else), and besides, he was there.
Kara doesn't let him finish. She does something wicked with her hand that makes Leoben moan and his hips hitch forward, making Sam buck in return. "Time to stop talking." She puts one hand on the back of Leoben's neck and pushes. Sam meets him halfway, and Leoben runs his hands up Sam's chest and kisses him. Leoben feels the electric thrum of their connection burning electric and luminous, and he closes his eyes and lets it wash it over him. One day, too soon, he will open his eyes and he will be alone.
But not today.
Quiet
"You have to be quiet," Leoben tells her, his hand running up the slick skin of her back. She's naked on her bed, stripped bare down to nothing and her hair in her eyes. It doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that she'd always sworn this would never happen, either. Her body craves a darker touch than Sam's, bright-lit with love and adoration that she doesn't deserve. Leoben says he loves her and maybe he does, but there's enough blood between them to make this all right, to make it exactly what she wants.
Paint smears on his face, on hers, his hands desperate on her body with the mandala at her back.
"Frak you," Kara bites out, shifting on the bed. The sheets beneath her are tangled and sweat-soaked. Leoben is fully dressed, his face still bruised from her fists when she attacked him in the storage hold.
It doesn't help, does it? ...Nothing feels quite like it did before.
"If Sam finds me here he'll kill me, Kara," Leoben continues, fingers going lower, rubbing between her legs. "Though that might be what you want." He leans down and touches his mouth to her ear, and his voice makes her shiver. "You're so wound up, so tense, your mind can't stay still, can't relax--did you try this with him? Did you want him to make it hurt, do it rough, just so you could feel something?"
Kara bites back a moan as his fingers slip inside, rough, just a little painful. Leoben's breath spills hot against her ear, she bucks against the mattress and grabs the sheets tight in her fists. "Yes."
"It didn't work, did it?"
"No," Kara moans, shivering, and she's close, so close, she can feel it building and building, the pleasure wracking her body like waves. The music, that frakking music, it's still there, she doesn't think it's ever going to go away.
"I hear it too," Leoben murmurs, like he's in her head, and she shoves hard against him to glare at him because she's tired of this, tired of all these things that are in her head that aren't her.
Frak it. I don't even know what I am, anymore. "Frak me. Do it."
"Kara, I told you, this emptiness will be filled when you finally fulfill your destiny. Open yourself to God's purpose, and--"
"One more word about God, Leoben, and I am putting you out of the mother-frakking airlock." Kara's panting, desperate. "Leoben, I need something--my head, I can't stop hearing that godsdamned music and that stupid frakking mandala--"
Leoben's hand is gone and then he's behind her, drawing her up on her knees in her crowded bunk. His hands anchor her shoulders and the gods-damned room spins even though she's not moving; behind her eyes she sees the mandala, a sick bloom of colors she can't make go away. Kara cries out when Leoben thrusts inside of her, and it drives the colors up and out of her, flowing out of her eyes and her mouth--
"Kara," he gasps, and she looks over her shoulder at him. He looks transcendent, still marked with blood, he looks like he's he's frakking glowing. He holds her by the back of the neck, his other hand back between her legs, clothes disheveled and eyes star-bright-wild. "You're burning, you're--"
"Shut up," she says, desperate and close, so close. The pleasure bleeds white, covering the spill of blue and white and yellow of the mandala that is always there, ever-present in the darkness behind her eyes.
Leoben shoves her down with his hand on her neck, hissing "bite the pillow," his hands gripping bruising-tight now at her hips as he drives harder inside of her.
Kara reaches out and braces against the wall of her bunk, biting the material of the thin pillow between her teeth. It keeps her from shouting as she comes; that would only rouse the Marines and Sam's anger. She can hear Leoben's choked groan as he comes, feels him spill inside of her. For a moment there is nothing; no music, no mandala, no restless and angry crew beyond the walls of her cabin. There is only Leoben's harsh breathing and the gradual ease of long-held tension. The pleasure is secondary; her real relief comes from the silence.
Leoben's right. It won't last.