BSG Fic
BSG fic
Title: Insane
Author: snoopy0917
Rating: MA
Characters/Pairing: Laura Roslin; Bill Adama/Laura Roslin
Spoilers: Crossroads part 1
Summary: She’d be crazy to even consider it...
A/N: It’s a companion piece to Inevitable (found here or here) but can absolutely be read separately.
Many thanks (again) to
deepforestowl for the beta! And for convincing me not to trash the thing.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Translation: I own nothing. Merely a laptop, battered 5-star notebook, and fine point Bic pen. And this little story. The characters? SO not mine.
It was insane.
Risky, foolish, and quite possibly the stupidest thing she could do. She’d be crazy to even consider it. But it was the end of the world. And it had been argued that Laura Roslin lost her tenuous grip on sanity years ago.
In the beginning, she’d tried ignoring the situation. Gods knew she had enough practical considerations to occupy her brain for years, never mind the scant months the doctors allotted her. She simply didn’t have time to daydream about Bill Adama.
Perversely, it only made her think about it more.
She’d assumed it was just a passing infatuation. Ill-conceived attraction formed by circumstance, danger, and confused hormones. So she decided to indulge herself. Play through a few dirty fraks in her head and it would work its way out of her system. Things would return to normal. It certainly wasn’t anything serious.
He wasn’t even her type.
Looking back, she’d never been able to pinpoint when exactly things had changed. When, sick as she was, the touch of his lips filled her stomach with butterflies, Laura knew she was in trouble. When she let him talk her out of electoral fraud, she knew how much.
And once the cancer had gone and her body started seizing every opportunity to feel alive again…well there were worse things than thinking about it. Like jumping him in the middle of CIC, shoving him down on the nice, large, lighted console, and tasting the hollow of his throat.
So at night she thought about it. Lying in her bed. Lying in that frakking, rickety, uncomfortable thing masquerading as her bed. Painfully aware of the lowered murmurs just on the other side of the curtain, shattering the poorly-constructed illusion of privacy. Of the need for silence and secrecy. Of the innumerable reasons she shouldn’t. She thought about it.
During the day, she tried to behave. Mostly. It was all his fault. She tried to ignore it, but he was always looking. He’d always looked. Even in the beginning. Only now, he’d stopped trying to disguise it. Or maybe she just read him better. It couldn’t be that obvious to everyone. If it was, they were truly screwed.
He watched, alone and in public. His eyes weighing heavy on her form as he contemplated doing gods-knew what. It distracted her. It infuriated her. It thrilled her. Awakened her basest instincts. It goaded her to taunt him. To tease him with glances and innuendo-laced phrases. The brush of skin. The stretch of clothing. She tested his will. His control. To see how much he could endure before he broke.
She needed him to break.
She knew it was stupid. Knew it was dangerous. But he saw Her. He saw Laura. Not Roslin. Not President, Despot, or Benevolent Dictator. Laura. He was the only one who did anymore. The only one who bothered. The only one who kept her alive. Kept her human. Sometimes she wondered if Laura would still exist if not for Bill. If the demands of Fate and Prophecy and Office would have smothered her, leaving only Roslin to play the part.
It wasn’t enough anymore. Thoughts. Not after New Caprica. Not after the Cylons came back. Not after the cancer came back…
Too often, she found herself thinking about that night on New Caprica. Of lounging next to him under the stars, solid warmth pressed against her side and under her hand. Weightless euphoria drifted through her limbs as she’d contemplated the world with him. Burdens tossed aside. Just Laura and Bill. Two people who knew each other. Who understood each other. Who accepted each other. And who’d have had some truly excellent and meaningful sex if they weren’t both too stoned to move.
They had both pulled back but Laura knew they would end up there again. They’d started the dance anew. It was only a matter of time. And she longed for it. Ached for it. The press of hard flesh against hers. The push of strong hands capable of surprisingly delicate touch. The brush of lips against her skin.
But he was a soft touch. He was soft. He was weak. And he was hers. Her weakness. What did that say about her?
She sighed and stretched. The bed protested. Her back protested. Even the damn sheets protested, slipping from the foot of the bed and tangling around her ankles. She kicked free, dislodging the rest of her bedding.
Gritting her teeth, she gave up. She tried to relax. She deserved to relax. The days were long and unyielding. Her body was becoming more and more uncooperative. And her mind was tired of interminable meetings. She stretched again and loosed her imagination.
The thin material of her shirt stretched across her breasts as she arched her back against her desk chair. Bill’s voice, low and rumbling as he recounted some impossibly boring, vital piece of business, deepened before stopping altogether.
Laura opened her eyes only to find him staring at her intently
She stared back.
So coiled. So controlled. One day he was going to snap. Shatter under the weight of his responsibilities. And the raw emotion would surge out of him in a flood of reckless abandon. To be the focus of that kind of passion…
Laura’s thighs pressed together. Restless. Acutely aware of the growing wetness.
She was going to break him.
She held his gaze, daring him to look away. A devilish grin lit her face when he refused.
With deliberate movements, she lifted a hand. Flicking hair behind her shoulders, she began. Fingertips brushed her ear lightly before whispering along her jaw. A teasing, light touch marking the path to her mouth. His eyes twitched, fighting to hold their gaze. Her tongue darted out. He lost. His eyes dropped and watched, transfixed, as she moistened both lips and fingers. Teeth catching each lip in turn, nipping with promise before letting them slip free.
His eyes darkened, voice strained with warning.
“Laura.”
She tasted her fingers once more then pressed on, trailing them down neck and collarbone. Tracing along the edge of her shirt. Tracking the line of fabric down to her cleavage. Forcing his eyes to follow. Angling her skin further into the touch as his breathing grew heavy. As his hands clenched uselessly.
A small breathy groan escaped her lips.
He snapped. He surged.
Her breathing grew more labored as he dropped glasses and files and stood. Crossed the room in quick strides. Planted a hand on each chair-arm. Trapped her in the seat. Those unnaturally blue eyes staring right through her.
“Bill,” She gasped, his name escaping unbidden from her lips.
He kissed her before her words could find their purpose, stealing her breath and her reason.
His hands laced through her hair, thick strong figures slipping through the strands, securing her mouth against his. She groaned as he exploited the leverage, straightening his spine and taking her with him, pulling her effortlessly out of her chair. A quick shift of their feet and he’d trapped her, between the sharp edge of her desk and the solid mass of his chest.
Her fingers clutched the heavy wool of his jacket, searching for purchase as she wound her arms around his shoulders.
Hands slid down her torso, leisurely warming her skin through silk. One hand stopped against the curve of her hip, pressing her impossibly close. The other slid under her skirt and wound around a thigh, raising both fabric and flesh.
He lifted. She followed. Leg hooking around his hip. Ass landing firmly in the middle of her desk.
He was relentless. Tongue pushing further into her. Mouth hard and firm against hers. She fought back with teeth and tongue, adjusting their angle for deeper penetration. Wrapping both legs around his waist and pulling. He gasped as their hips connected, breaking the kiss to groan against her mouth.
His face burrowed in crook of her neck, worrying the skin with his teeth. Her fingers traced the tendons lightly, whispering across neck and collarbone. Imagining a wet, suckling heat trailing the teasing touch.
Her groin undulated against his. Friction tantalizing. Hard stroking wet. Sweet sensation knifing through her body, even through the layers of clothes.
Her thighs pressed together hard, squirming restlessly. A poor echo of the friction she needed.
With a reluctant groan, she laced her fingers through his thick hair and pulled. He grunted in protest but she ignored him, focusing intently as she disposed of his jacket and threw it across the room.
Winding her fingers around the straps of his tanks, she yanked him towards her, mouth demanding another kiss. Hard and biting and tasting of raw desire.
He leaned forward, pushing her backwards. Intent on spreading her across her desk. Tempting. But not this time.
Pushing with a strength she didn’t have, Laura forced him backwards. Dropped him into her chair. Divested him of his tanks. And only then brought her hands back up to her shirt. Commanded his attention as she worked each button free, slowly exposing her torso to him. Silk dropped to the desk. Her hands caressed her skin. Running over arms, stomach, and breasts as his gaze followed. He sat mesmerized, eyes devouring her every move.
She needed to touch him. Hands exploring his arms. The bump of his wrist. The curve of his forearm. The definition of his biceps. Curling around his shoulders and framing his body as she lowered her mouth to his neck. Licking and sucking across his chest. Fingers raking through the sparse hair she found there. Toying with flat nipples until they peaked under her fingers. Mouthing the line of his scar until her chin brushed against the warm, hard cock straining against his pants.
Her fingers attacked his fly. But, before she could free him, he grasped at her, dragging her back up his body. Hands dropped back down to her hips, fingers bruising flesh as he pulled her flush against him. Hips thrust upwards. His mouth latched onto her neck. Reddening her skin before he explored lower.
His head dropped to her breasts. His mouth latched onto a nipple. Suckling. Biting. Soothing. Her fingers slid across her skin and worked familiar magic, teasing nipples into hard peaks. His hands explored, shaping the canvas for his mouth. Plumping. Cupping. Massaging. Searching. Finding.
Finding…
Cancer’s back.
Cold sweat replaced the warm pulse of arousal. The words seared through her brain, unwelcome new reality slicing through fantasy and asserting itself.
Her hands tightened. Nails digging into her breasts. She relished the pain. At least she was the cause of it. Not some gods damned cosmic joke that was going to sacrifice her on the altar of fate.
Her rational side asserted itself, forcing down the sobs threatening to escape. The curtain would do nothing to hide her tears from the main office. She made her fingers relax, knowing she couldn’t rip the disease from her body. And that a set of bruised half-moons scarring her breasts would only invite unwelcome questions from Cottle.
Instead she lay on the horrible cot and focused on breathing. Slowly. In and out until she felt some small measure of control return. Until the despair was manageable again.
She should roll over and sleep. She got little enough as it was. But Laura was stubborn and refused to let that frakking disease steal away one of her last bits of enjoyment. One of the few pieces of herself she had left. Her hands slid down between her thighs. She skimmed off her underwear and forced her brain to cooperate.
Bill knelt at the foot of the bed. His eyes never left hers as he worked his way up her legs. Mouth and hands introducing themselves to the skin his eyes already knew intimately. Pushing forward to the unknown quantity of her thighs. His mouth blazed a wet trail from the base of her knee to the top of her thigh. Her hands moved restlessly against her legs, fingers spread wide, pressing down harder to mimic his touch.
Her fingers traced the seam where thigh met pelvis. His mouth followed, tongue drawing heavy lines across the crease before finding a sensitive spot and stopping. Suckling the flesh. Scoring it between his teeth. Leaving a mark that no one would see but him.
Gods, she was wet. Hot, slick, and thrumming with lust. She spread her legs wider. Opening herself to him. He flashed that big, wide grin reserved for special occasions before turning his head to the side. To the center. Bill buried his face in her. Licking and nipping the edges of her pussy. Teasing her. Making her ache.
Frak that. She wound her fingers in his hair and forced him to where she wanted him. His mouth closed over her clit. Her fingers slipped into the familiar cadence. Circling. Sucking. Spiraling the lust until it overwhelmed her. Washed over her. Splintered her senses.
Damp hair clung to her neck. Breath came in shallow pants, catching in her throat on each inhale. Her body thrummed from the climax, spikes of pleasure shooting through her limbs. It wasn’t enough. Her fingers started circling her clit again. Lightly. Slowly. Just enough to stoke the still unsated desire twisting her stomach.
Bill looked up at her. Softly tonguing her clit in time with the aftershocks. Face plastered with an insufferable smirk. That wouldn’t do at all.
She forced her fingers from his hair and grasped at his shoulders, hands and heels forcing him backwards, nearly tossing him off the bed.
His grunting protest evaporated when she sat up, grasping the back of his neck and forcing his mouth to hers. Tongues clashing. Teeth scraping his lips. She could taste herself on him and they both groaned when she pushed closer, seeking out every last hint of the flavor. His hands moved restlessly against her back. Everywhere at once. One remembered its course and veered south, intent on reclaiming her pussy.
She flipped him, dropping him onto his back. His disappointment disappearing as she applied her mouth to his chest.
He shifted impatiently as she worked her way down his body. His cock brushing against her stomach and breasts. Begging for the firmer contact she’d denied him.
“Laura,” He growled, voice lower than she’d ever heard it. Warning her. Ordering her. Begging her. She grinned. And she watched his eyes widen as she took him in her mouth.
“Frak.”
Head fell back and hips thrust forward. Her fingers combed through the heat pooling between her thighs. She contemplated his face, stoic features twisted in awe as she knelt over him. Her mouth filled with the musky tang of his cock.
She took as much as she could, straining to immerse herself in him. She worked lips, tongue and throat, filling her senses with his scent and taste. His hips jerked involuntarily. His hands wandered down to cradle her head. She leaned into the touch, letting his sharp groans and soft touch guide her. Letting his desperate movements urge her on and drive her wild.
She wanted him. She wanted him to fall apart under her. To know nothing but pure sensation and the agonizingly beautiful look on Bill’s face as she made him come. She wanted to claim him. With her mouth. Her hands. Her pussy. She wanted to be claimed.
Laura crawled up his body. Bill helped. Clutching at her arms and hips, he pulled her into position above him. Shaking with desire, Laura lined up his cock and sat down on top of him. Her head dropped back as her body stretched, clutching at his cock as he pushed into her. Thick and heavy and perfect.
She shoved several fingers inside her pussy. Stretching. Probing. Doing their best to approximate girth.
He was there. Solid muscle beneath her palms. Firm cock between her thighs. Ramming inside. Filling her.
Laura planted her feet on the mattress and thrust. Grinding against her fingers. Against his cock. His fingers slid down to the juncture of their bodies, unerringly finding her clit. Her fingers slipped through her wetness, resuming their rhythm.
His voice encouraged her as she moved. Timbered low and husky to spiral her desire. Growling a stream of base, lascivious words that turned her wanton. That drove her into frenzy. His hands gripped her hips, so tightly she could already feel the bruised forming. His hips snapped into hers over and over, driving his cock impossibly deep into her pussy. His face contorted with lust and exertion. His eyes never leaving hers as he shattered within her. As she shattered around him.
She turned her head and bit into the pillow. The heavy fabric swallowed his name.
Once the euphoria ebbed, exhaustion washed over Laura. She wiped her fingers on her stomach, too tired to get up and wash properly. Rolling over to her side she drew her knees up to her chest and sighed. Bill was a luxury now. Cancer was back.
I let you get too close.
He’d been right to reestablish the lines. And she’d pushed and teased because she knew he would not cross them. He had fought. He had restrained himself. Barely. She saw it in his eyes, his deteriorating will. She’d pushed too far. It was too late. He’d fight but he’d lose.
It won’t happen again.
But it would. It had. And it would break him. The cancer. The inevitable. Her death. It would break him. And she couldn’t afford that. They needed him whole. She needed him to survive.
She needed to end it. And she could too. Rip out their hearts. Destroy them. Strip their relationship bare, leaving nothing but the basic courtesies of professionalism. It needed to be done. It was the only acceptable decision. And she would do it.
“Move over,” Bill grumbled. Nudging the curve of her hip until she shifted closer to the edge of the cot.
He grunted contentedly, sliding under the blankets and spooning in behind her. One arm cradled her head, the other brushed her hair away from the nape of her neck before securing around her waist. Drawing her tight against him. His lips pressed against her neck with a tenderness that heightened his protective grip.
“You won’t.” He murmured against her neck.
“Oh really?” Her voice steady and full of steel. Her body coiling, withdrawing from the embrace.
He drew her back to him, pressing her impossibly close against his chest, as if he could fuse them together. His lips brushed her ear, silencing her protests.
“Because it won’t make any difference.”
And there was the crux of the issue. No matter what she did, how fiercely she fought, how calculating she became he would be there in the end. He loved her. And she him. Even if neither of them would articulate it. Even if they never did. He would be there at the end. At her end. No matter what they did in between.
And one day soon, he would lose his war. He would reach for her. And she would give back with everything she could manage. She could only pray that he would survive the consequences.
And there was her decision. Rationalized. Justified. Accepted.
But no less insane.