BSG Fic...
It had taken ten minutes to pack. Ten minutes to gut her makeshift home for the move. Everything she had left in the world, carefully tucked into a briefcase and carryon suitcase. Not even filling them to the brim. The bags stared back at her. Ready and willing to move to their new home.
She wasn’t.
It was the wrong choice.
Eyes closed, Laura focused on breathing, each shuddering inhale only slightly less ragged than the last. Tears swelled under her eyelids, craftily escaping to coat her cheeks with salt-stained tracks. She swallowed hard, forcibly relaxing limbs and muscles, refusing to surrender to the sorrow swelling inside her throat, clawing up from her chest and threatening to overwhelm her. She calmed her body, denying the deep, gut-wrenching sobs that would leave her curled in a ball, clutching her aching stomach. It seemed like she’d been crying for hours. Like her body couldn’t possibly contain any more grief.
Her world had been devastated over and over again in the last year. Death. Disease. Cylons. Richard. Everything she had trusted, valued, loved, systematically taken apart and ravaged. Destroying her future, her present, her body, her sense of self.
Of course, this time it was of her own doing.
Baltar would be a disaster. She had no doubt of that. Felt it with a cold, creeping certainty that prickled her skin and settled heavily in her bones.
Even if she was wrong about him. Even if he wasn’t collaborating with the cylons. Even if her vision of him was just the feverish hallucination of a dying woman. He was a vain, narcissistic, self-serving, charismatic, delusional fool with a dangerous mean streak. And questionable sanity. The man was toxic.
And he had no idea what they were in for. Starting a civilization over from scratch was a near herculean task. One he’d not even considered. The supplies, the planning, the logistics, the weather, the conditions… Never mind the leaden weight in the pit of her stomach. The absolutely certainty that the cylons would find them.
They should have gone through with it.
You won’t do this.
Bill was wrong about that. Throwing an election was nothing. He’d called her bloody minded once. And she was. Willing to compromise her ethics, her values, her soul to do what was necessary to survive. What was one more stain on her cosmic self in the face of the greater good? She would have gritted her teeth and smiled as the guilt began to build. As the weight settled in her chest. As lies stained her mouth, bitter taste overwhelming. She would have put aside Laura for their survival. For their future.
Laura should be dead after all.
“Hey.”
A watery smile wound across her face at the sound of his voice, belying the involuntary start of her body. She shifted on her bed, turning towards him. Catching a fleeting glimpse of her reflection in the small windows lining the walls.
She was a mess. Cheeks stained with errant tears. Hair disheveled. Jacket discarded and packed. Shirtsleeves rolled up. Feet bare and tucked beneath her. Anger and self-pity and confusion swirling through her veins. Unprepared for company. Especially not Bill.
It was good to see him.
He stood in her doorway, rigid shoulders framed by the fraying curtains. A bottle clutched between his hands. Stoic demeanor in place. Uncertainty written in his eyes. Unsure of how he’d be received. Unwilling to let things fester between them. Unwilling to let her go.
Laura remembered how she’d felt when Cain had supplanted him, the sharp loss that assaulted her gut. The unsettled feeling, indefinable yet unmistakably wrong. It wasn’t just that the uncompromising woman was the wrong person to lead her fleet. It was that Helena Cain wasn’t Bill Adama.
And she would miss him.
Bill watched quietly as she pulled herself together. Confident fingers soothed her rumpled hair and wiped her cheeks clean of the subtle tear tracks. His eyes wandered the room, absorbing the familiar space, empty except for the two packed bags perched on the couch.
The reality settled heavily on him with every abandoned surface. Each spot absent of any evidence that a woman named Laura had lived here. He stared for a long time at her makeshift nightstand, his brain recreating the trinkets he had once seen there. She could tell him where each one was in her suitcase.
The choice had been clear. An abstract study in right and wrong. His face tightened as he absorbed the stark reality of their choice. Jaw grinding slightly, grasping for something to say. For the right thing. The perfect thing. The thing that would fix it.
He shuffled towards her, stopping a long moment by the bed before perching gingerly next to her and dropping his elbows to rest on his knees.
Silence filled the space between them. Heavy with unspoken words and spent arguments. All inconsequential now.
She’d felt the drop in her stomach when they jumped. She knew where they were.
And yet, she hoped he’d tell her what? That she was right? That he was her willing accomplice? That Baltar had been flushed out an airlock and he’d reset a course for Earth?
If stealing an election would destroy her, what would it do to him?
“It’s done,” He admitted softly.
Her lips twitched, curling softly at the abrupt admission. The weight shifted in her chest. Heavy pressure nestled familiarly into its new home. The inevitable had happened. She needed to move past it. To find her new life. To redefine a few things.
“I know, Admiral Adama.”
That was at least one thing she’d gotten right. Baltar couldn’t touch him, wouldn’t dare. Bill would be there to mitigate the worst of the decisions. To safeguard the people as much as he could. He would do his best to take care of them. She trusted him. Trusted him with their safety. Trusted him even more now than the day she was supposed to die.
“You ok?”
“Yes.” She answered slowly, rolling the word around in her mouth, surprised that it fit.
Propping her back against the wall, Laura let herself relax. The bulkhead mussed her hair. A lazy smile tickled her lips. Her eyes indulged in the sight of him, drinking in the strong lines of his shoulders, the chiseled wornness of his features. She wanted to reach out a finger and trace the crags in his cheek, feel the texture underneath her skin. She was content just to be with him.
“It’s good to see you, Bill.”
“Me or the bottle?”
Her look sliced through his half hearted stab at levity. Through the unacknowledged insecurity he hadn’t been able to ignore. Tension built slowly between them. The lump in her throat thickened in the silence. Lips parted as her breathing grew heavier.
He broke the look first. Shoulders slumping slightly as he dropped his eyes to the bottle in his hands. Twirled off the top with practiced ease. Reached out of habit for the tumblers that sat on her end table. He found only blank space.
“Don’t you have glasses?”
“I packed them.”
His head jerked back around, unable to respond
The smirk tugged harder at the side of Laura’s mouth “Don’t look at me like that.”
“We have glasses on Galactica, you know.”
“That doesn’t mean the little frak-weasel can have mine.”
Bill snorted. Laura laughed softly. She could taste the salt tickling her skin as the movement loosened the precarious détente between her eyes and her tears.
She left the pale streaks and reached instead for the proffered bottle.
“I’m a petty woman” She murmured before taking a long drink, savoring the forgotten, pleasant burn, as Bill argued with his own smile.
“I thought Colonel Tigh drank all of your alcohol months ago?”
“Saul doesn’t know everything.”
He winced at his words, even before they’d escaped his mouth.
“I’ve still got some secrets,” He corrected gruffly, dropping his gaze to his hands in silent apology for bringing it up. Like they could think of anything else.
They passed the bottle between them, silence stretching, filling the air with unspoken thoughts. It was comfortable, almost achingly familiar in its simplicity, yet completely foreign. Quiet support, unshaken trust, and a growing depth of emotion she couldn’t control.
Laura took shallow sips, eschewing the allure of heavy drunkenness, of drowning her sorrows and embracing the maudlin self-pity threatening to consume.
Bill matched her pace. Posture mirroring hers, sinking back against the cushions and wall as the liquor warmed his limbs.
Laura dropped her chin in her palm and watched him.
“So what do we do now?
The question caught her unprepared. She hummed inquisitively, waiting for him to elaborate.
He coaxed the bottle from her grasp, sipping slowly as he considered his words. “This isn’t going to last. He’s going to frak up. People are going to come around. So what do we do?”
“Nothing.”
And that was the stark reality. They had made their choice. There was no turning back. Nothing they could do to change things, short of staging another coup and throwing the fleet into another civil war. One they’d not recover from this time. Nothing to do but wait. And live.
The thought of losing him from her life soured her stomach.
“Bill, why are you here?”
It was she that flinched, not him, at the boldness of her alcohol-loosened tongue. She knew the reasons. They both did. And, question asked, she didn’t know what she expected to hear. She wasn’t sure what she wanted him to say.
Bill stared intently at the bottle in his hands, fingers tracing the worn label. His jaw worked slightly, almost imperceptibly, as he turned phrases over in his brain, grasping for the right ones.
When the words finally came, she had to strain to hear them.
“Where else would I be?”
It was a lie. A platitude. He had a family. Friends. A job. A life. A home. There were countless places he could be rather than her self-imposed wake.
He turned his head to look at her. Deep eyes cataloging every last detail, absorbing how she looked at this moment. Full of such affection, such simple certainty that her chest ached.
“I’m going to miss you.”
“I’m not dead, Bill.”
Her teasing smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Everything was different now. The basic shape of their relationship had altered, changed for gods knew how long.
Different wasn’t always a bad thing.
Bill took another drink from the bottle, longer this time, wincing at the burn before holding it out to her. She set the liquor aside, ignoring his offering to focus on him. On the weariness enveloping his limbs. On the subtle affection written across his face that he was unable to disguise.
She wanted him.
It had crept over her so gradually, she had no idea when it began. When her feelings towards him started to change from frustration and annoyance to something else. He challenged her. He drove her crazy.
They had been dancing around it for months. Long before her recovery. Long before Kobol, even. Back in the days of mistrust and suspicion, it had simmered underneath the surface, unacknowledged and unwanted.
Laura was no fool. She knew how Bill looked at her when she wasn’t watching. The way his eyes lingered on her legs when she entered a room. The way he eyed her cleavage during long meetings. The way his fingers twitched whenever she pushed her hair behind her ears. The way his eyes softened when he watched her laugh.
She knew what would happen long before he did. From the moment he appeared in her doorway. Before, even. It was inevitable. Since the moment she’d recovered from the cancer. Since the moment she’d shaken his hand on Kobol. Since the moment she’d first argued with him in the corridors of his ship. She’d ignored it. She’d waited. She’d been responsible.
She’d made the wrong choice.
For him.
Some things, she’d rather not examine too closely.
Her hand reached forward of its own volition, fingers tilting his face towards her as she drew closer.
“Laura…?” He asked reflexively, low rumble of his throat tickling the pads of her fingers. His eyes met hers for a moment. A flash of something flickered through them as he registered her intention. Not quite surprise. But close enough, tinted with a hint of nervous uncertainty.
“Bill…” She whispered in kind before touching her lips to his. A delicate touch, firmer than their first kiss. More than a mere brush or a quick taste but just as fleeting.
His lips were warm. Soft. Lightly flavored with spice and salt and something she couldn’t identify. Something she knew was just Bill. Their lips clung together as she pulled back, unwilling to let him go.
She stayed close, their noses almost touching, his breath ghosting across the side of her mouth. Her palm flattened against his chin, moving to cradle his jaw. Her thumb traced the lines in his cheek as she steadied herself. Searching eyes looked into hers, question unspoken on his lips.
“I owed you one.”
His face never moved but she saw the sadness spark in his eyes as he remembered. The memories quickly washed away as she leaned in and kissed him again. Longer this time. Her tongue traced the indentations of his lips, savoring their complex texture before sliding easily into his mouth.
He gasped, freezing momentarily before responding. Reaching his tongue out to tangle with her, languid strokes teasing her as she explored his mouth. Tickling fingers toyed with the ends of her hair before winding his hand into the thick locks at the base of her skull. She kissed him just long enough to catalogue his taste. To swirl the tingling nerves in her stomach before retreating again.
Breathing deeply, Laura rested her forehead against his cheek, enjoying the way his quick breaths ruffled the hair covering her ear. His hand hesitated, hovering just a beat too long before gathering courage and brushing aside the stray hairs, tucking the locks behind the shell of her ear.
“What was that for?”
“Because I wanted to.”
Strong arms slid around her waist, cradling the small of her back, untucking her shirt and stroking across the soft skin.
“Laura, I can’t just…”
“I know, Bill,” She cut him off before he revealed too much. Captured his mouth before he told her more than she was ready to hear.
Kissing Bill wasn’t what she’d imagined. Her fantasies had been tainted, she supposed, by years of kissing Richard. Bill felt so different against her. Lips fuller, fitting perfectly between her own. Shoulders broader, body thicker, compact muscles powerful, almost intimidating as they flexed under her hands and against her sides. Lush, thick hair tickled her hands, unexpectedly soft. He had let it grow out from the severe military cut he’d worn when they met. The extra length suited him. And her. Laura let her fingers curl through the rich strands, anchoring them both as she sealed her mouth to his.
She should have known he’d be like this. Slow, deliberate, absorbing. Savoring each touch, each lick and nibble. Past encounters with Richard seemed so sordid in comparison. Rushed and hurried, the fear of being caught almost overwhelming at times. Right now the entire press corps could show up and she wouldn’t give a frak. She owed them nothing.
A hand snaked up to cup her face, dancing across her cheekbone before tilting her jaw, new angle deepening the kiss. His tongue licked across the roof of her mouth. Sensitive shivers sparked along her spine, bubbling desire deep within her stomach, sweeping out through her limbs to ignite her nerve endings, to focus all of her senses on what he was doing to her with the simplest of touches.
Laura wound her arms around his neck and lost herself in the sensation. She knew it had been a long time for him. Longer, she suspected, than he would care to admit. She half-expected him to escalate things immediately. To burrow under her clothing, bury his head in her cleavage, strip away the fabric and frak her the way she knew he wanted.
But he seemed almost content to just enjoy this. To take it slow and relish the lazy coil of desire blossoming in his limbs. To neck like teenagers for hours, fully clothed on her bed.
She didn’t think she’d done this since college. And even that was nothing like this. That had been all fumbling and hormones and base need. This was all those things and more.
She wanted more.
A weathered thumb traced the sliver of skin just above the waist of her skirt, following the line around her stomach and stroking the soft flesh he found there. An inconsequential touch. Fleeting. So light that she could barely feel it.
It ignited her senses. Her body was waking up around her. Desire coiled in stomach. Snaking down to pool wetly between her thighs
No one ever touched her. She hadn’t realized it until now. Until every nerve ending came alive under just the promise of Bill’s fingers.
She loosed her hands. Explored the vast contours of his body, greedily mapping every surface she could reach. Hard muscle and smooth skin masked by the bulky folds of his uniform, scratchy wool harsh against her palms. Her fingers ached to explore the solid flesh hidden underneath, to feel naked skin against her own, to feel his mouth, his hands, his cock. Her touch-starved body wanted to indulge in his touch and drown in the sensations.
The kisses grew longer. Wetter. Hot and deliberate. Bold hands strayed into forbidden areas. Firm touches sketched the muscles of her back, skimming around her sides and daring to slide under her blouse. Tracing the line of her spine in tiny concentric circles. Higher and higher until the pads of his fingers brushed the satiny seams of her bra. Her nipples hardened, breasts grew heavy in heady anticipation, aching for his mouth.
Arousal coiled deep within her stomach, starbursting out to ignite her limbs and consume her nerve endings.
The room shifted. Laura dropped a hand to clutch his bicep as he readjusted them. As strong hands anchored at her waist and pulled her onto his lap.
The moan ripped from her throat, vibrating against his tongue as she pressed closer. He sucked in a harsh break at the sound, gravel-thick voice murmuring something indistinguishable against her lips before blazing wet trails across her skin, nipping eagerly at the fleshy lobe of her ear and exploring the long curve of her neck, searching for the sensitive spots that made her gasp.
Laura arched into the touch, moaning as teeth and stubble scraped across the hollow of her throat, reddening the fair skin only to sooth it with apologetic kisses.
Her fingers reached for the fasteners of his jacket, tugging at the fabric as she tried to negotiate the hidden clasps. They failed, the stretch of his body stretching the buttons in their holes, erasing the give she needed to free them. A frustrated huff pushed past her teeth, mouth nipping reproach into his jaw. Chuckling he guided her fingers, showing her how to part the stubborn fabric, helping her strip aside the hot wool and toss it aside.
She rewarded them both. Her hands drank in the texture of his arms, following the sculpted line of his muscle. Pressing her breasts against his pectorals, giggling as the contact tightened her nipples.
It wasn’t enough.
The angle was all wrong. She couldn’t get close enough. Too much fabric covered them both.
She lifted onto her knees. He groaned as his mouth lost contact with her flesh, then again as she straddled him. As she yanked her stubborn skirt up and wrapped her thighs around his waist. Well-worn wool scratched the bare skin of her leg, forcing a ragged gasp from her throat at the new texture. She leaned into the contact, relishing the rough texture marking her sensitive skin.
Bill groaned against her throat, low moan morphing into a growl as his hand wound up from her knee shoving the skirt up and massaging the back of her strong thigh. Groping the muscle roughly as it flexed, pulling his body flush against hers.
Her mouth latched onto his neck sucking hard as their groins connected for the first time. As she felt his heavy cock thickening against her thigh. Felt the heat straining towards hers through wool and cotton and the soaked silk of her panties.
He growled into her mouth, bit her lip as his cock ground against her. Thick and promising and positively delicious. His hips start to jerk into hers. She writhed against him, pussy growing hot and slick as she thought about it. As she let the image take hold - his naked body thrusting against her, into her, filling her and stealing her sense.
She was on fire.
And he stopped
His mouth pressed one last wet kiss behind her ear. Lazy hips rocked almost imperceptibly into hers. The pads of his fingers traced the small curve of her spine, tickling across the heating flesh, against the tiny beads of sweat starting to pebble.
“Laura.”
His voice coaxed her eyes open. They fell into his, earnest and thoughtful and hungry. He drank in her appearance. Mussed hair, swollen lips, flushed skin, heavy-lidded eyes.
Laura did the same, smiling softly at the dilation of his pupils. At the warm tint to his olive skin. At his deep breaths and thick swallows. Bill’s eyes closed briefly, bracing himself, need warring with better judgment as he asked again. As he offered them both one last escape.
“You sure?”
Such a simple question. With so many more meanings than he realized
Bill did nothing by half-measures and he was more than half in love with her.
And Laura didn’t do relationships. She did Richard. She avoided. Shuttered her deeper emotions away, kept them carefully controlled. Protected herself from exposure, from pain, from feeling more than she could handle.
Bill would want all of her. Want more than she could give.
This was the wrong choice too.
Not trusting her voice or the heavy lump in her throat, Laura answered without words.
Her mouth captured his once more, kissing him deeply before untangling their limbs.
“Be right back,” She murmured against his lips.
Unsteady legs righted her, crawling off the bed to stand in front of him. She closed her eyes, gathering her courage and inhaling deeply.
Sure fingers reached for her buttons, sliding each circle out of its hole with agonizing slowness. Savoring the way Bill’s eyes widened at her unexpected boldness.
Bill held his breath as he watched her, eyes feasting on the thin line of skin as it worked down her torso, marred only by the white fabric of her bra. His fingers followed, slipping down from her hairline to trace her neck, her collarbone, the very edge of the pink silk hiding her curves from him.
The edges of her shirt slipped across her skin, her deep breaths loosing the silk’s precarious hold on her skin. Hinting at the sleek fabric of her bra. At the scarlet flush tinting her skin. At the swells of her breasts anticipating his touch.
The blouse slid off her shoulders, dropping forgotten to the floor. His eyes widened as her skirt followed, pooling around her feet. His mouth opened wordlessly, memorizing the sight of her standing before him in mismatched underwear.
His hands reached forward to trace her collarbone, before sliding down her torso to ghost across the seams of her bra. She stilled his hands with hers just before he cupped her satin-covered breasts, and straddled him again.
This time he didn’t stop.
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