Kink Bingo Prize: BSG fic for such_heights
Another 
kink_bingo prize: this one's for
such_heights. I hope you like it, buddy!
title: Bloodlines
fandom: BSG
pairing: Boomer/Caprica
rating: S for the robot sex
word count: 2230
kinks: hand fetish, bloodplay, scars/scarification
notes: set just after "Downloaded," filling in a little gap between there and "Lay Down Your Burdens." I haven't actually watched the show in a while, so apologies if there are any continuity errors - I was mostly here for the hot robot lesbians.
content advisory: ( skip) contains self-harm. the self-harm in the story is not self-destructive, but more in the bloodplay/scarification mode, but contains some description of physical scars and cutting that may still be triggery. no other standard notes apply.
Bloodlines
Looking back, Caprica knows that it began in the dark, trapped under rubble and filth, began there in the moment when the Eight - Boomer - Sharon - took her hand, wrapped strong lithe fingers around her forearm and cried out their unity; began with their blood and their sweat mingling freely as they stood over the still-warm corpse of the Three they had killed.
The Three will be downloaded again, eventually. Caprica wonders if, when that happens, the Three will learn what she and Sharon know now: the bad fit of a new body; the creeping realisation that flesh is not so interchangeable as they thought it was. The possibility that each drop of their blood has its own strange, inaccessible consciousness, its own goals, dreams, life cycles.
*
It began when they touched there in the city that gave Caprica her name, began with the beaded moisture on Sharon's hot wrist and the shallow cuts along Caprica's arm.
Ever since then, she's had an itch under her skin, a feeling of discomfort like the feeling she had when she was first downloaded into this new body - but different, both stranger and less strange, somehow. It's the itch of splintered bone mending together and it's the itch of faraway music that she can't quite hear, something that tugs at the edge of her awareness but that eludes her grasp. It's when she's near Sharon that she feels it the most, feels like her blood is made of iron filaments that pull towards Sharon like she's Caprica's own personal magnetic pole.
Maybe she is. Maybe they are.
She and Sharon take action together, rally the cylon, give speeches, become visible, feared; their people elevate them to generals, nearly to idols. They spend long nights together poring over strategies, battle plans, non-battle plans, and during the days they wrest control, little by little, from the Ones and the Twos and the Threes and the Fours who seek to stand in their way. If they will just see - if she and Sharon can just make them see - there is a way to save everyone, cylon and human alike.
When she's alone, Caprica runs her fingertips over her new knees, her new face, her new knuckles. There's a scar missing along her left index finger where she cut herself once in Gaius's kitchen; she had been slicing fruit, and the juice from the citrus had gotten into the wound and stung her. She remembers putting her finger into her mouth to stop the sting, but - not this finger, and not this mouth.
There is a way to save everyone, she's sure of it.
*
"But that still doesn't solve the question of how we find them - we can't implement any of this without - " Sharon runs a frustrated hand through her hair, scrubs her nails against her scalp. She gestures widely at the diagrams, the plans, the scraps of paper that she still favours over cylon data terminals. One of them, the oldest of them, says live together in God's love at the very top in Caprica's own hasty scrawl. "It's useless."
"We can wait for them," Caprica answers, as she has answered for days now. "We live long lives."
"Do we, really."
"I - "
"These bodies are aging," Sharon interrupts. "Aging like humans."
Caprica opens her mouth to reply, then stops. There's an image that comes to her now, in her sleep, the deep vast dark of the download chamber, the unearthly glow of the cold viscous fluid. Her own face hovering above her.
"We'll find them," she murmurs. "Soon." Helplessly, she reaches across the table, across the plans and the diagrams, and covers Sharon's hand with her own. She feels her heartbeat quicken when Sharon turns her hand over to offer up her palm. Bones healing together; a song not quite audible. Iron in her blood. There's a half-closed cut on the heel of Sharon's hand, left over from the building collapse, perhaps - was it only days ago? A week? - red and just beginning to scab over. Sharon meets her gaze and Caprica, not knowing why, pries the wound open with one polished fingernail.
Sharon hisses, but doesn't draw back, stays still as if locked in place. A thick drop of blood wells up, then trickles down lazily over her slender wrist. Caprica begins to bend her head towards it, already anticipating its metallic tang on her tongue.
"No," Sharon croaks. Caprica stops short, meets her eyes again. "No, it'll be better if - into the bloodstream," she says, and pulls a small knife out of her pocket, the one she uses to cut faulty wires during repairs on their baseship. Caprica takes it and turns her own hand over, palm-up, so that their hands are mirrored next to each other on the table, Sharon's thumb rubbing slowly over her little finger. Caprica's long, pale, slender fingers are nothing like Sharon's small, delicate brown ones with their neatly-trimmed boxer's fingernails, but nonetheless for a moment Caprica loses track of which fingers are which, where touching ends and feeling begins; her vision swims, then clears. She draws her hand back a little.
Caprica makes a nick on the heel of her own hand, in an exact imitation of Sharon's cut, and they move at the same time to press their hands together again.
This time she's not distracted by her injuries, by the rumble of diggers above them or the dead body at their feet; this time it's all stillness, and blood to blood. It's nothing at all like tapping into the memory uploads of the other Sixes, nothing at all like plunging her hand into the gel-data of a baseship console, nothing nothing like that but almost -
Sharon gasps and grinds their palms tighter together, weaves her fingers with Caprica's and holds on tight enough to bring them both a bright flare of pain. Blood speaks to blood, an information exchange just beyond Caprica's ability to fully comprehend it but oh, she can feel it, glorious and strange and completely new. She can feel each individual cell of Sharon's as it enters her, as it trickles slowly into her body to join the others already there. She can feel them building up inside her, while her own cells begin to echo back to her from inside Sharon's body.
She only realises that she had closed her eyes when she manages to open them again. Sharon's face hovering before her seems different, with their blood pressed together; more familiar, like her own face but not. When they kiss it's hungry, desperate, but secondary to the white-knuckled press of their palms together, the sing of their blood in each other. Caprica's other hand tears at Sharon's clothing, reveals smooth soft skin and - scars, short and precise, over her belly and breasts.
Without hesitation she bears Sharon to the floor and pins her with their locked, bloodied hands. Sharon falls with her, like they're one body moving in unison, one system networked together, and when they land she arches up immediately to bite, hard, at the soft skin of Caprica's throat. She breaks the skin, just slightly, and the feel of her saliva mingling with blood sets off a shuddering echo of the connection that sings where their blood smears together.
"I want you in me," Sharon half-growls, her lips pressed against Caprica's jaw.
Caprica grins, grinds down, grasps at Sharon's bloody hand. Little waves of information - sensation/pleasure - shudder through her veins. "I am," she says, and it would sound like a laugh if she weren't already so out of breath, so out of control. She bends down and kisses Sharon again, mouth to mouth, slides their tongues together and feels the hard, hot insistence of her body, of their bodies; feels the friction and sweat and solidity of their bodies together.
Sharon's got her trousers pushed halfway down her hips and is squirming insistently beneath her. Caprica lets go of Sharon's bloodied hand and leans back to strip off her dress in one smooth movement. She expected to feel a loss when their blood lost contact, but instead the itch, the pounding of desire in her body increases. She can feel her own heartbeat; she can feel Sharon's heartbeat. She can feel every single cell in her body and they're all aching to fall down into Sharon's soft, scarred flesh.
Sharon gasps and arches her back, shoves her hips up even though Caprica hasn't gotten fingers or tongue inside her yet. She holds her palm up to Sharon's mouth; there's still a little blood on it. "Taste," she says, and Sharon opens her eyes and does, licks slowly and sensuously along the lines of Caprica's palm. Her eyes are open, her gaze locked with Caprica's. She takes each finger in her mouth, one by one, and sucks, laves them with her tongue and her saliva. Her teeth scrape against the pad of Caprica's index finger, and Caprica's eyes flutter closed in pleasure; she tilts her head back and rubs herself down against Sharon's thigh. She feels a wide, involuntary grin break out on her face.
When Sharon pulls her lips off of Caprica's finger, Caprica opens her eyes again. Beneath her, Sharon kicks one leg out of her trousers and spreads her legs wide, waiting.
"C'mon," she says, her breath coming in fast, controlled gasps. "Touch me already."
She sounds like a soldier, blunt and honest; it makes Caprica, who is so used to the mindgames and verbal tricks she used to play with Baltar, want to stay silent and obey. Slowly, she draws her fingers away from Sharon's mouth and puts them into her own, like a kiss by proxy. This time the taste of Sharon, her DNA, runs through Caprica like waves of hot and cold, hot and cold, and she moans and gets her arm between them, gets her slick fingers on Sharon's wet clit.
"Yeah," she murmurs, "Yeah, Caprica, yes - " Caprica bends down and kisses her, tongues against her lips while her fingers rub in small hard circles. They're rocking together, the connection sparking between them in long, slow shocks; Sharon cries out into Caprica's mouth and grinds up against Caprica's fingers, gasping and shaking for a long minute while she rides a hot wave of pleasure. Caprica feels echoes of it all through her body, tingling against her fingertips where she's rubbing Sharon off and along her tongue where they kissed, pulses of feeling, magnetism, healing. She spreads her legs and thrusts down against Sharon's thigh; Sharon obligingly hardens against her, pressing upwards and matching her thrust for thrust. Caprica eases her fingers off of Sharon's clit and replaces them with her own thigh, rubs in slowly, letting Sharon find the position that gives them the best friction.
Sharon twists her fingers in Caprica's hair and pulls her down, gets her mouth on Caprica's collarbone. Her other hand comes up to Caprica's breast and her thumb rubs hard and slow against a nipple; Caprica feels Sharon everywhere, on her, inside her, and the sensation is too much, too overwhelming: she grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut.
"Let go," Sharon commands, her lips and her fingers and her thigh pushing at Caprica's body, her blood flowing with Caprica's blood, her consciousness like a ghost rubbing up against Caprica's mind. "Let go," she says again, and then she says, "please, sister, let go - "
Caprica's eyes fly open and she takes in the woman beneath her, her partner, whose body covers her completely. Sharon is bright-eyed and flushed and nodding at her, grinding up against her and gasping at each thrust and Caprica grins down at her and lets herself feel - everything: the sweat on their skin, the rough raised texture of Sharon's scars, the pleasure of her muscles working and her heart pumping and her cunt clenching and she lets it all roar through her at once, losing herself in Sharon. Losing sight, at last, of the boundaries where her body ends and Sharon's begins.
*
A long time later, when they are wet and tired and panting and have finally fallen apart, Sharon smiles a slow, wet kiss into her mouth and asks, in a hesitant murmur, "Is this how it is for cylons? This - " she dips her tongue into Caprica's mouth and lets sensation flow between them - "Is it always like this?"
Caprica feels the question against her lips like she feels the blood moving in her veins, the organs working in her body. "No," she says. Then, slowly, she adds, "but this is the first time - since the download, I haven't - "
"I know," Sharon says. "Me too." Her smile is like the first one she ever showed Caprica, self-deprecating and aggressive and sad. "Maybe our souls want back out of our bodies again."
Caprica shrugs; her bare shoulder brushes against Sharon's chest, and even the simple touching of skin to skin is starting to be enough to spark that still-strange feeling of connection. Whatever they have, it's growing.
She runs her fingers slowly along the short, precise scars that dot Sharon's bare torso; she doesn't have to ask why they're there, or what they're for.
"No," Caprica says again. "This is something new." She meets Sharon's gaze. "You and I are something new."
"We can find a way to save everyone," Sharon says, and Caprica feels again like she did buried under the rubble, when Sharon first took her hand and bound them together.
"We can," Caprica says, and believes it.
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kink_bingo prize: this one's for
such_heights. I hope you like it, buddy!
title: Bloodlines
fandom: BSG
pairing: Boomer/Caprica
rating: S for the robot sex
word count: 2230
kinks: hand fetish, bloodplay, scars/scarification
notes: set just after "Downloaded," filling in a little gap between there and "Lay Down Your Burdens." I haven't actually watched the show in a while, so apologies if there are any continuity errors - I was mostly here for the hot robot lesbians.
content advisory: ( skip) contains self-harm. the self-harm in the story is not self-destructive, but more in the bloodplay/scarification mode, but contains some description of physical scars and cutting that may still be triggery. no other standard notes apply.
Bloodlines
Looking back, Caprica knows that it began in the dark, trapped under rubble and filth, began there in the moment when the Eight - Boomer - Sharon - took her hand, wrapped strong lithe fingers around her forearm and cried out their unity; began with their blood and their sweat mingling freely as they stood over the still-warm corpse of the Three they had killed.
The Three will be downloaded again, eventually. Caprica wonders if, when that happens, the Three will learn what she and Sharon know now: the bad fit of a new body; the creeping realisation that flesh is not so interchangeable as they thought it was. The possibility that each drop of their blood has its own strange, inaccessible consciousness, its own goals, dreams, life cycles.
*
It began when they touched there in the city that gave Caprica her name, began with the beaded moisture on Sharon's hot wrist and the shallow cuts along Caprica's arm.
Ever since then, she's had an itch under her skin, a feeling of discomfort like the feeling she had when she was first downloaded into this new body - but different, both stranger and less strange, somehow. It's the itch of splintered bone mending together and it's the itch of faraway music that she can't quite hear, something that tugs at the edge of her awareness but that eludes her grasp. It's when she's near Sharon that she feels it the most, feels like her blood is made of iron filaments that pull towards Sharon like she's Caprica's own personal magnetic pole.
Maybe she is. Maybe they are.
She and Sharon take action together, rally the cylon, give speeches, become visible, feared; their people elevate them to generals, nearly to idols. They spend long nights together poring over strategies, battle plans, non-battle plans, and during the days they wrest control, little by little, from the Ones and the Twos and the Threes and the Fours who seek to stand in their way. If they will just see - if she and Sharon can just make them see - there is a way to save everyone, cylon and human alike.
When she's alone, Caprica runs her fingertips over her new knees, her new face, her new knuckles. There's a scar missing along her left index finger where she cut herself once in Gaius's kitchen; she had been slicing fruit, and the juice from the citrus had gotten into the wound and stung her. She remembers putting her finger into her mouth to stop the sting, but - not this finger, and not this mouth.
There is a way to save everyone, she's sure of it.
*
"But that still doesn't solve the question of how we find them - we can't implement any of this without - " Sharon runs a frustrated hand through her hair, scrubs her nails against her scalp. She gestures widely at the diagrams, the plans, the scraps of paper that she still favours over cylon data terminals. One of them, the oldest of them, says live together in God's love at the very top in Caprica's own hasty scrawl. "It's useless."
"We can wait for them," Caprica answers, as she has answered for days now. "We live long lives."
"Do we, really."
"I - "
"These bodies are aging," Sharon interrupts. "Aging like humans."
Caprica opens her mouth to reply, then stops. There's an image that comes to her now, in her sleep, the deep vast dark of the download chamber, the unearthly glow of the cold viscous fluid. Her own face hovering above her.
"We'll find them," she murmurs. "Soon." Helplessly, she reaches across the table, across the plans and the diagrams, and covers Sharon's hand with her own. She feels her heartbeat quicken when Sharon turns her hand over to offer up her palm. Bones healing together; a song not quite audible. Iron in her blood. There's a half-closed cut on the heel of Sharon's hand, left over from the building collapse, perhaps - was it only days ago? A week? - red and just beginning to scab over. Sharon meets her gaze and Caprica, not knowing why, pries the wound open with one polished fingernail.
Sharon hisses, but doesn't draw back, stays still as if locked in place. A thick drop of blood wells up, then trickles down lazily over her slender wrist. Caprica begins to bend her head towards it, already anticipating its metallic tang on her tongue.
"No," Sharon croaks. Caprica stops short, meets her eyes again. "No, it'll be better if - into the bloodstream," she says, and pulls a small knife out of her pocket, the one she uses to cut faulty wires during repairs on their baseship. Caprica takes it and turns her own hand over, palm-up, so that their hands are mirrored next to each other on the table, Sharon's thumb rubbing slowly over her little finger. Caprica's long, pale, slender fingers are nothing like Sharon's small, delicate brown ones with their neatly-trimmed boxer's fingernails, but nonetheless for a moment Caprica loses track of which fingers are which, where touching ends and feeling begins; her vision swims, then clears. She draws her hand back a little.
Caprica makes a nick on the heel of her own hand, in an exact imitation of Sharon's cut, and they move at the same time to press their hands together again.
This time she's not distracted by her injuries, by the rumble of diggers above them or the dead body at their feet; this time it's all stillness, and blood to blood. It's nothing at all like tapping into the memory uploads of the other Sixes, nothing at all like plunging her hand into the gel-data of a baseship console, nothing nothing like that but almost -
Sharon gasps and grinds their palms tighter together, weaves her fingers with Caprica's and holds on tight enough to bring them both a bright flare of pain. Blood speaks to blood, an information exchange just beyond Caprica's ability to fully comprehend it but oh, she can feel it, glorious and strange and completely new. She can feel each individual cell of Sharon's as it enters her, as it trickles slowly into her body to join the others already there. She can feel them building up inside her, while her own cells begin to echo back to her from inside Sharon's body.
She only realises that she had closed her eyes when she manages to open them again. Sharon's face hovering before her seems different, with their blood pressed together; more familiar, like her own face but not. When they kiss it's hungry, desperate, but secondary to the white-knuckled press of their palms together, the sing of their blood in each other. Caprica's other hand tears at Sharon's clothing, reveals smooth soft skin and - scars, short and precise, over her belly and breasts.
Without hesitation she bears Sharon to the floor and pins her with their locked, bloodied hands. Sharon falls with her, like they're one body moving in unison, one system networked together, and when they land she arches up immediately to bite, hard, at the soft skin of Caprica's throat. She breaks the skin, just slightly, and the feel of her saliva mingling with blood sets off a shuddering echo of the connection that sings where their blood smears together.
"I want you in me," Sharon half-growls, her lips pressed against Caprica's jaw.
Caprica grins, grinds down, grasps at Sharon's bloody hand. Little waves of information - sensation/pleasure - shudder through her veins. "I am," she says, and it would sound like a laugh if she weren't already so out of breath, so out of control. She bends down and kisses Sharon again, mouth to mouth, slides their tongues together and feels the hard, hot insistence of her body, of their bodies; feels the friction and sweat and solidity of their bodies together.
Sharon's got her trousers pushed halfway down her hips and is squirming insistently beneath her. Caprica lets go of Sharon's bloodied hand and leans back to strip off her dress in one smooth movement. She expected to feel a loss when their blood lost contact, but instead the itch, the pounding of desire in her body increases. She can feel her own heartbeat; she can feel Sharon's heartbeat. She can feel every single cell in her body and they're all aching to fall down into Sharon's soft, scarred flesh.
Sharon gasps and arches her back, shoves her hips up even though Caprica hasn't gotten fingers or tongue inside her yet. She holds her palm up to Sharon's mouth; there's still a little blood on it. "Taste," she says, and Sharon opens her eyes and does, licks slowly and sensuously along the lines of Caprica's palm. Her eyes are open, her gaze locked with Caprica's. She takes each finger in her mouth, one by one, and sucks, laves them with her tongue and her saliva. Her teeth scrape against the pad of Caprica's index finger, and Caprica's eyes flutter closed in pleasure; she tilts her head back and rubs herself down against Sharon's thigh. She feels a wide, involuntary grin break out on her face.
When Sharon pulls her lips off of Caprica's finger, Caprica opens her eyes again. Beneath her, Sharon kicks one leg out of her trousers and spreads her legs wide, waiting.
"C'mon," she says, her breath coming in fast, controlled gasps. "Touch me already."
She sounds like a soldier, blunt and honest; it makes Caprica, who is so used to the mindgames and verbal tricks she used to play with Baltar, want to stay silent and obey. Slowly, she draws her fingers away from Sharon's mouth and puts them into her own, like a kiss by proxy. This time the taste of Sharon, her DNA, runs through Caprica like waves of hot and cold, hot and cold, and she moans and gets her arm between them, gets her slick fingers on Sharon's wet clit.
"Yeah," she murmurs, "Yeah, Caprica, yes - " Caprica bends down and kisses her, tongues against her lips while her fingers rub in small hard circles. They're rocking together, the connection sparking between them in long, slow shocks; Sharon cries out into Caprica's mouth and grinds up against Caprica's fingers, gasping and shaking for a long minute while she rides a hot wave of pleasure. Caprica feels echoes of it all through her body, tingling against her fingertips where she's rubbing Sharon off and along her tongue where they kissed, pulses of feeling, magnetism, healing. She spreads her legs and thrusts down against Sharon's thigh; Sharon obligingly hardens against her, pressing upwards and matching her thrust for thrust. Caprica eases her fingers off of Sharon's clit and replaces them with her own thigh, rubs in slowly, letting Sharon find the position that gives them the best friction.
Sharon twists her fingers in Caprica's hair and pulls her down, gets her mouth on Caprica's collarbone. Her other hand comes up to Caprica's breast and her thumb rubs hard and slow against a nipple; Caprica feels Sharon everywhere, on her, inside her, and the sensation is too much, too overwhelming: she grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut.
"Let go," Sharon commands, her lips and her fingers and her thigh pushing at Caprica's body, her blood flowing with Caprica's blood, her consciousness like a ghost rubbing up against Caprica's mind. "Let go," she says again, and then she says, "please, sister, let go - "
Caprica's eyes fly open and she takes in the woman beneath her, her partner, whose body covers her completely. Sharon is bright-eyed and flushed and nodding at her, grinding up against her and gasping at each thrust and Caprica grins down at her and lets herself feel - everything: the sweat on their skin, the rough raised texture of Sharon's scars, the pleasure of her muscles working and her heart pumping and her cunt clenching and she lets it all roar through her at once, losing herself in Sharon. Losing sight, at last, of the boundaries where her body ends and Sharon's begins.
*
A long time later, when they are wet and tired and panting and have finally fallen apart, Sharon smiles a slow, wet kiss into her mouth and asks, in a hesitant murmur, "Is this how it is for cylons? This - " she dips her tongue into Caprica's mouth and lets sensation flow between them - "Is it always like this?"
Caprica feels the question against her lips like she feels the blood moving in her veins, the organs working in her body. "No," she says. Then, slowly, she adds, "but this is the first time - since the download, I haven't - "
"I know," Sharon says. "Me too." Her smile is like the first one she ever showed Caprica, self-deprecating and aggressive and sad. "Maybe our souls want back out of our bodies again."
Caprica shrugs; her bare shoulder brushes against Sharon's chest, and even the simple touching of skin to skin is starting to be enough to spark that still-strange feeling of connection. Whatever they have, it's growing.
She runs her fingers slowly along the short, precise scars that dot Sharon's bare torso; she doesn't have to ask why they're there, or what they're for.
"No," Caprica says again. "This is something new." She meets Sharon's gaze. "You and I are something new."
"We can find a way to save everyone," Sharon says, and Caprica feels again like she did buried under the rubble, when Sharon first took her hand and bound them together.
"We can," Caprica says, and believes it.
(click to comment at dw || there are
comments right now)