Fic: It's Not Cheating If They Leave You, Laura/Saul, (1/1)
Title: It's Not Cheating If They Leave You
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (TV Show)
Characters: Roslin/Tigh
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Smut, Angst
Summary: It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve played a game of the Admiral and the President...
Length: 1,081 words
Status: Complete
A/N: For the second bsg_pornbattle. Propts: Saul/Laura. Substitutes, Missing Bill, Second Best. Shortened version posted here.
It’s Not Cheating If They Leave You
The third button on her shirt clings on for dear life and if you were a little less distracted and she was a little less Roslin you’d pull it off just because you could. You don’t.
Her foot climbs up the back of your thighs, heel digging in to remind you of what you’re doing. You leave her shirt on, the button straining, to remind yourself who you’re doing it to.
You’re both too drunk to be good. But Ellen’s dead, your fault and Bill just dumped her in front of the fleet, idiot. Besides, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve played a game of the Admiral and the President. It’s just that usually you pretend a little differently.
Her breasts are bigger than Ellen’s and you’ve always been a breast man at heart. They’re heavy and full in your hands and you circle the hard peaks with your thumb just to see what she does. The gasp isn’t quite what you expected but she arches up into your hold and slides a hand between your bodies and that must mean she likes it. You do it again and she groans.
She’s been more passive than you thought she would be, falling beneath you on the rack and letting you undress her without raising her arms, and there’s something to be said about that, but you like your women to fight you. Just enough. You’re sure Bill does too.
On a whim you touch your lips to one nipple. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but dry skin and wet connect and she moans low in her throat. Her hand finds its own goal and it’s your turn to gasp when she grabs you roughly and moves her fingers with practised ease. You didn’t think anyone would know as much about this kind of pleasure as Ellen, but she’s proving a lot of your thoughts wrong tonight. You make a decision to stop underestimating her.
Her hand is at once fast and slow and she squeezes tightly before changing to gently soothing strokes. Each touch is skilful and you’re slowly losing what little control hadn’t been taken by the drink.
Your heart beats twice as fast as it should and it’s pumping the alcohol around your body that much quicker. With the blood thin in your head you don’t have time to protest when she locks both legs around your hips and switches your positions.
She sits back a little on your thighs and you notice that the button is still holding. Her eyes glow a dark green against her flushed skin as she stares down at you. Through you. And where you see her lines blur into Ellen, you’re certain she’s seeing Bill.
She blinks and then her gaze is sharp and maybe she isn’t as drunk as you thought. She drags your pants down to your knees, barely shifting herself, and pushes her skirt up to her waist.
You know what’s coming next and your cock twitches against her palm and you realise she hasn’t let you go at all. A smirk touches her lips but not her eyes and just once you wonder what it’s like to have the full intensity of her. To not share her attention. She rises her hips and twists them until you can feel the damp cotton that’s all that’s separating your bodies. Still holding you, fingers twitching in anticipation, she pushes the thin barrier aside with her other hand and lowers herself down.
She’s hot and tight and you barely have time to know that before she moves above you. This is just as skilled as everything else and the men are right; there’s nothing she can’t do and do well.
You lower a hand to one of the white thighs around you, feeling the muscles strain and move with every rise and fall of her body over you. Your other hand kneads her breast and it’s some kind of victory when her head falls back on a groan. You won’t be the only one to lose control tonight.
She twists her hips and clenches around you and it’s as familiar as it is different. You bite through your lip to keep the wrong name inside. Her own lips are bitten red when she looks at you and the name she mouths isn’t your own.
There’s an intensity in her you’ve never seen and you’ve never doubted Bill before, but now you know just a little of what he’s throwing away and you can’t understand him.
Her hair falls around you, framing you both inside a curtain of red strands, when she leans forward an changes the angle again.
This is it, you’re close enough that you couldn’t stop now if she asked you to. Her body squeezes you in a long clench of inner muscles that draws out almost painfully. She’s not going to ask you to stop and she’s not going to come on her own.
You slip a hand between you, between her legs and brush passed where you’re joined. She cries out when you touch her. It should probably take more than a few twists of your hand and a few flicks of your fingers but there’s something in her mind that’s driving her over the edge faster than you ever could.
She moves quicker, harder, realising her hold on your hips so you can finally join in with each thrust. Hitting deeper than you thought possible.
You come together, her body pulsing just out of time with yours. She doesn’t cuddle into your side when you collapse back against the sheets and when you let the darkness drag you under she isn’t touching you at all.
It’s three hours later when you wake up alone, that you remember the tears on her cheeks as she came. Ten minutes later you see matching tracks, dried, on your skin in the mirror.
You put a call through to the Admiral and shoot a longing glance towards the bottles on your shelf. You dress with the absentmindedness that comes with routine, your eyes locked on the clothes in your wardrobe that aren’t your own. Ellen can’t come back and you’re starting to live with that; there’s no quick fix. But there’s something you can do for the President and if it takes all day, you’re going to make damn sure Bill knows about it.
End.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica (TV Show)
Characters: Roslin/Tigh
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Smut, Angst
Summary: It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve played a game of the Admiral and the President...
Length: 1,081 words
Status: Complete
A/N: For the second bsg_pornbattle. Propts: Saul/Laura. Substitutes, Missing Bill, Second Best. Shortened version posted here.
It’s Not Cheating If They Leave You
The third button on her shirt clings on for dear life and if you were a little less distracted and she was a little less Roslin you’d pull it off just because you could. You don’t.
Her foot climbs up the back of your thighs, heel digging in to remind you of what you’re doing. You leave her shirt on, the button straining, to remind yourself who you’re doing it to.
You’re both too drunk to be good. But Ellen’s dead, your fault and Bill just dumped her in front of the fleet, idiot. Besides, it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve played a game of the Admiral and the President. It’s just that usually you pretend a little differently.
Her breasts are bigger than Ellen’s and you’ve always been a breast man at heart. They’re heavy and full in your hands and you circle the hard peaks with your thumb just to see what she does. The gasp isn’t quite what you expected but she arches up into your hold and slides a hand between your bodies and that must mean she likes it. You do it again and she groans.
She’s been more passive than you thought she would be, falling beneath you on the rack and letting you undress her without raising her arms, and there’s something to be said about that, but you like your women to fight you. Just enough. You’re sure Bill does too.
On a whim you touch your lips to one nipple. It’s sloppy and uncoordinated, but dry skin and wet connect and she moans low in her throat. Her hand finds its own goal and it’s your turn to gasp when she grabs you roughly and moves her fingers with practised ease. You didn’t think anyone would know as much about this kind of pleasure as Ellen, but she’s proving a lot of your thoughts wrong tonight. You make a decision to stop underestimating her.
Her hand is at once fast and slow and she squeezes tightly before changing to gently soothing strokes. Each touch is skilful and you’re slowly losing what little control hadn’t been taken by the drink.
Your heart beats twice as fast as it should and it’s pumping the alcohol around your body that much quicker. With the blood thin in your head you don’t have time to protest when she locks both legs around your hips and switches your positions.
She sits back a little on your thighs and you notice that the button is still holding. Her eyes glow a dark green against her flushed skin as she stares down at you. Through you. And where you see her lines blur into Ellen, you’re certain she’s seeing Bill.
She blinks and then her gaze is sharp and maybe she isn’t as drunk as you thought. She drags your pants down to your knees, barely shifting herself, and pushes her skirt up to her waist.
You know what’s coming next and your cock twitches against her palm and you realise she hasn’t let you go at all. A smirk touches her lips but not her eyes and just once you wonder what it’s like to have the full intensity of her. To not share her attention. She rises her hips and twists them until you can feel the damp cotton that’s all that’s separating your bodies. Still holding you, fingers twitching in anticipation, she pushes the thin barrier aside with her other hand and lowers herself down.
She’s hot and tight and you barely have time to know that before she moves above you. This is just as skilled as everything else and the men are right; there’s nothing she can’t do and do well.
You lower a hand to one of the white thighs around you, feeling the muscles strain and move with every rise and fall of her body over you. Your other hand kneads her breast and it’s some kind of victory when her head falls back on a groan. You won’t be the only one to lose control tonight.
She twists her hips and clenches around you and it’s as familiar as it is different. You bite through your lip to keep the wrong name inside. Her own lips are bitten red when she looks at you and the name she mouths isn’t your own.
There’s an intensity in her you’ve never seen and you’ve never doubted Bill before, but now you know just a little of what he’s throwing away and you can’t understand him.
Her hair falls around you, framing you both inside a curtain of red strands, when she leans forward an changes the angle again.
This is it, you’re close enough that you couldn’t stop now if she asked you to. Her body squeezes you in a long clench of inner muscles that draws out almost painfully. She’s not going to ask you to stop and she’s not going to come on her own.
You slip a hand between you, between her legs and brush passed where you’re joined. She cries out when you touch her. It should probably take more than a few twists of your hand and a few flicks of your fingers but there’s something in her mind that’s driving her over the edge faster than you ever could.
She moves quicker, harder, realising her hold on your hips so you can finally join in with each thrust. Hitting deeper than you thought possible.
You come together, her body pulsing just out of time with yours. She doesn’t cuddle into your side when you collapse back against the sheets and when you let the darkness drag you under she isn’t touching you at all.
It’s three hours later when you wake up alone, that you remember the tears on her cheeks as she came. Ten minutes later you see matching tracks, dried, on your skin in the mirror.
You put a call through to the Admiral and shoot a longing glance towards the bottles on your shelf. You dress with the absentmindedness that comes with routine, your eyes locked on the clothes in your wardrobe that aren’t your own. Ellen can’t come back and you’re starting to live with that; there’s no quick fix. But there’s something you can do for the President and if it takes all day, you’re going to make damn sure Bill knows about it.
End.