(91) Bad Day - Fight, Frak, or Draw?
Title: Fight, Frak, or Draw?
Author: lemmig
Rating: R for Really Angry Sex
Word Count: 300
A/N: My first non-fluffy piece ever! Thanks nixmom for making me drabble the help and encouragement. Check out this pic of the day to see what happens after the fic.
"I'm so pissed at you, Bill," she panted, punctuating each word with an angry snap of her hips as she rode him.
Not guilty is not the same as innocent.
"I'm sorry, Laura," he babbled. "So, so sorry." He caressed her shoulders, arms, ribcage. "Shhh," he crooned as she began to half-sob in frustration. "I never wanted to hurt you."
She smacked his wandering hands away from her breasts, needing no reminder of the death lurking therein, and reached down between them; she needed to wrap this up as the encounter was only pissing her off more. Her traitorous body refused to cooperate as she drew him in deeper at a frantic, desperate pace. "Damn it."
I am taking chamalla because my cancer has returned.
"Laura, I'm sorry," he repeated his pathetic litany. "Can't hold on...gonna come." And he did, shooting his load into her as her heart sank at being denied this most elemental of releases.
She rolled off him in disgust, more at herself than him; to be fair, he'd probably lasted a good ten minutes. Her mind swam with thoughts of Baltar, Kara, and diloxin as her fingers hovered over the apex of her thighs, some part of her still hoping to capture a moment of blissful oblivion.
Bill noticed and slid his hand under hers, trying to get a rhythm going. The comm buzzed, and when Bill clambered out of the rack to answer it, she took over the effort herself. She still hadn't gotten off when he hung up and started gathering their clothes.
"Cottle’s tests are done. They’re on their way here now," he said, tossing her bra and shirt to her.
“Great,” Laura seethed, catching the garments. “This frakking day just keeps getting better and better.”
Author: lemmig
Rating: R for Really Angry Sex
Word Count: 300
A/N: My first non-fluffy piece ever! Thanks nixmom for making me drabble the help and encouragement. Check out this pic of the day to see what happens after the fic.
"I'm so pissed at you, Bill," she panted, punctuating each word with an angry snap of her hips as she rode him.
Not guilty is not the same as innocent.
"I'm sorry, Laura," he babbled. "So, so sorry." He caressed her shoulders, arms, ribcage. "Shhh," he crooned as she began to half-sob in frustration. "I never wanted to hurt you."
She smacked his wandering hands away from her breasts, needing no reminder of the death lurking therein, and reached down between them; she needed to wrap this up as the encounter was only pissing her off more. Her traitorous body refused to cooperate as she drew him in deeper at a frantic, desperate pace. "Damn it."
I am taking chamalla because my cancer has returned.
"Laura, I'm sorry," he repeated his pathetic litany. "Can't hold on...gonna come." And he did, shooting his load into her as her heart sank at being denied this most elemental of releases.
She rolled off him in disgust, more at herself than him; to be fair, he'd probably lasted a good ten minutes. Her mind swam with thoughts of Baltar, Kara, and diloxin as her fingers hovered over the apex of her thighs, some part of her still hoping to capture a moment of blissful oblivion.
Bill noticed and slid his hand under hers, trying to get a rhythm going. The comm buzzed, and when Bill clambered out of the rack to answer it, she took over the effort herself. She still hadn't gotten off when he hung up and started gathering their clothes.
"Cottle’s tests are done. They’re on their way here now," he said, tossing her bra and shirt to her.
“Great,” Laura seethed, catching the garments. “This frakking day just keeps getting better and better.”