Fic: Oh, What a Life (The Oh, What a Night! Remix)
Title: Oh, What a Life (the Oh, What a Night! remix)
Characters: Laura Roslin, Bill Adama
Pairing: Roslin/Adama
Rating: R/Mature
Warnings: None.
Summary: In a fit of rage at Richard Adar, Laura Roslin has an uncharacteristic one night stand with a mysterious man but leaves before she ever gets his name. Years later, on New Caprica, she has to face up to what she did.
Original Story: Oh, What a Night!
Author's Notes: This is a remix of a fun, kinky story by fragrantwoods. Nothing could live up to the original so I tried a different take, from Laura’s point of view. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to lanalucy for her patience, her encouragement, her numerous beta reads, and for pretty much beating this thing into submission when my muse had all but left the building.
She knew she was in a hotel before she even opened her eyes. The universal scent of industrial laundry detergent wafted up from the sheet she’d pulled up to her neck, soft enough but certainly not the satin that graced the bed in the room Richard kept on permanent retainer at the Caprica Standard.
The mere thought of Governor Adar brought the memories of the day and night before flooding back in a disordered, staccato rush. One of the flouncy, idealistic campaign aides exiting his office, flushed and adjusting her skirt. Her own righteous reproach; the smirk on his face when he reminded her she had neither right nor recourse to judge.
She'd left the office early, claiming a headache, and had stopped by the liquor store on the way home. She’d polished off half the bottle of pinot noir and a stack of reports in front of the television by the time she heard the washed up hack of a news show host introduce the governor.
A year ago she might have read Richard’s choice to go off script and expound on the virtues of his new education plan - her blood, sweat, and tears - as an apology. At least as close as the man could get to one. She would have called him to thank him, probably even ended up giving in to his wheedling and wound up tangled in those damn satin sheets.
Instead, she'd finished off the bottle while getting dressed in a tight black cleavage-revealing blouse and a skirt that would have given the campaign stylists heart attacks. She passed over the neutral palette of eyeshadows she wore to the office in favor of the smoky eye look her sister Sandy had helped her perfect and topped off the look with a swipe of fiery red lipstick. By the time she'd looked in the mirror on the way out the door, she'd borne little resemblance to the buttoned up, respectable advisor to the likely future president.
She hadn’t arrived at the shady little dive looking for anything more than a few hours of anonymity and a strong drink or three. She was two in by the time she slithered out of her jacket in time to the pounding, youthful music. The stocky, stiff man with ruddy cheeks wasn’t her type but there was something about the way he looked at her when she moved. In four years, Richard had never looked at her that way and, in the moment, it was enough.
She let herself be coaxed into another drink somewhere quieter and found herself mesmerized by the incongruities of her companion. Despite his severe countenance, he had a broad, all encompassing grin that made her giggle every time he turned it on. He appealed to her wounded womanly pride in a deep, growling baritone with compliments that, despite the drinks, seemed more sincere than any she’d received in years. She found herself agreeing to accompany him back to his hotel with barely a second thought.
Despite her companion’s whiskey-impaired performance, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so thoroughly satisfied by a lover. Richard went down on her rarely, and when he did, he did so reluctantly. This man set about his task with gusto and she found herself being uncharacteristically vocal in her appreciation. She remembered falling asleep feeling sated and unaccountably safe, especially considering the circumstances.
A gurgling snore from the other side of the bed brought her back to the present and she had to bite back a groan as a wave of fear washed over her. An image of herself on the front page of the newspaper, half dressed and batting her eyelashes like a schoolgirl doing the walk of shame, flashed through her mind and she had to reign in her impulse to jump up and run for the door.
She took a deep breath and carefully scooted to the edge of the bed to put her feet on the floor. Just as she worked up the nerve to stand, she heard her companion’s breath hitch as he shifted position. She waited, back ramrod straight and breath held, for several long minutes before his snores settled back into their previous rhythm.
She made quick, quiet work of putting yesterday’s clothes back on and tiptoed her way to the bathroom. She winced at her reflection in the mirror, the bags under her eyes and her smeared makeup accentuated by the harsh, artificial light. She berated herself under her breath -- you’re too old for this, Laura -- as she washed her face and ran her fingers through the tangles in her hair.
When she stepped back out into the room, she was relieved to see the man was still asleep. He’d shifted positions again and now she could only make out his stately profile in the early morning light. She was surprised by the sudden, irrational desire for him to wake up and give her that grin, the memory of which, even now, made her stomach tingle.
Steeling her resolve, she found her purse and her pumps under the table by the door. As she stepped out into the hall, she filed away the night and the man in the back of her brain as a mistake she wouldn’t repeat.
With any luck, she’d never see him again.
*****
She woke feeling warm and safe for the first time since she’d moved down to New Caprica. The sounds of the settlement coming to life mingled with Bill’s soft, rumbling snores at her back. She pressed a smile into the scratchy sheet on her shoulder and turned over, careful not to send the sleeping man crashing to the ground.
When he didn’t wake, she took the opportunity to study his profile in the morning light. He was older now and the moustache he’d gained made him look, if possible, more stately than all those years ago on Caprica. She reached over and traced his hairline with her finger, drawing him out of his slumber.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he husked, gracing her with a sleepy grin. He shifted so he could pull her closer, settling her face on the broad expanse of his chest. “Good to see you stuck around this time.”
She felt her body tense. The hint of accusation in his voice was faint but enough to set all of her senses to defense condition one. She hummed noncommittally and waited, hoping there was another explanation for his query.
“My one question,” he continued, “is whether you always get your men so plastered they can’t get it up before you sleep with them or is that a tactic you reserve just for me?”
She tried to move to sit up but he held her in place with a strong arm across her back. He chuckled good naturedly. “Oh, no. You’re not getting away this time, Ms. Roslin.”
She groaned and this time, when she lifted her head, he let her sit up just enough to meet his eyes. She felt her body relax when, rather than anger, she saw in them the same love and trust she’d come to rely on over the last two years. She sighed and buried her face in his chest.
“When did you know?”
He laughed again, sending her body bouncing. “You mean when did I know my president had a history of stripping in public and picking up unsuspecting men only to leave them alone and longing the next morning?”
“Oh, Gods,” she moaned. She wriggled out of his grasp and sat up so she was balancing precariously on the edge of the cot. She tried to look stern but the effect was ruined when a shiver ran through her limbs. “I’m not sure what you want me to say here, Bill.”
He appraised her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Just when she’d decided she was willing to abandon all pretense of dignity and plead for his forgiveness, he grinned and sat up so he could once again wrap his arms around her.
“Come here, you’ll freeze.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and rubbed her arm comfortingly. “You don’t have to say anything, Laura. I still respect you as much as I did before I figured it out last night.”
She nodded slowly, believing him despite herself. “Do I even want to ask how you did that?”
Rather than responding, he flipped her over in one smooth motion so he was leering over her, his legs straddling her hips. He swooped down to suckle her neck, then her breasts. She was writhing beneath him by the time he made it down to her sex. He flicked his tongue between her folds, drawing a long moan from her lips. His answering chuckle sent vibrations to all the right places and she bucked her hips up into his mouth.
He pulled away suddenly and she whimpered in protest. “The answer, Ms. Roslin, is that you still taste the same. I never forget the taste of a good pussy.”
Her mouth dropped open and she stared down at him, disbelieving. He winked and ducked his head to go back to work but she stopped him by wrapping his fingers through his hair.
“That’s it? We’re really not going to talk about this? Don’t you want to know why I left that morning?”
He shrugged. “I think I know you pretty well at this point, Laura. You’d probably never done anything like that in your entire, proper life. You were embarrassed and scared and you ran. It’s not the first time I woke up alone after a night out. I survived.”
Laura closed her eyes, willing away the tears building there. It wasn’t the first time he’d effortlessly offered his forgiveness but this time, somehow, it meant more, and made her feel things she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to face.
“Hey, you’re thinking too much. It’s all water under the bridge. Just relax and enjoy this.” She felt his fingers stroking her sex again and she sighed contentedly without opening her eyes.
“Oh, I will. I did that first time, and last night, too. You’ve got the most talented tongue in the Twelve Colonies, Admiral.”
He growled and lifted her up by her hips roughly, a sharp contrast from the gentleness she’d come to expect from him. Her eyes flew open and she was alarmed by the almost feral expression on his face.
“Actually, there’s one more thing we have left to settle,” he said seriously.
She blinked up at him warily. “Oh, what’s that?”
He shifted them again so she could feel his erection pressing near her entrance. He grinned and puffed out his chest.
“Let the record show, Madame President, my dick works too.”
Characters: Laura Roslin, Bill Adama
Pairing: Roslin/Adama
Rating: R/Mature
Warnings: None.
Summary: In a fit of rage at Richard Adar, Laura Roslin has an uncharacteristic one night stand with a mysterious man but leaves before she ever gets his name. Years later, on New Caprica, she has to face up to what she did.
Original Story: Oh, What a Night!
Author's Notes: This is a remix of a fun, kinky story by fragrantwoods. Nothing could live up to the original so I tried a different take, from Laura’s point of view. I owe a huge debt of gratitude to lanalucy for her patience, her encouragement, her numerous beta reads, and for pretty much beating this thing into submission when my muse had all but left the building.
She knew she was in a hotel before she even opened her eyes. The universal scent of industrial laundry detergent wafted up from the sheet she’d pulled up to her neck, soft enough but certainly not the satin that graced the bed in the room Richard kept on permanent retainer at the Caprica Standard.
The mere thought of Governor Adar brought the memories of the day and night before flooding back in a disordered, staccato rush. One of the flouncy, idealistic campaign aides exiting his office, flushed and adjusting her skirt. Her own righteous reproach; the smirk on his face when he reminded her she had neither right nor recourse to judge.
She'd left the office early, claiming a headache, and had stopped by the liquor store on the way home. She’d polished off half the bottle of pinot noir and a stack of reports in front of the television by the time she heard the washed up hack of a news show host introduce the governor.
A year ago she might have read Richard’s choice to go off script and expound on the virtues of his new education plan - her blood, sweat, and tears - as an apology. At least as close as the man could get to one. She would have called him to thank him, probably even ended up giving in to his wheedling and wound up tangled in those damn satin sheets.
Instead, she'd finished off the bottle while getting dressed in a tight black cleavage-revealing blouse and a skirt that would have given the campaign stylists heart attacks. She passed over the neutral palette of eyeshadows she wore to the office in favor of the smoky eye look her sister Sandy had helped her perfect and topped off the look with a swipe of fiery red lipstick. By the time she'd looked in the mirror on the way out the door, she'd borne little resemblance to the buttoned up, respectable advisor to the likely future president.
She hadn’t arrived at the shady little dive looking for anything more than a few hours of anonymity and a strong drink or three. She was two in by the time she slithered out of her jacket in time to the pounding, youthful music. The stocky, stiff man with ruddy cheeks wasn’t her type but there was something about the way he looked at her when she moved. In four years, Richard had never looked at her that way and, in the moment, it was enough.
She let herself be coaxed into another drink somewhere quieter and found herself mesmerized by the incongruities of her companion. Despite his severe countenance, he had a broad, all encompassing grin that made her giggle every time he turned it on. He appealed to her wounded womanly pride in a deep, growling baritone with compliments that, despite the drinks, seemed more sincere than any she’d received in years. She found herself agreeing to accompany him back to his hotel with barely a second thought.
Despite her companion’s whiskey-impaired performance, she couldn’t recall the last time she’d been so thoroughly satisfied by a lover. Richard went down on her rarely, and when he did, he did so reluctantly. This man set about his task with gusto and she found herself being uncharacteristically vocal in her appreciation. She remembered falling asleep feeling sated and unaccountably safe, especially considering the circumstances.
A gurgling snore from the other side of the bed brought her back to the present and she had to bite back a groan as a wave of fear washed over her. An image of herself on the front page of the newspaper, half dressed and batting her eyelashes like a schoolgirl doing the walk of shame, flashed through her mind and she had to reign in her impulse to jump up and run for the door.
She took a deep breath and carefully scooted to the edge of the bed to put her feet on the floor. Just as she worked up the nerve to stand, she heard her companion’s breath hitch as he shifted position. She waited, back ramrod straight and breath held, for several long minutes before his snores settled back into their previous rhythm.
She made quick, quiet work of putting yesterday’s clothes back on and tiptoed her way to the bathroom. She winced at her reflection in the mirror, the bags under her eyes and her smeared makeup accentuated by the harsh, artificial light. She berated herself under her breath -- you’re too old for this, Laura -- as she washed her face and ran her fingers through the tangles in her hair.
When she stepped back out into the room, she was relieved to see the man was still asleep. He’d shifted positions again and now she could only make out his stately profile in the early morning light. She was surprised by the sudden, irrational desire for him to wake up and give her that grin, the memory of which, even now, made her stomach tingle.
Steeling her resolve, she found her purse and her pumps under the table by the door. As she stepped out into the hall, she filed away the night and the man in the back of her brain as a mistake she wouldn’t repeat.
With any luck, she’d never see him again.
*****
She woke feeling warm and safe for the first time since she’d moved down to New Caprica. The sounds of the settlement coming to life mingled with Bill’s soft, rumbling snores at her back. She pressed a smile into the scratchy sheet on her shoulder and turned over, careful not to send the sleeping man crashing to the ground.
When he didn’t wake, she took the opportunity to study his profile in the morning light. He was older now and the moustache he’d gained made him look, if possible, more stately than all those years ago on Caprica. She reached over and traced his hairline with her finger, drawing him out of his slumber.
“Hey there, beautiful,” he husked, gracing her with a sleepy grin. He shifted so he could pull her closer, settling her face on the broad expanse of his chest. “Good to see you stuck around this time.”
She felt her body tense. The hint of accusation in his voice was faint but enough to set all of her senses to defense condition one. She hummed noncommittally and waited, hoping there was another explanation for his query.
“My one question,” he continued, “is whether you always get your men so plastered they can’t get it up before you sleep with them or is that a tactic you reserve just for me?”
She tried to move to sit up but he held her in place with a strong arm across her back. He chuckled good naturedly. “Oh, no. You’re not getting away this time, Ms. Roslin.”
She groaned and this time, when she lifted her head, he let her sit up just enough to meet his eyes. She felt her body relax when, rather than anger, she saw in them the same love and trust she’d come to rely on over the last two years. She sighed and buried her face in his chest.
“When did you know?”
He laughed again, sending her body bouncing. “You mean when did I know my president had a history of stripping in public and picking up unsuspecting men only to leave them alone and longing the next morning?”
“Oh, Gods,” she moaned. She wriggled out of his grasp and sat up so she was balancing precariously on the edge of the cot. She tried to look stern but the effect was ruined when a shiver ran through her limbs. “I’m not sure what you want me to say here, Bill.”
He appraised her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Just when she’d decided she was willing to abandon all pretense of dignity and plead for his forgiveness, he grinned and sat up so he could once again wrap his arms around her.
“Come here, you’ll freeze.” He dropped a kiss on the top of her head and rubbed her arm comfortingly. “You don’t have to say anything, Laura. I still respect you as much as I did before I figured it out last night.”
She nodded slowly, believing him despite herself. “Do I even want to ask how you did that?”
Rather than responding, he flipped her over in one smooth motion so he was leering over her, his legs straddling her hips. He swooped down to suckle her neck, then her breasts. She was writhing beneath him by the time he made it down to her sex. He flicked his tongue between her folds, drawing a long moan from her lips. His answering chuckle sent vibrations to all the right places and she bucked her hips up into his mouth.
He pulled away suddenly and she whimpered in protest. “The answer, Ms. Roslin, is that you still taste the same. I never forget the taste of a good pussy.”
Her mouth dropped open and she stared down at him, disbelieving. He winked and ducked his head to go back to work but she stopped him by wrapping his fingers through his hair.
“That’s it? We’re really not going to talk about this? Don’t you want to know why I left that morning?”
He shrugged. “I think I know you pretty well at this point, Laura. You’d probably never done anything like that in your entire, proper life. You were embarrassed and scared and you ran. It’s not the first time I woke up alone after a night out. I survived.”
Laura closed her eyes, willing away the tears building there. It wasn’t the first time he’d effortlessly offered his forgiveness but this time, somehow, it meant more, and made her feel things she wasn’t quite sure she was ready to face.
“Hey, you’re thinking too much. It’s all water under the bridge. Just relax and enjoy this.” She felt his fingers stroking her sex again and she sighed contentedly without opening her eyes.
“Oh, I will. I did that first time, and last night, too. You’ve got the most talented tongue in the Twelve Colonies, Admiral.”
He growled and lifted her up by her hips roughly, a sharp contrast from the gentleness she’d come to expect from him. Her eyes flew open and she was alarmed by the almost feral expression on his face.
“Actually, there’s one more thing we have left to settle,” he said seriously.
She blinked up at him warily. “Oh, what’s that?”
He shifted them again so she could feel his erection pressing near her entrance. He grinned and puffed out his chest.
“Let the record show, Madame President, my dick works too.”