Laura/Kara, 'Temple'
Title: Temple
Author: pocketwitch
Pairing: Laura Rosln/Kara Thrace
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Mid season 2.
Author's Note: This is the 4th part in my Laura/Kara series. It was originally meant as a one-shot. Riiiiggghhhttt.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Again, many, many, many thanks to mesoterica for her extremely helpful and insightful beta work. *showers mesoterica with cookies*
After Kobol she had told herself that it must never happen again.
She had told herself this repeatedly. And yet it had happened again. And yet it was happening again. And yet, she strongly suspected, it would happen again. She had tried to convince herself that her own needs were unimportant in the face of her responsibilities, and yet here she was, her own needs consuming her.
Here she was, flat on her back in her own bed, flat on her back and naked - completely naked, and when was the last time she’d been completely naked in the presence of another? Whenever it had been, it clearly hadn’t been anywhere close to as memorable as this.
This being the absolute, thorough and pure abandon she felt as she writhed beneath Kara, the majority of Kara’s fingers inside her; three from her right hand pressed deeply between Laura’s legs, thrusting in a quirky, unpredictable non-rhythm of fastroughslowsoft that had Laura panting and chewing restlessly on the three fingers of Kara’s left hand that she had in her mouth, lapping and slurping and occasionally biting … not too hard, though; she had learned her lesson about that. She bit down once, in her greed, when Kara refused to be hurried; Kara punished her by slowing her pace drastically, simultaneously brushing her thumb across Laura’s clit in a brief series of featherlight touches, just enough to make Laura’s body thrum with a sudden upsurge of need; need that Kara clearly had no intention of sating so soon.
“Calm down, Madam President,” Kara said in a playful tone that made it far too obvious how much she was enjoying this. Although Laura felt about as far from calm as she could imagine in a situation that did not involve possible disaster, she obeyed; though not without groaning and bucking in protest, not without letting the heat in her eyes lash out toward Kara, knowing that her expression would make Kara gasp and shift and, if only for a moment, forget her determination to hold her pace.
And Kara did gasp, and Kara did shift, and Kara did forget … but only for a moment, and a moment was nowhere near enough, and then she slowed again, and that moment had only made it worse, as Laura had known that it would, had known but had instigated it anyway, and now dealt with the resulting frustration by seizing fistfuls of sheets, her whimpers vibrating against Kara’s fingers.
“No more rushing, remember?” Kara’s tone was now as gentle as her smile was teasing; she was tenderness and smugness, power and pleasure, rebellious reverence. “We’re not on Kobol anymore.”
Kobol.
She was weak on Kobol, perhaps weaker than she’d ever been. She was leading her people into the wilderness and not at all certain that any of them would live to see … not even the promised land, but the supposed clue that may, in some distant future, lead them marginally closer to said promised land.
She was leading her people and she had already lost one, one who was far more skilled at fending off Laura’s lapses in faith than Laura herself could manage to be.
She was leading her people and then she herself was leaderless.
Tired, frightened, grieving, doubting, cold, alone, and weighted, so heavily weighted, and the whirring in her brain had not stopped, had not let her rest, until Lieutenant Thrace … Kara …
Weak. She was weak, and it must never happen again.
It was easy to hold her resolve in the burst of chaosactivityreuniondiscovery that began the following day and did not let up until well after she’d been deposited back onto the Colonial One, her title no longer an object of military contest.
It was easy to hold her resolve when she had crises to attend to, a circumstance which was very unlikely to disappoint her with a sudden and unexpected calm.
Mostly, it was easy to hold her resolve when Kara was nowhere to be seen. However, “when Kara was nowhere to be seen” was, as days passed, narrowed down to mean not only when Kara was not physically present but when Laura’s mind was occupied with other matters so thoroughly that it had no capacity left to conjure her.
Given that Laura’s mind seemed increasingly determined to do just that, the circumstances in which it was easy to hold her resolve were becoming gradually more and more difficult to obtain.
Then there were the nights.
Nights of fighting her brain to keep it from reminding her how Kara had kissed her with such relish, kissed her as though she wanted to be doing nothing so much as that in that moment. Reminding her how Kara had raced to give her pleasure, had laid her down on the altar of mud and rocks and grass and whispered prayers into her second heart until her mindbodysoul had room left for nothing save her own prayer of please, please, please.
Reminding her how Kara had looked at her the next day; subtly, as aware as Laura was of the need for discretion, but undeniably searching.
Searching as though she wanted more. Searching as though one fast, rough frak in the woods was not enough to prove to her that The President of the Twelve Colonies was a lose/lose venture.
It was that searching that haunted Laura the most; that turned over and over in her mind even more mercilessly than the memory of Kara’s smile, triggered not simply by her resounding success in getting the President off but by Laura’s seemingly redundant expression of approval.
It was the searching that meant that it could happen again. It was the searching that Laura could not forget when she sat up in the far too early morning and wondered if that night on Kobol was to be the last sex she would experience in this life. If she would never again feel lips on her throat, hands on her thighs, fingers in her hair.
If she would never again feel the enormous relief of the focus that her mind could only achieve when her body was ringing with need; the quiet that her mind only allowed her when her body was sinking with satisfaction.
The peace that Kara had brought her may have been brief, may even have been false, but it was the only peace she had felt since this grand and horrible cup had been passed to her, and she found that increasingly difficult to forget.
She had been weak on Kobol. She was weak again. She did not justify this to herself, did not rationalize. Strength was not unlimited; at times it had to be rationed. Her time was short, her needs few. If the girl truly wanted her again, she would let the course between them play out as it may.
And play out it had. Kara had wanted her again, had made it very clear that she wanted, that she did not feel obligated or coerced, as Laura had feared. She was nowhere near above manipulation when the needs of the many were at stake, however the thought of that same manipulation being put to use for the sake of her own personal urges did nothing less than turn her stomach. An obligation-frak was no better than a pity-frak, and desperate though she may have been, in this matter her desperation was easily outweighed by her pride.
But Kara had wanted her; had wanted her, had taken her. And Laura was through with self-denial. She wanted this girl, this intense, lovely, dangerous girl; wanted her so badly that she could barely think when the girl was near. Fortunately, thinking was becoming less and less of a requirement when in Kara’s presence.
Now, it was just a few days after their “meeting,” and this time there were no card games. Laura’s invitation was not to her office but to her quarters, and at a late hour that was most certainly not written into her Presidential appointment book.
Laura answered the door in her nightgown, and had to remind Kara - her voice quivering just a bit at the ravenous way the girl was staring at her - to close the door before making her move.
Kara closed the door. And then Kara made her move, which had the President swiftly on her back on the bed, Kara atop her, kissing kissing kissing her, grinding grinding grinding against her, trying to simultaneously devour her and merge with her.
It went on that way for some time; making out like teenagers, sloppy kisses and fondles through clothes and Kara giggling, giggling even as she gasped for breath, pointed out that they had even less reason to rush this time, that she hadn’t yet had the chance to kiss Laura to her full satisfaction.
Kiss Laura she did; mouth and throat and face and ears, kissed and licked and nibbled until Laura was wriggling and moaning, legs wrapped tightly around Kara’s waist, fingers buried in Kara’s hair.
Kara’s hands moved to Laura’s thighs, nudging them down, and Kara laughed when Laura resisted, laughed and reminded Laura that they’d have to separate a bit if Laura wanted to be rid of that pesky nightie.
Once said nightie had been carelessly tossed across the room, Kara knelt at Laura’s side and took a moment to enjoy her first sight of the President fully bare before her. Laura did not shrink into herself, did not look away; she stretched herself out, propped herself up on her elbows, met Kara’s gaze, met it and did not shy away from it despite the blush spreading rapidly across her cheeks.
“Madam President, you are the most frakking incredible woman I have ever seen.”
Laura chuckled, hooked her foot behind Kara’s thigh, urging Kara toward her. “You’re not half bad yourself, Lieutenant.”
Kara laughed at that. “Oh, I’m more than half bad. I’m just so gods damned good that you don’t care.”
Before Laura could respond Kara settled over her, straddling Laura’s left thigh, her right hand pressing between Laura’s legs, and any retort Laura may have managed was lost in the feel of Kara’s fingers slipping so easily inside her.
And so it began. Slowly at first, of course, but it hadn’t taken much to work Laura up to the feverish state she was in now, tongue laving Kara’s fingers tirelessly, hips pushing and straining as much as possible, her movement restricted somewhat by Kara’s weight against her thigh.
Kara’s fingers inside her were twisting and fluttering, though she had barely touched Laura’s clit; only those few brief brushes, and only for the purpose of adding that extra bit of torment to Laura’s hunger.
“I’m not going to let you come like this, you know. Not without tasting you.”
And of course Kara was in no hurry to taste her; of course Kara would not have made that statement if she was, because the whole purpose of such a statement was to watch Laura continue to squirm and gasp and strain against Kara’s fingers even when she knew full well that they would give her no satisfaction. She knew this and yet was unable to stop herself because Kara’s fingers felt so damned good and release felt so damned close that if she could only shove her hips just right, buck at the exact moment, clench at the perfect second … but Kara was too quick, too aware, and it was futile, she knew … and the knowledge made it all the more impossible for her to stop.
Kara watched her intently, watched her as though she were the hottest show in the fleet as Laura raised her hands to tease her own nipples, growling around Kara’s fingers at the added sensation.
Gods, had she ever been this shameless? Even in this state she knew that the answer was never once.
Finally … finally Kara slid both sets of fingers from Laura, and though Laura could not help the groan of loss her eagerness was unquestionable; the second Kara had started scooting downward, freeing her leg, she drew her knees up, drew them up and planted her feet on the sides of the bed, hips jutting up, presenting herself.
“My goodness, Madam President, you -“
“NOW.”
And Kara was clearly holding back genuine laughter at that, clearly had judged correctly that that laughter would not, at this moment, endear her to the President.
“I knew I had my fingers in your mouth for a reason.” Those fingers brushed softly across that mouth as she spoke, the levity of the remark betrayed by the weight of her voice.
And then she was exactly where she needed to be, mouth latching onto Laura, licking her with a focus that sent Laura further away from her rational mind than she could ever remember being while still fully conscious.
And then, in an instant, her rational mind disappeared altogether as every shred of her brain was overloaded with the burden of processing the pounding convulsing trembling kicking clenched teeth keeping moans from turning to screams pleasure clutching Kara’s shoulders for dear life head tossing back arching pleasure dear gods how could one weak body contain it all pleasure almost blacking out with the force of it pleasure.
And though she had not lost consciousness, it was several moments before she could hear anything but her own breath, before the flashes behind her eyes ceased, before her muscles unclenched enough to allow her to feel anything other than shocks and twitches as her nervous system regained its equilibrium.
“Do you have any idea what an amazing frak you are?”
Laura’s laugh seemed almost drunken in its laziness. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”
“I don’t think you have to, after that.”
Kara’s smile was bright as ever, but with a note of something more than pride, something beyond smugness, something that ran deeper than lust, something that Laura couldn’t quite find a name for.
“I was just thinking,” Kara said, as if responding to the unspoken question, “that I haven’t been to a temple since before the attacks, but it feels like I’ve been doing more worshipping than ever before.”
Laura’s eyes went wide, Laura’s breath stopped still in her throat, Laura’s mind should have been filling with responses, should have been overflowing with protests; instead it filled only with one phrase, one phrase that would not be banished.
You are my temple.
She sat up, leaned forward and kissed Kara with a resolve that she hadn’t even been aware she possessed. Kissed her and lingered there, whispered against her lips.
“Thank you.”
Author: pocketwitch
Pairing: Laura Rosln/Kara Thrace
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: Mid season 2.
Author's Note: This is the 4th part in my Laura/Kara series. It was originally meant as a one-shot. Riiiiggghhhttt.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Again, many, many, many thanks to mesoterica for her extremely helpful and insightful beta work. *showers mesoterica with cookies*
After Kobol she had told herself that it must never happen again.
She had told herself this repeatedly. And yet it had happened again. And yet it was happening again. And yet, she strongly suspected, it would happen again. She had tried to convince herself that her own needs were unimportant in the face of her responsibilities, and yet here she was, her own needs consuming her.
Here she was, flat on her back in her own bed, flat on her back and naked - completely naked, and when was the last time she’d been completely naked in the presence of another? Whenever it had been, it clearly hadn’t been anywhere close to as memorable as this.
This being the absolute, thorough and pure abandon she felt as she writhed beneath Kara, the majority of Kara’s fingers inside her; three from her right hand pressed deeply between Laura’s legs, thrusting in a quirky, unpredictable non-rhythm of fastroughslowsoft that had Laura panting and chewing restlessly on the three fingers of Kara’s left hand that she had in her mouth, lapping and slurping and occasionally biting … not too hard, though; she had learned her lesson about that. She bit down once, in her greed, when Kara refused to be hurried; Kara punished her by slowing her pace drastically, simultaneously brushing her thumb across Laura’s clit in a brief series of featherlight touches, just enough to make Laura’s body thrum with a sudden upsurge of need; need that Kara clearly had no intention of sating so soon.
“Calm down, Madam President,” Kara said in a playful tone that made it far too obvious how much she was enjoying this. Although Laura felt about as far from calm as she could imagine in a situation that did not involve possible disaster, she obeyed; though not without groaning and bucking in protest, not without letting the heat in her eyes lash out toward Kara, knowing that her expression would make Kara gasp and shift and, if only for a moment, forget her determination to hold her pace.
And Kara did gasp, and Kara did shift, and Kara did forget … but only for a moment, and a moment was nowhere near enough, and then she slowed again, and that moment had only made it worse, as Laura had known that it would, had known but had instigated it anyway, and now dealt with the resulting frustration by seizing fistfuls of sheets, her whimpers vibrating against Kara’s fingers.
“No more rushing, remember?” Kara’s tone was now as gentle as her smile was teasing; she was tenderness and smugness, power and pleasure, rebellious reverence. “We’re not on Kobol anymore.”
Kobol.
She was weak on Kobol, perhaps weaker than she’d ever been. She was leading her people into the wilderness and not at all certain that any of them would live to see … not even the promised land, but the supposed clue that may, in some distant future, lead them marginally closer to said promised land.
She was leading her people and she had already lost one, one who was far more skilled at fending off Laura’s lapses in faith than Laura herself could manage to be.
She was leading her people and then she herself was leaderless.
Tired, frightened, grieving, doubting, cold, alone, and weighted, so heavily weighted, and the whirring in her brain had not stopped, had not let her rest, until Lieutenant Thrace … Kara …
Weak. She was weak, and it must never happen again.
It was easy to hold her resolve in the burst of chaosactivityreuniondiscovery that began the following day and did not let up until well after she’d been deposited back onto the Colonial One, her title no longer an object of military contest.
It was easy to hold her resolve when she had crises to attend to, a circumstance which was very unlikely to disappoint her with a sudden and unexpected calm.
Mostly, it was easy to hold her resolve when Kara was nowhere to be seen. However, “when Kara was nowhere to be seen” was, as days passed, narrowed down to mean not only when Kara was not physically present but when Laura’s mind was occupied with other matters so thoroughly that it had no capacity left to conjure her.
Given that Laura’s mind seemed increasingly determined to do just that, the circumstances in which it was easy to hold her resolve were becoming gradually more and more difficult to obtain.
Then there were the nights.
Nights of fighting her brain to keep it from reminding her how Kara had kissed her with such relish, kissed her as though she wanted to be doing nothing so much as that in that moment. Reminding her how Kara had raced to give her pleasure, had laid her down on the altar of mud and rocks and grass and whispered prayers into her second heart until her mindbodysoul had room left for nothing save her own prayer of please, please, please.
Reminding her how Kara had looked at her the next day; subtly, as aware as Laura was of the need for discretion, but undeniably searching.
Searching as though she wanted more. Searching as though one fast, rough frak in the woods was not enough to prove to her that The President of the Twelve Colonies was a lose/lose venture.
It was that searching that haunted Laura the most; that turned over and over in her mind even more mercilessly than the memory of Kara’s smile, triggered not simply by her resounding success in getting the President off but by Laura’s seemingly redundant expression of approval.
It was the searching that meant that it could happen again. It was the searching that Laura could not forget when she sat up in the far too early morning and wondered if that night on Kobol was to be the last sex she would experience in this life. If she would never again feel lips on her throat, hands on her thighs, fingers in her hair.
If she would never again feel the enormous relief of the focus that her mind could only achieve when her body was ringing with need; the quiet that her mind only allowed her when her body was sinking with satisfaction.
The peace that Kara had brought her may have been brief, may even have been false, but it was the only peace she had felt since this grand and horrible cup had been passed to her, and she found that increasingly difficult to forget.
She had been weak on Kobol. She was weak again. She did not justify this to herself, did not rationalize. Strength was not unlimited; at times it had to be rationed. Her time was short, her needs few. If the girl truly wanted her again, she would let the course between them play out as it may.
And play out it had. Kara had wanted her again, had made it very clear that she wanted, that she did not feel obligated or coerced, as Laura had feared. She was nowhere near above manipulation when the needs of the many were at stake, however the thought of that same manipulation being put to use for the sake of her own personal urges did nothing less than turn her stomach. An obligation-frak was no better than a pity-frak, and desperate though she may have been, in this matter her desperation was easily outweighed by her pride.
But Kara had wanted her; had wanted her, had taken her. And Laura was through with self-denial. She wanted this girl, this intense, lovely, dangerous girl; wanted her so badly that she could barely think when the girl was near. Fortunately, thinking was becoming less and less of a requirement when in Kara’s presence.
Now, it was just a few days after their “meeting,” and this time there were no card games. Laura’s invitation was not to her office but to her quarters, and at a late hour that was most certainly not written into her Presidential appointment book.
Laura answered the door in her nightgown, and had to remind Kara - her voice quivering just a bit at the ravenous way the girl was staring at her - to close the door before making her move.
Kara closed the door. And then Kara made her move, which had the President swiftly on her back on the bed, Kara atop her, kissing kissing kissing her, grinding grinding grinding against her, trying to simultaneously devour her and merge with her.
It went on that way for some time; making out like teenagers, sloppy kisses and fondles through clothes and Kara giggling, giggling even as she gasped for breath, pointed out that they had even less reason to rush this time, that she hadn’t yet had the chance to kiss Laura to her full satisfaction.
Kiss Laura she did; mouth and throat and face and ears, kissed and licked and nibbled until Laura was wriggling and moaning, legs wrapped tightly around Kara’s waist, fingers buried in Kara’s hair.
Kara’s hands moved to Laura’s thighs, nudging them down, and Kara laughed when Laura resisted, laughed and reminded Laura that they’d have to separate a bit if Laura wanted to be rid of that pesky nightie.
Once said nightie had been carelessly tossed across the room, Kara knelt at Laura’s side and took a moment to enjoy her first sight of the President fully bare before her. Laura did not shrink into herself, did not look away; she stretched herself out, propped herself up on her elbows, met Kara’s gaze, met it and did not shy away from it despite the blush spreading rapidly across her cheeks.
“Madam President, you are the most frakking incredible woman I have ever seen.”
Laura chuckled, hooked her foot behind Kara’s thigh, urging Kara toward her. “You’re not half bad yourself, Lieutenant.”
Kara laughed at that. “Oh, I’m more than half bad. I’m just so gods damned good that you don’t care.”
Before Laura could respond Kara settled over her, straddling Laura’s left thigh, her right hand pressing between Laura’s legs, and any retort Laura may have managed was lost in the feel of Kara’s fingers slipping so easily inside her.
And so it began. Slowly at first, of course, but it hadn’t taken much to work Laura up to the feverish state she was in now, tongue laving Kara’s fingers tirelessly, hips pushing and straining as much as possible, her movement restricted somewhat by Kara’s weight against her thigh.
Kara’s fingers inside her were twisting and fluttering, though she had barely touched Laura’s clit; only those few brief brushes, and only for the purpose of adding that extra bit of torment to Laura’s hunger.
“I’m not going to let you come like this, you know. Not without tasting you.”
And of course Kara was in no hurry to taste her; of course Kara would not have made that statement if she was, because the whole purpose of such a statement was to watch Laura continue to squirm and gasp and strain against Kara’s fingers even when she knew full well that they would give her no satisfaction. She knew this and yet was unable to stop herself because Kara’s fingers felt so damned good and release felt so damned close that if she could only shove her hips just right, buck at the exact moment, clench at the perfect second … but Kara was too quick, too aware, and it was futile, she knew … and the knowledge made it all the more impossible for her to stop.
Kara watched her intently, watched her as though she were the hottest show in the fleet as Laura raised her hands to tease her own nipples, growling around Kara’s fingers at the added sensation.
Gods, had she ever been this shameless? Even in this state she knew that the answer was never once.
Finally … finally Kara slid both sets of fingers from Laura, and though Laura could not help the groan of loss her eagerness was unquestionable; the second Kara had started scooting downward, freeing her leg, she drew her knees up, drew them up and planted her feet on the sides of the bed, hips jutting up, presenting herself.
“My goodness, Madam President, you -“
“NOW.”
And Kara was clearly holding back genuine laughter at that, clearly had judged correctly that that laughter would not, at this moment, endear her to the President.
“I knew I had my fingers in your mouth for a reason.” Those fingers brushed softly across that mouth as she spoke, the levity of the remark betrayed by the weight of her voice.
And then she was exactly where she needed to be, mouth latching onto Laura, licking her with a focus that sent Laura further away from her rational mind than she could ever remember being while still fully conscious.
And then, in an instant, her rational mind disappeared altogether as every shred of her brain was overloaded with the burden of processing the pounding convulsing trembling kicking clenched teeth keeping moans from turning to screams pleasure clutching Kara’s shoulders for dear life head tossing back arching pleasure dear gods how could one weak body contain it all pleasure almost blacking out with the force of it pleasure.
And though she had not lost consciousness, it was several moments before she could hear anything but her own breath, before the flashes behind her eyes ceased, before her muscles unclenched enough to allow her to feel anything other than shocks and twitches as her nervous system regained its equilibrium.
“Do you have any idea what an amazing frak you are?”
Laura’s laugh seemed almost drunken in its laziness. “Shouldn’t I be the one saying that?”
“I don’t think you have to, after that.”
Kara’s smile was bright as ever, but with a note of something more than pride, something beyond smugness, something that ran deeper than lust, something that Laura couldn’t quite find a name for.
“I was just thinking,” Kara said, as if responding to the unspoken question, “that I haven’t been to a temple since before the attacks, but it feels like I’ve been doing more worshipping than ever before.”
Laura’s eyes went wide, Laura’s breath stopped still in her throat, Laura’s mind should have been filling with responses, should have been overflowing with protests; instead it filled only with one phrase, one phrase that would not be banished.
You are my temple.
She sat up, leaned forward and kissed Kara with a resolve that she hadn’t even been aware she possessed. Kissed her and lingered there, whispered against her lips.
“Thank you.”