FIC: Torn Asunder (3/4)
Rating: MA
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Adama kicks some people off their chairs.
Setting: Post-episode for Torn
Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Smut
Series: Love in a Time of War: 4
Chapter 3:
I bet Bill’s got a shortcut to the Ward Room, Laura thought as he dragged her down a dark corridor. Great, now he’s going to chew my ass out. I suppose I should be grateful that he ordered the guard away so it won’t be in front of an audience. Well, frak him--he pulled her into another dim, empty corridor.
“Come on,” he said, nudging her toward a ladder tube.
“I hate these damn things,” she bitched, mounting the steps. “I’ve got a damn skirt on, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, and suddenly he overtook her on the ladder, pressing her against it, his erection hard against her ass.
“What the frak do you think you’re doing?” she said, although she had a pretty good idea from his rasping breath at her ear.
Sure enough, he said, “Just what you think,” as he turned her on the ladder and his mean face was right there.
“You’re out of your frakking mind,” she hissed, straining to hear footfall below or above.
“I know this ship,” he said, “We’re fine. We need a minute.”
He bucked up against her and she sneered, “It’ll be just a minute all right.”
“Frak, yeah,” he groaned, hands pushing up her skirt, pressing her thighs apart.
“You are out of your frakking mind,” she muttered again, wondering if she was telling him or her. Her body reacted instantly to his thick fingers pushing aside her panties and exploring, heating her labia, causing the first rush of moisture to wet his palm.
“Help me out here,” he ordered, rubbing on her thigh with the bulge in his rough pants. “Only got so many hands.”
Her head spun; she’d always had a bit of vertigo from heights, a fear of falling from these ladders. But she let go with a hand to work his buckle and fly loose; pull his cock free.
Between the two of them, he somehow got in position. She let go of the ladder, wrapping her arms around his neck and her right leg around his waist, muttering, “If you drop me, Adama, I swear--“
“Never, baby,” he promised, slamming home and she shivered with terror.
“Got you right here,” he said, jerking in and out with shallow, sharp pumps of his hips. He wasn’t deep enough, and she didn’t think he could get there between their clothes and the ladder, but sometimes you just had to make do.
Her face pressed into his neck; she dare not look down. So frakkin’ good, this damn itch she’d felt for days, hours, hot minutes was finally getting scratched, hard, by his dick and rough pant legs and heavy belt buckle.
“Yeah,” he growled in her ear as though reading her mind. “Come on, dammit,” he hissed, pushing her hard against the ladder.
She had just enough leverage with her left leg to counter his thrusts, and she muttered back, “You come, dammit.” After all, she was used to sexual frustration at this point, saw it as her due, but he couldn’t go to this meeting with Zarek with an erection...or maybe it would intimidate the slimeball?
Suddenly, she felt her right pump beginning to slip from her foot. “Frak!” she muttered, trying to tip her foot higher. “Dammit, Bill! My frakkin’ shoe!” She could imagine it falling, rolling into the corridor, some inquisitive ensign searching for its owner, the Admiral and the President found in a compromising position--she came hard and fast, terror swelling her vaginal walls--clamping down hard, turning her skin hot red, closing off her throat--thank Gods, because the scream that was coursing through her bloodstream would have shook the bulkheads.
He let go with one hand, grabbed the shoe just as it slipped free, but they tilted, swinging, and he was jerking, his orgasm unstoppable and she knew she’d never be able to ride a rollercoaster again--if there happened to be any on Earth when they got there--without climaxing.
“I’m gonna kill you, Bill Adama, as soon as we get off this damn ladder,” she hissed as he wrapped his arms around her, around the rails, holding them fast to the ladder, somehow keeping the shoe in his hand. His softening cock slipped free, leaving a wet trail on her thigh.
“Here,” he muttered, giving her the shoe and climbing down enough steps to fasten his pants. She got turned back around on the ladder, and forced herself to let go with a hand to push her skirt into place. Other than her flushed face and collarbone, the fresh wrinkles in her clothes, she didn’t think anything would look out of place.
They emerged from the tube and she staggered slightly to get her balance back. She was still light-headed.
“Where’s the closest head?” she asked Bill as he swung off the ladder. “I’ve got to clean up,” she said with a withering glare at him and he had the grace to look ashamed.
He said, “I’ll show you,” and led her to a small empty head, glancing in first to check it for her. “I’ll be outside,” he told her.
She slammed the hatch and managed to make it into one of the two stalls. Slumped on the toilet, she started laughing and sobbing uncontrollable. That was it--they were out of control. What the frak had just happened?
She pounded the stall wall with her fist until her hand became numb and it felt good--almost as good as what had just happened in the ladder tube...exactly what she’d wanted to happen--good old familiar dangerous fraks, discovery just one orgasmic cry away.
If the press had ever released the news of her affair with Adar, she would have been an object of public pity and scorn. People would have thought she’d been seduced by his power, his glib tongue. But she’d been the seducer, finding the safest relationship possible. Richard would never have left his wife, even after he termed out of office. He would never love her; he never even had time to make love to her. Sure, there’d been the brief honeymoon phase of less than a week, of sex every day, of naked wanderings through his weekend retreat, but it had deteriorated into their clandestine quickies.
This man, Bill Adama, wanted to love her. Called her beautiful, and made her believe that she was desirable and she didn’t want that at all. He wanted to make love to her for hours, and that would give her the time to have dangerous thoughts--believing herself worthy of love and being cherished. She had to remember, again and again, loved ones went away; that’s all life had taught her.
And if she thought Bill Adama couldn’t be wrenched away from her in the snap of a Centurion’s steel fingers, she was a fool. Why couldn’t she have fallen for Colonial One’s janitor; someone safe--or at least as safe as anyone could be in the Fleet?
Ragged laughter choking her at the thought of a passionate affair with Old Hank the janitor, she grabbed handfuls of toilet paper and blew her nose loudly, only to be flooded again. Gasping for breath, she stared up at the steel ceiling. She wanted to be frakked, quickly, efficiently, teeth-jarring. She didn’t want to see his tears as he worshiped her, and sure as hell didn’t want to end up crying herself.
Staggering to her feet, she made it out to the sink. She cleaned her legs and then bathed her face with cold water, trying to reduce some of the blotchy swelling. “Frak,” she moaned at her reflection. This was exactly what she meant.
When she was finally somewhat presentable, she stormed through the hatch without looking at Bill. He’d been leaning against the wall, having an internal discussion that mainly contained the word frak over and over.
“Madam President,” he called.
She whirled on her heel, bearing down on him. “What?” she hissed.
He motioned to the right. “This way.”
She pushed past him and he got a good look at her face, and nearly had to go into the head to throw up. He’d made her cry; he was a disgusting, out of control animal. Taking a few deep breaths to fight his rising bile, he followed.
End (3/4)
Word Count: 1,400
Summary: Adama kicks some people off their chairs.
Setting: Post-episode for Torn
Genre: Angst, Romance, Drama, Smut
Series: Love in a Time of War: 4
Chapter 3:
I bet Bill’s got a shortcut to the Ward Room, Laura thought as he dragged her down a dark corridor. Great, now he’s going to chew my ass out. I suppose I should be grateful that he ordered the guard away so it won’t be in front of an audience. Well, frak him--he pulled her into another dim, empty corridor.
“Come on,” he said, nudging her toward a ladder tube.
“I hate these damn things,” she bitched, mounting the steps. “I’ve got a damn skirt on, you know.”
“Yeah, I know,” he said, and suddenly he overtook her on the ladder, pressing her against it, his erection hard against her ass.
“What the frak do you think you’re doing?” she said, although she had a pretty good idea from his rasping breath at her ear.
Sure enough, he said, “Just what you think,” as he turned her on the ladder and his mean face was right there.
“You’re out of your frakking mind,” she hissed, straining to hear footfall below or above.
“I know this ship,” he said, “We’re fine. We need a minute.”
He bucked up against her and she sneered, “It’ll be just a minute all right.”
“Frak, yeah,” he groaned, hands pushing up her skirt, pressing her thighs apart.
“You are out of your frakking mind,” she muttered again, wondering if she was telling him or her. Her body reacted instantly to his thick fingers pushing aside her panties and exploring, heating her labia, causing the first rush of moisture to wet his palm.
“Help me out here,” he ordered, rubbing on her thigh with the bulge in his rough pants. “Only got so many hands.”
Her head spun; she’d always had a bit of vertigo from heights, a fear of falling from these ladders. But she let go with a hand to work his buckle and fly loose; pull his cock free.
Between the two of them, he somehow got in position. She let go of the ladder, wrapping her arms around his neck and her right leg around his waist, muttering, “If you drop me, Adama, I swear--“
“Never, baby,” he promised, slamming home and she shivered with terror.
“Got you right here,” he said, jerking in and out with shallow, sharp pumps of his hips. He wasn’t deep enough, and she didn’t think he could get there between their clothes and the ladder, but sometimes you just had to make do.
Her face pressed into his neck; she dare not look down. So frakkin’ good, this damn itch she’d felt for days, hours, hot minutes was finally getting scratched, hard, by his dick and rough pant legs and heavy belt buckle.
“Yeah,” he growled in her ear as though reading her mind. “Come on, dammit,” he hissed, pushing her hard against the ladder.
She had just enough leverage with her left leg to counter his thrusts, and she muttered back, “You come, dammit.” After all, she was used to sexual frustration at this point, saw it as her due, but he couldn’t go to this meeting with Zarek with an erection...or maybe it would intimidate the slimeball?
Suddenly, she felt her right pump beginning to slip from her foot. “Frak!” she muttered, trying to tip her foot higher. “Dammit, Bill! My frakkin’ shoe!” She could imagine it falling, rolling into the corridor, some inquisitive ensign searching for its owner, the Admiral and the President found in a compromising position--she came hard and fast, terror swelling her vaginal walls--clamping down hard, turning her skin hot red, closing off her throat--thank Gods, because the scream that was coursing through her bloodstream would have shook the bulkheads.
He let go with one hand, grabbed the shoe just as it slipped free, but they tilted, swinging, and he was jerking, his orgasm unstoppable and she knew she’d never be able to ride a rollercoaster again--if there happened to be any on Earth when they got there--without climaxing.
“I’m gonna kill you, Bill Adama, as soon as we get off this damn ladder,” she hissed as he wrapped his arms around her, around the rails, holding them fast to the ladder, somehow keeping the shoe in his hand. His softening cock slipped free, leaving a wet trail on her thigh.
“Here,” he muttered, giving her the shoe and climbing down enough steps to fasten his pants. She got turned back around on the ladder, and forced herself to let go with a hand to push her skirt into place. Other than her flushed face and collarbone, the fresh wrinkles in her clothes, she didn’t think anything would look out of place.
They emerged from the tube and she staggered slightly to get her balance back. She was still light-headed.
“Where’s the closest head?” she asked Bill as he swung off the ladder. “I’ve got to clean up,” she said with a withering glare at him and he had the grace to look ashamed.
He said, “I’ll show you,” and led her to a small empty head, glancing in first to check it for her. “I’ll be outside,” he told her.
She slammed the hatch and managed to make it into one of the two stalls. Slumped on the toilet, she started laughing and sobbing uncontrollable. That was it--they were out of control. What the frak had just happened?
She pounded the stall wall with her fist until her hand became numb and it felt good--almost as good as what had just happened in the ladder tube...exactly what she’d wanted to happen--good old familiar dangerous fraks, discovery just one orgasmic cry away.
If the press had ever released the news of her affair with Adar, she would have been an object of public pity and scorn. People would have thought she’d been seduced by his power, his glib tongue. But she’d been the seducer, finding the safest relationship possible. Richard would never have left his wife, even after he termed out of office. He would never love her; he never even had time to make love to her. Sure, there’d been the brief honeymoon phase of less than a week, of sex every day, of naked wanderings through his weekend retreat, but it had deteriorated into their clandestine quickies.
This man, Bill Adama, wanted to love her. Called her beautiful, and made her believe that she was desirable and she didn’t want that at all. He wanted to make love to her for hours, and that would give her the time to have dangerous thoughts--believing herself worthy of love and being cherished. She had to remember, again and again, loved ones went away; that’s all life had taught her.
And if she thought Bill Adama couldn’t be wrenched away from her in the snap of a Centurion’s steel fingers, she was a fool. Why couldn’t she have fallen for Colonial One’s janitor; someone safe--or at least as safe as anyone could be in the Fleet?
Ragged laughter choking her at the thought of a passionate affair with Old Hank the janitor, she grabbed handfuls of toilet paper and blew her nose loudly, only to be flooded again. Gasping for breath, she stared up at the steel ceiling. She wanted to be frakked, quickly, efficiently, teeth-jarring. She didn’t want to see his tears as he worshiped her, and sure as hell didn’t want to end up crying herself.
Staggering to her feet, she made it out to the sink. She cleaned her legs and then bathed her face with cold water, trying to reduce some of the blotchy swelling. “Frak,” she moaned at her reflection. This was exactly what she meant.
When she was finally somewhat presentable, she stormed through the hatch without looking at Bill. He’d been leaning against the wall, having an internal discussion that mainly contained the word frak over and over.
“Madam President,” he called.
She whirled on her heel, bearing down on him. “What?” she hissed.
He motioned to the right. “This way.”
She pushed past him and he got a good look at her face, and nearly had to go into the head to throw up. He’d made her cry; he was a disgusting, out of control animal. Taking a few deep breaths to fight his rising bile, he followed.
End (3/4)