Fic: BSG Pornbattle: power corrupts
It's two hours to the debate with Baltar, and Laura is fretfully staring at herself in the mirror of her tiny washroom on Colonial One.
Laura finds it preposterous that she is being forced to defend her record on women's rights against a man who is arguably working on collecting his own personal harem. At this point, she thinks he's probably slept with more of the Fleet than Ellen Tigh. It's disgraceful.
She frowns, irritated by a sudden fleeting memory of Baltar at a Quorum meeting, gazing absently at her legs instead of paying attention to the proceedings, and she narrows her eyes at herself in the mirror, picturing his face, that arrogant little quirk in the corner of his smile. "Pompous asshole," she mutters, tapping her fingers on the rim of the sink, agitated. She could teach him a thing or two, she thinks, about discretion, about politics, about power, about treating her with respect.
Her mouth curves into a smug smile as she envisions telling him exactly what she thinks of him. Laura misses having the liberty to just say what's on her mind, and she leans against the wall, indulging in the fantasy for a moment, picturing the look on his face as she steps closer to him, declaiming the many sins and transgressions of Gaius Baltar. Even in her mind, he is not yet repentant, and as he tries to argue Laura imagines telling him to shut the frak up, savoring the momentary freedom that allows her to hurl epithets at him. She hums, pleased at his startled reaction to her lack of propriety. It feels good. It feels better than good, actually, it feels intoxicating, empowering, invigorating, even arousing, if she's honest. She feels as though she should be somewhat shocked that haranguing Gaius Baltar turns her on as much as it does, but it does, and she feels warm, she feels alive, she feels the blood pumping desire from her heart to her abdomen and points beyond.
Laura checks her watch. She's got five minutes before she has to go board a Raptor to Galactica, and she's determined to make every second count. She double-checks the lock on the door before she closes her eyes and returns to a vision of a still-impertinant Gaius Baltar standing in front of her desk, wearing a suit, glasses, and an argumentative visage. She imagines what it would be like to kiss him, to grip the collar of his shirt and pull him to her lips, just her mouth against his and her teeth scraping slowly across his bottom lip until he whimpers with pleasure. In her mind, she drags her nails slowly down his chest; in reality, she runs a hand across her breasts, teasing herself through her shirt until her breath catches. She reaches under her skirt to slip her underwear down around her ankles, digging her fingers into her hips as she thinks of digging them into his shoulders when she kisses him again, more tongue than teeth this time. She imagines kissing him until she can lean against him and feel his erection against her thigh, until she has him where she wants him, and she can step away, secure in the knowledge that he will follow.
"Madam President! I, I had no idea you felt this way," he stammers, but he licks his lips and widens his eyes in appreciation when she unbuttons her blouse and tosses it behind her. She takes everything off but her bra and her heels and stalks toward him, predatory, as he tugs at his tie and fumbles with the clasp on his trousers. He's got that caught-in-the-act look that he wears so often, the one that makes her think that if it weren't for him they wouldn't be out here, running for their lives, and for the first time she feels like she has the power to do something about it.
Laura has to stifle a moan as her fingers slide back under her skirt and between her thighs, her need growing with every stroke as she imagines backing him up against the chairs by the window, pushing him into a seat and planting one knee on either side of his legs.
"You don't get to come until I tell you," she orders, running one slender finger down the hard line pressing against his trousers. "Do you understand?"
"Yes, of course," he says, nodding eagerly. "You have my complete and total cooper-"
She shuts him up with her mouth against his as she unzips his trousers. Neither of them make another sound until she slides onto him, and his eyes roll back in his head and he groans. She would prefer to tease him, but she doesn't have that kind of time, so she grips his shoulders, hard, and pushes against him.
She can feel her muscles tighten with anticipation as her fingers against her clitoris move faster and faster in time with the drumbeat of her fantasy. She pictures the look on his face when she comes before he does, she imagines him waiting for her to command him, to let him have his own moment of satisfaction, and when she knows that she has him at her mercy, she has to take hold of the sink to stay standing from the force of all the pleasure and all the relief and the blood pounding in her ears.
Laura allows herself to lean against the sink for another ten seconds before freshening up, stepping gracefully into her underwear, and glancing at her watch. With thirty seconds to go, she checks her face in the mirror, gives her reflection a satisfied smile, adjusts her suit collar with more than a touch of sass, and goes to meet Tory in the shuttle bay.
She's gonna wipe the floor with him.