"Blood on Your Hands, Heart on Your Sleeve." - Adama/Roslin fic
Title: Blood on Your Hands, Heart on Your Sleeve
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was.
A/N: This was written for mamabelladonna 's birthday. She wanted something with a Mary McDonnell character, and smut. Much love to nixmom for her beta. This takes place after Bill and Laura's reunion during BOTS.
His hands grip the sides of your hips so hard you know that before he is done with you, you’ll have bruises. He’s pounding into you, hard enough that the feeble mattress of your shared rack squeaks defiantly and you revel in the satisfaction that you wont be able to walk properly for a few days after this. His thick cock slides easily in and out of you; you’ve never been this wet before. Desire washes through you and you give yourself over to it completely.
Grief is a powerful aphrodisiac.
His panting brands an affirmation of his love for you along your neck, your shoulder, your bare scalp, as he moves his lips back and forth, kissing, suckling, biting everywhere at once in an effort to reassure himself that you’re really here. You’re covered in sweat, some of it yours, most of it his, and you regret that it doesn’t stain your skin quite like the blood on your hands.
Hardly passive, your hips meet him thrust for thrust, and you ignore the ache that is sated deep in your bones, instead you focus on the sounds of your flesh coming together, the feel of his warm, solid body above you, around you, inside you. Since the return of your cancer, sex has become less of a prioroty, and most nights pleasure seemed like an elusive concept. You won’t take no for an answer now, you demand your pleasure from him, from yourself; you’ll take it without permission.
You sink your teeth into the crook of his neck, marking him outwardly as you’ve already marked him inwardly. You’ll be damned if anyone else tries to frak with your man. You want the whole Fleet to know that he is yours, and yours alone to touch, kiss, frak, argue with, hurt, break, or destroy. You want Zarek to see your mark in twenty minutes when Bill leaves you to carry out his execution. You want him to know that his suspicions were right and that you’ve been in bed with the military all along.
You want the last thing that the smug, conniving, little frakker feels to be the pain and love that you carry every day for this man. You want it to overwhelm him as it overwhelms you each and every day. You hope it kills him before Bill’s bullet does.
“Laura..my Laura…” Bill’s ramblings fall in synch with his thrusts, each one filling you, completing you. He feels so damned good inside you and you can hardly contain your tears when you realize how this was almost taken from you. You’re close, so damn close and you tell him so; you yell at him to finish you off, to make you believe that you and he are truly alive and together. You climax within moments and he follows almost immediately with your name on his lips and his hands on your breasts.
His hold on you tightens once he slips from your body. He wraps you in his sculpted arms, tells you how much he loves you with every kiss bestowed to your bald head, your hollowed cheeks. Your hands anchor themselves in his hair and you pull hard enough to rip a few strands out as you force his mouth over your own. Your tongue is hot and harsh, you’re not losing him to Zarek, the Cylons, or alcohol. If you have to fight so damned hard every day to live then he will too, you’ll make sure of it.
You’ll give him a reason to live even if it kills you.
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: Not mine, never was.
A/N: This was written for mamabelladonna 's birthday. She wanted something with a Mary McDonnell character, and smut. Much love to nixmom for her beta. This takes place after Bill and Laura's reunion during BOTS.
His hands grip the sides of your hips so hard you know that before he is done with you, you’ll have bruises. He’s pounding into you, hard enough that the feeble mattress of your shared rack squeaks defiantly and you revel in the satisfaction that you wont be able to walk properly for a few days after this. His thick cock slides easily in and out of you; you’ve never been this wet before. Desire washes through you and you give yourself over to it completely.
Grief is a powerful aphrodisiac.
His panting brands an affirmation of his love for you along your neck, your shoulder, your bare scalp, as he moves his lips back and forth, kissing, suckling, biting everywhere at once in an effort to reassure himself that you’re really here. You’re covered in sweat, some of it yours, most of it his, and you regret that it doesn’t stain your skin quite like the blood on your hands.
Hardly passive, your hips meet him thrust for thrust, and you ignore the ache that is sated deep in your bones, instead you focus on the sounds of your flesh coming together, the feel of his warm, solid body above you, around you, inside you. Since the return of your cancer, sex has become less of a prioroty, and most nights pleasure seemed like an elusive concept. You won’t take no for an answer now, you demand your pleasure from him, from yourself; you’ll take it without permission.
You sink your teeth into the crook of his neck, marking him outwardly as you’ve already marked him inwardly. You’ll be damned if anyone else tries to frak with your man. You want the whole Fleet to know that he is yours, and yours alone to touch, kiss, frak, argue with, hurt, break, or destroy. You want Zarek to see your mark in twenty minutes when Bill leaves you to carry out his execution. You want him to know that his suspicions were right and that you’ve been in bed with the military all along.
You want the last thing that the smug, conniving, little frakker feels to be the pain and love that you carry every day for this man. You want it to overwhelm him as it overwhelms you each and every day. You hope it kills him before Bill’s bullet does.
“Laura..my Laura…” Bill’s ramblings fall in synch with his thrusts, each one filling you, completing you. He feels so damned good inside you and you can hardly contain your tears when you realize how this was almost taken from you. You’re close, so damn close and you tell him so; you yell at him to finish you off, to make you believe that you and he are truly alive and together. You climax within moments and he follows almost immediately with your name on his lips and his hands on your breasts.
His hold on you tightens once he slips from your body. He wraps you in his sculpted arms, tells you how much he loves you with every kiss bestowed to your bald head, your hollowed cheeks. Your hands anchor themselves in his hair and you pull hard enough to rip a few strands out as you force his mouth over your own. Your tongue is hot and harsh, you’re not losing him to Zarek, the Cylons, or alcohol. If you have to fight so damned hard every day to live then he will too, you’ll make sure of it.
You’ll give him a reason to live even if it kills you.