as promised
Title: Arachne into a Spider [3/5]
Prompt: Starbuck/Tory, competition
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: set after "Unfinished Business," refers to "Taking a Break From All Your Worries"
A/N: titles from Ovid's Metamorphoses (1717 translation, Pallas=Athena). thanks to quick-draw mandysbitch, who's more good to me than I deserve. not to mention the incomparable Feeldoe.
Summary: OTP 2.0 in 5 PWPs
[ i. one at the loom | ii. the web is ty'd | iii. with nimble flight the shuttles play | iv. then threads of gold | v. still by constant weaving ]
After Starbuck lost her underpants, I let her win a hand. Not that I wasn't enjoying her nakedness, watching the play of muscles under creamy skin as she dealt and smoked, but her scowl had deepened each time I trounced her. She was slouching with her arms crossed over her breasts, lips clamped sourly around her cigar, uncomfortable with defeat more than with exposure. Winning at cards was routine for me; I was more interested in the underlying conquest, in the view of her nipples, pink and puckered in the shipboard chill.
When she laid down full colors, she blew smoke and smirked at me, her good humor restored. I unbuttoned my blouse coquettishly and held it out for her meager pile of spoils (my necklace and both shoes). She took it without raising her eyes from my cleavage.
"Your prize?" I said. I thought she'd want a shirt back, perhaps, to even the score. She surprised me. She stood up from the table and winked, beguiling me with the sway of her ass as she sauntered to her locker. After rattling inside she turned, hips all sass, her fist wrapped around a V-shaped cylinder of rubber and chrome: a dildo. I froze.
I'd dreamed that device: bent and bulbous, flexible at the hinge, angled to be worn half-inside without straps or handles. Since Laura ended our affair, I'd indulged often in hazy, feverish fantasies, but these dreams were different: cinematic and sunk in sleep, precise in their details which included, in this case, Starbuck sprawled on a bunk, bare and sheened with sweat, head thrown back as she jerked the cock between her legs -- where she was seating it now. She spit in her hand and stroked the shorter, knobby side, propped one knee on the table so I could see her open. I watched her part her cunt with the toy and slide it inside. She mmmmmmmed when it was all the way in, took her hands away, and the business end reared up from her bush.
"Now," she said. "We're even."
Back then, the dreams were inexplicable. Or rather, I was afraid to explain them. I pushed them from my mind in the morning, went to work and pretended that the rest of what had transpired with the President was likewise a delusion. Now, I believe I shared Anders' memories (I don't like to think they might have been Laura's): tattoos an inky spatter on Starbuck's arms as she touched herself, teeth clenched and hips churning, screaming when she came.
Before that night, I'd met Starbuck once, while she was downgraded to flying shuttles between Galactica and Colonial One. The dreams happened later. Then she came up behind me at the bar, standing too close and smelling of smoke and engines, and those visions flooded me.
"Does your boss know you're out looking for trouble?" she'd asked, her mouth almost brushing my ear. I was wearing the shortest skirt and tightest blouse that could pass for professional, not to mention the obscenity of lace underneath. Laura was in a private meeting with Admiral Adama, and I had the run of Galactica while she was engaged.
"And how'd you find this place, anyway?" Starbuck sat down next to me, uninvited. Joe's had just opened, with tools and scrap metal still piled up where the fittings were under construction.
"I don't reveal my sources." I smiled at her. I was there to wipe my memory for a few hours more, with whichever vice was on offer. I told myself I could melt Laura out of me with the burn of home-cooked rotgut or a warm body against mine. Starbuck's skin was luminous in the dim lighting. She sat with her legs splayed to either side of me, and her eyes were dark and dizzying. I was there to be indecent.
"Everyone has their price," Starbuck said.
"You can buy me a drink," I said. "See how far that gets you."
She waved Joe down and dug a cigar out of her pocket. In the dreams, she was lawless, tearing into her pleasure with the savagery of cornered prey. That same desperation was coiled in her shoulders as she lit the smoke. She held it out to me when she exhaled, and I took it, put my lips where hers had been.
Joe poured me a shot. The alcohol seared under my sternum and set my toes and fingers tingling.
Starbuck grinned. "Laura told me about the bar," I said. "Did you really think you could keep it secret?"
"How'd she find out about it, then?"
"Ah," I said. "Presidential intelligence costs more than a drink."
Starbuck scooted her stool closer and leaned in. I could almost taste the booze on her breath, the tang of sweat and girl underneath. "Perhaps you'd like to wager for it?" She reached for a deck of cards on the countertop.
I rolled my eyes. "Listen," I said. "There's a reason the political staffers don't gamble with you hotshots. We'd mop the floor with you, but we're too diplomatic to say so."
"Well then, you've got nothing to lose," she said. She was right. I was the Triad champion of Colonial One, and far less drunk already.
She stood up, taking the deck with her. "Shall we retire to my table?" she said. I wasn't about to turn down the invitation.
I picked up my briefcase. "Just remember that you asked for it."
Commander Adama had told the Old Man about Joe's, of course, and the Admiral told Laura. Starbuck won a hand on a lucky draw and laughed when I paid up the information. "Lee," she said, "that prissy little bitch." I ignored the way she blushed and bowed her head.
"Now what are we anteing?" I said. "I can't play for money, spotless reputation to maintain and all."
She unlaced one boot and thunked it between us on the table. "You familiar with the rules of strip Triad, angel?"
The game is part chance, part mathematics, part performance, but if you know what you're doing, it's mostly strategy. Standing in front of me, with a cock bobbing between her legs, Starbuck proved she had moves that could catch me off guard. I'd woken up wet from a dream like this, and I knew that want shimmered in my eyes. I was still half-dressed but more exposed than she was.
She looked down at me, at my breasts heaped in a pushup bra. "You up for another round, angel?" she said.
"I'm no angel," I said. "Not even close." I licked my lips and swallowed the dildo. Working my mouth slowly down the shaft, I wrapped my hand around the base and let spit drip to lube it up. When I pushed against her with my palm, she gasped.
I pulled back and circled the knobbed tip with my tongue, glanced up at her through my eyelashes. "Frak," she said. She rolled her hips and groped for stability, unable to lean comfortably on the table or chair. I pumped my hand some more, trapping her clit beneath the toy. "Frak," she said again, and settled her palms on my head for balance. I sucked my way back down, and she made a sound like a sob and tightened her fists in my hair.
I still wanted to win, wanted her to lose control, but when she yanked me deeper I couldn't help gagging. She took the cock away then, growled and bent to kiss me. More a bite than a kiss, really, feral and sharp as she fumbled under my skirt. I was more than wet enough when she pushed the lace aside and shoved two fingers into me.
"Yeah," she said. "You want to give it up, don't you, Little Miss Perfect? You want to get frakked until you're as dumb and deranged as one of us Viper jocks."
With the way I was clutching around her, I didn't need to answer. I stood up and kicked off my panties. She took my place in the chair, braced the toy on the seat so she could rock against the end inside her. She held it steady for me, and I straddled her lap and slid down onto it.
"Oh," I said, as the shaft opened me. The metal was chilly. I went still, for a moment, with my skirt hiked above our overlapping thighs.
"Frak yes," she said. She grabbed my ass and shifted us closer, dug her fingernails into a handful of my breast.
I tried to catch my breath, to adjust to the unforgiving breach of something hard inside me. "It's cold," I said.
She licked a path from my cleavage to my neck, humming against my skin, and squirmed a little under me. "I know how hot you are." She bit my ear. "Go ahead and warm it up."
I tightened my muscles and released them, drawing on the cock enough to make her whimper. I rested my hands on her shoulders and planted the balls of my feet on the floor, lifted myself up until the head hit my sweet spot. I moaned. She angled her hips to meet me when I sunk back down, palms on my thighs where she could feel them flexing as I moved.
She kissed with more finesse this time, lazy and deep and full of tongue. I moaned again, nipped at her lower lip, her chin, her throat. I shifted one hand to cup the lush weight of her breast, thumb swiping her nipple, and gods help me I'd wanted to do that since she stripped for me (since she stripped for me in my dreams).
She groaned as I swirled my hips into her, tipped her head back in concentration and tried to steer my thrusts. She opened her eyes and they swam with that wildness. I wondered which memories she was fleeing from.
"I don't know what china doll you've been frakking lately," she said. "But I won't frakking break."
She was beautiful like that, want strung into every curve of her body, impatiently gripping fistfuls of my flesh. I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, letting my breasts fall ripe against hers.
She tilted me forward and buried her face between them, biting me hard enough to set me off. I jerked her away by the hair and leveraged myself up in earnest, sucked her neck bruisingly and let gravity plunge the cock back in.
Starbuck snarled, an animal noise. And suddenly we were frakking in rhythm, fast and brutal, marking each other everywhere with teeth and nails. It was as combative as the Triad game, and as choreographed, and I gave myself over to the roles we played: like she was in control, like I was in oblivion.
"Uh huh," she said. "The way you take it --" Riding her all the way down, panting and scratching and slamming our hips together. "You might as well be a Cloud 9 whore, not a government big-shot."
I tried to reach between us, for my clit or hers, but there wasn't space and she pushed me off her in frustration. She spun me around till I caught myself on the table, pressed against my back and curled her arm around to pinch my clit.
"Want it?" she said.
Body to body, I could forget the dreams in the real of her. I arched my ass toward her, the dildo trapped between us. "Yes," I said.
She straightened up, one hand bending me over and the other guiding the cock between my lips, nudging the tip just inside to tease me. "Ask for it," she said. "That's my price."
"Frak me," I said. "Gods, please. Pound me hard and fast and don't stop until I come all frakking over you." This was what we could offer each other: the echo of being wanted, even for an hour in a deserted storage room.
She gave it to me just like I asked, bruising my hipbones with her fingertips, standing on tiptoes so she was plunging toward my belly. It burned and ached and felt so good I could have cried.
"Frak," she said, through clenched teeth. "Come already." It only took one swipe of my finger on my clit to finish me. I seized around the cock and heard her yell, collapsing against me and shuddering as she climaxed.
We lay like that for a moment, slumped and spent on the table, before she pulled out. I watched her tug the toy free of herself.
"Where did you get that thing, anyway?" I said.
She grinned at me, nonchalant as if she weren't standing there, naked and freshly frakked, in a public cabin. "The girls in the machine shop make them," she said, "original design. I won this one at cards."
She held the dildo out to me, still slick and body-warm. "I can win another one easy," she said. "And you thrashed me at Triad, fair and square."
I wanted to thank her, to crack a joke, but the words were drowned in a surge of shadowy fantasies, me and girls and boys and silver shafts. I took it from her with a nod, tucked my bra around it and buried it in my briefcase.
"You like working for Roslin?" she said, while we were putting on our shirts.
I swallowed a bitter laugh. "It's an honor to serve," I said, hopefully without sarcasm.
She smirked again, hips cocked and pants unzipped. "I frakked the President once. A long time ago, when she was green. Now she'll barely talk to me."
I didn't look up from the buttons on my blouse (one, two, three). I wanted to hoard the memories of that night for myself (so much of me was entwined with Laura). "Yeah," I said. "So did I."
Prompt: Starbuck/Tory, competition
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: set after "Unfinished Business," refers to "Taking a Break From All Your Worries"
A/N: titles from Ovid's Metamorphoses (1717 translation, Pallas=Athena). thanks to quick-draw mandysbitch, who's more good to me than I deserve. not to mention the incomparable Feeldoe.
Summary: OTP 2.0 in 5 PWPs
[ i. one at the loom | ii. the web is ty'd | iii. with nimble flight the shuttles play | iv. then threads of gold | v. still by constant weaving ]
After Starbuck lost her underpants, I let her win a hand. Not that I wasn't enjoying her nakedness, watching the play of muscles under creamy skin as she dealt and smoked, but her scowl had deepened each time I trounced her. She was slouching with her arms crossed over her breasts, lips clamped sourly around her cigar, uncomfortable with defeat more than with exposure. Winning at cards was routine for me; I was more interested in the underlying conquest, in the view of her nipples, pink and puckered in the shipboard chill.
When she laid down full colors, she blew smoke and smirked at me, her good humor restored. I unbuttoned my blouse coquettishly and held it out for her meager pile of spoils (my necklace and both shoes). She took it without raising her eyes from my cleavage.
"Your prize?" I said. I thought she'd want a shirt back, perhaps, to even the score. She surprised me. She stood up from the table and winked, beguiling me with the sway of her ass as she sauntered to her locker. After rattling inside she turned, hips all sass, her fist wrapped around a V-shaped cylinder of rubber and chrome: a dildo. I froze.
I'd dreamed that device: bent and bulbous, flexible at the hinge, angled to be worn half-inside without straps or handles. Since Laura ended our affair, I'd indulged often in hazy, feverish fantasies, but these dreams were different: cinematic and sunk in sleep, precise in their details which included, in this case, Starbuck sprawled on a bunk, bare and sheened with sweat, head thrown back as she jerked the cock between her legs -- where she was seating it now. She spit in her hand and stroked the shorter, knobby side, propped one knee on the table so I could see her open. I watched her part her cunt with the toy and slide it inside. She mmmmmmmed when it was all the way in, took her hands away, and the business end reared up from her bush.
"Now," she said. "We're even."
Back then, the dreams were inexplicable. Or rather, I was afraid to explain them. I pushed them from my mind in the morning, went to work and pretended that the rest of what had transpired with the President was likewise a delusion. Now, I believe I shared Anders' memories (I don't like to think they might have been Laura's): tattoos an inky spatter on Starbuck's arms as she touched herself, teeth clenched and hips churning, screaming when she came.
Before that night, I'd met Starbuck once, while she was downgraded to flying shuttles between Galactica and Colonial One. The dreams happened later. Then she came up behind me at the bar, standing too close and smelling of smoke and engines, and those visions flooded me.
"Does your boss know you're out looking for trouble?" she'd asked, her mouth almost brushing my ear. I was wearing the shortest skirt and tightest blouse that could pass for professional, not to mention the obscenity of lace underneath. Laura was in a private meeting with Admiral Adama, and I had the run of Galactica while she was engaged.
"And how'd you find this place, anyway?" Starbuck sat down next to me, uninvited. Joe's had just opened, with tools and scrap metal still piled up where the fittings were under construction.
"I don't reveal my sources." I smiled at her. I was there to wipe my memory for a few hours more, with whichever vice was on offer. I told myself I could melt Laura out of me with the burn of home-cooked rotgut or a warm body against mine. Starbuck's skin was luminous in the dim lighting. She sat with her legs splayed to either side of me, and her eyes were dark and dizzying. I was there to be indecent.
"Everyone has their price," Starbuck said.
"You can buy me a drink," I said. "See how far that gets you."
She waved Joe down and dug a cigar out of her pocket. In the dreams, she was lawless, tearing into her pleasure with the savagery of cornered prey. That same desperation was coiled in her shoulders as she lit the smoke. She held it out to me when she exhaled, and I took it, put my lips where hers had been.
Joe poured me a shot. The alcohol seared under my sternum and set my toes and fingers tingling.
Starbuck grinned. "Laura told me about the bar," I said. "Did you really think you could keep it secret?"
"How'd she find out about it, then?"
"Ah," I said. "Presidential intelligence costs more than a drink."
Starbuck scooted her stool closer and leaned in. I could almost taste the booze on her breath, the tang of sweat and girl underneath. "Perhaps you'd like to wager for it?" She reached for a deck of cards on the countertop.
I rolled my eyes. "Listen," I said. "There's a reason the political staffers don't gamble with you hotshots. We'd mop the floor with you, but we're too diplomatic to say so."
"Well then, you've got nothing to lose," she said. She was right. I was the Triad champion of Colonial One, and far less drunk already.
She stood up, taking the deck with her. "Shall we retire to my table?" she said. I wasn't about to turn down the invitation.
I picked up my briefcase. "Just remember that you asked for it."
Commander Adama had told the Old Man about Joe's, of course, and the Admiral told Laura. Starbuck won a hand on a lucky draw and laughed when I paid up the information. "Lee," she said, "that prissy little bitch." I ignored the way she blushed and bowed her head.
"Now what are we anteing?" I said. "I can't play for money, spotless reputation to maintain and all."
She unlaced one boot and thunked it between us on the table. "You familiar with the rules of strip Triad, angel?"
The game is part chance, part mathematics, part performance, but if you know what you're doing, it's mostly strategy. Standing in front of me, with a cock bobbing between her legs, Starbuck proved she had moves that could catch me off guard. I'd woken up wet from a dream like this, and I knew that want shimmered in my eyes. I was still half-dressed but more exposed than she was.
She looked down at me, at my breasts heaped in a pushup bra. "You up for another round, angel?" she said.
"I'm no angel," I said. "Not even close." I licked my lips and swallowed the dildo. Working my mouth slowly down the shaft, I wrapped my hand around the base and let spit drip to lube it up. When I pushed against her with my palm, she gasped.
I pulled back and circled the knobbed tip with my tongue, glanced up at her through my eyelashes. "Frak," she said. She rolled her hips and groped for stability, unable to lean comfortably on the table or chair. I pumped my hand some more, trapping her clit beneath the toy. "Frak," she said again, and settled her palms on my head for balance. I sucked my way back down, and she made a sound like a sob and tightened her fists in my hair.
I still wanted to win, wanted her to lose control, but when she yanked me deeper I couldn't help gagging. She took the cock away then, growled and bent to kiss me. More a bite than a kiss, really, feral and sharp as she fumbled under my skirt. I was more than wet enough when she pushed the lace aside and shoved two fingers into me.
"Yeah," she said. "You want to give it up, don't you, Little Miss Perfect? You want to get frakked until you're as dumb and deranged as one of us Viper jocks."
With the way I was clutching around her, I didn't need to answer. I stood up and kicked off my panties. She took my place in the chair, braced the toy on the seat so she could rock against the end inside her. She held it steady for me, and I straddled her lap and slid down onto it.
"Oh," I said, as the shaft opened me. The metal was chilly. I went still, for a moment, with my skirt hiked above our overlapping thighs.
"Frak yes," she said. She grabbed my ass and shifted us closer, dug her fingernails into a handful of my breast.
I tried to catch my breath, to adjust to the unforgiving breach of something hard inside me. "It's cold," I said.
She licked a path from my cleavage to my neck, humming against my skin, and squirmed a little under me. "I know how hot you are." She bit my ear. "Go ahead and warm it up."
I tightened my muscles and released them, drawing on the cock enough to make her whimper. I rested my hands on her shoulders and planted the balls of my feet on the floor, lifted myself up until the head hit my sweet spot. I moaned. She angled her hips to meet me when I sunk back down, palms on my thighs where she could feel them flexing as I moved.
She kissed with more finesse this time, lazy and deep and full of tongue. I moaned again, nipped at her lower lip, her chin, her throat. I shifted one hand to cup the lush weight of her breast, thumb swiping her nipple, and gods help me I'd wanted to do that since she stripped for me (since she stripped for me in my dreams).
She groaned as I swirled my hips into her, tipped her head back in concentration and tried to steer my thrusts. She opened her eyes and they swam with that wildness. I wondered which memories she was fleeing from.
"I don't know what china doll you've been frakking lately," she said. "But I won't frakking break."
She was beautiful like that, want strung into every curve of her body, impatiently gripping fistfuls of my flesh. I reached behind me and unhooked my bra, letting my breasts fall ripe against hers.
She tilted me forward and buried her face between them, biting me hard enough to set me off. I jerked her away by the hair and leveraged myself up in earnest, sucked her neck bruisingly and let gravity plunge the cock back in.
Starbuck snarled, an animal noise. And suddenly we were frakking in rhythm, fast and brutal, marking each other everywhere with teeth and nails. It was as combative as the Triad game, and as choreographed, and I gave myself over to the roles we played: like she was in control, like I was in oblivion.
"Uh huh," she said. "The way you take it --" Riding her all the way down, panting and scratching and slamming our hips together. "You might as well be a Cloud 9 whore, not a government big-shot."
I tried to reach between us, for my clit or hers, but there wasn't space and she pushed me off her in frustration. She spun me around till I caught myself on the table, pressed against my back and curled her arm around to pinch my clit.
"Want it?" she said.
Body to body, I could forget the dreams in the real of her. I arched my ass toward her, the dildo trapped between us. "Yes," I said.
She straightened up, one hand bending me over and the other guiding the cock between my lips, nudging the tip just inside to tease me. "Ask for it," she said. "That's my price."
"Frak me," I said. "Gods, please. Pound me hard and fast and don't stop until I come all frakking over you." This was what we could offer each other: the echo of being wanted, even for an hour in a deserted storage room.
She gave it to me just like I asked, bruising my hipbones with her fingertips, standing on tiptoes so she was plunging toward my belly. It burned and ached and felt so good I could have cried.
"Frak," she said, through clenched teeth. "Come already." It only took one swipe of my finger on my clit to finish me. I seized around the cock and heard her yell, collapsing against me and shuddering as she climaxed.
We lay like that for a moment, slumped and spent on the table, before she pulled out. I watched her tug the toy free of herself.
"Where did you get that thing, anyway?" I said.
She grinned at me, nonchalant as if she weren't standing there, naked and freshly frakked, in a public cabin. "The girls in the machine shop make them," she said, "original design. I won this one at cards."
She held the dildo out to me, still slick and body-warm. "I can win another one easy," she said. "And you thrashed me at Triad, fair and square."
I wanted to thank her, to crack a joke, but the words were drowned in a surge of shadowy fantasies, me and girls and boys and silver shafts. I took it from her with a nod, tucked my bra around it and buried it in my briefcase.
"You like working for Roslin?" she said, while we were putting on our shirts.
I swallowed a bitter laugh. "It's an honor to serve," I said, hopefully without sarcasm.
She smirked again, hips cocked and pants unzipped. "I frakked the President once. A long time ago, when she was green. Now she'll barely talk to me."
I didn't look up from the buttons on my blouse (one, two, three). I wanted to hoard the memories of that night for myself (so much of me was entwined with Laura). "Yeah," I said. "So did I."