[fic] A Close Shave, part 1 of 2
Title: A Close Shave (part 1 of 2)
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: Laura Roslin needs some assistance.
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: R/NC-17
Wordcount: 2,605
Notes: I wrote this for dashakay, simply because she asked me. And because it's a hot idea. Second part will be done soon! I'm just a gods damned fic tease.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, nor am I making any profit from playing around with them.
Here is Part 2 when you're done with the initial good times.
Living in space for two years running has many downfalls, some glaringly obvious--the lack of fresh fruit, recycled air, living like a pack of sardines in a tin can day in, day out--but some downfalls are less apparent, like the lack of contact lens fluid and the increasingly odiferous complication of the deodorant shortage.
But what is disturbing Laura Roslin today, more than the slight smell of sweat under her dress shirt or the unavailability of a fresh pear, is that last week, she used her last disposable razor blade. The one she only came upon by visiting Dogville and trading half a bottle of her favorite perfume to a civvie. They were both so desperate for these things they thought they needed.
And, oh Gods, did it feel good, lathering up her leg with a miniscule amount of homemade soap and sliding that razor up the skin of her leg for the first time in weeks. She thinks she enjoyed it a little too much, but she was so thankful for the opportunity to have silky, smooth legs and other less noticeable areas of her body, so that she could get out of the pantsuits again and giggle in private at the looks Bill cast her way.
But now, now that razor was dull, so dull that she nicked herself three times in her attempt to use it. She'd thrown it against the wall and gone back down to Dogville with a delicate blue scarf she'd received from a band of Sagittarons when she banned abortion. Her face fell when her civvie razor trader said the last razor had disappeared well over a month ago.
She briefly debated asking Lee to commandeer a Raptor to take her to the Black Market, but the last time he'd taken her there, she'd been stuck there for hours as he tramped around. That would not do.
A flicker of an idea flitted through her mind as she walked the long hallway toward Bill's quarters--she always ended up wandering toward his quarters one way or another--when she realized that there was one man on this ship who was nearly always clean-shaven, unless he was in a moustache mood. She giggled at the mental image.
Bill would have her razor hook-up.
x x x x
"Laura," he says as he lets her in to his quarters. He's a bit surprised at her unannounced visit; normally, she gives him a call on the phone and they banter about this and that, and she gives him a fifteen-minute warning, during which he usually either touches himself thinking about her or has a stiff drink.
"Hello, Bill," she says expressly, her heels clicking past him. He shuts the door and watches her walk to his sofa and perch on the edge of it, her hands on her knees. She's wearing a pantsuit again and he is mildly disappointed, but tries not to show it. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything. Were you reading?"
Actually, he had been touching himself thinking about her right then, too. "Yes," he says, walking over to his rack and picking up a book on his shelf, hoping she doesn't notice how mussed his bed sheets are.
"More Caprican detective stories?" she asks, and he notices her fidgeting, tapping her fingers against her knees, and this is odd to him, because the President does not normally fidget. This is a sign of something.
"No," he says, walking over to her and handing her the book. "Actually, it's a triad strategy book. I plan on challenging Saul in the near future, and he's extremely skilled at the game."
She takes the book from his hands and glances down at it, then looks up at him. She bites her lip and takes a deep breath. "Do you have a razor, Bill?"
"A...razor? Of course I have a razor."
How the frak did she think he kept his face clean and professional-looking all the time?
"Oh," she says with a titter of laughter, gripping the book with both hands. "That's wonderful. Where do you get them? I'm having a hell of time finding one, actually, and I know that you must know where to get them."
"A razor. To shave with?" Bill asks, and he has a sudden vision of something he really shouldn't be envisioning regarding the President, a soapy lather and long, long legs. He clears his throat. "Well, unfortunately, I only have one. My father's straight razor. Works like a dream, just needs sharpening once in great while."
Laura giggles again and he realizes she is blushing. "Oh, yes, well, Bill, that's just fine. I thought I'd ask. You know, things are awfully hard to come by around here as of late--"
"Do you want to borrow it?" he asks, his heart fluttering a bit. Her eyebrows quickly go up and she smiles, running her fingers through her hair absentmindedly.
"Oh, Bill, that's not necessary, I mean..." she falters and she pulls at her hair again as she laughs. "It's your razor. I don't want to dull it."
He nearly opens his mouth and asks exactly how much hair she's talking about, that it would dull a straight razor, but he politely keeps his inquisition inside and gives a gentle nod toward the bathroom. "Go ahead. It's in there. And I have some shaving cream and a brush, if you're interested."
He watches her barely hide her glee. Her eyes dance and he's enamored, just a little, by her excitement over what used to be considered a simple, daily factor of their lives. How things change. "Oh, thank you so much. It won't take me long. I'll just...here, I'll just..."
Laura jumps up and hands him the book, then laughs and walks off toward his bathroom.
"It'll only take a few minutes," she says.
"Oh, you're planning on..." doing it here. He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't want to discourage her from using his bathroom to shave her legs. If she feels it's necessary, who is he to correct her? This and many justifications run through his mind as he watches her gently push the door closed.
x x x x
Bill Adama keeps good house, she thinks as she glances around the bathroom. She knows he can be obsessive about his cleanliness, both in his appearance and that of his quarters, and she makes a note to be sure to wipe up every last smudge of shaving cream.
She was a little taken aback when he offered his razor, though it didn't surprise her. Bill was a good, decent man, and would give the shirt off his back to someone truly in need.
She picks up the straight razor and watches it glint in the shaving mirror. It's sharp and perfect. She sighs, perhaps a little too dreamily and loudly for her current surroundings, and sheds her pants and top. She glances at the shower longingly, but for the sake of time and convenience, she decides to prop her foot up on the countertop and shave that way.
Laura takes the bottle of shaving soap and works it with water in the small shaving bowl with the brush until it's a rich lather. It smells like him, and she feels a little turned on by sliding his shaving brush across her calves and thighs. She wonders how long they'll actually smell like Bill after she's through.
She leans over slightly, taking a small whiff of the shaving cream again before she carefully slides the straight razor up the front of her leg. It feels exciting--it turns her on, running this edge so dangerously close to her skin.
x x x x
Bill would sit down, but he can't bring himself to stop pacing the living area as he thinks about Laura shaving her legs a mere ten feet away, behind a flimsy door. He thinks about her--is she naked? Is she enjoying herself? What exactly is she shaving, anyway?--and then he silently berates himself for having these unprofessional thoughts with her right there. They are usually reserved for times when she's not within earshot.
He hears a click and glances over to the bathroom--it's only been a few minutes and he's surprised and a little disappointed that she's finished already. But he realizes that the click was merely the slip of his badly sealed door, and the door has fallen open, a few inches at most, but his eyes travel the crack of the door, which gives him a perfect, unrestricted view of the president's shaving-cream covered calf, her foot up on his countertop, her toes twiddling as she hums.
She's humming. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to calm the frak down.
He watches as Laura's hand comes into view, holding the razor firmly, and she slides it up her skin slowly until it's out of his view again.
"Motherfrakker," Bill says under his breath, glancing over to his rack, to his door, to his bar, and then back at the door. He steps a little closer to the door, tilting his head to catch the reflection of the opposite side of her leg in his mirror.
She swipes at her leg again, still humming some tune he somewhat remembers from a summer concert on Caprica, one of those things you go to just to get toasted in public and there just happens to be music there.
He gets closer to the door, moving stealthily, a little to the left so he can see even more in the mirror. He can see her thigh now, covered in shaving cream, and he bites his lip and exhales slowly as she runs the razor over her skin again.
Suddenly, she stops humming. His breath catches in his throat and there's silence. He stands like a deer in headlights, staring at the door.
"Bill?" she asks.
He clears his throat. "Yes?"
He waits for her to speak. "Get in here and help me."
She starts humming again.
x x x x
Laura's heart is racing at the realization of what she's just done--invited the Admiral of the fleet to occupy his own bathroom with her, while she's half-covered in shaving cream, no less. She decides it's best not to think of any possible repercussions of this deviation from her normally professional behavior.
She sees his eyes in the mirror as he opens the door a little more. She adjusts herself, the bathroom cramped already, the door brushing against her side. She keeps her leg up on the counter and they watch each other's eyes in their reflection.
"Are you sure?" Bill asks, one foot on the bathroom tile.
She breathes two deep breaths. "Yes," she says, tilting her chin up slightly. "I could use some help. There are some hard-to-reach places."
His lips part and he falters a bit, yet slides through the crack in the door and shuts it firmly. "All right," he says, and finally breaks their gaze to look down at her legs. She has several paths made through the shaving cream, exposing stripes of soft skin. His eyes wander from her ankle upward until they stop at her abdomen. She blushes, then extends the razor to him with her shaking hand.
He takes it out of her hand and glances down at it.
"Have you ever shaved a woman before?" she asks.
They laugh. She's not sure if she laughs because she's uncomfortable or because this she's sure this is hands-down the sexiest action this bathroom has ever seen.
"No," he says. "But I've shaved my face. I assume it's about the same. I'll take it easy."
She feels a small flood of relief and she smiles, tilting her head at him. "All right. Thank you, Bill, for doing this."
"My pleasure," he says, in a bit of a growl. She laughs, but takes a few precious seconds to gain her breath back.
He stands next to her and places the razor against the inside of her ankle, pressing and sliding it up her calf slowly. She watches his hand as he smoothly travels up to the inside of her knee, then inches up the inside of her thigh. She shifts, parting her legs a little more, and gasps softly as his knuckles brush against her heated skin.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks immediately, looking up into her eyes. She blinks several times and shakes her head. She's quickly losing any ability to form a coherent sentence.
Bill begins his work in earnest now, sliding the razor through the shaving cream, and he begins running the pads of his fingers up every bare path that he makes. His fingers slide slowly over her smooth skin, from ankle to upper inside of her thigh.
"Just checking to make sure I got it all," he says, his voice low, and she feels herself start to throb at the sound of his voice and at the vicinity of his fingers to the small patch of fabric between her legs.
"You're doing a fabulous job," Laura says, nearly breathing it to him.
He smiles. She props up the other leg and he begins his work, meticulous and accurate, and he seems to be really enjoying this, pulling that razor over her skin, teasing her with his fingers. And he seems to be running those fingers up higher each time he shaves a new part of her leg, and soon he lightly traces the line of her panties against her thigh before moving his hand away, a two or three-second tease that is driving her absolutely crazy.
"Does it feel better?" he asks, glancing up into her eyes. He doesn't look away this time.
"Yes," Laura says, and she feels her tongue tracing her upper lip and quickly looks away, blushing, telling herself to stop thinking like that.
"I'll just finish up here," he says, and she glances at her leg and sees he only has a few swipes left. He shaves another stripe, runs his fingers up her leg again, lingering between her legs longer than all of the other times, and he looks up into her eyes and she tries, desperately, of a way to keep this moment from ending.
One more swipe and Bill's finished, and he stands up straight, placing the razor on the counter.
"There," he says, and it nearly sounds like an announcement, like he's proud of having gotten through the whole thing without cutting her or...other things.
She opens her mouth to speak and forces her words. "You're not done yet."
He glances sideways at her with an arch of his brow. "I just finished."
She places her hand on his arm and takes a deep breath, looking deeply into his eyes.
"No, Bill. You're not done yet."
She drops her leg and pulls her panties down her legs. She stands back up, her hand on her hip, and bites her lower lip. Her toe begins to tap as they look into each others' eyes.
"Oh," he says. She can practically feel him dragging his eyes down her body until he discovers areas recently uncovered. He opens his mouth and she hears him stutter a bit. "There?"
"Mmmmh." She can't even say "Yes." She can only say "Mmmmh." She blushes.
"There's no room in here to do that," he says, still staring downward.
She laughs. "Oh, well then, don't worry about it."
His head rises sharply and he looks into her eyes, his blue eyes intense. "Get on the couch."
She's now officially having a hard time breathing.
... to be continued ....
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: Laura Roslin needs some assistance.
Spoilers: none
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: R/NC-17
Wordcount: 2,605
Notes: I wrote this for dashakay, simply because she asked me. And because it's a hot idea. Second part will be done soon! I'm just a gods damned fic tease.
Disclaimer: These characters do not belong to me, nor am I making any profit from playing around with them.
Here is Part 2 when you're done with the initial good times.
Living in space for two years running has many downfalls, some glaringly obvious--the lack of fresh fruit, recycled air, living like a pack of sardines in a tin can day in, day out--but some downfalls are less apparent, like the lack of contact lens fluid and the increasingly odiferous complication of the deodorant shortage.
But what is disturbing Laura Roslin today, more than the slight smell of sweat under her dress shirt or the unavailability of a fresh pear, is that last week, she used her last disposable razor blade. The one she only came upon by visiting Dogville and trading half a bottle of her favorite perfume to a civvie. They were both so desperate for these things they thought they needed.
And, oh Gods, did it feel good, lathering up her leg with a miniscule amount of homemade soap and sliding that razor up the skin of her leg for the first time in weeks. She thinks she enjoyed it a little too much, but she was so thankful for the opportunity to have silky, smooth legs and other less noticeable areas of her body, so that she could get out of the pantsuits again and giggle in private at the looks Bill cast her way.
But now, now that razor was dull, so dull that she nicked herself three times in her attempt to use it. She'd thrown it against the wall and gone back down to Dogville with a delicate blue scarf she'd received from a band of Sagittarons when she banned abortion. Her face fell when her civvie razor trader said the last razor had disappeared well over a month ago.
She briefly debated asking Lee to commandeer a Raptor to take her to the Black Market, but the last time he'd taken her there, she'd been stuck there for hours as he tramped around. That would not do.
A flicker of an idea flitted through her mind as she walked the long hallway toward Bill's quarters--she always ended up wandering toward his quarters one way or another--when she realized that there was one man on this ship who was nearly always clean-shaven, unless he was in a moustache mood. She giggled at the mental image.
Bill would have her razor hook-up.
x x x x
"Laura," he says as he lets her in to his quarters. He's a bit surprised at her unannounced visit; normally, she gives him a call on the phone and they banter about this and that, and she gives him a fifteen-minute warning, during which he usually either touches himself thinking about her or has a stiff drink.
"Hello, Bill," she says expressly, her heels clicking past him. He shuts the door and watches her walk to his sofa and perch on the edge of it, her hands on her knees. She's wearing a pantsuit again and he is mildly disappointed, but tries not to show it. "I'm sorry if I interrupted anything. Were you reading?"
Actually, he had been touching himself thinking about her right then, too. "Yes," he says, walking over to his rack and picking up a book on his shelf, hoping she doesn't notice how mussed his bed sheets are.
"More Caprican detective stories?" she asks, and he notices her fidgeting, tapping her fingers against her knees, and this is odd to him, because the President does not normally fidget. This is a sign of something.
"No," he says, walking over to her and handing her the book. "Actually, it's a triad strategy book. I plan on challenging Saul in the near future, and he's extremely skilled at the game."
She takes the book from his hands and glances down at it, then looks up at him. She bites her lip and takes a deep breath. "Do you have a razor, Bill?"
"A...razor? Of course I have a razor."
How the frak did she think he kept his face clean and professional-looking all the time?
"Oh," she says with a titter of laughter, gripping the book with both hands. "That's wonderful. Where do you get them? I'm having a hell of time finding one, actually, and I know that you must know where to get them."
"A razor. To shave with?" Bill asks, and he has a sudden vision of something he really shouldn't be envisioning regarding the President, a soapy lather and long, long legs. He clears his throat. "Well, unfortunately, I only have one. My father's straight razor. Works like a dream, just needs sharpening once in great while."
Laura giggles again and he realizes she is blushing. "Oh, yes, well, Bill, that's just fine. I thought I'd ask. You know, things are awfully hard to come by around here as of late--"
"Do you want to borrow it?" he asks, his heart fluttering a bit. Her eyebrows quickly go up and she smiles, running her fingers through her hair absentmindedly.
"Oh, Bill, that's not necessary, I mean..." she falters and she pulls at her hair again as she laughs. "It's your razor. I don't want to dull it."
He nearly opens his mouth and asks exactly how much hair she's talking about, that it would dull a straight razor, but he politely keeps his inquisition inside and gives a gentle nod toward the bathroom. "Go ahead. It's in there. And I have some shaving cream and a brush, if you're interested."
He watches her barely hide her glee. Her eyes dance and he's enamored, just a little, by her excitement over what used to be considered a simple, daily factor of their lives. How things change. "Oh, thank you so much. It won't take me long. I'll just...here, I'll just..."
Laura jumps up and hands him the book, then laughs and walks off toward his bathroom.
"It'll only take a few minutes," she says.
"Oh, you're planning on..." doing it here. He doesn't finish his sentence. He doesn't want to discourage her from using his bathroom to shave her legs. If she feels it's necessary, who is he to correct her? This and many justifications run through his mind as he watches her gently push the door closed.
x x x x
Bill Adama keeps good house, she thinks as she glances around the bathroom. She knows he can be obsessive about his cleanliness, both in his appearance and that of his quarters, and she makes a note to be sure to wipe up every last smudge of shaving cream.
She was a little taken aback when he offered his razor, though it didn't surprise her. Bill was a good, decent man, and would give the shirt off his back to someone truly in need.
She picks up the straight razor and watches it glint in the shaving mirror. It's sharp and perfect. She sighs, perhaps a little too dreamily and loudly for her current surroundings, and sheds her pants and top. She glances at the shower longingly, but for the sake of time and convenience, she decides to prop her foot up on the countertop and shave that way.
Laura takes the bottle of shaving soap and works it with water in the small shaving bowl with the brush until it's a rich lather. It smells like him, and she feels a little turned on by sliding his shaving brush across her calves and thighs. She wonders how long they'll actually smell like Bill after she's through.
She leans over slightly, taking a small whiff of the shaving cream again before she carefully slides the straight razor up the front of her leg. It feels exciting--it turns her on, running this edge so dangerously close to her skin.
x x x x
Bill would sit down, but he can't bring himself to stop pacing the living area as he thinks about Laura shaving her legs a mere ten feet away, behind a flimsy door. He thinks about her--is she naked? Is she enjoying herself? What exactly is she shaving, anyway?--and then he silently berates himself for having these unprofessional thoughts with her right there. They are usually reserved for times when she's not within earshot.
He hears a click and glances over to the bathroom--it's only been a few minutes and he's surprised and a little disappointed that she's finished already. But he realizes that the click was merely the slip of his badly sealed door, and the door has fallen open, a few inches at most, but his eyes travel the crack of the door, which gives him a perfect, unrestricted view of the president's shaving-cream covered calf, her foot up on his countertop, her toes twiddling as she hums.
She's humming. He takes a deep breath and tells himself to calm the frak down.
He watches as Laura's hand comes into view, holding the razor firmly, and she slides it up her skin slowly until it's out of his view again.
"Motherfrakker," Bill says under his breath, glancing over to his rack, to his door, to his bar, and then back at the door. He steps a little closer to the door, tilting his head to catch the reflection of the opposite side of her leg in his mirror.
She swipes at her leg again, still humming some tune he somewhat remembers from a summer concert on Caprica, one of those things you go to just to get toasted in public and there just happens to be music there.
He gets closer to the door, moving stealthily, a little to the left so he can see even more in the mirror. He can see her thigh now, covered in shaving cream, and he bites his lip and exhales slowly as she runs the razor over her skin again.
Suddenly, she stops humming. His breath catches in his throat and there's silence. He stands like a deer in headlights, staring at the door.
"Bill?" she asks.
He clears his throat. "Yes?"
He waits for her to speak. "Get in here and help me."
She starts humming again.
x x x x
Laura's heart is racing at the realization of what she's just done--invited the Admiral of the fleet to occupy his own bathroom with her, while she's half-covered in shaving cream, no less. She decides it's best not to think of any possible repercussions of this deviation from her normally professional behavior.
She sees his eyes in the mirror as he opens the door a little more. She adjusts herself, the bathroom cramped already, the door brushing against her side. She keeps her leg up on the counter and they watch each other's eyes in their reflection.
"Are you sure?" Bill asks, one foot on the bathroom tile.
She breathes two deep breaths. "Yes," she says, tilting her chin up slightly. "I could use some help. There are some hard-to-reach places."
His lips part and he falters a bit, yet slides through the crack in the door and shuts it firmly. "All right," he says, and finally breaks their gaze to look down at her legs. She has several paths made through the shaving cream, exposing stripes of soft skin. His eyes wander from her ankle upward until they stop at her abdomen. She blushes, then extends the razor to him with her shaking hand.
He takes it out of her hand and glances down at it.
"Have you ever shaved a woman before?" she asks.
They laugh. She's not sure if she laughs because she's uncomfortable or because this she's sure this is hands-down the sexiest action this bathroom has ever seen.
"No," he says. "But I've shaved my face. I assume it's about the same. I'll take it easy."
She feels a small flood of relief and she smiles, tilting her head at him. "All right. Thank you, Bill, for doing this."
"My pleasure," he says, in a bit of a growl. She laughs, but takes a few precious seconds to gain her breath back.
He stands next to her and places the razor against the inside of her ankle, pressing and sliding it up her calf slowly. She watches his hand as he smoothly travels up to the inside of her knee, then inches up the inside of her thigh. She shifts, parting her legs a little more, and gasps softly as his knuckles brush against her heated skin.
"Did I hurt you?" he asks immediately, looking up into her eyes. She blinks several times and shakes her head. She's quickly losing any ability to form a coherent sentence.
Bill begins his work in earnest now, sliding the razor through the shaving cream, and he begins running the pads of his fingers up every bare path that he makes. His fingers slide slowly over her smooth skin, from ankle to upper inside of her thigh.
"Just checking to make sure I got it all," he says, his voice low, and she feels herself start to throb at the sound of his voice and at the vicinity of his fingers to the small patch of fabric between her legs.
"You're doing a fabulous job," Laura says, nearly breathing it to him.
He smiles. She props up the other leg and he begins his work, meticulous and accurate, and he seems to be really enjoying this, pulling that razor over her skin, teasing her with his fingers. And he seems to be running those fingers up higher each time he shaves a new part of her leg, and soon he lightly traces the line of her panties against her thigh before moving his hand away, a two or three-second tease that is driving her absolutely crazy.
"Does it feel better?" he asks, glancing up into her eyes. He doesn't look away this time.
"Yes," Laura says, and she feels her tongue tracing her upper lip and quickly looks away, blushing, telling herself to stop thinking like that.
"I'll just finish up here," he says, and she glances at her leg and sees he only has a few swipes left. He shaves another stripe, runs his fingers up her leg again, lingering between her legs longer than all of the other times, and he looks up into her eyes and she tries, desperately, of a way to keep this moment from ending.
One more swipe and Bill's finished, and he stands up straight, placing the razor on the counter.
"There," he says, and it nearly sounds like an announcement, like he's proud of having gotten through the whole thing without cutting her or...other things.
She opens her mouth to speak and forces her words. "You're not done yet."
He glances sideways at her with an arch of his brow. "I just finished."
She places her hand on his arm and takes a deep breath, looking deeply into his eyes.
"No, Bill. You're not done yet."
She drops her leg and pulls her panties down her legs. She stands back up, her hand on her hip, and bites her lower lip. Her toe begins to tap as they look into each others' eyes.
"Oh," he says. She can practically feel him dragging his eyes down her body until he discovers areas recently uncovered. He opens his mouth and she hears him stutter a bit. "There?"
"Mmmmh." She can't even say "Yes." She can only say "Mmmmh." She blushes.
"There's no room in here to do that," he says, still staring downward.
She laughs. "Oh, well then, don't worry about it."
His head rises sharply and he looks into her eyes, his blue eyes intense. "Get on the couch."
She's now officially having a hard time breathing.
... to be continued ....