[bsg] Fic: Primary Impulse (Laura/Gaius)
Title: Primary Impulse
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: The President and Dr. Baltar make out, okay, a little more than that.
Pairing: Laura/Gaius
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 915
Notes: Happy birthday, carnography, from one dirty Laura/Gaius frakker to another, I hope you enjoy this at least a little. This fic takes place directly following Colonial Day. I'm on a Colonial Day kick lately.
Disclaimer: They only wish they belonged to me.
x x x x
The President knows this is a mistake, and she has an inkling of wonder, a curiosity as to whether she should care or not about the consequences of Dr. Baltar’s breath against her cheek, his body pressing her tightly against the wall, the first touch of his mouth on her straining neck.
His dark hair is surprisingly silken as she runs it through her fingers, tugging on it firmly, unsure of whether she’s pulling him away or drawing him in.
He captures one wrist, circles it with his slender fingers, and slides it up the wall to pin it above her head as his mouth moves to her jaw. She turns her head away-not to give him better access to her neck, of course not-it’s that she doesn’t want to look at him, not even in the dim light of this solitary room she’s been appointed deep in the confines of Cloud 9.
He came to talk about business, the campaign, what he needed to do, and she certainly didn’t intend for him to be doing this-for his fingers to be traveling up the side of her skirt, grazing the silk of her thigh, tracing the line of her underwear over her hip. A hum catches in the back of her throat as her spine sizzles, lodged against the generic, floral-patterned wallpaper.
He doesn’t kiss her mouth-she’s relieved, so relieved about that, though her lips yearn to be touched. She loses herself in the sensation of his tongue tracing the tendon of her neck, his teeth nipping at her ear, and she’s startled when she feels the slide of his hand down the front of her underwear. She tilts her head back with a pant when she hears the gentle moan escape his lips, a reaction to what he's found.
“Dr. Baltar,” she breathes, and she’s warm, so warm everywhere.
“Madam President?” he intones, a bit quirky, his breath hot on her ear. She knows he heard the question in her voice, but he’s not stopping, definitely not, and she whimpers softly as his fingers slide through her, soft and slick.
“This may not be the best idea,” she manages, yet her hips are telling a different story. They’re defying her logic, demanding his attention. He listens to them, not her, fingertips circling just inside her, and she feels her body humming, electric, desperate, and these senses nearly block out the meager protests active inside of her head.
“No, it’s probably not,” he concedes, kissing a trail down her neck to her collarbone. His fingers slip back up to the spot that makes her gasp and buck against him, and they circle her there, unrelenting. She starts to throb, a low, heavy feeling deep inside. “Despite any rampant rumors you may have heard around the fleet, I’m actually quite the chivalrous fellow, and will only do, of course, what you’ll allow me to do.”
She moans softly as his fingers continue to circle against her, sending shivers through her body as he presses down more firmly. “That…doesn’t help me,” she murmurs. “I…just hours ago…you’re my vice presidential…Oh, Gods,” she moans mid-sentence as he slides his fingers down again and inside of her, just an inch, just enough to make her bite her lip, to make the words stop.
“And I thank you kindly,” he murmurs, and she can hear him gritting his teeth. “You’re so frakking hot, you realize that, don’t you?”
“No, I…yes…” He thrusts his fingers deeply inside of her and a sharp moan escapes her lips. He moans back and she feels a warm rush through her body. It’s so forbidden, it’s too forbidden, and she wants to go there but she swore she wouldn’t ever go there again.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice a low growl.
“Yeah…no…I…” she pants, and it feels so good, but then it’s her logic finally emerging that makes her head clear immediately, though not soon enough, not really at all. She struggles slightly against his grip on her wrist above head. “No, Dr. Baltar. No, we’d better not. This should stop.”
He chuckles and releases her wrist, pulling his hand from between her legs at the same time. He steps back and smiles. “It’s fine. That’s fine.”
She leans against the wall heavily, letting it steady her shaking legs. She sighs, smoothing her hands over her skirt. “Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” he says. “For…your vote of confidence, Madam President.”
She laughs softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She feels a flush across her cheeks. “You’re welcome. I look forward to working with you on the campaign, Doctor.”
They stare at each other for a moment and she lets out a sharp breath, her body finally settling. She smiles--what else is there to do-and tilts her head, watching him, until it becomes uncomfortably obvious that she expects him to leave.
“I’ll…I’ll just show myself my way out,” he stutters, dipping his head in some sort of goodbye.
“Right,” she says. For some reason, his discomfort makes her more at ease. “Good night, Dr. Baltar. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He laughs nervously. She finds it odd that his attitude changed quickly from assertive, even aggressive, to nervous. “Bright and early, then,” he adds.
“Hmm,” she agrees with a slight nod, watching him open the door and exit in a hurry.
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving her with her back still flat against the wall, her body aching, and her mind spinning with questions.
She's sure she'll convince herself this was a wise choice.
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: The President and Dr. Baltar make out, okay, a little more than that.
Pairing: Laura/Gaius
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 915
Notes: Happy birthday, carnography, from one dirty Laura/Gaius frakker to another, I hope you enjoy this at least a little. This fic takes place directly following Colonial Day. I'm on a Colonial Day kick lately.
Disclaimer: They only wish they belonged to me.
x x x x
The President knows this is a mistake, and she has an inkling of wonder, a curiosity as to whether she should care or not about the consequences of Dr. Baltar’s breath against her cheek, his body pressing her tightly against the wall, the first touch of his mouth on her straining neck.
His dark hair is surprisingly silken as she runs it through her fingers, tugging on it firmly, unsure of whether she’s pulling him away or drawing him in.
He captures one wrist, circles it with his slender fingers, and slides it up the wall to pin it above her head as his mouth moves to her jaw. She turns her head away-not to give him better access to her neck, of course not-it’s that she doesn’t want to look at him, not even in the dim light of this solitary room she’s been appointed deep in the confines of Cloud 9.
He came to talk about business, the campaign, what he needed to do, and she certainly didn’t intend for him to be doing this-for his fingers to be traveling up the side of her skirt, grazing the silk of her thigh, tracing the line of her underwear over her hip. A hum catches in the back of her throat as her spine sizzles, lodged against the generic, floral-patterned wallpaper.
He doesn’t kiss her mouth-she’s relieved, so relieved about that, though her lips yearn to be touched. She loses herself in the sensation of his tongue tracing the tendon of her neck, his teeth nipping at her ear, and she’s startled when she feels the slide of his hand down the front of her underwear. She tilts her head back with a pant when she hears the gentle moan escape his lips, a reaction to what he's found.
“Dr. Baltar,” she breathes, and she’s warm, so warm everywhere.
“Madam President?” he intones, a bit quirky, his breath hot on her ear. She knows he heard the question in her voice, but he’s not stopping, definitely not, and she whimpers softly as his fingers slide through her, soft and slick.
“This may not be the best idea,” she manages, yet her hips are telling a different story. They’re defying her logic, demanding his attention. He listens to them, not her, fingertips circling just inside her, and she feels her body humming, electric, desperate, and these senses nearly block out the meager protests active inside of her head.
“No, it’s probably not,” he concedes, kissing a trail down her neck to her collarbone. His fingers slip back up to the spot that makes her gasp and buck against him, and they circle her there, unrelenting. She starts to throb, a low, heavy feeling deep inside. “Despite any rampant rumors you may have heard around the fleet, I’m actually quite the chivalrous fellow, and will only do, of course, what you’ll allow me to do.”
She moans softly as his fingers continue to circle against her, sending shivers through her body as he presses down more firmly. “That…doesn’t help me,” she murmurs. “I…just hours ago…you’re my vice presidential…Oh, Gods,” she moans mid-sentence as he slides his fingers down again and inside of her, just an inch, just enough to make her bite her lip, to make the words stop.
“And I thank you kindly,” he murmurs, and she can hear him gritting his teeth. “You’re so frakking hot, you realize that, don’t you?”
“No, I…yes…” He thrusts his fingers deeply inside of her and a sharp moan escapes her lips. He moans back and she feels a warm rush through her body. It’s so forbidden, it’s too forbidden, and she wants to go there but she swore she wouldn’t ever go there again.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice a low growl.
“Yeah…no…I…” she pants, and it feels so good, but then it’s her logic finally emerging that makes her head clear immediately, though not soon enough, not really at all. She struggles slightly against his grip on her wrist above head. “No, Dr. Baltar. No, we’d better not. This should stop.”
He chuckles and releases her wrist, pulling his hand from between her legs at the same time. He steps back and smiles. “It’s fine. That’s fine.”
She leans against the wall heavily, letting it steady her shaking legs. She sighs, smoothing her hands over her skirt. “Okay. Yes. Thank you.”
“No, thank you,” he says. “For…your vote of confidence, Madam President.”
She laughs softly, tucking her hair behind her ear. She feels a flush across her cheeks. “You’re welcome. I look forward to working with you on the campaign, Doctor.”
They stare at each other for a moment and she lets out a sharp breath, her body finally settling. She smiles--what else is there to do-and tilts her head, watching him, until it becomes uncomfortably obvious that she expects him to leave.
“I’ll…I’ll just show myself my way out,” he stutters, dipping his head in some sort of goodbye.
“Right,” she says. For some reason, his discomfort makes her more at ease. “Good night, Dr. Baltar. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He laughs nervously. She finds it odd that his attitude changed quickly from assertive, even aggressive, to nervous. “Bright and early, then,” he adds.
“Hmm,” she agrees with a slight nod, watching him open the door and exit in a hurry.
And just like that, he’s gone, leaving her with her back still flat against the wall, her body aching, and her mind spinning with questions.
She's sure she'll convince herself this was a wise choice.