[bsg] Fic: That Which We Salvage
Title: That Which We Salvage
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: She relied on him once, before all of this.
Spoilers: Through Sometimes A Great Notion
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1,880
Notes: This was written for the bsg_kink CIC Challenge. It's is a companion piece to longlivelaura's Best Seat in the House, a gorgeous Revelations missing scene fic. She covered the celebratory sex upon finding Earth, and I covered the aftermath. I highly recommend reading her fic before you read mine, that was our intent.
That being said, this fic is set as a missing scene during SAGN. Mango martinis for dashakay for the beta. Also, a side of rice for tjonesy for the insight. Check your doorstep.
Warnings: This fic describes a consensual-turned-dubcon (as in, Laura tells him to stop and he doesn't) sex act between Bill and Laura. Please don't read if that's going to upset you.
x x x x
Bill finds Laura in the Core, overlooking the empty CIC below her, as if staring at it long enough will bring the crew back, renewed and ready to serve like the day was nothing out of the ordinary.
Most of the crew members throughout the ship have abandoned their posts. Rumors of what they found planetside are spreading like wildfire. And he knows neither of them wants to get on the wireless to set the record straight.
His head is dizzy with the alcohol he just downed in his quarters, probably too much, too fast. He walks up beside her.
"Laura..."
"Bill, don't talk," she interrupts, not turning to him, her eyes cast downward. "Now is not the time for some magnanimous speech about how you're going to save us all."
"I don't want to talk," he says, and he doesn't.
He puts his hand on her shoulder and turns her toward him, more roughly than she expects. She's startled, her brow furrowed. He clutches her wrist and pulls her toward the end of the level. She tries to free her wrist, but he only grips her more tightly.
"What the frak are you doing?" she asks, her voice exuding the tension he knows is built up inside of her. He feels it too, like a string pulled taut, waiting to be cut.
The computer control room on the upper deck is out of view, and that was his intention. Anyone who might have been watching would assume he pulled her out of sight to give her a dressing-down.
He puts his hand on her cool cheek and kisses her, knocking her against the control panel behind her, but she doesn't shy away or resist. Instead, she pushes against him, her mouth open, her tongue moving against his, and he's surprised by her strength. He always has been.
She draws him in closer, her arms wrapped around his neck, and their kisses are languid and long. It feels like she's clinging to him, her weight heavy, their bodies pressed together. He can feel her breathe, and this settles him momentarily-the rise of her chest, the pulse he feels as he presses his lips against her neck.
He slides his hand up the front of her shirt, his palm pressing the hardness of her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. She moans, her fingernails scratching at the back of his neck so hard it burns like it's bleeding.
He bites her neck and she takes a sharp breath. His tongue flicks out over her skin and he's suddenly well aware of his strengthening desire to feel comforted, to draw comfort from her.
"Touch me," she whispers.
He does as she says, his hand firm against the bare skin of her knee. He slides it up her smooth thigh, under her skirt, and nudges aside her underwear. He cups her, working his fingers deep into her folds.
She whimpers as his fingers circle her opening-it makes him so hard when she sounds like that, when he touches her like this, and he rubs himself against her thigh, shivering at the friction it causes. She's wet, but he wants more. He slides his fingers over her clit and she bucks her hips at him with a soft moan. He looks at her then and her eyes are squeezed shut, a look of concentration on her face, and he doesn't know if it's from the sensation of his hand or from her attempt at forgetting everything that happened that day.
He pushes two fingers inside of her with no warning and she gasps and hikes her leg up on his hip. He moans against her neck at the heat he finds, at how she spreads her legs and digs her fingers deeper into his scalp as he fraks her this way, hard thrusts into her, palm grinding.
"I want to hear you," he mutters. He needs to hear something, to feel something to overpower the apocalyptic nightmare inside his head, all around them.
"They'll hear me," she breathes.
"I don't care." He draws his slick fingers out of her to circle her clit again, pressing down hard. It makes her body shudder.
She opens her eyes and looks at him. "Somebody has to care, Bill."
"Don't talk." He slides her clit between his thumb and forefinger and strokes it gently. Her sound of approval is stifled in her throat as she chews on her bottom lip, staring at him. Her eyelids slowly flutter shut, seemingly fighting the pleasure he knows she's feeling under his hand. Her lips part and she runs her tongue over her teeth, her breathing labored.
He pulls his hand away from her and slides his palms under her skirt, pushing it up until it's bunched around her waist.
He gets on his knees in front of her and pulls her underwear down. She's wordless as she spreads her legs for him, slinging one over his shoulder.
Opening his mouth, he presses up into the sweet slickness between her thighs. He feels her jump at the touch of his tongue to her oversensitive skin, then relax into him, one hand snarled in his hair, the other clinging to the edge of the control panel for balance.
He's rough as he tastes her, her arousal bitter on his tongue. The sound she makes washes over him, familiar and soothing.
He clutches at her hips as her body moves with the rhythm of his strokes, slowly at first, then faster. His eyes travel up her body but she's got her head tilted back and he can't see her expression.
His internal mantra is different from other times-it's demanding, telling her to come, to let him feel her break down. He drags the flat of his tongue over her clit, over and over. He wants her release, he needs her to let go, as if by doing so, he can lose himself with her, a moment brief yet significant, especially now.
He feels her tug on his head and he resists, swirling circles over her despite her urging.
"Bill, wait. Come up here," she mutters.
He sucks her clit between his lips-he hears her, and as much as he wants to rise and kiss her, he craves the way her sex feels under his mouth, a sweet moment of normalcy amid the devastation of the world they once relied on as their salvation.
She relied on him once, before all of this. He needs to have her faith in him reborn, to have her believe in him like he believes in her.
"It's okay," he murmurs before pressing his lips to her again.
"It's not." She shifts and he grabs her hips harder, holding her in place as his teeth meet her flesh. She whimpers, the sound softened by her closed lips. He feels her try to move her leg off his shoulder and he circles it with his arm, holding it in place as his tongue finds her swollen clit and twirls over it.
Come on, he thinks, his tongue working in a fervor. He feels her body quiver, hears her breath catch. She tries to pull away from his mouth but he's still got her pinned, his palms grinding against her hipbones. Her hand pulls at his hair so hard he feels his scalp aching beneath her grip.
"Bill, no."
He needs this, he needs to feel her, he needs to drink her in, to have her inside of him, to make him whole again.
He moans into her flesh and doesn't stop, not even when she repeats her request, louder, through gritted teeth. She can forget all of it, and he will too, if she just does this now, if he can just send her over the edge and follow her, spiraling. She twists against him and bucks with an anguished cry and he keeps his mouth on her, his arm tightly wrapped around her leg. Her calf thumps his back, her heel grinds into him. Suddenly, her body goes rigid and she groans his name. He feels the flood of her wetness against his mouth and he closes his eyes, trying to capture every sense of the moment before it disappears. Her body shudders with every swipe of his tongue over her heat.
It's silent then, save the omnipresent electric hum around them. She is above him, and he can feel the last remaining twinges of her body as she relaxes. He draws away slowly, her taste still strong in his mouth, damp on his lips.
The tug on his hair is emphatic and he obeys her this time, rising to look into her eyes. There's a darkness in their depths, something he's never seen before.
She keeps his gaze, her chest heaving as her fingers find the zipper of his trousers, pulling it down quickly. She works her hand inside and grabs his hardened cock through the fabric of his boxers. He pants and a hot blush spreads over his cheeks.
They breathe together and he waits. Her hand squeezes him tightly.
"Did it make you hard?" she whispered. "When I told you to stop and you didn't?"
He doesn't respond. He feels his throat constrict, feels the throbbing of his cock in her slender hand. She slides it inside his boxers and circles her fingers around his shaft. She strokes him once, her jaw set.
She lets go and pulls her hand away. Turning her back to him, she leans over the control panel, spreading her legs.
"What are you doing?" he asks softly.
She doesn't look at him, doesn't flinch. "Go ahead."
His stomach twists, a queasy mix of anger and arousal. "Laura."
"Just do it, Bill," she says, her voice demanding. "Just frak me and get it over with."
He stands behind her, motionless, his eyes averted. "No."
She slams her hand against the control panel and shoves her body upward, then turns to face him. She gives him a quick glance before bending down to retrieve her underwear. She pulls them on and pushes her skirt down hurriedly, her head lowered.
She stares into his eyes. "I'll tell you this one time."
He's mute and feels the burn of unshed tears. He doesn't look away, despite how painful it feels.
"I'm all you have left. And I'm not going to be around forever. In fact, my time in this life is quickly coming to an end, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Laura-"
"This is it," she says, taking a step toward him. He wants to touch her but doesn't know how she'll react. She points downward sharply. "Down there, that's our reality. A reality in which there are very few good things. This is our frakkin' life, Bill. Don't screw it up any more than it already is."
"I'm sorry."
Her eyes snap shut and she takes a slow breath. He watches her struggle, the hurt evident in her face, but only for a moment. She straightens her shoulders and slowly opens her eyes.
"Never apologize to me again," she whispers angrily.
He watches her walk out of the room. He bites his cheek until he tastes the iron of his blood.
I'm all you have left.
He's all she has left.
Author: icedteainthebag
Summary: She relied on him once, before all of this.
Spoilers: Through Sometimes A Great Notion
Pairing: Laura/Bill
Rating: NC-17
Word count: 1,880
Notes: This was written for the bsg_kink CIC Challenge. It's is a companion piece to longlivelaura's Best Seat in the House, a gorgeous Revelations missing scene fic. She covered the celebratory sex upon finding Earth, and I covered the aftermath. I highly recommend reading her fic before you read mine, that was our intent.
That being said, this fic is set as a missing scene during SAGN. Mango martinis for dashakay for the beta. Also, a side of rice for tjonesy for the insight. Check your doorstep.
Warnings: This fic describes a consensual-turned-dubcon (as in, Laura tells him to stop and he doesn't) sex act between Bill and Laura. Please don't read if that's going to upset you.
x x x x
Bill finds Laura in the Core, overlooking the empty CIC below her, as if staring at it long enough will bring the crew back, renewed and ready to serve like the day was nothing out of the ordinary.
Most of the crew members throughout the ship have abandoned their posts. Rumors of what they found planetside are spreading like wildfire. And he knows neither of them wants to get on the wireless to set the record straight.
His head is dizzy with the alcohol he just downed in his quarters, probably too much, too fast. He walks up beside her.
"Laura..."
"Bill, don't talk," she interrupts, not turning to him, her eyes cast downward. "Now is not the time for some magnanimous speech about how you're going to save us all."
"I don't want to talk," he says, and he doesn't.
He puts his hand on her shoulder and turns her toward him, more roughly than she expects. She's startled, her brow furrowed. He clutches her wrist and pulls her toward the end of the level. She tries to free her wrist, but he only grips her more tightly.
"What the frak are you doing?" she asks, her voice exuding the tension he knows is built up inside of her. He feels it too, like a string pulled taut, waiting to be cut.
The computer control room on the upper deck is out of view, and that was his intention. Anyone who might have been watching would assume he pulled her out of sight to give her a dressing-down.
He puts his hand on her cool cheek and kisses her, knocking her against the control panel behind her, but she doesn't shy away or resist. Instead, she pushes against him, her mouth open, her tongue moving against his, and he's surprised by her strength. He always has been.
She draws him in closer, her arms wrapped around his neck, and their kisses are languid and long. It feels like she's clinging to him, her weight heavy, their bodies pressed together. He can feel her breathe, and this settles him momentarily-the rise of her chest, the pulse he feels as he presses his lips against her neck.
He slides his hand up the front of her shirt, his palm pressing the hardness of her nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. She moans, her fingernails scratching at the back of his neck so hard it burns like it's bleeding.
He bites her neck and she takes a sharp breath. His tongue flicks out over her skin and he's suddenly well aware of his strengthening desire to feel comforted, to draw comfort from her.
"Touch me," she whispers.
He does as she says, his hand firm against the bare skin of her knee. He slides it up her smooth thigh, under her skirt, and nudges aside her underwear. He cups her, working his fingers deep into her folds.
She whimpers as his fingers circle her opening-it makes him so hard when she sounds like that, when he touches her like this, and he rubs himself against her thigh, shivering at the friction it causes. She's wet, but he wants more. He slides his fingers over her clit and she bucks her hips at him with a soft moan. He looks at her then and her eyes are squeezed shut, a look of concentration on her face, and he doesn't know if it's from the sensation of his hand or from her attempt at forgetting everything that happened that day.
He pushes two fingers inside of her with no warning and she gasps and hikes her leg up on his hip. He moans against her neck at the heat he finds, at how she spreads her legs and digs her fingers deeper into his scalp as he fraks her this way, hard thrusts into her, palm grinding.
"I want to hear you," he mutters. He needs to hear something, to feel something to overpower the apocalyptic nightmare inside his head, all around them.
"They'll hear me," she breathes.
"I don't care." He draws his slick fingers out of her to circle her clit again, pressing down hard. It makes her body shudder.
She opens her eyes and looks at him. "Somebody has to care, Bill."
"Don't talk." He slides her clit between his thumb and forefinger and strokes it gently. Her sound of approval is stifled in her throat as she chews on her bottom lip, staring at him. Her eyelids slowly flutter shut, seemingly fighting the pleasure he knows she's feeling under his hand. Her lips part and she runs her tongue over her teeth, her breathing labored.
He pulls his hand away from her and slides his palms under her skirt, pushing it up until it's bunched around her waist.
He gets on his knees in front of her and pulls her underwear down. She's wordless as she spreads her legs for him, slinging one over his shoulder.
Opening his mouth, he presses up into the sweet slickness between her thighs. He feels her jump at the touch of his tongue to her oversensitive skin, then relax into him, one hand snarled in his hair, the other clinging to the edge of the control panel for balance.
He's rough as he tastes her, her arousal bitter on his tongue. The sound she makes washes over him, familiar and soothing.
He clutches at her hips as her body moves with the rhythm of his strokes, slowly at first, then faster. His eyes travel up her body but she's got her head tilted back and he can't see her expression.
His internal mantra is different from other times-it's demanding, telling her to come, to let him feel her break down. He drags the flat of his tongue over her clit, over and over. He wants her release, he needs her to let go, as if by doing so, he can lose himself with her, a moment brief yet significant, especially now.
He feels her tug on his head and he resists, swirling circles over her despite her urging.
"Bill, wait. Come up here," she mutters.
He sucks her clit between his lips-he hears her, and as much as he wants to rise and kiss her, he craves the way her sex feels under his mouth, a sweet moment of normalcy amid the devastation of the world they once relied on as their salvation.
She relied on him once, before all of this. He needs to have her faith in him reborn, to have her believe in him like he believes in her.
"It's okay," he murmurs before pressing his lips to her again.
"It's not." She shifts and he grabs her hips harder, holding her in place as his teeth meet her flesh. She whimpers, the sound softened by her closed lips. He feels her try to move her leg off his shoulder and he circles it with his arm, holding it in place as his tongue finds her swollen clit and twirls over it.
Come on, he thinks, his tongue working in a fervor. He feels her body quiver, hears her breath catch. She tries to pull away from his mouth but he's still got her pinned, his palms grinding against her hipbones. Her hand pulls at his hair so hard he feels his scalp aching beneath her grip.
"Bill, no."
He needs this, he needs to feel her, he needs to drink her in, to have her inside of him, to make him whole again.
He moans into her flesh and doesn't stop, not even when she repeats her request, louder, through gritted teeth. She can forget all of it, and he will too, if she just does this now, if he can just send her over the edge and follow her, spiraling. She twists against him and bucks with an anguished cry and he keeps his mouth on her, his arm tightly wrapped around her leg. Her calf thumps his back, her heel grinds into him. Suddenly, her body goes rigid and she groans his name. He feels the flood of her wetness against his mouth and he closes his eyes, trying to capture every sense of the moment before it disappears. Her body shudders with every swipe of his tongue over her heat.
It's silent then, save the omnipresent electric hum around them. She is above him, and he can feel the last remaining twinges of her body as she relaxes. He draws away slowly, her taste still strong in his mouth, damp on his lips.
The tug on his hair is emphatic and he obeys her this time, rising to look into her eyes. There's a darkness in their depths, something he's never seen before.
She keeps his gaze, her chest heaving as her fingers find the zipper of his trousers, pulling it down quickly. She works her hand inside and grabs his hardened cock through the fabric of his boxers. He pants and a hot blush spreads over his cheeks.
They breathe together and he waits. Her hand squeezes him tightly.
"Did it make you hard?" she whispered. "When I told you to stop and you didn't?"
He doesn't respond. He feels his throat constrict, feels the throbbing of his cock in her slender hand. She slides it inside his boxers and circles her fingers around his shaft. She strokes him once, her jaw set.
She lets go and pulls her hand away. Turning her back to him, she leans over the control panel, spreading her legs.
"What are you doing?" he asks softly.
She doesn't look at him, doesn't flinch. "Go ahead."
His stomach twists, a queasy mix of anger and arousal. "Laura."
"Just do it, Bill," she says, her voice demanding. "Just frak me and get it over with."
He stands behind her, motionless, his eyes averted. "No."
She slams her hand against the control panel and shoves her body upward, then turns to face him. She gives him a quick glance before bending down to retrieve her underwear. She pulls them on and pushes her skirt down hurriedly, her head lowered.
She stares into his eyes. "I'll tell you this one time."
He's mute and feels the burn of unshed tears. He doesn't look away, despite how painful it feels.
"I'm all you have left. And I'm not going to be around forever. In fact, my time in this life is quickly coming to an end, in case you hadn't noticed."
"Laura-"
"This is it," she says, taking a step toward him. He wants to touch her but doesn't know how she'll react. She points downward sharply. "Down there, that's our reality. A reality in which there are very few good things. This is our frakkin' life, Bill. Don't screw it up any more than it already is."
"I'm sorry."
Her eyes snap shut and she takes a slow breath. He watches her struggle, the hurt evident in her face, but only for a moment. She straightens her shoulders and slowly opens her eyes.
"Never apologize to me again," she whispers angrily.
He watches her walk out of the room. He bites his cheek until he tastes the iron of his blood.
I'm all you have left.
He's all she has left.