BSG - "Uncanny", Kara/Leoben, R
Inevitably, I have been sucked into Battlestar Galactica, and here is the result.
Title: Uncanny
Author: lindentree
Rating: R
Character(s): Kara/Leoben
Word Count: 458
Summary: She wished many times, having just stabbed or bludgeoned or strangled him, that the Cylons had failed to make the skin jobs so convincingly human.
Notes: Spoilers up to "Exodus". This is my first BSG fic, so we'll see how it goes. Thanks to vegetariansushi for the fantastic beta and hand-holding, as always.
For months after their flight from New Caprica, Kara dreamt of Leoben’s hand pressed flat between her shoulderblades. Not only that and not always, but often enough to rattle her. It wasn’t dreaming of him that upset her so much as the knowledge that it wasn’t really even dreaming. His hand wasn’t the troubled, imagined product of her sleeping brain, but memory. Unembellished memory.
It disturbs her now to think about how his hand, warm and dry, never pushed her down or pulled her towards him. He just rested it there with a firm, knowing sort of gentleness. It bothered her then and it bothers her now, how he would touch her back when he placed meals in front of her, like he knew.
Which she supposed he did.
She wished many times, having just stabbed or bludgeoned or strangled him, that the Cylons had failed to make the skin jobs so convincingly human. If only they hadn’t made their blood so hot, their skin so imperfect, their eyes so unique. If only they smelled of plastic and wires rather than flesh, and their eyes reflected blankly like a Viper’s screen. If only his body weren’t cooling even as he downloaded into a new one.
Sometimes her tired mind does embellish. It fills in the gaps in memory with what Kara knows, deep in her heart, is prophecy. The things that were meant to happen, perhaps are still meant to happen. She is flooded with the sensation of what it would have been like for him to press himself against her - the same as his hand, calm and unyielding - and how touching him would have been like coming home to something strange, comforting and frightening all at once.
With the advantage of time and distance, she wonders. What if she hadn’t slept curled up and shivering on the couch every night, aching for Sam’s touch, but had followed Leoben up when he offered? Or snuck up later, once she knew he was asleep. It’s unnerving, how clearly she can picture sliding between grey sheets to touch him, wake him up, pull him towards her, have him whisper fervent, heretic things into her ears. He would have welcomed her. She can feel his kisses on her thighs, his hands cool and dry the way Sam’s never were. She can imagine perfectly his intense eyes bright with adulation - of her or of his God, she isn’t sure - and his hands certain as they slide across her skin. She knows he would have pushed and pushed and held her tight, and that they would have fallen together.
In her cramped bunk, she buries her face in her pillow, shudders, and wonders how long it will be until she sees him again.
-end-
Title: Uncanny
Author: lindentree
Rating: R
Character(s): Kara/Leoben
Word Count: 458
Summary: She wished many times, having just stabbed or bludgeoned or strangled him, that the Cylons had failed to make the skin jobs so convincingly human.
Notes: Spoilers up to "Exodus". This is my first BSG fic, so we'll see how it goes. Thanks to vegetariansushi for the fantastic beta and hand-holding, as always.
For months after their flight from New Caprica, Kara dreamt of Leoben’s hand pressed flat between her shoulderblades. Not only that and not always, but often enough to rattle her. It wasn’t dreaming of him that upset her so much as the knowledge that it wasn’t really even dreaming. His hand wasn’t the troubled, imagined product of her sleeping brain, but memory. Unembellished memory.
It disturbs her now to think about how his hand, warm and dry, never pushed her down or pulled her towards him. He just rested it there with a firm, knowing sort of gentleness. It bothered her then and it bothers her now, how he would touch her back when he placed meals in front of her, like he knew.
Which she supposed he did.
She wished many times, having just stabbed or bludgeoned or strangled him, that the Cylons had failed to make the skin jobs so convincingly human. If only they hadn’t made their blood so hot, their skin so imperfect, their eyes so unique. If only they smelled of plastic and wires rather than flesh, and their eyes reflected blankly like a Viper’s screen. If only his body weren’t cooling even as he downloaded into a new one.
Sometimes her tired mind does embellish. It fills in the gaps in memory with what Kara knows, deep in her heart, is prophecy. The things that were meant to happen, perhaps are still meant to happen. She is flooded with the sensation of what it would have been like for him to press himself against her - the same as his hand, calm and unyielding - and how touching him would have been like coming home to something strange, comforting and frightening all at once.
With the advantage of time and distance, she wonders. What if she hadn’t slept curled up and shivering on the couch every night, aching for Sam’s touch, but had followed Leoben up when he offered? Or snuck up later, once she knew he was asleep. It’s unnerving, how clearly she can picture sliding between grey sheets to touch him, wake him up, pull him towards her, have him whisper fervent, heretic things into her ears. He would have welcomed her. She can feel his kisses on her thighs, his hands cool and dry the way Sam’s never were. She can imagine perfectly his intense eyes bright with adulation - of her or of his God, she isn’t sure - and his hands certain as they slide across her skin. She knows he would have pushed and pushed and held her tight, and that they would have fallen together.
In her cramped bunk, she buries her face in her pillow, shudders, and wonders how long it will be until she sees him again.
-end-