A Roman Holiday or Two
Title: A Roman Holiday or Two
Author: lavenderseaslug
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Laura Roslin had never been very celebratory. Set post-New Caprica.
Author’s Note: Using Roman holidays and Greek gods. Sorry for the anachronism.
Laura Roslin had never been very celebratory on Caprica; they were simply days off in her mind, but now, suddenly, with the prospect of no celebrations ahead, she missed them greatly. There was a certain nostalgia to retaining the traditions of their old lives, of keeping a part of civilization that many thought was gone when the first explosion hit the Twelve Colonies.
She tapped her pen idly against the desk, momentarily distracted from the paperwork that had accumulated on her desk throughout the week - she noticed that the larger the piles got, the less likely she was to focus on it, especially when it was almost the weekend, not that she had many things that could be strictly defined as weekends any more.
There was a knock and Tory Foster looked around the curtain. “Admiral Adama to see you, ma’am,” she said, knowing full well that Laura would let him in no matter what; that was how the two of them had been operating lately. Meetings at all hours that lasted longer than any meeting should, heads inclined towards each other at meetings with the Quorum as though there were some secret joke between the two of them, furtive glances in the CIC when they thought no one was watching.
Since coming back from New Caprica, Laura had somehow found a way to strike a balance between her presidential duties and her personal life. She laughed more, she didn’t always hide her flirting with the Admiral (and to be fair, he didn’t always hide his flirting with her). Many people dwelt on the pain that came from their time on the godsforsaken planet, but Laura seemed to find the positive in it all.
“Let him in,” Laura told Tory, pretending that she hadn’t been waiting for an excuse to stop signing forms and reading mundane reports, that she hadn’t been antsy waiting for the Admiral. He was dependable and made it over to Colonial One at least every other day. He had told her it was only fair, since she came over to the Galactica quite often.
Tory ducked out and was replaced with the figure of Bill Adama. He smiled when he saw Laura, already taking off her glasses and putting her pen and papers away. She was always careful about putting aside the president whenever he came to visit. “Good afternoon, Laura,” he said, his voice low. She never could get over how he said her name, a low rumble that she felt all through her body.
“Hello, Bill.” It seemed illicit to her to say his name, even when they were alone. She hadn’t allowed it of herself very often, and it was akin to a treat whenever she let it roll off her tongue.
“Busy day?” Even if idle chat was all that filled the time they spent together, it was more than they got with anyone else, and Laura savored it.
“Somewhat. I got distracted near the end, though,” she admitted ruefully, running a hand through her hair. “Thinking about the past.”
Bill’s face darkened almost imperceptibly. “Good things?” She was always hesitant to delve into the details of her life that existed outside of his knowledge of her. He didn’t know much about her life on Caprica, knew only rudimentary details of New Caprica. He knew there were painful things there and it worried him.
“Oh, a little. I was thinking that it’s been far too long since there’s been any kind of holiday around here. It’s almost coming up on Feralia. And then soon it’s Equirria.” She looked at Bill, a little anxious. Feralia was the celebration to honor the dead, something that would be undoubtedly painful, but, in Laura’s eyes, necessary for the fleet.
“We don’t have any horses to run the traditional races for Equirria,” Bill answered, his eyes smiling slightly. “Did you have something in mind as a substitute?” He didn’t want to dwell on the details of Feralia, though he saw the logic in celebrating it.
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact, Admiral.” She grinned then, a grin that told him she was using his title as a nickname, that she was up to mischief.
---
Feralia was a serious matter. It was a solemn day, but there had been a surprising amount of support among the fleet for it. The pilots gathered on the flight deck, civilians mingling with them. The Admiral spoke through the com, allowing all those who couldn’t be present to hear his words. The deck was littered with the traditional wreaths, made with discarded paper as no real foliage was readily available.
“We have been through much. We have survived trials that we never thought we’d have to face. And yet we are still here. But it has not been without cost. Today we honor those who have died. In the attacks, in battle, on New Caprica, during our time in the stars. We remember their sacrifices, but more importantly, we remember their lives. Their presence may be lost to us, but their memories are not. Remember those have died, do not forget them. Honor them.”
Bill raised a cup in salutation, drinking it. Instead of the usual wine present at the ceremony, it was filled with water, the only liquid plentiful enough for all those who chose to toast with. “So say we all,” he called out. Laura’s heart swelled as she joined in the answering chorus.
He stepped down from the podium to greet the men and women, to shake their hands and let them know he empathized with their loss. He made his way to Laura, her eyes slightly wet with emotion. “So say we all,” she murmured, ducking her head slightly. She allowed her hand to drift, her fingers to twine with his for a moment before pulling away, pulling on her presidential mask.
---
Equirria was welcomed with more joy and celebration a month later. Laura revealed her plan to substitute the horse races: viper races, surprising herself with getting into the spirit of the festivities. The pilots were eager to bow off some steam, to show off in front of each other, in front of the fleet. Betting pools were opened, the clear favorite was Starbuck, with Kat close behind.
“If only Gaius Baltar were still around. He could be the scapegoat we run out of the city,” Laura chuckled one night in Bill’s quarters as they planned the final details together. She enjoyed having this excuse to spend time with him alone, unaccompanied by aides or the Quorum.
Bill laughed too. “Perhaps it’s best we forego that part of the celebration; focus on the positive.” He leaned back against his couch, watching the woman next to him, her hair falling over her face as she leaned down to write something on a piece of paper.
“It’s good to support the military, I think,” Laura said. “Sometimes I think we forget who’s keeping us safe from the Cylons. It’s good for you to get some kind of thanks.” She mimicked Bill’s posture, their shoulder just barely touching, her leg drifting dangerously close to his.
“I don’t do it for the thanks,” he answered. Tilting his face to look at her, he saw her smiling a tired smile, her eyes starting to close involuntarily. “Get some sleep, Laura. Big day tomorrow. You’re going to owe me five cubits when Kara trumps Hot Dog.”
“I just felt bad for him,” she told him. “His odds were no good. I wanted to give him some confidence!” She dutifully let him help her stand up, their hands lingering together longer than was strictly necessary. Giving him one last look, she slid her hand out of his grasp and exited his quarters.
---
Laura did end up owing Bill five cubits. The races around the fleet had been an enormous success, civilians crowding against the windows to watch the vipers sail through the sky around them. Doc Cottle had volunteered to keep updating the fleet on the winners and losers, updating odds and proving himself a surprisingly competent commentator. Laura found that somehow she owed him five cubits as well.
Later that night, she ended up in Bill’s quarters again, flushed with success, always happy when she knew the fleet was happy. “I don’t have any money for you,” she admitted with a rueful smile.
“Welching on a bet? I wouldn’t have thought it of you.” He smiled, knowing it wasn’t really about the money, just an opportunity to joke around with his president.
Laura bit her lip thoughtfully. “I’m sure I could pay you in…another way.” She almost couldn’t believe she’d said it, but the words were out in the open and Bill’s mouth was hanging slack.
“What’d you have in mind?” he asked when he finally regained his speech. Taking a last sip of her water, Laura determinedly set the glass down and leaned over to gently kiss him on the mouth. She savored her first taste of him since New Caprica, gently opening her mouth, and settling herself against him. He responded after a moment, his hand coming up to her hair, finding some purchase there. She broke away and her tongue darted out to wet her lips slightly.
“That’s good for one cubit, right?” She looked at him, wide-eyed and nervous, feeling a little breathless.
“I’ll say,” he muttered and pulled her back against him. Laura grinned against his lips and felt that perhaps they should celebrate Equirria every month.
---
“Did you ever celebrate Veneralia?” Bill asked one night, a month later. Laura looked over her glasses at him. She had allowed him in her office on the condition that he sit quietly until she finished reading a particularly dry report. Since Equirria, they’d found it harder to separate themselves from each other, always finding an excuse to share the same space, whether it was to ensure the morale of the military or check on the status of presidential pens.
“Veneralia?” She knew that her false questioning wouldn’t go unnoticed. She had thought about adding it to the list of holidays to celebrate that year.
“Yeah. You know. The day when women generally…look to Aphrodite for help with their, you know, relationships. With men.” He fumbled over the words and Laura found it inexplicably endearing. And an opportunity to have a little fun with him.
“Are you suggesting I need to pray for some help? Is there something wrong?” She took off her glasses and folded her hands over the papers in front of her, enjoying the uncomfortable shifting going on in front of her.
“Uh, no. Not…No. I just…wondered,” he finished lamely as Laura let out a giggle. She came around her desk and leaned against it, one leg on each side of Bill’s chair. Leaning down to kiss him, she said, “Yes. I did. Thank the gods she never listened.”
“She knew there was something better for you ahead?” Bill looked up at her, a bashful look on his face, fishing for compliments.
“She knew that the best was ahead of me,” she confirmed, kissing him again squarely on the mouth. “Maybe we can have our own Veneralia celebration,” she murmured against his lips, settling into his lap, letting her fingers play with the strands of hair at his neck.
“What would that entail?” he asked in between breathy kisses, moving his way to her jaw, her ear, her collarbone. He swore that she always wore that white shirt when she knew he was coming over.
“Something a lot like this.” She leaned her head back, granting him fuller access to her neck, which he attacked with the eagerness of a much younger man. He pulled her face back to him and looked her in the eyes.
“Here?” They never did anything in Colonial One. Too little privacy, too much Tory wandering in at inopportune moments.
“I’d rather not relocate,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’d get very far.” That comment, coupled with the movement of her hips, sent him over the edge and he kissed her deeply, gripping her hips with his fingers, knowing that he was lightly bruising her, but she was giving as good as she got as her nails pressed into his back through his uniform.
Somehow her skirt became bundled around her waist and her panties pushed aside. His belt came unfastened and his jacket pulled from his shoulders. He was exploring the expanse of skin below her collarbone when Tory coughed from the doorway.
“Madame President, there’s, uh, there’s someone here to see you.” It was all Laura could do to not groan in frustration as she pulled herself away from Bill, readjusting her shirt, pulling her skirt down and hoping that she didn’t look as sexually frustrated as she felt.
“Who is it, Tory?” Her voice sounded irritated and she didn’t see a way or reason to hide it. Moving behind her desk, she put on her glasses, trying to regain some dignity as she caught sight of her blushing aide.
“Commander Adama.” Tory looked pained, as though she wanted to be anywhere else but the doorway of Laura’s office with the two leaders of the fleet in a compromising position. Laura wished the same thing for her.
Bill had his head in his hands, a muffled grunt audible through his fingers. “Do you need to go to the head?” Laura asked sharply. He looked up at her, a smile flitting momentarily to his eyes as he shook his head. “Send him in,” she called to Tory.
Lee entered, clearly unaware of what he had interrupted. Laura glared at him over her glasses, tapping her pen impatiently. “Yes, Commander?” She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Uh, Madame President, Admiral.” Lee, always standing on ceremony, did his best to hide his surprise at his father slouching in a chair, buttoning up his uniform casually. “The, uh, crew was, uh, wondering if…” he trailed off as realization dawned over him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “They want to know if there will be any future celebrations. They very much enjoyed Equirria.” He shifted slightly, doing a good job of mimicking his father’s own uncomfortable posture.
“How timely. The Admiral and I were just discussing the possibility of a Veneralia celebration, however it does not seem feasible at this time. There’s always the Festival of Ludi, however. I’m sure something could be arranged for that.” She moved slightly, discovering that she had not completely adjusted her undergarments correctly. Her discomfort showed as she bit her lip, and Bill let out a soft groan. Lee’s face flushed and he crossed and uncrossed his arms several times.
“Well, uh, I’ll…let them know. Good evening, Madame President, Admiral.” He beat a hasty retreat, leaving the two frustrated leaders of the fleet behind.
---
The boxing ring was surrounded with military and civilians alike, dog tags mixing with homemade civilian tags as what the Admiral called “the Dance” raged. Cottle kept in charge of the bets, having proved his worth on the occasion of the viper races and Saul acted as referee. The Festival of the Ludi was really just a replay of the dance that happened earlier, except for the fact that Bill had sworn to Laura that he wouldn’t enter the ring. Still, it was a holiday and allowed for the mingling of civilians and the military.
Laura sat next to Bill at the edge of the ring, sitting closer than perhaps they should, but they could always blame it on the crowded area, on the excitement of the fights. Punches flew and there were yells of disappointment and cries of exhilaration as matches were won and lost.
Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, Laura’s hand found Bill’s thigh. Her foot slipped out of its shoe and was currently investigating the terrain above his sock. He shifted slightly, leaning back so his arm drifted behind her, giving her hair a loving tug before his fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt and did a dance of their own along her lower back.
She shivered slightly and leaned closer to him under the pretense of watching the fight in front of them more closely. He leaned with her and whispered in a gravelly voice, “Would you like to have a dance of our own?”
She stood abruptly, her foot finding its way back into its shoe. “Admiral. I believe there are important matters to discuss in your quarters.” She stalked out ahead of him, looking for all the world as though they’d just had a disagreement. Kat let out a low whistle as she watched them leave.
“She’s gonna let him have it,” she muttered to Kara whose eyes followed them out of the arena. “She looks pissed.”
“Yeah, or something else,” Kara said, watching the Admiral’s hand drift towards the President’s back, settling right at the top of her skirt, his thumb skimming dangerously close to the skin of her lower back that was just visible. She looked away, feeling as though she were watching something private. “Ignore them. Let’s watch Hot Dog kick Lee’s ass.” Forgetting the two leaders, the women turned back to the fight in front of them, cheering on whoever got in the hardest hit.
---
“The year’s almost over, Laura. The fleet hasn’t had a celebration in a while. They could use it.” Bill was lying next to Laura in his rack, his arms folded behind her head.
“I didn’t used to celebrate holidays, back on Caprica,” she admitted, turning on her other side to face him. “There’s something about being here. With you. It puts me in the mood.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she pushed him half-heartedly. “Not that kind of mood. At least not right now.” She laughed as he pulled her to him, kissing her gently.
“Saturnalia’s coming up.” Laura sometimes couldn’t believe the change in circumstances in the past nine months. Never would she have thought she’d spend the night in Bill’s quarters, in his embrace. Tory attempted to be discreet, pretending she didn’t know what the President of the Twelve Colonies was doing in the Admiral’s quarters for a meeting that ended up lasting all night and sent over clothes whenever she could.
“Does that mean Tory would be President for a day?” she laughed. It had been ages since anyone had ever celebrated the true tradition of Saturnalia, the role reversal. “And, oh, I suppose the Chief would get to be Admiral. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in knuckledragger gear.”
“I thought we’d just have an open bar so I could see how the President acts under the influence.” He nudged her with his nose, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she stretched, giving him clear access to her entire body. His hands came around her, tracing the now familiar contours of her back.
“She gets quite giggly. And flirty. It might make a certain Admiral jealous when the President can’t keep her hands to herself.” She turned over on her back, elongating her body even more, enjoying the lascivious glint in Bill’s eye.
“As long as she keeps them confined to one man, I’m sure the Admiral won’t mind.” He rolled over her, propping himself up with one hand on either side of her. “In fact, I’m sure he would welcome the attention.” She leaned up to kiss his mouth.
“Saturnalia it is, then,” she said. “You’ve convinced me. And then perhaps we can revisit the idea of a day for Veneralia. I did enjoy that holiday most of all, when we did our practice run.”
“We could practice that again right now, if you wish, Madame President,” he told her, enjoying the feel of her laugh against his chest. Her compliance was unspoken as she pulled Bill closer to her, rolling them over so she was straddled over him, covering his mouth with her own. She eased her hand between them, enjoying the firmness of his chest, the solidness of his presence below her. She guided him into her and nestled her face into his neck, savoring their closeness as he panted heavily, matching her movements with his own.
“Bill?” she said quietly, when he was spent and she lay on top of him, tracing lazy circles around his smooth chest, scraping her nails slightly against him.
“Mmm?” He was preoccupied playing with the strands of hair that stuck to her neck, enjoying the heaviness of the red tresses as they fell over her shoulder, lightly tickling him.
“I’m glad I decided to celebrate this year.”
Author: lavenderseaslug
Character(s)/Pairing(s): Laura Roslin/Bill Adama
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Laura Roslin had never been very celebratory. Set post-New Caprica.
Author’s Note: Using Roman holidays and Greek gods. Sorry for the anachronism.
Laura Roslin had never been very celebratory on Caprica; they were simply days off in her mind, but now, suddenly, with the prospect of no celebrations ahead, she missed them greatly. There was a certain nostalgia to retaining the traditions of their old lives, of keeping a part of civilization that many thought was gone when the first explosion hit the Twelve Colonies.
She tapped her pen idly against the desk, momentarily distracted from the paperwork that had accumulated on her desk throughout the week - she noticed that the larger the piles got, the less likely she was to focus on it, especially when it was almost the weekend, not that she had many things that could be strictly defined as weekends any more.
There was a knock and Tory Foster looked around the curtain. “Admiral Adama to see you, ma’am,” she said, knowing full well that Laura would let him in no matter what; that was how the two of them had been operating lately. Meetings at all hours that lasted longer than any meeting should, heads inclined towards each other at meetings with the Quorum as though there were some secret joke between the two of them, furtive glances in the CIC when they thought no one was watching.
Since coming back from New Caprica, Laura had somehow found a way to strike a balance between her presidential duties and her personal life. She laughed more, she didn’t always hide her flirting with the Admiral (and to be fair, he didn’t always hide his flirting with her). Many people dwelt on the pain that came from their time on the godsforsaken planet, but Laura seemed to find the positive in it all.
“Let him in,” Laura told Tory, pretending that she hadn’t been waiting for an excuse to stop signing forms and reading mundane reports, that she hadn’t been antsy waiting for the Admiral. He was dependable and made it over to Colonial One at least every other day. He had told her it was only fair, since she came over to the Galactica quite often.
Tory ducked out and was replaced with the figure of Bill Adama. He smiled when he saw Laura, already taking off her glasses and putting her pen and papers away. She was always careful about putting aside the president whenever he came to visit. “Good afternoon, Laura,” he said, his voice low. She never could get over how he said her name, a low rumble that she felt all through her body.
“Hello, Bill.” It seemed illicit to her to say his name, even when they were alone. She hadn’t allowed it of herself very often, and it was akin to a treat whenever she let it roll off her tongue.
“Busy day?” Even if idle chat was all that filled the time they spent together, it was more than they got with anyone else, and Laura savored it.
“Somewhat. I got distracted near the end, though,” she admitted ruefully, running a hand through her hair. “Thinking about the past.”
Bill’s face darkened almost imperceptibly. “Good things?” She was always hesitant to delve into the details of her life that existed outside of his knowledge of her. He didn’t know much about her life on Caprica, knew only rudimentary details of New Caprica. He knew there were painful things there and it worried him.
“Oh, a little. I was thinking that it’s been far too long since there’s been any kind of holiday around here. It’s almost coming up on Feralia. And then soon it’s Equirria.” She looked at Bill, a little anxious. Feralia was the celebration to honor the dead, something that would be undoubtedly painful, but, in Laura’s eyes, necessary for the fleet.
“We don’t have any horses to run the traditional races for Equirria,” Bill answered, his eyes smiling slightly. “Did you have something in mind as a substitute?” He didn’t want to dwell on the details of Feralia, though he saw the logic in celebrating it.
“Yes, I do, as a matter of fact, Admiral.” She grinned then, a grin that told him she was using his title as a nickname, that she was up to mischief.
---
Feralia was a serious matter. It was a solemn day, but there had been a surprising amount of support among the fleet for it. The pilots gathered on the flight deck, civilians mingling with them. The Admiral spoke through the com, allowing all those who couldn’t be present to hear his words. The deck was littered with the traditional wreaths, made with discarded paper as no real foliage was readily available.
“We have been through much. We have survived trials that we never thought we’d have to face. And yet we are still here. But it has not been without cost. Today we honor those who have died. In the attacks, in battle, on New Caprica, during our time in the stars. We remember their sacrifices, but more importantly, we remember their lives. Their presence may be lost to us, but their memories are not. Remember those have died, do not forget them. Honor them.”
Bill raised a cup in salutation, drinking it. Instead of the usual wine present at the ceremony, it was filled with water, the only liquid plentiful enough for all those who chose to toast with. “So say we all,” he called out. Laura’s heart swelled as she joined in the answering chorus.
He stepped down from the podium to greet the men and women, to shake their hands and let them know he empathized with their loss. He made his way to Laura, her eyes slightly wet with emotion. “So say we all,” she murmured, ducking her head slightly. She allowed her hand to drift, her fingers to twine with his for a moment before pulling away, pulling on her presidential mask.
---
Equirria was welcomed with more joy and celebration a month later. Laura revealed her plan to substitute the horse races: viper races, surprising herself with getting into the spirit of the festivities. The pilots were eager to bow off some steam, to show off in front of each other, in front of the fleet. Betting pools were opened, the clear favorite was Starbuck, with Kat close behind.
“If only Gaius Baltar were still around. He could be the scapegoat we run out of the city,” Laura chuckled one night in Bill’s quarters as they planned the final details together. She enjoyed having this excuse to spend time with him alone, unaccompanied by aides or the Quorum.
Bill laughed too. “Perhaps it’s best we forego that part of the celebration; focus on the positive.” He leaned back against his couch, watching the woman next to him, her hair falling over her face as she leaned down to write something on a piece of paper.
“It’s good to support the military, I think,” Laura said. “Sometimes I think we forget who’s keeping us safe from the Cylons. It’s good for you to get some kind of thanks.” She mimicked Bill’s posture, their shoulder just barely touching, her leg drifting dangerously close to his.
“I don’t do it for the thanks,” he answered. Tilting his face to look at her, he saw her smiling a tired smile, her eyes starting to close involuntarily. “Get some sleep, Laura. Big day tomorrow. You’re going to owe me five cubits when Kara trumps Hot Dog.”
“I just felt bad for him,” she told him. “His odds were no good. I wanted to give him some confidence!” She dutifully let him help her stand up, their hands lingering together longer than was strictly necessary. Giving him one last look, she slid her hand out of his grasp and exited his quarters.
---
Laura did end up owing Bill five cubits. The races around the fleet had been an enormous success, civilians crowding against the windows to watch the vipers sail through the sky around them. Doc Cottle had volunteered to keep updating the fleet on the winners and losers, updating odds and proving himself a surprisingly competent commentator. Laura found that somehow she owed him five cubits as well.
Later that night, she ended up in Bill’s quarters again, flushed with success, always happy when she knew the fleet was happy. “I don’t have any money for you,” she admitted with a rueful smile.
“Welching on a bet? I wouldn’t have thought it of you.” He smiled, knowing it wasn’t really about the money, just an opportunity to joke around with his president.
Laura bit her lip thoughtfully. “I’m sure I could pay you in…another way.” She almost couldn’t believe she’d said it, but the words were out in the open and Bill’s mouth was hanging slack.
“What’d you have in mind?” he asked when he finally regained his speech. Taking a last sip of her water, Laura determinedly set the glass down and leaned over to gently kiss him on the mouth. She savored her first taste of him since New Caprica, gently opening her mouth, and settling herself against him. He responded after a moment, his hand coming up to her hair, finding some purchase there. She broke away and her tongue darted out to wet her lips slightly.
“That’s good for one cubit, right?” She looked at him, wide-eyed and nervous, feeling a little breathless.
“I’ll say,” he muttered and pulled her back against him. Laura grinned against his lips and felt that perhaps they should celebrate Equirria every month.
---
“Did you ever celebrate Veneralia?” Bill asked one night, a month later. Laura looked over her glasses at him. She had allowed him in her office on the condition that he sit quietly until she finished reading a particularly dry report. Since Equirria, they’d found it harder to separate themselves from each other, always finding an excuse to share the same space, whether it was to ensure the morale of the military or check on the status of presidential pens.
“Veneralia?” She knew that her false questioning wouldn’t go unnoticed. She had thought about adding it to the list of holidays to celebrate that year.
“Yeah. You know. The day when women generally…look to Aphrodite for help with their, you know, relationships. With men.” He fumbled over the words and Laura found it inexplicably endearing. And an opportunity to have a little fun with him.
“Are you suggesting I need to pray for some help? Is there something wrong?” She took off her glasses and folded her hands over the papers in front of her, enjoying the uncomfortable shifting going on in front of her.
“Uh, no. Not…No. I just…wondered,” he finished lamely as Laura let out a giggle. She came around her desk and leaned against it, one leg on each side of Bill’s chair. Leaning down to kiss him, she said, “Yes. I did. Thank the gods she never listened.”
“She knew there was something better for you ahead?” Bill looked up at her, a bashful look on his face, fishing for compliments.
“She knew that the best was ahead of me,” she confirmed, kissing him again squarely on the mouth. “Maybe we can have our own Veneralia celebration,” she murmured against his lips, settling into his lap, letting her fingers play with the strands of hair at his neck.
“What would that entail?” he asked in between breathy kisses, moving his way to her jaw, her ear, her collarbone. He swore that she always wore that white shirt when she knew he was coming over.
“Something a lot like this.” She leaned her head back, granting him fuller access to her neck, which he attacked with the eagerness of a much younger man. He pulled her face back to him and looked her in the eyes.
“Here?” They never did anything in Colonial One. Too little privacy, too much Tory wandering in at inopportune moments.
“I’d rather not relocate,” she whispered. “I don’t think I’d get very far.” That comment, coupled with the movement of her hips, sent him over the edge and he kissed her deeply, gripping her hips with his fingers, knowing that he was lightly bruising her, but she was giving as good as she got as her nails pressed into his back through his uniform.
Somehow her skirt became bundled around her waist and her panties pushed aside. His belt came unfastened and his jacket pulled from his shoulders. He was exploring the expanse of skin below her collarbone when Tory coughed from the doorway.
“Madame President, there’s, uh, there’s someone here to see you.” It was all Laura could do to not groan in frustration as she pulled herself away from Bill, readjusting her shirt, pulling her skirt down and hoping that she didn’t look as sexually frustrated as she felt.
“Who is it, Tory?” Her voice sounded irritated and she didn’t see a way or reason to hide it. Moving behind her desk, she put on her glasses, trying to regain some dignity as she caught sight of her blushing aide.
“Commander Adama.” Tory looked pained, as though she wanted to be anywhere else but the doorway of Laura’s office with the two leaders of the fleet in a compromising position. Laura wished the same thing for her.
Bill had his head in his hands, a muffled grunt audible through his fingers. “Do you need to go to the head?” Laura asked sharply. He looked up at her, a smile flitting momentarily to his eyes as he shook his head. “Send him in,” she called to Tory.
Lee entered, clearly unaware of what he had interrupted. Laura glared at him over her glasses, tapping her pen impatiently. “Yes, Commander?” She narrowed her eyes slightly.
“Uh, Madame President, Admiral.” Lee, always standing on ceremony, did his best to hide his surprise at his father slouching in a chair, buttoning up his uniform casually. “The, uh, crew was, uh, wondering if…” he trailed off as realization dawned over him. He cleared his throat uncomfortably. “They want to know if there will be any future celebrations. They very much enjoyed Equirria.” He shifted slightly, doing a good job of mimicking his father’s own uncomfortable posture.
“How timely. The Admiral and I were just discussing the possibility of a Veneralia celebration, however it does not seem feasible at this time. There’s always the Festival of Ludi, however. I’m sure something could be arranged for that.” She moved slightly, discovering that she had not completely adjusted her undergarments correctly. Her discomfort showed as she bit her lip, and Bill let out a soft groan. Lee’s face flushed and he crossed and uncrossed his arms several times.
“Well, uh, I’ll…let them know. Good evening, Madame President, Admiral.” He beat a hasty retreat, leaving the two frustrated leaders of the fleet behind.
---
The boxing ring was surrounded with military and civilians alike, dog tags mixing with homemade civilian tags as what the Admiral called “the Dance” raged. Cottle kept in charge of the bets, having proved his worth on the occasion of the viper races and Saul acted as referee. The Festival of the Ludi was really just a replay of the dance that happened earlier, except for the fact that Bill had sworn to Laura that he wouldn’t enter the ring. Still, it was a holiday and allowed for the mingling of civilians and the military.
Laura sat next to Bill at the edge of the ring, sitting closer than perhaps they should, but they could always blame it on the crowded area, on the excitement of the fights. Punches flew and there were yells of disappointment and cries of exhilaration as matches were won and lost.
Somewhere in the midst of all the chaos, Laura’s hand found Bill’s thigh. Her foot slipped out of its shoe and was currently investigating the terrain above his sock. He shifted slightly, leaning back so his arm drifted behind her, giving her hair a loving tug before his fingers slipped under the hem of her shirt and did a dance of their own along her lower back.
She shivered slightly and leaned closer to him under the pretense of watching the fight in front of them more closely. He leaned with her and whispered in a gravelly voice, “Would you like to have a dance of our own?”
She stood abruptly, her foot finding its way back into its shoe. “Admiral. I believe there are important matters to discuss in your quarters.” She stalked out ahead of him, looking for all the world as though they’d just had a disagreement. Kat let out a low whistle as she watched them leave.
“She’s gonna let him have it,” she muttered to Kara whose eyes followed them out of the arena. “She looks pissed.”
“Yeah, or something else,” Kara said, watching the Admiral’s hand drift towards the President’s back, settling right at the top of her skirt, his thumb skimming dangerously close to the skin of her lower back that was just visible. She looked away, feeling as though she were watching something private. “Ignore them. Let’s watch Hot Dog kick Lee’s ass.” Forgetting the two leaders, the women turned back to the fight in front of them, cheering on whoever got in the hardest hit.
---
“The year’s almost over, Laura. The fleet hasn’t had a celebration in a while. They could use it.” Bill was lying next to Laura in his rack, his arms folded behind her head.
“I didn’t used to celebrate holidays, back on Caprica,” she admitted, turning on her other side to face him. “There’s something about being here. With you. It puts me in the mood.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her and she pushed him half-heartedly. “Not that kind of mood. At least not right now.” She laughed as he pulled her to him, kissing her gently.
“Saturnalia’s coming up.” Laura sometimes couldn’t believe the change in circumstances in the past nine months. Never would she have thought she’d spend the night in Bill’s quarters, in his embrace. Tory attempted to be discreet, pretending she didn’t know what the President of the Twelve Colonies was doing in the Admiral’s quarters for a meeting that ended up lasting all night and sent over clothes whenever she could.
“Does that mean Tory would be President for a day?” she laughed. It had been ages since anyone had ever celebrated the true tradition of Saturnalia, the role reversal. “And, oh, I suppose the Chief would get to be Admiral. I wouldn’t mind seeing you in knuckledragger gear.”
“I thought we’d just have an open bar so I could see how the President acts under the influence.” He nudged her with his nose, burying his face in the crook of her neck as she stretched, giving him clear access to her entire body. His hands came around her, tracing the now familiar contours of her back.
“She gets quite giggly. And flirty. It might make a certain Admiral jealous when the President can’t keep her hands to herself.” She turned over on her back, elongating her body even more, enjoying the lascivious glint in Bill’s eye.
“As long as she keeps them confined to one man, I’m sure the Admiral won’t mind.” He rolled over her, propping himself up with one hand on either side of her. “In fact, I’m sure he would welcome the attention.” She leaned up to kiss his mouth.
“Saturnalia it is, then,” she said. “You’ve convinced me. And then perhaps we can revisit the idea of a day for Veneralia. I did enjoy that holiday most of all, when we did our practice run.”
“We could practice that again right now, if you wish, Madame President,” he told her, enjoying the feel of her laugh against his chest. Her compliance was unspoken as she pulled Bill closer to her, rolling them over so she was straddled over him, covering his mouth with her own. She eased her hand between them, enjoying the firmness of his chest, the solidness of his presence below her. She guided him into her and nestled her face into his neck, savoring their closeness as he panted heavily, matching her movements with his own.
“Bill?” she said quietly, when he was spent and she lay on top of him, tracing lazy circles around his smooth chest, scraping her nails slightly against him.
“Mmm?” He was preoccupied playing with the strands of hair that stuck to her neck, enjoying the heaviness of the red tresses as they fell over her shoulder, lightly tickling him.
“I’m glad I decided to celebrate this year.”