Caprica: Kara (1/1)
Title: Caprica: Kara
Pairing: Lee/Kara
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: Through 2x7 (Home, Pt 2)
Summary: Kara tells Lee about what happened on Caprica, and asks him to help her forget.
Author's Note: Written for Porn Battle 8, prompt: Lee/Kara, not remember
She dreams of Caprica and wakes up in a cold sweat, fists clenched, muscles tight, and for a second she can’t remember where she is. She looks to the right expecting a window high on the wall, an IV dripping into her arm, the eerie silence of the cylons’ frakked up breeding farm. Instead, she finds the strip of dim light creeping through the gap of her curtains, hears the soft mechanical whir of a battlestar at night, the sighs and snores of the sleeping pilots around her. Galactica.
Just like last night, and the night before, she closes her eyes and tries to slow her breathing, tries to calm her racing heart. She counts backward from twenty, slowly, but tonight it doesn’t help. Her fingers are still shaking where she has them pressed to the mattress, a low throb of pain still echoes from the nearly-healed wounds on her belly, and she still sees Sue-Shaun’s face as she asked for death because it was better than the alternative.
Just like last night, and the night before, she lifts one hand to draw back the curtain of her rack just enough so that she can see Lee’s. He’s shut away, out of sight, fast asleep like everyone else. Everyone who hasn’t just returned from cylon captivity, anyway. She hasn’t told him yet, doesn’t know how, and she knows it’s pissing him off but doesn’t care. The Commander is expecting a report, and she knows that as her CAG, Lee will read it, and then he’ll know everything he needs to know. He can wait.
But now, tonight, she’s not sure that she can. Because it would be so easy, she thinks, to hold him to what he told her on the Astral Queen. To let him be there, just this once, because maybe if she tells someone, maybe if she gets it all off her chest, she’ll stop seeing the cylon doctor in her dreams. Maybe if she just tells him now, when its too dark for him to look her in the eye, he’ll be kind enough to never mention it again in the light of day.
It’s stupid, she feels stupid - and weak, and needy (which she hates, she always hates, but this is Lee, and he somehow manages to make her feel like this even when he’s done nothing but lay across the room and snore) - but she finds herself tugging the curtain open the rest of the way and sitting up slowly, bare feet settling soundlessly onto the cold floor. She takes a deep breath, pushes herself to her feet and only hesitates once as she makes her way to his rack.
Her fingers are still shaking as she pulls his curtain back gently, and she tells herself it’s leftover adrenaline from the nightmares because that’s less embarrassing than the other possibility - that the idea of confessing all this to Lee is making her heart pound and her knees feel like jello. He’s stretched out in the middle of the small space, one arm slung over his head, the other resting on his bare stomach. She takes just a minute to look at him because nobody’s watching and she can, and because she knows the second she crawls in to join him, he’ll snap awake and there will be no turning back.
She calculates the available space, takes a deep breath, then plants one knee near his hip, wedging herself in and over so she’s straddling him a little bit awkwardly, then yanks the curtain back shut just as he begins to stir. He puffs out a breath against her face, and her heart jackhammers in her chest, her voice seeming overly loud as she whispers, “It’s me.”
“Kara?” He relaxes a little, and only when it grinds against the new scars on her belly does she realize that the hand on his stomach is now trapped between them. She grimaces, lifts herself up a little and reaches down to bring his hand up and pin it next to his head, groping in the dark to do the same with the other. He tenses beneath her, and his voice is a little more wary the next time he whispers, “…Kara?”
She wants to make a joke about bondage, about repression, because she thinks its what Starbuck would do, but all that comes out is a quiet, “I want to talk about Caprica.”
He’s silent for half a second, and then he releases all the tension from his arms so he’s prone under her, his voice just as low as hers when he tells her, “Okay. I’m listening.”
Their faces are so close that she can feel the warmth of their mingled breath against her mouth as she speaks, and she resolutely ignores the way his proximity affects her, even when she’s edgy and uncertain and not thinking at all about sex. She tells him about everything - everything except Sam. She tells him about the firefight, about how the resistance fell back and she fell down. She tells him about waking up in a hospital that wasn’t a hospital with a doctor who wasn’t a doctor, and when his body goes tense again at the words “cylon breeding farm” she doesn’t know what to make of it, so she barrels ahead in her rushed confession before he can say anything.
She tells him about the scar she doesn’t know the reason for, and about escaping, and about killing a room full of women for their own good. About making it all the way out before running into the cylon doctor she’d just stabbed to death, and how when she heard the gunshots she thought she was done for until she saw his body fall. She tells him about running under Centurion fire while she felt like her guts were being ripped open stitch-by-stitch, and hitting the dirt with no cover, and cylon Sharon and the heavy raider that saved them.
She tells him everything there is to tell, and then she feels him draw a breath to talk to her, and she suddenly doesn’t want to hear what he might say, so she shuts him up the quickest way she knows how. Her lips fall on his and stay there, shushing him. She tells herself it's economy of movement, that her hands were farther away, but in truth she remembers the feel of his lips on hers when she returned and how it made her stomach flop over and her world tip back onto its axis, and she wants that again.
She doesn’t so much pull away as let her lips go slack enough to hiss a quiet, “shhh,” before she kisses him again because she can, and because it worked. She doesn’t feel good yet, doesn’t feel normal yet, but she feels a little better and it gives her an idea that she probably shouldn’t entertain. But its dark, and she feels like her body isn’t hers anymore, like the piece that she’s sure is missing has split ownership of her, and now part of her belongs to the cylons. She wants to feel like everything about her that is vital is her own, so she goes with it, figures why not?, and shifts so she can grind her hips slowly against his. If it’s a mistake, its not the first one she’s made. Not the first one she’s made with Lee by a long shot.
He turns out of the kiss, then, and breathes her name as a warning. Kara presses her hands down harder against his and does something she hates, but can’t help: she begs. “Please,” she hisses, her lips falling against his jaw and feeling the muscle clench and release, clench and release under her mouth. “Lee, I- Please.”
“You need-“
“To forget,” she insists, switching from lips to teeth, nipping at his jaw, his throat. “I need to not remember what happened. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”
She doesn’t expect him to give in, so she’s surprised when he turns his face so his chin bumps her cheekbone and teases, “A few minutes? What happened to all your cracks about ‘the great Apollo?’”
It lightens the mood just a little, and she lifts her head until their noses brush, smiling at him in the dark. “All speculation. Apollo has yet to prove he lives up to the hype.”
“Ah.” She can hear the smile in his voice, can feel one of his hands try to wiggle out from under where she still has him pinned, but she just holds him tighter. He sighs, nudges his nose against hers. “Still. Kara, I don’t think this is the right-“
She doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear him tell her no, so she covers his mouth with hers again, starts a slow, rocking rhythm with her hips, and tries to fight logic with hormones. He’s stronger than her, she knows he is, so she’s sure if he really wanted her to stop, he could make her. But she knows other things about Lee, too, like the way he looks at her a little too long sometimes, and the way he breathes her name when he’s wanking and thinks everyone else is asleep. So she knows she has the upper hand here, even before she feels him harden against her, his mouth finally opening under hers so that she can dip her tongue in and tease.
“Don’t think about it,” she murmurs into the kiss, catching his lower lip in her teeth for a light bite. “Just be Lee.”
He turns his head again, and she tries to follow until he says, “I need to touch you. I need to be able to touch you, Kara.”
She chews her lip for a second, then eases her weight off his right hand, setting it free as she continues to pin his left. He moves immediately, his hand slipping down to her knee, skimming up her thigh, over her hip, teasing up under the fabric of her tanks and caressing her from back to front. His fingertips brush her scars and her belly pulls back on instinct, shying away from the touch. She hopes he won’t notice, but of course he does, stilling for a second before carefully tracing his fingertip along the edge of her wounds again. “Do they still hurt?”
“A little,” she admits, but she arches slightly into his touch to prove that she can, that it’s okay.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he tells her, and she knew that was coming next so she’s ready for it, settling her fingertips against his lips.
“You won’t. I hiked Kobol for days, in the rain, and I was fine.” His lips pulse gently against her fingertips. “A little sex won’t send me to sickbay. Now, stop talking.”
And with that her lips are on his again, hot and insistent, as her fingers graze down along his neck. His freed hand slides back around her waist, stroking deliciously up her spine before wandering back toward her front until his palm cups her breast. A spark of pleasure snaps under her skin when he finds her nipple with his thumb and rubs it in slow circles, and it’s all well and good but she’s not sure that she wants slow, so she finally sits up and guides his other hand under her tanks, squeezing it against her breast as she rocks her hips against his.
He groans, and she gasps, rocking harder, faster, and urging the hand under hers to squeeze and tug her peak in a steady rhythm that makes her thighs go liquid and hot. Once he’s caught on to just how she likes it, she tugs her tanks over her head and leans in to kiss him again, panting against his lips as the shift in angle drives him harder against just the right spot between her thighs. Suddenly cylons are the furthest thing from her mind.
One of his hands is slipping under her sweats, wedging between their bodies and she has to press her face into his neck and bite down to keep from crying out when his fingers drag over her clit. She swallows hard, hisses, “Gods, Lee,” against his skin, and she’s so wet that his fingers slip and slide easily against her, quiet moans catching in her throat with every stroke.
She feels the tension rising, feels her arms begin to tremble as he works her nipple harder, rubs her clit in the same rhythm and then she’s breathing his name over and over as she comes hard. She goes limp against him, and he’s panting underneath her like they’ve just run twenty laps of Galactica, his erection digging into her thigh. And she wants to take care of it, she does, wants to ride him until she’s biting her own arm to keep from screaming, but she needs just a second.
“Kara,” he pleads quietly, his fingers still cupping where she’s wet and sensitive. He rubs gently, and she moans, turns her mouth against his throat and licks away the salt and sweat.
“I know.” She sucks a slow kiss into his skin and he groans, arches his neck, makes her grin. That Lee Adama wants her so bad he’s groaning at just a kiss fuels her up again, and soon she’s shimmying out of her sweats and regulation briefs (easier said than done in the tight space) while he shoves his shorts down and wiggles underneath her until they’re off.
She reaches for him in the dark, and wishes that she could really see Apollo in all his glory, but she doesn’t want to pull the curtain back and risk everyone else seeing Apollo in all his glory, so she settles for going by feel, and gods, does he feel good. Her fingers wrap around him, and she adjusts herself until she can sink down over his shaft, the moan bubbling up before she can stop it. Her jaw drops just a little, eyes squeezing shut as he fills her, and his hands are clutching at her hips so hard she’s sure they'll be bruised.
There’s no way she’s going to be able to keep from moaning, so she leans forward and crushes her mouth to his as she starts to move against him, hoping she can at least muffle the sounds against his mouth. It’s useless, though, because he’s moaning too, low and throaty, and their kisses are too quick and sloppy to be quiet as they move together faster and faster. His right hand snakes between her legs again and she doesn’t have time to make it to his shoulder to hide the sound before she cries out, her palm slapping against the rack just above his head. She ruts back harder and faster against him, the sound of his grunts and groans and “Kara”s and “yes”es driving her higher before his hand shifts from her clit to her thigh as he bucks up into her and shudders slightly as he comes.
Kara is torn between pride that frakking her can make Lee ever-in-control Adama lose himself like that and frustration that she was this close again when he came, but a second later his fingers are back between her thighs, working her quick and hard and then she’s flying again, eyes shut tight as waves of pleasure swamp her and she hopes she’s not screaming but she just can’t tell.
She collapses against him, still trembling just a little, the injured muscles of her abdomen aching from the exertion but she doesn’t mind a bit, not a godsdamned bit, because her body feels boneless and buzzing and she hasn’t been frakked that well since - she remembers suddenly the last time she was frakked - Caprica, Sam - and the reason all this happened comes flooding back to her. But Lee’s hands are stroking up and down her back in slow, soothing passes, and she doesn’t feel the anxiety anymore, doesn’t see the faces, and she’s grinning as she shifts to stretch her body out along his. He tugs the sheet to cover them, and she tucks herself against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder.
“So?” he rasps a moment later, his thumb skimming the curve of her shoulder. “Did I measure up to the hype?”
She chuckles against his skin, then tilts her head to press a kiss against his jaw. “Definitely. The great Apollo, indeed.”
He doesn’t mention Caprica, doesn’t mention everything she wants to forget, and before long she’s sleeping more soundly than she has since the worlds ended.
Pairing: Lee/Kara
Rating: NC17
Spoilers: Through 2x7 (Home, Pt 2)
Summary: Kara tells Lee about what happened on Caprica, and asks him to help her forget.
Author's Note: Written for Porn Battle 8, prompt: Lee/Kara, not remember
She dreams of Caprica and wakes up in a cold sweat, fists clenched, muscles tight, and for a second she can’t remember where she is. She looks to the right expecting a window high on the wall, an IV dripping into her arm, the eerie silence of the cylons’ frakked up breeding farm. Instead, she finds the strip of dim light creeping through the gap of her curtains, hears the soft mechanical whir of a battlestar at night, the sighs and snores of the sleeping pilots around her. Galactica.
Just like last night, and the night before, she closes her eyes and tries to slow her breathing, tries to calm her racing heart. She counts backward from twenty, slowly, but tonight it doesn’t help. Her fingers are still shaking where she has them pressed to the mattress, a low throb of pain still echoes from the nearly-healed wounds on her belly, and she still sees Sue-Shaun’s face as she asked for death because it was better than the alternative.
Just like last night, and the night before, she lifts one hand to draw back the curtain of her rack just enough so that she can see Lee’s. He’s shut away, out of sight, fast asleep like everyone else. Everyone who hasn’t just returned from cylon captivity, anyway. She hasn’t told him yet, doesn’t know how, and she knows it’s pissing him off but doesn’t care. The Commander is expecting a report, and she knows that as her CAG, Lee will read it, and then he’ll know everything he needs to know. He can wait.
But now, tonight, she’s not sure that she can. Because it would be so easy, she thinks, to hold him to what he told her on the Astral Queen. To let him be there, just this once, because maybe if she tells someone, maybe if she gets it all off her chest, she’ll stop seeing the cylon doctor in her dreams. Maybe if she just tells him now, when its too dark for him to look her in the eye, he’ll be kind enough to never mention it again in the light of day.
It’s stupid, she feels stupid - and weak, and needy (which she hates, she always hates, but this is Lee, and he somehow manages to make her feel like this even when he’s done nothing but lay across the room and snore) - but she finds herself tugging the curtain open the rest of the way and sitting up slowly, bare feet settling soundlessly onto the cold floor. She takes a deep breath, pushes herself to her feet and only hesitates once as she makes her way to his rack.
Her fingers are still shaking as she pulls his curtain back gently, and she tells herself it’s leftover adrenaline from the nightmares because that’s less embarrassing than the other possibility - that the idea of confessing all this to Lee is making her heart pound and her knees feel like jello. He’s stretched out in the middle of the small space, one arm slung over his head, the other resting on his bare stomach. She takes just a minute to look at him because nobody’s watching and she can, and because she knows the second she crawls in to join him, he’ll snap awake and there will be no turning back.
She calculates the available space, takes a deep breath, then plants one knee near his hip, wedging herself in and over so she’s straddling him a little bit awkwardly, then yanks the curtain back shut just as he begins to stir. He puffs out a breath against her face, and her heart jackhammers in her chest, her voice seeming overly loud as she whispers, “It’s me.”
“Kara?” He relaxes a little, and only when it grinds against the new scars on her belly does she realize that the hand on his stomach is now trapped between them. She grimaces, lifts herself up a little and reaches down to bring his hand up and pin it next to his head, groping in the dark to do the same with the other. He tenses beneath her, and his voice is a little more wary the next time he whispers, “…Kara?”
She wants to make a joke about bondage, about repression, because she thinks its what Starbuck would do, but all that comes out is a quiet, “I want to talk about Caprica.”
He’s silent for half a second, and then he releases all the tension from his arms so he’s prone under her, his voice just as low as hers when he tells her, “Okay. I’m listening.”
Their faces are so close that she can feel the warmth of their mingled breath against her mouth as she speaks, and she resolutely ignores the way his proximity affects her, even when she’s edgy and uncertain and not thinking at all about sex. She tells him about everything - everything except Sam. She tells him about the firefight, about how the resistance fell back and she fell down. She tells him about waking up in a hospital that wasn’t a hospital with a doctor who wasn’t a doctor, and when his body goes tense again at the words “cylon breeding farm” she doesn’t know what to make of it, so she barrels ahead in her rushed confession before he can say anything.
She tells him about the scar she doesn’t know the reason for, and about escaping, and about killing a room full of women for their own good. About making it all the way out before running into the cylon doctor she’d just stabbed to death, and how when she heard the gunshots she thought she was done for until she saw his body fall. She tells him about running under Centurion fire while she felt like her guts were being ripped open stitch-by-stitch, and hitting the dirt with no cover, and cylon Sharon and the heavy raider that saved them.
She tells him everything there is to tell, and then she feels him draw a breath to talk to her, and she suddenly doesn’t want to hear what he might say, so she shuts him up the quickest way she knows how. Her lips fall on his and stay there, shushing him. She tells herself it's economy of movement, that her hands were farther away, but in truth she remembers the feel of his lips on hers when she returned and how it made her stomach flop over and her world tip back onto its axis, and she wants that again.
She doesn’t so much pull away as let her lips go slack enough to hiss a quiet, “shhh,” before she kisses him again because she can, and because it worked. She doesn’t feel good yet, doesn’t feel normal yet, but she feels a little better and it gives her an idea that she probably shouldn’t entertain. But its dark, and she feels like her body isn’t hers anymore, like the piece that she’s sure is missing has split ownership of her, and now part of her belongs to the cylons. She wants to feel like everything about her that is vital is her own, so she goes with it, figures why not?, and shifts so she can grind her hips slowly against his. If it’s a mistake, its not the first one she’s made. Not the first one she’s made with Lee by a long shot.
He turns out of the kiss, then, and breathes her name as a warning. Kara presses her hands down harder against his and does something she hates, but can’t help: she begs. “Please,” she hisses, her lips falling against his jaw and feeling the muscle clench and release, clench and release under her mouth. “Lee, I- Please.”
“You need-“
“To forget,” she insists, switching from lips to teeth, nipping at his jaw, his throat. “I need to not remember what happened. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”
She doesn’t expect him to give in, so she’s surprised when he turns his face so his chin bumps her cheekbone and teases, “A few minutes? What happened to all your cracks about ‘the great Apollo?’”
It lightens the mood just a little, and she lifts her head until their noses brush, smiling at him in the dark. “All speculation. Apollo has yet to prove he lives up to the hype.”
“Ah.” She can hear the smile in his voice, can feel one of his hands try to wiggle out from under where she still has him pinned, but she just holds him tighter. He sighs, nudges his nose against hers. “Still. Kara, I don’t think this is the right-“
She doesn’t want to hear it, doesn’t want to hear him tell her no, so she covers his mouth with hers again, starts a slow, rocking rhythm with her hips, and tries to fight logic with hormones. He’s stronger than her, she knows he is, so she’s sure if he really wanted her to stop, he could make her. But she knows other things about Lee, too, like the way he looks at her a little too long sometimes, and the way he breathes her name when he’s wanking and thinks everyone else is asleep. So she knows she has the upper hand here, even before she feels him harden against her, his mouth finally opening under hers so that she can dip her tongue in and tease.
“Don’t think about it,” she murmurs into the kiss, catching his lower lip in her teeth for a light bite. “Just be Lee.”
He turns his head again, and she tries to follow until he says, “I need to touch you. I need to be able to touch you, Kara.”
She chews her lip for a second, then eases her weight off his right hand, setting it free as she continues to pin his left. He moves immediately, his hand slipping down to her knee, skimming up her thigh, over her hip, teasing up under the fabric of her tanks and caressing her from back to front. His fingertips brush her scars and her belly pulls back on instinct, shying away from the touch. She hopes he won’t notice, but of course he does, stilling for a second before carefully tracing his fingertip along the edge of her wounds again. “Do they still hurt?”
“A little,” she admits, but she arches slightly into his touch to prove that she can, that it’s okay.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he tells her, and she knew that was coming next so she’s ready for it, settling her fingertips against his lips.
“You won’t. I hiked Kobol for days, in the rain, and I was fine.” His lips pulse gently against her fingertips. “A little sex won’t send me to sickbay. Now, stop talking.”
And with that her lips are on his again, hot and insistent, as her fingers graze down along his neck. His freed hand slides back around her waist, stroking deliciously up her spine before wandering back toward her front until his palm cups her breast. A spark of pleasure snaps under her skin when he finds her nipple with his thumb and rubs it in slow circles, and it’s all well and good but she’s not sure that she wants slow, so she finally sits up and guides his other hand under her tanks, squeezing it against her breast as she rocks her hips against his.
He groans, and she gasps, rocking harder, faster, and urging the hand under hers to squeeze and tug her peak in a steady rhythm that makes her thighs go liquid and hot. Once he’s caught on to just how she likes it, she tugs her tanks over her head and leans in to kiss him again, panting against his lips as the shift in angle drives him harder against just the right spot between her thighs. Suddenly cylons are the furthest thing from her mind.
One of his hands is slipping under her sweats, wedging between their bodies and she has to press her face into his neck and bite down to keep from crying out when his fingers drag over her clit. She swallows hard, hisses, “Gods, Lee,” against his skin, and she’s so wet that his fingers slip and slide easily against her, quiet moans catching in her throat with every stroke.
She feels the tension rising, feels her arms begin to tremble as he works her nipple harder, rubs her clit in the same rhythm and then she’s breathing his name over and over as she comes hard. She goes limp against him, and he’s panting underneath her like they’ve just run twenty laps of Galactica, his erection digging into her thigh. And she wants to take care of it, she does, wants to ride him until she’s biting her own arm to keep from screaming, but she needs just a second.
“Kara,” he pleads quietly, his fingers still cupping where she’s wet and sensitive. He rubs gently, and she moans, turns her mouth against his throat and licks away the salt and sweat.
“I know.” She sucks a slow kiss into his skin and he groans, arches his neck, makes her grin. That Lee Adama wants her so bad he’s groaning at just a kiss fuels her up again, and soon she’s shimmying out of her sweats and regulation briefs (easier said than done in the tight space) while he shoves his shorts down and wiggles underneath her until they’re off.
She reaches for him in the dark, and wishes that she could really see Apollo in all his glory, but she doesn’t want to pull the curtain back and risk everyone else seeing Apollo in all his glory, so she settles for going by feel, and gods, does he feel good. Her fingers wrap around him, and she adjusts herself until she can sink down over his shaft, the moan bubbling up before she can stop it. Her jaw drops just a little, eyes squeezing shut as he fills her, and his hands are clutching at her hips so hard she’s sure they'll be bruised.
There’s no way she’s going to be able to keep from moaning, so she leans forward and crushes her mouth to his as she starts to move against him, hoping she can at least muffle the sounds against his mouth. It’s useless, though, because he’s moaning too, low and throaty, and their kisses are too quick and sloppy to be quiet as they move together faster and faster. His right hand snakes between her legs again and she doesn’t have time to make it to his shoulder to hide the sound before she cries out, her palm slapping against the rack just above his head. She ruts back harder and faster against him, the sound of his grunts and groans and “Kara”s and “yes”es driving her higher before his hand shifts from her clit to her thigh as he bucks up into her and shudders slightly as he comes.
Kara is torn between pride that frakking her can make Lee ever-in-control Adama lose himself like that and frustration that she was this close again when he came, but a second later his fingers are back between her thighs, working her quick and hard and then she’s flying again, eyes shut tight as waves of pleasure swamp her and she hopes she’s not screaming but she just can’t tell.
She collapses against him, still trembling just a little, the injured muscles of her abdomen aching from the exertion but she doesn’t mind a bit, not a godsdamned bit, because her body feels boneless and buzzing and she hasn’t been frakked that well since - she remembers suddenly the last time she was frakked - Caprica, Sam - and the reason all this happened comes flooding back to her. But Lee’s hands are stroking up and down her back in slow, soothing passes, and she doesn’t feel the anxiety anymore, doesn’t see the faces, and she’s grinning as she shifts to stretch her body out along his. He tugs the sheet to cover them, and she tucks herself against his side, pillowing her head on his shoulder.
“So?” he rasps a moment later, his thumb skimming the curve of her shoulder. “Did I measure up to the hype?”
She chuckles against his skin, then tilts her head to press a kiss against his jaw. “Definitely. The great Apollo, indeed.”
He doesn’t mention Caprica, doesn’t mention everything she wants to forget, and before long she’s sleeping more soundly than she has since the worlds ended.