Edge | PG13 | Battlestar Galactica
Title: Edge
Prompt: Laura and Ellen are not exactly friends.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; V is for Vocal
Fandom: Laura/Bill, Ellen/Saul, Battlestar Galactica
Requested by: surena_13
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1512
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I went a little broad with this one (since the requested pairing was just Laura/Bill) because I really, really wanted to write a fic about Laura and Ellen getting high together. I hope it turned out okay. Let me know what you think! Comments are love!
-
Sometimes, when the familiar New Caprican sounds lack the usual comfort, Laura Roslin slips into her favorite sweater, tucks a smoke into the pocket of her jeans, and walks far away from the settlement. She avoids the beloved plot she selected for her cabin. She can't go there without Bill. She won't.
She walks instead to a field of coarse grass and sits beneath the strange, unfamiliar stars. Sometimes she closes her eyes and remembers the patterns of stars that littered the skies of Caprica, the real Caprica--home. Other times, like tonight, Laura doesn't want to remember. Sometimes she just wants to forget.
She lights her blunt and takes a deep drag, enjoying the feel of the smoke filling her lungs, blotting away the voices of children and concerned parents. Once upon a time, Laura took comfort in the labels she'd been assigned--president, teacher, dying prophet. They gave her purpose. Under these stars, which blink down upon her with a watchful presence, she has no purpose. She is nothing more than a woman getting high, alone in the dark.
She’s not as alone as it would seem, hearing the faint rustle of brush nearby. Laura doesn’t turn around. The interloper will make his or her presence known, or they won’t. It doesn’t really matter to her. She knows it’s not Bill, who hasn’t been planetside in three weeks. She misses him, but she won’t ask for him. She won’t beg him to spend time with her. She’d always wonder if he was there of his own accord or if he simply came because she asked.
“Oh!” a female voice hisses. “Frak me sideways.”
Laura smirks.
“Must you always make it so difficult for people to follow you?” Ellen Tigh exclaims with exasperation as she sits down beside Laura, tucking a half-empty bottle of ambrosia between her legs.
“That’s sort of the point,” reminds Laura, taking another drag of her blunt. She’s starting to feel it now, the relaxation rolling over her like a warm blanket. She holds it out for Ellen, unsurprised when the woman eagerly accepts it and puts it to her lips. She watches as Ellen’s eyes close as she inhales.
“Where’s your husband?”
Ellen hands back the smoke to free her mouth for the welcoming, open lip of the bottle. She swigs a large mouthful of the green alcohol, hardly wincing as it burns its way down her throat.
“Oh, he’s around somewhere,” she replies flippantly, “talking about important colonel things. You can take the man out of the ship…”
Laura snorts. “If you’re lucky.”
Ellen’s face is not exactly apologetic, but she understands Laura’s frustration. “Bill Adama never could let go of the reigns, no matter how strong the incentive. How long’s it been since he’s been down here?”
“Three weeks.” She wraps her fingers around the neck of the bottle, trading her blunt for the ambrosia. She takes a sip and then another, hiding a cough by clearing her throat. She’s not a big drinker, but she’s not about to ruin her cred with Ellen Tigh.
“Aaah,” Ellen preens knowingly, nudging Laura’s shoulder with her own. “So that’s why you’ve been such a grump. Someone needs to get laid,” she singsongs.
Laura would roll her eyes, but she’s used to Ellen by now. Many nights spent like this have blunted Ellen’s edge-or perhaps Laura’s simply grown an edge of her own. Besides, she’s feeling too loose and too delicious to act the prude. Madam President wouldn’t talk of such things, nor would Miss Roslin. But she’s just plain Laura right now, and who would better understand her frustration than Ellen frakking Tigh? “Tell me about it. I’m going out of my mind.”
Ellen chuckles darkly. “So am I, but it’s only been about thirteen hours for me.”
Laura sneers out of jealousy and takes another pull of ambrosia. “Excuse me if I don’t have any pity to spare.”
“Poor little schoolteacher,” chides the blonde, puffing on the blunt with practiced ease. “Gods, New Caprica doesn’t have much, but it does have good weed.”
Laura smirks. “If my mommy could see me now.”
“Frak, Laura…no one can see us now. It’s just you and me and our little stash…and gods knows what else is lurking in those stars.” She waves her free hand up at the sky, whose unfamiliar constellations are little solace on these lonely nights. She turns to face the schoolteacher, her eyes twinkling with something mischievous. She grabs the bottle, holding it up to her mouth like a microphone. “Enquiring minds want to know, Ms. Roslin…how is the old man in bed?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Obviously I want to know since I’m asking.” Ellen rolls her eyes, putting the rapidly diminishing cigarette to Laura’s lips. “Take another puff of the magic stuff, Laura, and tell Ellen all about it.”
Laura inhales, closing her eyes and letting it fill her up. She shouldn’t be doing this-Bill Adama is an intensely private man-but when was the last time she had a girlfriend to gossip with? When was the last time she could actually talk about these things? “He’s fantastic. Really. Just…very good.” It’s too dark for Ellen to see, but Laura’s cheeks are flaming.
“You bitch,” Ellen says with a laugh.
“I’m surprised you haven’t already sampled the merchandise, to be honest.”
“Believe me, honey-I tried. He’s too loyal for that. I don’t know that I was ever his style. You, on the other hand…you’re everyone’s style.”
Laura giggles-actually giggles. The world is spinning. “Hardly, unless ‘everyone’ has a penchant for librarian types.”
“They do, Laura. There’s a reason why that’s everyone’s cliché fantasy-because it works.”
“If it works, why didn’t I win the election?”
Ellen opens her mouth but firmly closes it, frowning. “Touché.”
They sit in silence for a few moments (leave it to Laura to remain forever the buzzkill) before Ellen smirks wickedly. “I heard him once.”
Laura blinks. What are they talking about? “Who?”
“Bill.” She giggles as if she’s been waiting to share this secret for ages. “Back on Caprica. I heard him frakking his ex-wife. He was so…vocal.”
Laura smiles knowingly, closing her eyes and recalling the image of his face, contorted in rapt pleasure. “He can be, when the mood suits him.”
“What sort of mood?”
“When it’s been a while, or I’ve been teasing him. He’s awfully easy to tease.”
“I bet he loves that. He always struck me as a bit of the masochistic type. I bet he loves it when you try to pull rank on him.”
He does. She remembers the first time she pulled the president trump card, how quickly he came, how hard. He had let out a growl so intense that she might have been frightened had it not been for her own immediate climax.
Her whole body begins to hum in pleasure as she thinks of him-the weight of his body on top of her own, the way he looks when she’s straddling his hips, the way her name sounds on his rough, gravely tongue when he cries out her name. She wonders if it would be too obvious if she left in that moment to return to her tent and take care of the mounting tension between her thighs. It wouldn’t be as good as Bill, but it would be something, anything, to take the edge off until he comes back.
“Mmm…I know that look,” Ellen says, pressing her finger against Laura’s cheek. “It’s the same look I’ve got.” She jostles the bottle, nestling it against the former president’s leg. “I think it’s time for me to find my husband.”
Laura may not be obvious, but Ellen always is. She watches the other woman brush the dirt off her backside before she tugs on her tight shirt, rearranging her cleavage to appear lethally seductive. Saul won’t be able to resist. “Have fun.”
“Oh you know I will, honey.” Ellen heads toward the settlement but stops, turning to look at Laura. “By the way: Saul’s going back up to Galactica tomorrow… I’m sure I can convince him to have a little chat with Bill.” Before Laura can decline the offer, Ellen cackles naughtily and skips off.
As always, exchanges between Laura and Ellen are brief. They’re not friends, not exactly, but Laura doesn’t mind her so much anymore. Friends are sparse these days, especially now that people either pity her for losing the election or are put off by her former unapproachable air.
She lies back, curling her arm beneath her head. She stares up at the twinkling stars above, swirling and bleeding together like a painting. Bill’s up there, keeping a lonely watch on them all from his lookout post in the sky. She can’t blame him for doing his job, for keeping them safe.
She thinks of Ellen’s promise and is feeling too frakking good to be angry about her meddling. If Saul tells him to take a break, he will…
…and Laura will be waiting for him.
---
Prompt: Laura and Ellen are not exactly friends.
Challenge: A to Z Drabble Meme; V is for Vocal
Fandom: Laura/Bill, Ellen/Saul, Battlestar Galactica
Requested by: surena_13
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1512
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: I went a little broad with this one (since the requested pairing was just Laura/Bill) because I really, really wanted to write a fic about Laura and Ellen getting high together. I hope it turned out okay. Let me know what you think! Comments are love!
-
Sometimes, when the familiar New Caprican sounds lack the usual comfort, Laura Roslin slips into her favorite sweater, tucks a smoke into the pocket of her jeans, and walks far away from the settlement. She avoids the beloved plot she selected for her cabin. She can't go there without Bill. She won't.
She walks instead to a field of coarse grass and sits beneath the strange, unfamiliar stars. Sometimes she closes her eyes and remembers the patterns of stars that littered the skies of Caprica, the real Caprica--home. Other times, like tonight, Laura doesn't want to remember. Sometimes she just wants to forget.
She lights her blunt and takes a deep drag, enjoying the feel of the smoke filling her lungs, blotting away the voices of children and concerned parents. Once upon a time, Laura took comfort in the labels she'd been assigned--president, teacher, dying prophet. They gave her purpose. Under these stars, which blink down upon her with a watchful presence, she has no purpose. She is nothing more than a woman getting high, alone in the dark.
She’s not as alone as it would seem, hearing the faint rustle of brush nearby. Laura doesn’t turn around. The interloper will make his or her presence known, or they won’t. It doesn’t really matter to her. She knows it’s not Bill, who hasn’t been planetside in three weeks. She misses him, but she won’t ask for him. She won’t beg him to spend time with her. She’d always wonder if he was there of his own accord or if he simply came because she asked.
“Oh!” a female voice hisses. “Frak me sideways.”
Laura smirks.
“Must you always make it so difficult for people to follow you?” Ellen Tigh exclaims with exasperation as she sits down beside Laura, tucking a half-empty bottle of ambrosia between her legs.
“That’s sort of the point,” reminds Laura, taking another drag of her blunt. She’s starting to feel it now, the relaxation rolling over her like a warm blanket. She holds it out for Ellen, unsurprised when the woman eagerly accepts it and puts it to her lips. She watches as Ellen’s eyes close as she inhales.
“Where’s your husband?”
Ellen hands back the smoke to free her mouth for the welcoming, open lip of the bottle. She swigs a large mouthful of the green alcohol, hardly wincing as it burns its way down her throat.
“Oh, he’s around somewhere,” she replies flippantly, “talking about important colonel things. You can take the man out of the ship…”
Laura snorts. “If you’re lucky.”
Ellen’s face is not exactly apologetic, but she understands Laura’s frustration. “Bill Adama never could let go of the reigns, no matter how strong the incentive. How long’s it been since he’s been down here?”
“Three weeks.” She wraps her fingers around the neck of the bottle, trading her blunt for the ambrosia. She takes a sip and then another, hiding a cough by clearing her throat. She’s not a big drinker, but she’s not about to ruin her cred with Ellen Tigh.
“Aaah,” Ellen preens knowingly, nudging Laura’s shoulder with her own. “So that’s why you’ve been such a grump. Someone needs to get laid,” she singsongs.
Laura would roll her eyes, but she’s used to Ellen by now. Many nights spent like this have blunted Ellen’s edge-or perhaps Laura’s simply grown an edge of her own. Besides, she’s feeling too loose and too delicious to act the prude. Madam President wouldn’t talk of such things, nor would Miss Roslin. But she’s just plain Laura right now, and who would better understand her frustration than Ellen frakking Tigh? “Tell me about it. I’m going out of my mind.”
Ellen chuckles darkly. “So am I, but it’s only been about thirteen hours for me.”
Laura sneers out of jealousy and takes another pull of ambrosia. “Excuse me if I don’t have any pity to spare.”
“Poor little schoolteacher,” chides the blonde, puffing on the blunt with practiced ease. “Gods, New Caprica doesn’t have much, but it does have good weed.”
Laura smirks. “If my mommy could see me now.”
“Frak, Laura…no one can see us now. It’s just you and me and our little stash…and gods knows what else is lurking in those stars.” She waves her free hand up at the sky, whose unfamiliar constellations are little solace on these lonely nights. She turns to face the schoolteacher, her eyes twinkling with something mischievous. She grabs the bottle, holding it up to her mouth like a microphone. “Enquiring minds want to know, Ms. Roslin…how is the old man in bed?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Obviously I want to know since I’m asking.” Ellen rolls her eyes, putting the rapidly diminishing cigarette to Laura’s lips. “Take another puff of the magic stuff, Laura, and tell Ellen all about it.”
Laura inhales, closing her eyes and letting it fill her up. She shouldn’t be doing this-Bill Adama is an intensely private man-but when was the last time she had a girlfriend to gossip with? When was the last time she could actually talk about these things? “He’s fantastic. Really. Just…very good.” It’s too dark for Ellen to see, but Laura’s cheeks are flaming.
“You bitch,” Ellen says with a laugh.
“I’m surprised you haven’t already sampled the merchandise, to be honest.”
“Believe me, honey-I tried. He’s too loyal for that. I don’t know that I was ever his style. You, on the other hand…you’re everyone’s style.”
Laura giggles-actually giggles. The world is spinning. “Hardly, unless ‘everyone’ has a penchant for librarian types.”
“They do, Laura. There’s a reason why that’s everyone’s cliché fantasy-because it works.”
“If it works, why didn’t I win the election?”
Ellen opens her mouth but firmly closes it, frowning. “Touché.”
They sit in silence for a few moments (leave it to Laura to remain forever the buzzkill) before Ellen smirks wickedly. “I heard him once.”
Laura blinks. What are they talking about? “Who?”
“Bill.” She giggles as if she’s been waiting to share this secret for ages. “Back on Caprica. I heard him frakking his ex-wife. He was so…vocal.”
Laura smiles knowingly, closing her eyes and recalling the image of his face, contorted in rapt pleasure. “He can be, when the mood suits him.”
“What sort of mood?”
“When it’s been a while, or I’ve been teasing him. He’s awfully easy to tease.”
“I bet he loves that. He always struck me as a bit of the masochistic type. I bet he loves it when you try to pull rank on him.”
He does. She remembers the first time she pulled the president trump card, how quickly he came, how hard. He had let out a growl so intense that she might have been frightened had it not been for her own immediate climax.
Her whole body begins to hum in pleasure as she thinks of him-the weight of his body on top of her own, the way he looks when she’s straddling his hips, the way her name sounds on his rough, gravely tongue when he cries out her name. She wonders if it would be too obvious if she left in that moment to return to her tent and take care of the mounting tension between her thighs. It wouldn’t be as good as Bill, but it would be something, anything, to take the edge off until he comes back.
“Mmm…I know that look,” Ellen says, pressing her finger against Laura’s cheek. “It’s the same look I’ve got.” She jostles the bottle, nestling it against the former president’s leg. “I think it’s time for me to find my husband.”
Laura may not be obvious, but Ellen always is. She watches the other woman brush the dirt off her backside before she tugs on her tight shirt, rearranging her cleavage to appear lethally seductive. Saul won’t be able to resist. “Have fun.”
“Oh you know I will, honey.” Ellen heads toward the settlement but stops, turning to look at Laura. “By the way: Saul’s going back up to Galactica tomorrow… I’m sure I can convince him to have a little chat with Bill.” Before Laura can decline the offer, Ellen cackles naughtily and skips off.
As always, exchanges between Laura and Ellen are brief. They’re not friends, not exactly, but Laura doesn’t mind her so much anymore. Friends are sparse these days, especially now that people either pity her for losing the election or are put off by her former unapproachable air.
She lies back, curling her arm beneath her head. She stares up at the twinkling stars above, swirling and bleeding together like a painting. Bill’s up there, keeping a lonely watch on them all from his lookout post in the sky. She can’t blame him for doing his job, for keeping them safe.
She thinks of Ellen’s promise and is feeling too frakking good to be angry about her meddling. If Saul tells him to take a break, he will…
…and Laura will be waiting for him.
---