Decisions III

He held her hand.

It was such a simple thing, a common gesture of the smitten, of people long in love and comfortable with each other. He often held it when they made love, or when they slept, but rarely when they walked about. Then, he usually tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, escorting her as a proper gentleman.

But not today.

No, today, he held her hand as they walked through her office building then out into the unseasonably warm day, into the sunlight and gentle afternoon breeze, and she loved it.

She loved the way his fingers felt gently laced with hers, how he stayed right at her side so he never pulled her arm forward or back, how their hands bumped loosely back and forth between their bodies as they walked.

She felt herself smiling, she was so happy, all the frustrations of the morning seemingly vanishing with the gentle, warm presence of his palm pressed to hers.

She was hopelessly in love with him, found herself wishing she could take him with her to the rest of the meetings this afternoon in hopes he might ward off most of the unpleasantness she expected.

Truth be told, she’d rather skip them altogether and spend the rest of the workday discussing Galactica with him.

He truly was proving to be an invaluable resource. Even if he didn’t take the command, he was still passing along knowledge that was going to benefit the project. She was more than grateful for his input since her knowledge of the military was so limited. She found herself especially looking forward to the tour of the ship more now that he was going to take her. It wasn’t that she hadn’t been interested before, but that every officer she’d discussed this project with in the past had seemed to just barely tolerate her questions as she tried to expand her knowledge of military protocol, history and equipment. She expected that would be different with Bill as her guide.

Personally, and definitely selfishly, she welcomed the opportunity to spend time with him in capacities she otherwise might not. Their conversation earlier, even though she was disappointed about the networked computer system, only supported up her growing belief that they could work well together on this project.

Her only concern with that was a purely personal one: That if he took the command, he would be out there and not on Caprica with her much of the time. It was the nature of the job and she respected that, would accept it if he chose to take it, just as she’d told him she would, but it was still a drawback in comparison to his retiring and them building a home and life together.

She had no doubt he had and would continue to consider that as he thought about whether or not to accept the post on Galactica. She suspected he would talk with her about it, too, at some point. But not now.

Right now, he appeared to have other things on his mind, she mused as he led her to the newsstand and picked out several home-building and decorating magazines, as well as a few free real estate circulars.

After he paid for the magazines, he leaned over and whispered in her ear, giving her a choice of destinations to look at them: The park not far away or one of the nearby hotels.

It was not an easy decision to make. Both had their perks and she wasn’t sure which she wanted most at the moment: Fresh air and sunshine or soft sheets and room service?

In the end, luxury won. She wanted to shed her suit, stretch out on a comfortable bed, and close her eyes and listen to him read. She knew she was risking tardiness by laying down with him, considering how things tended to go when they got near a bed, so she warned him that she could not be late getting back.

He just smiled. “I’ll have you back in time,” he assured her.

The instant her skin touched the sheets, she knew she’d made the right choice. They were so very soft, a fine woven silk and the bed beyond comfortable. “We need to find out who makes this mattress,” she said as stretched out on her stomach, her body bare save for her panties.

“It is comfortable.” Bill’s voice came from beside her as he lay on his back in his boxers, tanks, and dogtags.

She folded her arms and propped her head on her hands, looked over at him. He had his glasses on, his head tilted just-so on the pillow so that he could peruse the magazines.

“So, do we build or buy?” she asked and watched him smile.

“We can do either,” he reminded her then proceeded to outline a plan for how they might proceed, which involved looking at existing properties in conjunction with fact-finding on land and construction costs for custom building to determine which would give them what they wanted at the best price.

She could agree with that course of action. It was smart and financially responsible, but didn’t shortchange their less-than-practical wants. She’d been thinking something along the same lines herself and was glad to hear they were in accordance.

“Guess we need to decide what areas we might want to live first,” she said softly.

“You want to keep your place?” he asked.

She wasn’t sure about that yet and told him so. “Maybe. I don’t know. We don’t have to decide that now, though.”

“Yeah,” he replied as he pulled the top magazine off the short stack on the nightstand. It was a real estate listings’ one.

She closed her eyes. “Just remember, not too far out. If we don’t keep my place, I really don’t want a long commute.”

“I remember.” She heard him turn the pages of the magazine. “What about weather? You want a change of seasons?”

“Think it’s unavoidable if we remain near the city,” she murmured, listening to him breathe and thumb through more pages.

When she thought about it, she decided that might be best, that way they wouldn’t have to decide between warmer and cooler climates. She’d spent time in both, recently, with Bill and she’d be hard pressed to choose between which she’d liked better, Qualai or the warmer little coastal town several-hours to the south. She’d enjoyed both places — the weather, the people, the food, and could live with any and all of it, with him.

“Under an hour on the commute?” he clarified.

“Mmmm-hmmm, please. As short as possible,” she hummed, then added, “I would think the prices are better the farther out we go … so long as we don’t venture into any resort areas or CEO hideaway territories.”

He chuckled but didn’t say anything, likely trying to picture them living in between big hotels or palatial seaside mansions with private beaches. Neither of them would be happy living in either of those kinds of places.

No, they would fit in someplace small, a little community with charm and character, that had a great used bookshop, a variety of quaint restaurants, and a marina to moor their boat. That’s all they needed really, and their home needed to fit in with their surroundings.

She didn’t want some ostentatious or vulgar feat of architecture that was ultimately a waste of money and did nothing but draw attention to itself. Nor did she want a house that looked like every other one on the block, the way they did in the upscale subdivisions cropping up around Caprica City. Cookie-cutter neighborhoods, that’s what she’d come to think of them as since they lacked any sense of originality. They were also woefully overpriced, which is why she’d never even considered selling her place before now.

No, she wanted hers and Bill’s home to fit in and for it to be uniquely theirs, modest but with the indulgent luxuries they wanted. Even still, she admitted to herself that she would probably be just as happy in a little beach cottage as the dream home she’d been envisioning — so long as the bathroom sported a big tub for soaking and the bedroom a comfortable bed.

She figured Bill was of a similar mind, knew he was used to living very modestly, if not austerely. He never seemed to need or want much, she’d noted, but he definitely wasn’t afraid of dropping cubits on the finer things. He had certainly treated her well since she’d known him — without the obvious motive of trying to impress her — and she had only to open her eyes and look around to see exactly how well.

They were in the most expensive hotel in the city, just a block down from her office building, and he’d paid for a night without batting an eye. Not an hour, but the whole night, and she doubted he’d planned for them to come back later.

But maybe we should, she thought. There was no use in wasting the cubits and she had a spare suit in the closet in her office, a backup in case of an unfortunate coffee spill or something of the sort, so she’d have something to wear in the morning. That just left him and she knew he could always go back to the house in the morning, after seeing her off to work.

Opening her eyes, she saw him still looking at the magazine quietly. She slid her hand across the bed to touch his arm, caressing the thick bulge of his biceps. His eyes sought her out.

She stroked her fingers over his skin. “Let’s come back here tonight,” she said softly.

He lowered the magazine, lifted his head and repositioned it on the pillow to a more comfortable angle. His eyes searched hers as he moved one hand over to brush his knuckles back and forth against her lower back. It felt good … really good, making her sigh and close her eyes.

His reply came then, a raspy, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, giving his arm a squeeze and forcing her eyelids open to find him still looking at her, his expression soft with affection. It made her heart flutter.

After his rumbled “okay,” she watched him set the magazine aside, with the others on the nightstand, then slowly turn onto his side and move closer to her, guiding her hand back up beside her head.

His fingers skimmed along the line of her arm, to her back, then caressed slowly downward to the curve of her ass. She shut her eyes and sighed his name with a note of warning when his hand slipped beneath the waistband of her panties and began massaging her cheeks.

He just shushed her then touched his lips to her temple, lingering as he leaned his body against hers, sliding a leg over the backs of hers. The jangle of his dogtags suddenly falling to the side aroused her, made her hum. The soft, warm, leisurely trail of his mouth across her upper arm and shoulder made her moan.

When his fingers dipped down in search of the evidence of her arousal, she parted her legs in surrender, earning a chuckle from her lover with her half-groaned, half-laughed, “Oh, what the hell.”

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