Slide 23: Lovers’ Passage

Laura Roslin arched her back and moaned, a sound that blended perfectly with the muted creak of the leather-covered cushions beneath her. The man between her thighs was trying to kill her, slowly, with pleasure. She was drowning in it as he adored her in ways she hadn’t experienced in ages. And he was showing no sign of stopping.

It had started after dinner. They’d sat side by side on the couch, sipped glasses of Caprican brandy and talked for a while. When she’d mentioned moving to the surface and her reticence, considering the accommodations that awaited her, he’d leaned over and kissed her. It had been a soft kiss, gentle and sweet, reassuring, but when it had ended, she’d been left with a hunger for more, and sought it. He’d obliged without question, simply enveloping her in his arms and returning her kiss, deepening it.

Things had progressed from there, clothing opened, kisses detouring to newly exposed skin, caresses finding sensitive places, making her breathless and filling her with a slow-burning need. Eventually, he’d eased her back onto the cushions and set about quenching that need, stoking the heat with a devotion that bordered on worship.

Laura felt completely unworthy but she damned sure wasn’t going to turn it away, not when it felt so frakking good to be treated like a woman, as sexy and desirable, and so very much wanted…

“Gods,” she gasped, her hands fisting in his hair as air and cognitive thought became increasingly difficult to come by. He was taking his time, being very thorough, and yet there was nothing mechanical or calculated about it. His every move was fluid and tender, a wandering journey to wherever interested him most in the moment, lingering when he found a place that caused her to gasp, moan, grip his hair tighter or caused her rhythmic undulations to falter. He was learning her, she realized, and he was one hell of a student, fervent, attentive and disciplined.

And the mustache, or rather the beginnings of it, and the scruff of beard that peppered his chin, cheeks and jaw… It was safe to say her curiosity was satisfied, along with the rest of her.

Looking down along her still partially-clothed body, Laura watched him, warmth that had nothing to do with passion filling her at seeing the gentleness of his expression. She eased her grip in his hair and ran her fingers through it, one hand then the other, gliding through the salt-and-pepper waves in a reciprocal caress.

Blue eyes opened, met hers. “Good?” he murmured against her flesh.

Laura nodded and smiled as she hummed a soft “Mmm, very.”

In response, strong hands, warm and lightly calloused, moved to her thighs, stroked from hip to knee then back again, moving past her skirt, which was bunched at her waist, to her belly then her breasts, which were spilled out of her bra. His mouth followed, trailing damp kisses over her heated skin, as he rose up over her, one foot on the floor, one knee pressing into the cushions of the couch.

Laura slid her hands beneath his tanks and over the plane of his shoulders, fingers flexing to caress the shifting muscles as he bowed and lavished the soft mounds. She melted under the steady pull of lips and tongue, the burn of his whiskers to her sensitive skin.

With a deep moan, Laura shut her eyes and hooked her legs over his hips even as she arched again, pressing into the hot cavern of his mouth. He groaned around her, hands sliding up to her shoulders to push the material of her shirt back. His fingers rounded the curve of them in an elegant caress that made her tremble. Then they were under her, grazing the bow of her back, finding the zipper on her skirt. He eased it down then slipped his hands beneath, cupped the roundness of her behind, lifting her into the thrust of his desire, still restrained but unmistakable.

His mouth found hers, kissed it soft and slow. His voice rasped against her lips. “Tell me you want me to frak you, Laura. I want to hear you say it.”

Yearning like a river of fire raced through Laura at his words, igniting more than her flesh. “Bill,” she gasped.

One hand came up to touch her cheek, cradle it gently. She looked up and beheld vibrant blue eyes, beseeching, filled with something more than lust. “Say it, Laura.” His voice was filled with longing. “Let me hear it.”

Laura could not deny him, nor the truth of the words he wanted her to say because she wanted him. On a rushed breath, she gave him what he sought with a throaty, “Frak me, Bill.”

His eyes drifted closed and he bowed his head, touching his brow to hers. His breath was hot across her face. “I love hearing you say that,” he rasped, his thumb dragging across her cheek. Laura sensed the truth in that confession, that there were layers to it, as complex as the man who uttered it.

Sliding a hand up into his hair, Laura massaged his scalp with deft fingertips, tilted her head back and touched her lips to his. She murmured softly, “I want you, Bill Adama.”

A heavy shudder greeted her words, a whisper of her name followed, and then a kiss, searing, slow and deep. It was a loving of her mouth. She tasted herself in it.

His other hand came up and he held her face with a gentleness that defied the level of need she felt from him, that spoke to the feelings that always ran beneath the surface with them, ones he was less prone to hide, ones she feared she could easily reciprocate in full if she allowed herself. If they weren’t here at the ends of their worlds, strapped with responsibilities and burdens neither truly wanted, but neither could shirk.

And he knew it, of that she had no doubt. But he didn’t push or demand. He just kissed her, just gave her what she needed, how she needed it, and accepted what she gave him as if it was the most precious gift he’d ever received.

His hands slid from her face, grazing along her neck to her breasts. He cupped them, massaged them, thumbed the hard peaks before sliding his hands under her in search of the closures. He eased them free as his lips slipped from hers. “I want to see all of you,” he whispered, the tone of his voice sending shivers of delight down her spine.

“And you,” she breathed, her hands easing down his chest to the hem of his tanks.

Slipping beneath, her fingers mapped his belly and chest, pulling the material up as her hands moved higher. His dog tags swung free, the warm, heavy metal dropping to her chest, dancing across her skin as he stripped the shirts off then helped her with her own. Her bra followed, then her skirt and the remainder of his clothing.

As he leaned back over her, he eased his dog tags around to his back. She ran her hands over his chest, one slipping down to his belly, below.

“Laura,” he breathed, covering her hand with his, stilling her purposeful caress.

“Good?” she whispered.

A crooked grin graced his mouth. “Too good.”

Laura smiled, loving how amusement filled his voice. “I know what would feel even better,” she said, eyes widening in suggestion and teasing invitation.

He played along, murmured suggestively, “Oh you do?”

Laura nodded slowly as his hand released hers, came to rest on her thigh. She guided him where she wanted. “Yes,” she breathed then moaned when he pushed into her, eyes fluttering shut as a pleasurable tension washed over her.

Bill lowered his body to hers as he settled. “Mmm, better,” he whispered.

Laura looked up at him, found him still smiling, and then he was laughing, softly, a hand touching her face again. His blue eyes were playful, teeming with warmth and easy affection, a complimentary counterpoint to the desire she saw there, too. It was an irresistible cocktail, one that required she take a drink. She did, laughing softly and wrapping her arms around him.

As she did, soul-deep contentment embraced her. It wasn’t something she’d felt often in her life and the arrival of it now had her laughter trailing off into a hum that reflected what she was feeling.

Hand sliding up, she touched the side of his face, fingers feathering over his weathered features, through the stubble that adorned them, across his mouth, tracing his ever-softening smile. The moment was perfect, as was the kiss that he gave her when she lifted her head from the couch and touched her lips to his.

She kept her eyes open long enough to see his drift shut, feel the brush of his lashes. Then, closing her own, she gave herself up to what flowed between them. The slow burn of desire and the feelings that fueled it.

Soft, wet kisses, languid and powerful set the tone for their lovemaking. Gasps and moans blended with the groan of leather. Skin glided tantalizingly against skin and Laura Roslin rode a wave of need so high she felt as though she was flying.

His name was a metronome, falling from her lips with each penetration, steady, rhythmic, a panting whisper against his mouth, into it. Her own came in echo on every other beat. He caught her hands and stretched her arms out above her head, fingers locking tight with hers as he pressed them back into the cushions.

In the eddy, his eyes found hers. They were dark and intense, blue seas saturated with the yearning she felt in his body as it moved above and inside her, the same yearning she felt for him as she strained to meet him, to find that moment of grace sublime.

To her joy, in a rush of heat and with deep moans of satisfaction, they found it together and rode the resulting wave of ecstasy to its ebb.

In its wake, Laura trembled uncontrollably and Bill collapsed atop her, chest heaving. Easing her hands from his, she ran one through his sweat-soaked hair while the other slid down his back, held him as he pressed his cheek to hers, whispering her name.

They lay like that for a long while, neither speaking or moving beyond brief touches of comfort, the occasional kiss to damp skin. Eventually, though, Bill eased from her and Laura found herself immediately grieving the loss of his warmth, the closeness. Her hands followed him as he moved away, stroking over his chest and arms, his face. He gave her a gentle smile, kissed her fingers when she touched his mouth.

“I’m not going far,” he reassured her.

Laura nodded, not surprised that he’d surmised the reason for her reaction. He was an attentive lover in all respects. And he was a man of his word, going only as far as he needed to retrieve his shirts. He used them to clean himself, then her, before pulling her up and into his lap. He then grasped the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapped it around her.

Laura whispered a soft “thank you” and threaded her fingers into his hair, brushing the tousled locks back from his brow. He leaned his head back against the cushions and looked up at her, his expression soft, warm. He watched her as she continued raking her fingers through the thick waves, again and again until eventually his eyes drifted shut. He sighed then, long and deep, and brought his hands to rest on her hips, and that’s where they remained even after he dozed off.

The sight warmed her heart and sparked in her an unexpected wave of protectiveness at seeing how vulnerable he looked under her touch.

Leaning down, Laura whispered her lips across his brow in a series of delicate kisses. He stirred at the touches of her lips, hands sliding around and up her back, drawing her body to his. There were kisses to her chin, then her mouth when she ducked beneath his nose.

Soft … so soft … lingering … again … again … again …

“Gods, you’re good at that,” Laura hummed when their mouths finally parted.

He grinned at her but it was without an ounce of smugness. She saw only happiness in his eyes, a peace. She understood the presence of both because she felt the same. And she didn’t stop to analyze it. She just welcomed it, with him. After a year of war and strife, it was a treasure beyond measure.

“Let’s go to bed,” she whispered, finger skimming along his jaw.

In response, he kissed her once more, murmured softly, “Yes.”

< Slide 22: Present Friends, Past Secrets and Future Worries | Slide 24: Just Feel >