Beautiful

Admiral William Adama thought Laura Roslin was a beautiful woman.

The president of the Twelve Colonies always carried herself with a classy elegance that bespoke of a woman of propriety, intelligence and confidence, without vanity or conceit. But when she was astride him, the stars themselves would be jealous of her radiance.

Bill could not take his eyes off her, could not stop his fingers from sinking into her hips as she rode him with a loving carnality that eclipsed the divine.

This was beyond sex. This was beyond anything he’d ever known with any woman, his once-beloved Carolanne included. He was completely enraptured, ensnared into Laura’s orbit. She was his bright and shining star, the one that had laid claim to his heart without even realizing she’d done so. He wanted her. He needed her. He loved her.

Gods, how he loved her.

It had come as such a surprise even to himself. They’d gotten off on the wrong foot so many times and in so many ways. For frak’s sake, he’d initiated a military coup against her, and she’d suborned the mutiny of one of his trusted officers, not once, but twice.

It shouldn’t have happened. He shouldn’t have fallen for the former school teacher turned prophet and president. The admiral of the Colonial Fleet couldn’t afford the conflict of interest, nor could she. But gods, he couldn’t help it. Didn’t want to. He loved her. She made his heart beat again. It hadn’t beat in so long. Numbness. That’s all he’d felt for years and years. But he felt everything now, keenly. Love, passion, pain, fear, pleasure, peace.

“Laura,” he moaned, unable to hide what he felt as she took what he had to give her, only her. There would be no other, he knew. In the depths of his soul, he knew. When she died, she would take his soul with her. His heart, too. Life would not be worth living without her.

Motherfrakking cancer!

With a growl, Bill sat up and showered her cancer-stricken breast with kisses, as if he could frighten it away with the intensity of his affection. It was fierce, a fire burning deep within him that threatened to devour him whenever they were like this, giving and taking in the most intimate of ways. He wanted to let go and love her completely, to shout to the heavens the joy he felt in the face of all the pain and suffering that awaited and the burdens of their roles outside his quarters. But she was afraid and distracted, consumed with the need to complete her mission. So she held back and let him only so close.

He ached with the need for more, but he would not push her. He understood her purpose. He loved her for it, her selflessness. The people came first, these last remnants of humanity that had become their shared responsibility. Only here in the dark did she … did they allow themselves to be selfish. Only here did their needs come first. And even then, not always.

But we do now, right now, he thought as her hands held his head to her chest. His heart surged against his ribs when she kissed the crown of his head, her breath hot against his scalp. Her hands slid down his back, the heels pressing into the muscles, fingertips joining in as she arched her back with a mewling cry of his name.

He looked up at her in wonder, his heart lost to her yet again at seeing the look of rapture on her face, the tangled mass of her hair, the sweat-darkened tendrils that sprawled against the slick skin of her forehead. Ah, and the elegant line of her neck.

Gods, but she was beautiful. A woman in full bloom, glorious in shape and texture, in scent and taste. She was ripe for his picking. He had only to wait, to be patient and steadfast. It was agony, but he could and would endure. He loved her that much. He needed her that much. He…

…came, his body racked with a violent shudder, letting go the way he longed for her to loose his heart so he could love her without restraint.

Barely recovered, he continued kissing her breasts, his hands moving from her hips to cup and hold the soft mounds of flesh. He couldn’t help himself. She’d just told him a few hours earlier that the damned disease had returned.

Gods damned, motherfrakking cancer!

Cold fury raced through him at the unfairness, but her voice calmed him. It was only a soft murmur of his name, barely audible over the pounding of his heart, but he heard it and felt the rage die away, replaced with a swell of tenderness that he’d only ever felt with her. The urge to protect and care for her was a strong one. It had gnawed incessantly at him when she’d been trapped on New Caprica under Cylon rule and he on the Galactica light-years away. It had nearly driven him mad.

But she was here, with him now. He could protect her and care for her.

His hands moved from her breasts to touch every part of her he could reach. Skating caresses that made her shiver. He explored the landscape of her body, the plains, valleys and curves. She was indeed lovely, a work of art, the marks of age her pride and glory.

He brushed his fingertips over the wrinkles at the corners of each of her eyes. He adored them, how they deepened when she smiled, as she was doing at this moment. He adored her, all of her, everything that made her who she was.

The stubbornness that so often clashed with his own. The tenacity that had gotten them all this far in their journey. The immense strength that bore the burdens of every living soul under her wing. The intelligence and keen insight that bordered on uncanny at times and guided them. The unwavering confidence that bolstered his own. The reason and compassion that defined her and frequently surprised others when they encountered them.

But there was so much more to her than those traits. Those were the things most everyone saw. Those were what she let people see. He knew more. She let him see more.

He knew the woman she hid beneath it all. The lighthearted one who had a deliciously wicked sense of humor and a laugh that almost always triggered his own. The vulnerable one who often bestowed the gentlest of smiles when he least expected it. The devastatingly feminine one who stirred in him all those things a man feels for a woman, those of the flesh and heart. Then there was the fragile one, who was bone-weary and at times afraid.

That was the woman he made love to this night. Learning of her cancer’s return had shaken her and against all prudence, she’d come to him, to his bed, seeking a connection, comfort, assurance, and, yes, love.

It was crazy. He was a sitting judge in Dr. Gaius Baltar’s trial and she a chief witness. But Bill hadn’t hesitated. He had just loved her, was loving her still as his hands slid down along her neck, returning to her chest. His mouth followed, kissing the tip of each breast with reverence.

Her arms wrapped around his neck, as she rested her cheek atop his head. He felt hot tears fall to his scalp, but he made no comment. She didn’t cry often. She was not the kind of woman to give into deep, painful emotions easily. And when she did, she certainly didn’t do so in front of others. But she cried now, quiet tears. He let her as he worshiped her with his hands and mouth.

This wasn’t their first time. New Caprica had been the birthplace of the physical dimension of their relationship. They’d spent a number of nights there indulging in the delights of the flesh and exploring the feelings that bound them. There had been no conversations about emotions or anything of the like. There had been no need. They’d both known what was between them, even if they hadn’t put a name to it. And they still knew it.

There was no mistaking the strength of it either. This was not a passing fancy, nor infatuation. They were a part of each other. They had connected somewhere along the way and the bond had been forged so deep, so completely that they were no longer separate beings. They were one in heart and mind and purpose. Even when they were apart. Even when they had disagreements. They were joined, inseparable, even though she still held back.

This is what he’d wanted with Carolanne, but she’d been bitter and angry, and denied him.

But not Laura. She embraced it. She embraced him. She accepted him and what he had to give. She welcomed him with open arms and returned it, as much as she dared for now. She would break free of her fear and the distractions one day, and he would be waiting. Until then, he accepted what she could give. He cherished it as he cherished her, determined to slowly melt away her fear and overshadow those distractions with tenderness and steadfastness. He wanted her to let go with him because he knew she needed what he could and wanted to give her. He saw the hunger in her for it. She was clean starved, just as he was for what she refrained from completely giving him.

Her whispered “kiss me” drew his head up from her breasts. She met his mouth and he kissed her, pressing his lips to hers and lingering, lingering before kissing her slow and soft. He tasted her tears. His hand slid up her back, holding her close. He lay back, taking her with him, thrilling at the soft, contented hum that rose in her throat. He loved when she made that sound. It was so distinctly her.

His kisses moved from her mouth to her cheek. He nuzzled her lightly, whispering brushes of his lips to her tear-stained skin. She held to him even though she was above him. She nuzzled him in return, deliberately rasping against the emerging stubble of his beard. He smiled.

“If you’re not careful, you’re going to have whisker burn.”

He felt her cheek draw up as she smiled. Her voice had a husky, but amused quality when she spoke.

“So give it to me somewhere no one will see.”

Invitations like that were enough to drive a man insane, but it made Bill Adama laugh, just as she’d intended.

She drew back and looked down at him. His hands caught her hair and pulled it away so that she was not lost in shadow. She was smiling at him one of those smiles that made his heart long to shoot straight out of his chest and meld with hers.

No. Bill Adama did not fool himself. He loved Laura Roslin.

And she knew it. He saw it in her eyes, which brimmed with new-sprung tears, and in the softening of her smile. It frightened her, but she didn’t run from it. As always, she accepted it quietly and with gratitude. She did so now, bowing to kiss him again, a soft “thank you” whispered against his mouth.

No. Thank you, Bill told her silently, joy untold filling him at having his love accepted as he gave it, without subjecting it to expectations or trying to change it or him.

“Laura,” he breathed when she pulled her lips from his and whispered his own before burying her face in his neck. He could feel her heart pounding. She trembled against him. He held her close and slowly turned them both until they lay on their sides facing each other. His hand moved down and gripped her thigh, drew it up over his hip as he sought out her mouth with his. He kissed her slowly and deeply, until her hands grew restless and moved over him possessively.

Gods, there was such a fire in her. So few would guess that their calm, cool, collected president was filled with such deep emotion and passion, had such needs and desires. But he knew. Knew it well, because he felt the same.

To do their jobs, they had to wear the masks that people expected of them, be the leaders they needed to be so their charges would follow. But it cost them to do so, requiring them to bury their personal feelings and very human needs so deep that when they were allowed out, when they finally came to the surface, there was sometimes a desperation in the unleashing.

They were both feeling that desperation now, magnified by the pain at the unwelcome news of her cancer’s return, and the deep-seated longing of two hearts that wanted to break free of all impediment.

Bill ached with it, turning his kisses hard and hungry. He tried to pull back to temper them, but she wouldn’t allow it. She followed him, her own kisses just as insistent as her hands sank into his hair and held him to her. So he took her. He rolled her onto her back, moved over her, and took her long and hard and deep, with her encouraging him every step of the way, goading with fervent whispers, ardent caresses, and searing, hard kisses.

Bill watched her as she moved under him. She was glorious in her wantonness, a woman pared down to her essence, a feral creature who took what she wanted and gave in return. So beautiful and alive.

So very alive!

There was no anger in her manner, but he felt her rage against the disease poised to ravage her body for a second time. He understood it. It mirrored his own fury at the unfairness. The thought of losing her…

“Laura,” he rasped and fought to calm himself, then to calm her.

He captured her face in his hands and kissed her with all the tenderness he could muster until, finally, she eased. She trembled unceasingly, hummed low in her throat with each soft kiss he bestowed to her lips.

Though he did not speak, he told her he loved her with each one. He strove to imprint it on her heart, determined that she know without a shadow of a doubt that he was hers and always would be, and that he would be at her side whatever came, no matter the pain or cost. It’s where he’d been since Kobol. It was where he belonged, always had, and nothing would move him from it.

When he finally pulled back and looked at her, he watched her start to speak but then stop as if she didn’t know what to say. He could identify. He had no words either so he just smiled at her and watched as a gentle smile slowly blossomed across her face, curling her mouth and lighting her eyes.

Gods, but she was beautiful.