?

Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous Entry | Next Entry

BSG Porn Battle #3 Entries


The Heart of the Problem, Kara/Lee, poetry, teeny-tiny towels
You didn't mean to say it. Well, no, you did. But you didn't mean it that way. Okay, that's a lie too. You did—do, always have—felt that way. But you didn't mean to actually tell her. It could've gone worse, you suppose. She could have closed off, shut you out for good, and you half-expected her to. And even though she graciously let you laugh your way out of it, now it's out in the open—one big frakking elephant in the bunkroom.

You love Kara Thrace.

It seems like ever since you said it, you can't lie to yourself anymore. And everything seems so much clearer—the brightness of her smile, the fierceness in her eyes, the way her voice sounds like sex over the comms, and you can't help but wonder if it's always been that way or if she's just not ready to let you off the hook. Either way, your head is just full of her until you can't even close your eyes at night without it all overwhelming you, until the wanting for her is rushing through your veins and you bite your lip to stay quiet, because if she knew what you did behind the curtain of your rack—thinking about her crawling on top of you, taking you inside her, riding you any way she wants to—she’d really never let you live it down.

It always starts off innocently. Like now—she’s complaining about a fifteen hour shift and you tell her to get used to it. Times are tough right now—and you're the CAG, you need to keep your head clear, but apparently you're not even clear enough to grab the right towel, you shift to keep the tiny thing around your waist. She makes a crack at Tigh’s expense—just bunkroom banter, nothing unusual; until you say she wouldn’t know poetry if it was hot-soldered across her helmet.

It stops being innocent.

Her lips curl into that know-it-all smirk before they’re dripping with verse and she’s sauntering towards you, bare-legged and brilliant, and all of a sudden there is nothing in the room but her. Her eyes are wicked because she knows she won this round, and she’s standing so close—close enough that you can feel the heat coming off of her, the smell of regulation soap on her skin, but far enough away that you’d have to move to touch her.

You can’t just brush against her, no little tilt of the head to reach her lips. To kiss her would have to be deliberate and it looks like she’s daring you. Daring you to push her back against the ladder, pin her there with hips and lips; daring you to drop that stupid frakking towel and let your hands wander, fingers sliding over her belly and slipping beneath the thin, grey briefs and make her come apart in your hands.

And gods, you almost do it, because you don’t know how much longer before you just go crazy. But you don’t because the second you make up your mind there are screaming nuggets and a film crew and if you believed in the gods you’d be wondering if they could possibly have a worse sense of timing. It isn’t hard to muster up the CAG voice to snap at Kat. But you’re still a little foggy—the blood that hasn’t quite returned to your brain—so when the reporter holds out her hand to shake, you reach for her hand and drop the towel in the process. You catch it before you get to show the camera just how arousing you find the combination of Starbuck and verse, but not before you’ve given Kara a fantastic view of your ass—not like she hasn’t seen it before, but not shortly after reciting poetry half-naked at you.

If you thought getting rid of the film crew would solve your problems, you’re wrong. Kara’s fully dressed and watching you with that same wicked smile and you’re trapped. Can’t get dressed, dropping your towel shows her she wins. Just got out of the shower, so that’s out of the question. You have no reason to go lie down and pull the curtain closed on your rack. There has to be a solution but you can’t really think of it right now—not when she’s grinning at you like that.

You are well and truly frakked.

Or, actually, not… and that is really the heart of the problem.


Prophets, Kara/Janis (Flashforward Crossover), thumb ring, Kara/Lee, always come back

It’s early November when Janis decides she should drink while she still has the chance. In a couple of weeks, she won’t be drinking anymore—not when she has one in the oven. So every night, after work, she finds herself here, belly up to the bar and tossing back a few before going home.

She briefly finds herself wondering if this is how it happens. She’d prefer to think it’s just because she had a just a few too many and one guy just looks particularly attractive through the beer goggles. There are other possibilities but she prefers not to think about them and just keep her gun by her side.

Men have just never been her thing—the woman sitting three stools down to her right is really more her speed. And, she takes a closer look, it had only been a passing thought but fuck, that woman is gorgeous—short blonde hair, fierce green eyes, great physique and she’s pounding back whiskey like she’s going for a world record.

When she sets her glass back on the table, Janis catches a glint of light bouncing off a silver band around the woman’s left thumb before glancing down at her own. Well, Geyer had been right about her. Janis finishes her drink before deciding to give it a shot—she isn’t exactly ready to go home yet.

“What did you see?” she asks, glancing sideways at the woman.

She doesn’t turn, just keeps staring straight ahead, tips a shot glass to her lips and says, “What does it matter?” Her voice is rough and strong but there’s something alluring that hits Janis in all the right places and a few she’s not even sure about. Just something about her.

“Seems as good a conversation starter as any these days,” Janis replies, feeling a little bolder. She always likes a good challenge.

The woman downs her drink and finally locks eyes with her and the woman can’t be much older than she is, if older at all, but she’s got a look that says she’s seen it all before. “I’ve done futures set in stone. They’re really not all they’re cracked up to be.”

“Got a lot of experience with fate?”

“More like cosmic jokes.” The woman’s smile is dry, sardonic, and she shakes her head as she signals the bartender for another drink. Two other drinks, actually, and Janis slides a few seats closer. “We saw two minutes—”

“Two minutes and seventeen seconds,” Janis corrects.

“Whatever. Two minutes of hallucinated crap that just can’t happen. So why bother worrying about it? Just,” she pauses and shakes her head. “Just dreams. That’s all they were.”

“Just dreams that all coincide with one another? That people can actually connect and corroborate?” Janis smirks at the slight hint of petulance. Doesn’t look like the other woman is happy to see the holes in her logic pointed out. But the moment she falters is the moment it’s gone and Janis holds her hand out to her. “Agent Janis Hawk, FBI. I work on the Mosaic Collective.”

The woman accepts her hand. “Kara Thrace.” The bartender sets two drinks in front of them.

“So, Kara. If you don’t believe in the flashforwards, what do you believe in?”

Three drinks and an hour later they’re back in Janis’s apartment, tripping through the doorway, because Janis doesn’t know when in the last thirty minutes they couldn’t keep their hands off each other, but the only thing on her mind was bedroom, now because she might as well have a life while before the baby.

It’s her place, but Janis is pretty sure Kara’s the one in charge tonight, shoving her backwards onto the bed and landing with a soft bounce and a drunken laugh, and Kara grins. “See any of this in your future?” And before she can answer Kara’s lips are on hers, hungry and fierce, as her hands rip open her blouse. No, she didn’t, she thinks, but damn. Janis is fleetingly grateful she wore a skirt to work today. Kara’s knee is pressed between her thighs, right up against where she’s wet and aching.

Janis’s hands skim up Kara’s back, under her shirt, her skin hot underneath, real and present and grounding her there. She gathers up Kara’s shirt and bra and tugs them over her head in one swift yank, forcing them to break the kiss for one moment, one moment so agonizingly long that Janis can’t wait for it to be over. But it stretches out and Kara is looking at her like the moment is all there is. No future. No prophecies. Just now.

And then she seems to decide there’s a better now to be had. Kara wrestles herself out of her pants, and Janis shimmies out of her skirt and their mouths fuse together again, and bodies follow, legs tangled and pressing intimately against each other. Janis arches into her, rubbing herself against the firm muscle of Kara’s thigh, feeling Kara’s wetness against her own. Both of them desperate for the present, to feel something right now, futures be damned.

Janis feels the moment flood her, pleasure coursing through her body, and for that moment, everything else just fades away.

Later, Janis lies in her bed, watching Kara pull her clothes back on. “You know, I knew someone who said he could see the future once. He was insane.” Kara zips up her pants as a punctuation mark on the sentence.

Janis gets up, walks over to her closet, and pulls on a robe. “You never told me what you saw.”

Kara tugs her shirt over her head and turns back to look at her. “You first.”

“Well,” Janis rolls onto her back and sighs. “I was at the OB, getting an ultrasound because I was seventeen weeks pregnant.”

Kara laughs, long and loud. “Not much of a prophecy. Keep hooking up with strangers in bars, and you just might.”

“And?”

Kara runs a hand through her sweat soaked hair and frowns. “I was at the airport.”

“Which airport?”

“Why the hell does it matter?” she snaps.

“Hazards of being FBI."

“Whatever. I was at the airport. Running to catch a flight, when I ran into a guy coming off a plane from London. Knocked him over and…”

Janis raises an eyebrow. “And?”

Kara pauses for a second, like she’s thinking of the best way to put it. “Felt like it was someone I knew.”

“And why don’t you believe that’s possible?”

Kara tugs on her jacket, and heads for the door. “Well, if it was who I think it was, we’ve just never had our timing right.”

Janis doesn’t ask any more questions, just sees her out. Knows she’ll probably never see her again, but decides to file this evening under pleasant unexpected surprises and goes to make herself a cup of tea.

The clock in the kitchen reads 4 AM, and she really should actually sleep before work, but there’s still a pleasant buzz humming in her veins and sleep seems like an impossibility. She takes her mug and settles down at her computer, then pulls up the Mosaic website. She raises the mug to her lips and takes a long drink, staring at the search box for a moment before typing in the keywords “LAX,” “London,” and “Blonde.”

A few hits come up on the site, but only one of them matches the description Kara had given her.

I’m getting off a flight from London to California at LAX. Just as I walk into the terminal, I’m knocked to the ground by a blonde woman. I look at her and it feels like I know her. Please, please contact with any information. –Lee Adama.

Silence, Athena/Helo let's get married, conjugal visits

Sharon stretches, long and liquid, draped across Karl, more out of necessity than anything else. The cot in the brig isn’t exactly big enough for them to lay side by side—hell it’s barely big enough for him on his own. His hands skim her sides and she lets out a content sigh, but it’s the only sound besides their breathing that fills the room.

It’s always like this lately. Every time Helo’s off duty, he’s there and saying he bribed the guards, even though she knows that now that he’s XO can just waltz right in whenever he pleases. But she lets him, because it feels secretive, special… feels like something. Makes it feel like there’s meaning when he holds her close, when he moves inside her, when she comes apart around him, and when he moans her name, voice raspy on the edge of pleasure.

Because when it’s over, when it’s this, she’s not sure this is anything at all. Everything is silence, and she wonders if maybe there’s just nothing left to say.

She tilts her head to look at him and his eyes are shut, his breathing even, probably asleep (he’s so useless after sex, she thinks fondly). She wants to reach up, run her fingers along his cheek, because after losing the baby, after her selfish hurt and anger, after ruining any chance of a future they could possibly have (God help her) she still loves him.

And if she loves him, she should let him go. Let him know that he doesn’t need to stay with her out of some misguided heart-of-gold loyalty. He’s a good man and he deserves—

“Sharon,” he breathes.

“Sorry. I thought you were asl—”

“Let’s get married.” A grin crosses his face and she feels her jaw go slack.

“What?”

“Married.” He sits up with her straddling his lap now, and she fights the urge to wrap her arms around his neck, but he wraps his around her waist. “Won’t exactly be a big white wedding or whatever, but I love you.” He pushes a lock of dark hair back from where it’s matted against her cheek with sweat. His hand presses against her cheek and he drops soft kisses along her jaw. “I love everything about you—even just being near you, just lying together makes me the happiest man alive.”

His lips hit that one spot under her ear that always makes her gasp. “You wouldn’t even be alive if it wasn’t for me.”

“And there’s that too.” He pulls back, locking his eyes on her. “You and me. The rest of our lives. What do you say?”

She doesn’t say anything, just presses her lips to his and tells him yes. They lie back against the cot, and she enjoys the sound of their breathing, together, in the silence of her cell.


And I Feel Fine, Kara/Lee, bunkmates, your rack or mine

“Looks like we’re bunkmates now.”

Kara is lying stretched out on her rack, cigar between her fingers, puffing lazy smoke rings as if she’s perfected the art. When he speaks she looks startled for a moment, watching Lee as he leans on the hatch. And then she’s on her feet, striding towards him with purpose. Her hands grip his face and without preamble her lips fuse to his. She tastes like fine fumarello leaf and he fleetingly thinks if she keeps this up he could get addicted to her. She drags her tongue across his lips and before his brain has time to say no, he opens his mouth to her—letting her drink him in, tongues tangling until he’s dizzy with the need to breathe. When she finally draws back, he’s panting for air.

“That was… that… why?”

Her hands stay firmly on his face, thumb brushing over his cheek. “I was just thinking—”

Cutting her off, he smirks. “You think?”

She swats at his arm, hard enough that it might actually bruise. “I thought you were dead, Lee.” Her gaze is harsh on his, voice rasping, before something softens. “And I should’ve done this the second I knew you weren’t.”

She descends on him again, not just lips but her whole body—all lean muscle under soft curves pressed flush against him, pinning him to the hatch. He is singularly failing to hide his obvious arousal.

“Kara, we really, really shouldn’t.”

She nips at his lower lip. “The worlds just ended. Gimme one reason why any of that frakking matters anymore.” She grinds her hips into his, and his head falls back as he gasps. “What do you say, Lee?”

He collects himself for a moment before he rasps out, “Your rack or mine?”

She flicks her gaze to the bunk across from hers and a wicked grin lights up her eyes. “Yours.”

Next thing he knows, Lee’s flat on his back in the unfamiliar bed, with Kara straddling his hips, fingers working furiously at the buttons on his duty blues and it suddenly hits him that he doesn’t actually have a spare change of clothes anymore. For the first time he starts to realize just what it means to be living after the apocalypse—frak the past, frak baggage, why the hell should those remain when nothing else is left.

Suddenly his hands are all over her, gathering her clothes, and shoving them aside until they’re both bare and she’s hovering over him, hot and slick and, gods, so gorgeous as she slides down over him. He digs his fingers into her hips, bucking up to meet her, and the sound of her moan would make his knees buckle if he wasn’t flat on his back.

She rocks up and slides down on him again and it’s his turn to moan. She sets the tempo and he follows her lead, thrust for thrust—pulls her down to rain kisses along her neck and shoulder as they rock against each other. “Oh, frak,” she gasps, all breath, bracing her elbows next to his head.

As her body starts to tense, he pulls her flush against him and, in one fluid movement, flips them over, bucking into her again and again. Harder and deeper and she arches up against him, her hands braced on his biceps. She’s chanting his name, as she shudders hard, clenching tight around him as she comes. And just the way she says it, “Lee,” is enough to send him spiraling after her.

He barely has time to collapse, half on top of her, muttering “Kara, I—” before the alarm sounds. Action stations. Action stations. Set condition one throughout the ship. This is not a drill. Repeat. This is not a drill.

She’s out from under him before the announcement is over, pulling her uniform on with a studied efficiency. “Figured the frakking toasters would find us eventually. Didn’t think it’d be this soon.”

He’s back in uniform a split second after her, and he is by her side as they race for the hangar deck. “Well, let’s get out there and make sure they don’t find us again.”

They’re in the launch tubes, ready to go when he hears her voice over the comm. “Don’t die on me, Apollo.”

“Never,” he says.

And it begins.



Discipline, Cain/Gina, shop talk

“Admiral.” Gina looked up, startled as she heard the heavy footfall of Helena Cain’s boots in the empty corridor.

“Ms. Inviere,” she said with a sharp nod, stepping directly behind her. “How is the navigation overhaul coming along.” Her breath is hot against her ear and it sends a shiver down her spine.

God, the human senses are something.

“Nearly done,” she said matter-of-factly. “If I work through the night, it should be complete tomorrow.” Gina let out a little gasp as Helena’s thumb brush against her thigh, drawing little circles with her thumb along the inner seam of her slacks.

“Wasn’t it scheduled to be in place last week?” One arm snaked around Gina’s waist, pulling her back against the Admiral’s surprisingly soft body.

“Sorry, sir.” She bit back a moan, Cain’s fingers were feather light between her legs, driving her just the littlest bit insane. “I seem to be a bit distracted lately.”

Cain’s teeth sank lightly into her earlobe, fingers pressing harder through the fabric of Gina’s pants and she arched back against her. “I think I will have to see you in my quarters at 2200 for a… disciplinary discussion.”

“All due respect, sir, but that will just take longer.”

“You have your orders, Ms. Inviere.” Gina thought she heard her chuckling softly, before she relinquished her grasp and continued on her way down the corridor.

Gina turned back to her work. Tomorrow. It needed to be done tomorrow, but her heart still pounds and her body is thrumming with anticipation. Surely, her sisters and brothers would have no problem with one ship that wasn’t disabled by their virus. One ship. Besides, she thought, setting her work aside, she wanted this to be a night she’d never forget.

Comments

( 6 comments — Leave a comment )
ecstaticdance
Oct. 27th, 2009 04:53 am (UTC)
You are well and truly frakked.

Or, actually, not… and that is really the heart of the problem.


No kidding, huh? I love this re-write of that scene!

“Well, if it was who I think it was, we’ve just never had our timing right.”

Aww! Too true. I hope the timing works better for them this time around (whether or not more of it is every written).

Your Athena/Helo fic is so sweet, and perfectly them. They had such a nice, fluffy relationship in so many ways.

The Post-mini ficlet is HOTT! Oh mah gah.

I really like your Gina/Cain fic! Six does indeed have a heart, and sometimes it does get the best of her...
rayruz
Oct. 27th, 2009 12:05 pm (UTC)
:D Thank you so much for all your feedback! :D

Athena and Helo were like... my bright shiny beacon of hope. As long as they were okay I knew things couldn't be too bad.

And yes, Six does have a heart. She strikes me as very compassionate, even back in the mini (it was totally a mercy killing!)
nazkey
Jan. 27th, 2011 09:59 am (UTC)
All I can say is girl, when you bring the porn, YOU BRING THE PORN. All of these are SO hot and I especially love And I Feel Fine, because well ... that's REALLY what should've happened, right?
rayruz
Jan. 28th, 2011 03:27 pm (UTC)
YES. I FEEL FINE DID HAPPEN IN AN ALTERNATE UNIVERSE OF THE SHOW THAT THEY FORGOT TO MAKE.
scifishipper
Jul. 13th, 2011 02:19 pm (UTC)
Tara recced the Crossover one at DPP today. I love it! Very hot and so clever that they'd find each other! Bravo!
onlyariana
Jul. 14th, 2011 12:14 am (UTC)
These were all great. I especially like the towel one because Kara quoting the poetry *was* really hot!!
( 6 comments — Leave a comment )

Latest Month

September 2012
S M T W T F S
      1
2345678
9101112131415
16171819202122
23242526272829
30      
Powered by LiveJournal.com
Designed by Lilia Ahner