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Better late than never, I suppose.
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bsg_pornbattle. It may be unnecessary to mention it, but you know, these ficlets are mostly porn. Angsty, sexy porn. I hope.
Running to stand still, Kara/Lee, prompt: forgetting
She sucks his cock because it's the easiest way to fill her mind.
"Kara," Lee gasps, hands threading through her hair and pulling her back when she uses a little too much teeth. She resists until she's sure he'll have blond strands tangled between his fingers.
She grins, knows it's feral and wild and little on the wrong side of insane. Then again, Lee's always liked her out of control, loathe though he may be to admit it.
He looks confused and aroused, pupils blown so wide she can hardly see blue. It turns her on so she lowers her mouth to his thigh and bites, then sucks, and bites again, ensuring a bruise. She wants him to feel this tomorrow like she will, a sharp ache between his legs.
He moans at the feel of her teeth this time and she barely has time to think you kinky bastard before he's hauling her to her feet, boots colliding and getting in the way. His lips find hers, rough and fierce and she knows he must taste the ghost of his blood on her lips.
She pulls away, her bottom lip stretched deliciously between his teeth. She finds the hem and pulls her tanks over her head, dropping them numbly to the floor at the heat in his eyes that all but burns her.
"Kara-" he starts and she reaches for the buttons on her pants.
His hands and hers are a blur, then, until he's topless too, and she's reaching for his cock again.
"Not here," he gasps. "Anyone - bunk should be empty." Should be, she thinks and smiles, dangerous.
They barely make it the short distance through the halls only because Lee swats her hands away every time she gets a hold of something interesting. At the hatch to quarters she kneels at his feet and unlaces his boots. She glances up and the look on his face is too much, too much, so she stands and fondles him even as she drops his boots in a messy pile on the floor, a signal to anyone who's paying any attention.
"Kara," he breaths again and his fingers trace the edge of her bra. She pushes him in, over the hatch ledge, and kisses him like she means it, like she's not trying to forget.
it's not that I'm a willing witness, Lee/Kara (Lee/Six), prompt: collaborators
A/N: I kind of love the next one, even though I wrote it, because I apparently feel there should be more of this sort of thing.
He thinks about it sometimes, in the dark of his room when Dee is asleep. What he would have done if he had been the one taken captive by the cylons.
He would have fought - of that he has no doubt. He's been trained more thoroughly than many colonial officers in resisting interrogations. With his father a high ranking official, there was always the chance he'd be a target for terrorists or a mad man. Not the cylons, though, because they were supposed to be gone.
Though in silent midnight retrospect, he bites back a grimace and thinks perhaps the higher ups knew.
He thinks he could have resisted the Boomers and the Shellys and any other beautiful model they would have sent his way. The idea of frakking a robot - well, it turns his stomach at the very least. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get it up, even if they drugged him.
But sometimes, sometimes when he can't sleep he thinks about the what ifs. What if the cylons could look like anyone, what if they could read his mind - and who knows what they can do?
What if they sent him a copy that looked like Kara?
The first time he'd thought it, it had been a dream. Kara had been - well, not Kara, in a slinky red dress and heels, her full mouth outlined in red lipstick.
She'd sauntered into the room, hips swaying like Lee had never seen before. An elegant hand was perched on one hip, her fingertips painted blood red to match her dress. In the dream he'd tried to struggle but his hands had been tied behind his back and to the chair he'd been sitting on. Powerless.
She'd been amused by his struggle. He could still see the look in her eyes, hot and knowing.
His tanks had been simple work for her nails, a few slashes and his shirts were gone. She'd pressed her too-hot palm over his fly and hummed, a noise he'd heard her make a thousand times but never in this context. Her red lips had pressed together, suddenly inches from his, and her deft fingers had flicked the button open and the zipper down.
She'd pulled him out, looked down and smiled. Frak, even his subconscious was in on it. Then she'd slid her dress up her incredible thighs, straddled him and slide down.
Frak, he could still feel it now, weeks, months later, her, hot and wet and tight and arching against him, in control but seeming that little bit surprised. She'd bit her lip, he remembered. He'd wanted to do the same but when he leaned forward she'd leaned away.
Instead she'd started to move, rocking against him and pressing her breasts against his chest. She'd shimmed in a way he wasn't even sure Kara was capable of, squeezing his cock tighter and making him gasp involuntarily.
She laughed, a Kara-laugh, full of joy and abandon and sex, and he couldn't fight his own smile even as he tried to thrust up against her.
And then, and then her wet mouth was against his ear, asking him things, demanding secrets, things he'd never mentioned outside a confidential briefing.
He's pretty sure he didn't tell her anything, his imaginary Kara, but some nights he wakes with secrets on his lips along with the taste of lipstick.
You've got a fast car, Kara/Lee, prompts: i tried to stay away but i couldn't, Zak
Kara had been drunk when she called Lee to pick her up at the bar, and she's drunk when she leans over and kisses him.
She didn't plan it, but his name (his face, his mouth, his body) had been the first thing to come to mind when she stood up from her bar stool and nearly toppled over. He'd complained she'd woken him, but he was still out front twenty minutes later, smelling like a warm bed and cigar smoke and close enough to sex to make her bite her lip.
She'd fought hard not to stumble her way to the car, but she'd still caught him watching her carefully, trying to judge her level of iner- inenri- inebri- drunkenness.
He'd been startled when, instead of settling into her passenger seat, she'd leaned across him, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him thank you. It was only for a second. A long second, but only one none the less, and in that second and on a rush of air he'd kissed her back.
It was nothing like the almost-kiss on top of her dining room table of six months ago. That time they'd hovered a careful inch from each other, both wanting but neither willing to give in. This time her mouth was on his and his tongue was inside hers on a gasp.
He would drive a stick, her mind thinks as the rest of her tries to get over it to get closer closer closer. He's starting to taste like whiskey, but maybe that's just the taste of her rubbing off on him.
One hand stays in her hair, but the other, oh, the other finds her shoulder and her arm and her side, sliding over her breast like it belongs there, fingers finding her nipple and tweaking through fabric like they've done this a million times.
She arches into him, can't help it, just like she can't help the noise that escapes her mouth. She feels him start to smile and bites his lips before he gets too cocky. He growls, low in his throat, and she tries to climb over the gear shift again to get to him.
This time she manages to slide over, knees bracketing his hips. His hands slide from her hair and breasts down, down to the hem of her shirt to slide it up and up and up until it bunches under her arms and her lacy going-out bra is exposed to his eyes.
He pulls back with his hands and his eyes and looks at her, eyes dark and hooded and she's leaning in to capture that mouth, frak, that mouth, when someone knocks on the window.
Lee's entire body stiffens even as she stays relaxed against him. He takes a breath, and then another, and who ever is outside knocks again.
She can't see who it is through the steam, the fog they have generated on the windows.
"Kara," he manages, one hand trying to push her off him, the other trying to tug her shirt down.
Frak that. She reaches for the switch and lets the window come down to reveal a police officer.
"Morning, ma'am," he says, just amused enough that Kara thinks they might get out of this.
"Officer," she says, very careful not to slur her words. She hadn't decided how to end tonight, but this will do.
Lee is careful but still flushed when the officer lets them off with a warning to take themselves somewhere more private. When he shuts the window and looks over at her, she tries for guile-less and drunk. "You heard the man," she says, her head falling back against the headrest. "Take me home."
My contributions to
bsg_pornbattle. It may be unnecessary to mention it, but you know, these ficlets are mostly porn. Angsty, sexy porn. I hope.Running to stand still, Kara/Lee, prompt: forgetting
She sucks his cock because it's the easiest way to fill her mind.
"Kara," Lee gasps, hands threading through her hair and pulling her back when she uses a little too much teeth. She resists until she's sure he'll have blond strands tangled between his fingers.
She grins, knows it's feral and wild and little on the wrong side of insane. Then again, Lee's always liked her out of control, loathe though he may be to admit it.
He looks confused and aroused, pupils blown so wide she can hardly see blue. It turns her on so she lowers her mouth to his thigh and bites, then sucks, and bites again, ensuring a bruise. She wants him to feel this tomorrow like she will, a sharp ache between his legs.
He moans at the feel of her teeth this time and she barely has time to think you kinky bastard before he's hauling her to her feet, boots colliding and getting in the way. His lips find hers, rough and fierce and she knows he must taste the ghost of his blood on her lips.
She pulls away, her bottom lip stretched deliciously between his teeth. She finds the hem and pulls her tanks over her head, dropping them numbly to the floor at the heat in his eyes that all but burns her.
"Kara-" he starts and she reaches for the buttons on her pants.
His hands and hers are a blur, then, until he's topless too, and she's reaching for his cock again.
"Not here," he gasps. "Anyone - bunk should be empty." Should be, she thinks and smiles, dangerous.
They barely make it the short distance through the halls only because Lee swats her hands away every time she gets a hold of something interesting. At the hatch to quarters she kneels at his feet and unlaces his boots. She glances up and the look on his face is too much, too much, so she stands and fondles him even as she drops his boots in a messy pile on the floor, a signal to anyone who's paying any attention.
"Kara," he breaths again and his fingers trace the edge of her bra. She pushes him in, over the hatch ledge, and kisses him like she means it, like she's not trying to forget.
it's not that I'm a willing witness, Lee/Kara (Lee/Six), prompt: collaborators
A/N: I kind of love the next one, even though I wrote it, because I apparently feel there should be more of this sort of thing.
He thinks about it sometimes, in the dark of his room when Dee is asleep. What he would have done if he had been the one taken captive by the cylons.
He would have fought - of that he has no doubt. He's been trained more thoroughly than many colonial officers in resisting interrogations. With his father a high ranking official, there was always the chance he'd be a target for terrorists or a mad man. Not the cylons, though, because they were supposed to be gone.
Though in silent midnight retrospect, he bites back a grimace and thinks perhaps the higher ups knew.
He thinks he could have resisted the Boomers and the Shellys and any other beautiful model they would have sent his way. The idea of frakking a robot - well, it turns his stomach at the very least. He's pretty sure he wouldn't be able to get it up, even if they drugged him.
But sometimes, sometimes when he can't sleep he thinks about the what ifs. What if the cylons could look like anyone, what if they could read his mind - and who knows what they can do?
What if they sent him a copy that looked like Kara?
The first time he'd thought it, it had been a dream. Kara had been - well, not Kara, in a slinky red dress and heels, her full mouth outlined in red lipstick.
She'd sauntered into the room, hips swaying like Lee had never seen before. An elegant hand was perched on one hip, her fingertips painted blood red to match her dress. In the dream he'd tried to struggle but his hands had been tied behind his back and to the chair he'd been sitting on. Powerless.
She'd been amused by his struggle. He could still see the look in her eyes, hot and knowing.
His tanks had been simple work for her nails, a few slashes and his shirts were gone. She'd pressed her too-hot palm over his fly and hummed, a noise he'd heard her make a thousand times but never in this context. Her red lips had pressed together, suddenly inches from his, and her deft fingers had flicked the button open and the zipper down.
She'd pulled him out, looked down and smiled. Frak, even his subconscious was in on it. Then she'd slid her dress up her incredible thighs, straddled him and slide down.
Frak, he could still feel it now, weeks, months later, her, hot and wet and tight and arching against him, in control but seeming that little bit surprised. She'd bit her lip, he remembered. He'd wanted to do the same but when he leaned forward she'd leaned away.
Instead she'd started to move, rocking against him and pressing her breasts against his chest. She'd shimmed in a way he wasn't even sure Kara was capable of, squeezing his cock tighter and making him gasp involuntarily.
She laughed, a Kara-laugh, full of joy and abandon and sex, and he couldn't fight his own smile even as he tried to thrust up against her.
And then, and then her wet mouth was against his ear, asking him things, demanding secrets, things he'd never mentioned outside a confidential briefing.
He's pretty sure he didn't tell her anything, his imaginary Kara, but some nights he wakes with secrets on his lips along with the taste of lipstick.
You've got a fast car, Kara/Lee, prompts: i tried to stay away but i couldn't, Zak
Kara had been drunk when she called Lee to pick her up at the bar, and she's drunk when she leans over and kisses him.
She didn't plan it, but his name (his face, his mouth, his body) had been the first thing to come to mind when she stood up from her bar stool and nearly toppled over. He'd complained she'd woken him, but he was still out front twenty minutes later, smelling like a warm bed and cigar smoke and close enough to sex to make her bite her lip.
She'd fought hard not to stumble her way to the car, but she'd still caught him watching her carefully, trying to judge her level of iner- inenri- inebri- drunkenness.
He'd been startled when, instead of settling into her passenger seat, she'd leaned across him, wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and kissed him thank you. It was only for a second. A long second, but only one none the less, and in that second and on a rush of air he'd kissed her back.
It was nothing like the almost-kiss on top of her dining room table of six months ago. That time they'd hovered a careful inch from each other, both wanting but neither willing to give in. This time her mouth was on his and his tongue was inside hers on a gasp.
He would drive a stick, her mind thinks as the rest of her tries to get over it to get closer closer closer. He's starting to taste like whiskey, but maybe that's just the taste of her rubbing off on him.
One hand stays in her hair, but the other, oh, the other finds her shoulder and her arm and her side, sliding over her breast like it belongs there, fingers finding her nipple and tweaking through fabric like they've done this a million times.
She arches into him, can't help it, just like she can't help the noise that escapes her mouth. She feels him start to smile and bites his lips before he gets too cocky. He growls, low in his throat, and she tries to climb over the gear shift again to get to him.
This time she manages to slide over, knees bracketing his hips. His hands slide from her hair and breasts down, down to the hem of her shirt to slide it up and up and up until it bunches under her arms and her lacy going-out bra is exposed to his eyes.
He pulls back with his hands and his eyes and looks at her, eyes dark and hooded and she's leaning in to capture that mouth, frak, that mouth, when someone knocks on the window.
Lee's entire body stiffens even as she stays relaxed against him. He takes a breath, and then another, and who ever is outside knocks again.
She can't see who it is through the steam, the fog they have generated on the windows.
"Kara," he manages, one hand trying to push her off him, the other trying to tug her shirt down.
Frak that. She reaches for the switch and lets the window come down to reveal a police officer.
"Morning, ma'am," he says, just amused enough that Kara thinks they might get out of this.
"Officer," she says, very careful not to slur her words. She hadn't decided how to end tonight, but this will do.
Lee is careful but still flushed when the officer lets them off with a warning to take themselves somewhere more private. When he shuts the window and looks over at her, she tries for guile-less and drunk. "You heard the man," she says, her head falling back against the headrest. "Take me home."
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But I have to say, for pure hotness, the last one wins, hands down. It's all about the getting there.
He would drive a stick
Love this bit. Of course he would, and so would she.
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