Written for wisteria's porn battle. Prompt is BSG, Kara/Lee/Secretly Married. Setting: during the miniseries. Purpose: pure fluffy, wet enjoyment! This is un-beta'd, so a better version may come later. Let me know whatcha think!
Portrait of a Marriage.
Kara Thrace found herself back in hack, on the one frakking day of her life she absolutely did not want to be there. The fact she'd been interned for the perfectly legitimate act of hitting a superior asshole added all sorts of irony to the situation she was ill-disposed to examine.
To alleviate the boredom, she'd taken to doing push-ups, missing how the brig's door opened and shut nearly silently.
"Well, this looks familiar," someone said. She instantly recognized the voice's owner, and out of sheer spite she just kept on doing her push-ups. If he wanted to talk to her, he could frakking well address her by name for a change; none of this 'dear' or 'my love' bullshit.
"Are you going to keep holding the same grudge?"
Frak yeah!At least that's what she would have said, if she weren't concentrating so hard on keeping her heart from stopping every frakking time the frakker opened his frakking mouth when she was in frakking earshot.
"Kara? I'm sorry."
Frak! He had to go and say the one thing that would rob her righteous steam wouldn't he? She stood and glared at the figure on the opposite side of the bars. "What're you doing here?"
Lee Adama shrugged carelessly. "Orders are for me to fly in the decommissioning ceremony."
"I know that, frakhead." It had been literally all she could think about for the last ten days, ever since the CAG had announced Captain Lee Adama was going to fly point in the final fly-by. This meant for he'd be her wingman, that they would be in the sky together. She'd been so damned good for the last nine days, keeping her nose clean and keeping the tension to a minimum.
And then Tigh had to go and throw a damned table at her.
Kara stepped closer, silently cheering how he refused to back away despite the clear threat on her face. "I mean, what are you doing down here, in hack, within arm's reach?"
He smirked that devastating smirk of his; the one that basically turned her knees to jelly the first time they'd met which had led to…
"I believe I'm talking to the woman who is listed on some transfer paperwork as my legal next of kin."
"Oh."
"Yeah. Imagine my surprise."
Frak. They never actually talked about that night, did they? About what it would mean down the road, like when they'd be on the same ship. Lee could make all the noise he wanted about quitting, but she couldn't see it happening. They'd talked about everything else, logistics and shared accounts and what color the porch-swing would be, but never their ranks and positions.
"I, uh, didn't think it would, y'know, make it through."
"That what wouldn't 'make it through', Kara?" Lee Adama mimicked quotation marks, then reached through the bars and grasped her by the belt, pulling her flush against the iron. His tone left no room for evasion. "Where you put the check-mark under 'Marital Status'?" His oh-so-talented fingers didn't stop at the belt, easily slipping into her fly. "Or the barely legible scrawl that nevertheless looks suspiciously like 'Leland J. Adama' beside the word 'Spouse'?"
Kara knew she should have tried to explain, how honesty and faith and the fact she was (all protests aside) well and truly committed to this. Sadly, she found herself having a hard time thinking of anything beyond the need to push those probing digits further in."Um," she panted, fighting for mental traction. "Guess...this means...ah, frak...my transfers in the...in the toilet...huh?"
"Oh, no, Kara. You're still coming to the Atlantia." Lee's fingers stroked and probed with the ease of experience.
"I am?" Ever since Tauron and that wonderfully accommodating Priest, she'd taken to reading her way through the full Orders of the Fleet, searching for some loop-hole that wouldn't leave them in the tank.
"You're still gonna be my wingman, my hotshot problem pilot, and the woman no other dares touch," Lee assured her.
"Ha…ha…" Those damned fingers of his, the ones she dreamed about every fourth or fifth night (only because the rest of the dream-him needed a rest), were robbing her of speech as surely as she'd robbed them of choice. "How?" she finally managed.
"Don't ask, don't tell."
There was an evil snicker under those words. She couldn't process words anymore and just surrendered to him, like she always did. "Heh. Great thing...we hadda...get...yeah, there...say we were...gettin' married..."
"You said we were getting married. I just went along with it so we could get out of a bunch of police interviews about how you and I managed to put six men in traction." Lee grimaced. "Just our luck there was Priest there."
"Ha. You love it, being the bad boy...ah!" He stabbed three fingers into her, making it clear this was merely a precursor for what was to come, as well as to shut her up. What should have been a drunk-and-disorderly had nearly become an assault-and-battery; her claiming he was defending her honor seemed like a brilliant dodge and perfect escape hatch.
The gods apparently had other ideas for them, as they'd made sure an actual Priest was on the premises, one who was so frakking solicitous that he sworn them together in front of ten policemen.
Only in retrospect did he understand her refusal to have it annulled. The weeks and years since had made it all so clear.
He pulled his fingers free of her, enjoying her shocked eyes. He enjoyed even more how her shoulders trembled as he stood back, and how she jumped and flushed when he pulled the cell door open (how the frak did she fly so well yet get distracted so easily she didn't notice he'd unlocked the door?). Oh, she was ready for him, as always.
So frakking easy and it never failed to piss him off. His hands were on her shoulders, circling her muscled arms, shoving her back into the cell and against the wall with enough force to vibrate the ship. "Have your eyes been wandering?" he growled, the familiar game between them giving a conduit to the unfamiliar, uncontrolled emotions she invoked.
Kara understood this intuitively, having conceived the game herself for the same reasons, and played her part. "There's no-one..." she muttered, looking at nothing over his shoulder.
"Liar!" He brought himself flush with her, his lips smashing down on her's. "I've seen them. All the pretty boy and girl pilots."
"No-one!" she swore, meeting his eyes full on now. He needed this. He needed her.
She was no less deprived, and no less needing. "No-one…touches me…except…you!"
With another snarl, Lee grabbed her left hand and brought her fingers to his nose. "Liar," he purred.
"It's you guiding my hand," she purred back. Her hand snaking down and finding him, hard and ready, sealed the deal. "Just like I guide yours."
"Mine." Her zipper nearly tore from the force of its opening.
"Yours." She stroked him through his pants, feeling wood becoming stone, making short work of his own belt and zipper.
"Now show me what's mine."
These were the last words she'd utter, at least for the next two hours.
Later, in the afterglow, came the epiphany.
They knew without words between them how this would be how it was and would be, both there and then and for the rest of their lives.
They would fight. They would frak.
The worlds could (and would) end in fire and they would walk through it, unscathed, to stand at the other's side.
If another sought to intrude on their dance, be they statesman or celebrity or seductress, they'd be lucky to escape with their lives.
If she were lost, he would move moons and mountains to find her.
If he were adrift, she would be his beacon home.
If she died, she would find his way back to him, no matter if she had to swim across Styx itself. As would he to return to her.
Through it all would be them, fighting and frakking together. Until the day the gods called them both to Elysium; and even then, they would leave only as one.
Some marriage, they would snicker sometimes, both in secret and later in public. All the while, the rest of the universe and all its gods looked on with envy at something so perfect.
He rose and dressed silently, their promises to each other marking each other's flesh.
There were no good-byes. Not for them. Never for them.
Kara let herself drift into a light nap, her dreams of the future as bright and shinning as ever.
Fin.