Title: Shut The Door

Chapter 1: (How about we shut that door...)

By: ellymelly


"That's totally out of the question Madame President!"

Bill paced unhappily from one side of her office to the next, Laura seated behind her desk - tapping her fingers disinterestedly on its wooden surface. She sighed one of her long suffering sighs.

It was all theatre of course - this being her favourite game.

"And why is that Admiral?"

"Well," he stammered, trying to think of the best way to put it without actually having to say it, "don't you think it would look a little - you know." he moved his eyebrows meaningfully.

Laura didn't need to make eye contact to know what he was getting at. Truthfully, he had a point. She had even spent some time considering the topic herself from time to time, but something inside her found pleasure in watching the Admiral squirm further.

Would he actually address this issue directly? She thought not. And if he did – well then, that was a new game.

She moved therefore, to continue her pretence of disinterest. He was uneasy, and she liked that – it excited her something shocking.

Adama fumed, damn that woman, she wouldn't even look at him. She was going to make him say it out loud - damn her. Damn her, damn her, damn her. But for the life of him, he couldn't think of any way around it.

"You know," he stuttered further, hands clamming up with an embarrassment that had snuck in from nowhere, "it might look, may appear to the passing individual that we..."

Why did doors have to mean so much anyway? What difference did it make whether the door was open or closed? Who would even notice if the door appeared closed on their meetings from now on? How had he even gotten into this mess! WHY COULDN'T HE HAVE JUST LEFT THAT DAMN DOOR ALONE IN THE FIRST PLACE!

But then the Admiral got to thinking, well - Billy of course would notice - how could he not? And Billy being Billy - it was suffice to say that boy had an imagination on his shoulders worthy of the scriptures. Not to say reminded the Admiral to himself, that we're even engaging on thought down that path.

Other parts of his body had a differing opinion.

"Frak, that's all I need."

"Did you say something Admiral?" The President didn't look up from what must have been a fascinating report to compete with a currently adorable Admiral for Laura's attention...

"No Madame President."

She went quiet.

He rejoiced momentarily before his brain filled in the gaps with panic – attempting to write her thoughts into his. Not that he was supposed to be having any thoughts that even remotely strayed from the Fleet's supply chain.

If Billy knew reminded his mind, then Dualla would know and then it would only be a matter of time before Lee... Adama mentally swore. He didn't need to imagine that outcome.

But Laura sat at her desk in front of him, signing the odd dotted line without the slightest recognition that he was still in the room. Perhaps maybe, just maybe he had escaped the issue altogether - could he possibly be that -

"What were you saying before," she chirped happily as the stewing time she'd allocated to him expired, "about my door?"

lucky... "The door?" responded Bill hesitantly. Eyes darting across the room for assistance.

Laura managed to draw her eyes away from the paperwork to meet where his gaze had fallen on her. It was like those pupils tore through him. "Yes," she smiled, "the door."

"The door, oh that door." He pretended to chuckle casually as an electric tingle escaped across the surface of his skin.

She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and mockingly repeat his last comment.

"Th-th-the that door..." he checked, pointing toward it where he could see the freedom of the corridor beyond.

Laura had had about enough of this.

Quite to Adama's fright and fascination she placed the dark metal of her pen atop the current report on; "The Growing Sympathies Toward Cylons" and let the wheels of the chair roll backwards over the carpeted surface.

"Laura... what are you doing?" panicked Bill. She held a hand up and shook her head slowly in protest.

"I like it better when you call me, 'Madame President'."

Surely thought Bill, he hadn't heard that right.

"One must respect," she stood to her full height, lyrical legs perched atop shaped heels, "the proper government ranks when one is at a," she stepped forward and Adama misplaced his breath, "governmental meeting. Don't you agree?"

Bill wasn't sure how much more of this he could take before certain primitive brain functions switched to override. "I – ah,"

"The answer, Admiral, is yes"

Laura advanced, excruciatingly slowly. The gentle sway of her impending figure disconnecting most of Adama's rational thought. This felt a whole lot like seduction and not much like diplomacy.

"Well then Madame President, yes."

Now it was Laura who found her composure faltering slightly as his gravely voice rolled out her title. But she was better at this then he was, and managed to hold herself steady.

He did his best not to become completely lost in the hopelessness of his building desire. "Permission to speak fr-r" she moved to him and he reversed toward the door where he met the steely barrier of the office wall just to the side of it. There was no where to go and she was leaning across his shoulder, breath falling heavily on his neck. "Fr-rankly?" he stumbled over the words, his body slipping from his control.

She leant across him, making sure the lightest touches of her hair met his face. Bill breathed the intoxicating mixture in - at that moment, if she had said jump - he would have saluted her smile and leapt at her command. "Denied."

Bill struggled for control he had lost to her long ago.

"How about we just shut that door." Laura's hand captured the silver fitting and slid the door across, sealing the room in one elegant stroke. If you want something done, do it yourself.

Unable to move, the Admiral remained silent - burning where any and every part of her met him through his uniform.

After torturing him for her entertainment she allowed him a few more seconds before swiftly stepping back and retreating to the desk as if she had never been close enough to feel the desire that moved between them.

Up until that moment, Laura Roslin had every intent on returning to a diplomatic position, safely seated on her chair securely obscuring his sight with the structure. But then a thought struck her.

The door was closed.

Easily she slid herself to sit on the surface of the Presidential desk, tilting slightly so that her legs fell to the side, crossed in a manner that best exposed the Admiral to their generous curves.

The Admiral swallowed.

Hard.

This was going to be a long meeting.