Laura had been serious when she told Adama she was going to Galactica's gym. While her days were endless and mind always occupied, she found that she missed her physicality and the dead sleep that truly wearing out your body can provide.
Although awkward at first, the crew had grown accustomed to seeing the president working out in their midst. Some of the braver individuals even sparred with her from time to time.
Kat and Racetrack bonded over their mutual admiration of the woman, watching her sweat bringing to mind other sweaty activities of which they would enjoy observing her, or participating in, if they could be so lucky.
Recovering from yet another Roslin-induced gym shower frak, they hear a moan in an unmistakable voice coming from the shower stall furthest from the door.
"Frak. Roslin," Margaret whispers, as the two young women share a giddy, but nervous smile, uncertain whether staying to hear the president get herself off is worth the risk of discovery.
A second moan spurs on the always bold Katraine. "Come on, Racetrack. This is what we've been fantasizing about, isn't it? Time to nut up or shut up," she mutters, leading Racetrack out of the stall.
They make their way down to Roslin's stall, and braving a one-way trip out the airlock, push open the curtain. Neither is quite prepared for the sight before them - Roslin, eyes, closed, mouth open, one hand braced against the stall as the other works roughly between her legs.
Gulping nervously, Kat makes her move. "Need some help, Madam President," she asks with as much swagger as she can muster.
Eyes fluttering open, wide with surprise, Laura gawks at the two young women before her, watching as their eyes run unabashedly up and down her body. Deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth, she moans her reply, "Oh, Gods, yes."
The affirmative answer is all they need, and Racetrack immediately drops to her knees before Laura, replacing the woman's hand with her mouth, forcing Laura to widen her stance. Kat moves behind her, hands coming around to cup and squeeze her breasts and tease her nipples, as she whispers all the dirty things they've fantasized about doing to her in Laura's ear.
Between Kat's words and Racetrack's talented tongue, it doesn't take long before Laura's coming, an incoherent, trembling mess pressed between them. They both continue their ministrations, gentler now, seeing Laura through the aftershocks.
When she seems fully recovered, Kat runs her hand across Laura's abdomen. "You know," she says, breath hot in Laura's ear, "it's only fair that I get a turn. Racetrack will never let me live it down if she's the only one that got to eat you out."
"We wouldn't want that," Laura says with a smile, suddenly looking much more favorably upon her future gym time.