It was the tea, oddly, that first brought her to a startling realization.
As Secretary of Education, Laura Roslin had several assistants who she could, in theory, ask to bring her anything she wanted. But she rarely asked them to get her coffee, uneasy with issuing hierarchical demands for something so basic and grateful for the break she granted herself almost every afternoon during which she slipped out to the cafe in the basement of the Education Department to pick up her staff's usual order.
It was one of the many things that made Secretary Roslin's office a prime get for government employees. The system was simple - slip some cubits into the jar at the front desk and write your name and order on the designated pad next to it. Every afternoon the Secretary was in town, she would grab the list, empty the jar into her purse, and call out "last call" to the young men and women hovering at their desks. Invariably, someone would rush to her, thrust some money into her hand, and remind her of their order. Unless said employee was feeling adventurous that day, Laura remembered and made a game for herself of naming the favorite drink before it left their lips. She was rarely wrong.
Now there were no coffee shops. No lattes or espressos or iced double mochas with whipped creme. Save for one, a precious one, the young people who had worked for Laura Roslin were dead. She was no longer the Secretary of Education. She was the President of the Twelve Colonies of Kobol and, somehow, she was awash in tea at the end of the world.
It probably started with Billy. He knew she was often cold as her disease progressed and, since she couldn't curl up in blankets during her meetings, he would bring her hot, albeit weak, tea throughout the day.
But somewhere along the way the kind gesture from her aide had been interpreted by the various staff she interacted with, especially aboard Galactica, as a requirement for any contact with the president, no matter how short. Aides that were not her own, Quorum members, and even Commander Adama made sure she was never short of hot, flavored water as she sat through endless meetings.
Even now, as she sat comfortably on the Commander's couch in his quarters, he was preparing her what had to be her fourth cup of tea for the day. Once her mug was full, he laid it gently on the table in front of her and returned to his small kitchen to pour his own cup of coffee. He'd dismissed Tigh and Tyrol moments ago, begging a few more moments of the president's time to discuss the fuel shortage in more private detail.
As the Commander settled next to her on the couch, Laura was distracted by the tantalizing scent of caffeinated goodness steaming from the mug in his hand. Tired even though it was not yet lunchtime, she could barely keep her mind focused on his gravelly voice as he began to run through the reports scattered on the table in front of them.
"Is the military hoarding coffee, Commander?" Laura was surprised by her own voice but not as shocked as the man sitting next to her, now gazing at her quizzically.
"Excuse me, Madame President? I'm not sure what you mean." Bill tried to suppress a sigh as he prepared himself for whatever tirade was to come next. Madame President had no shortage of opinions and he was reluctantly growing used to knowing every single one of them, no matter what.
"I just mean that you and your staff always seem to be drinking coffee and none is ever offered to the president." Laura smiled playfully, realizing the unintentional verbalization of her thoughts was going to breed a strange conversation and trying desperately to get out of it before she made herself look even more ridiculous.
Bill gave her an odd look. This was not what he was expecting.
"Well, Madame President, we've always thought you preferred tea. I'm sorry if there was an oversight. Would you like some coffee?" He made a move to get off the couch.
"No, no. I just find it curious that no one ever asked me what I preferred." Laura groaned inwardly at her inelegance and made a motion with her hand to keep the older man in his seat.
The Commander fixed her with a serious look. "Madame President, it is my job and that of everyone around me to anticipate your needs and fulfill them. However, you have the power to command anyone in this fleet to do anything you please and if we are not meeting your expectations it's well within your power to correct us."
Power. The word washed over Laura as she tried it on in this new light. She'd quickly become used to having the power to order ships shot down, supplies requisitioned, and lives put on the line. Those were the responsibilities of office and she accepted them without question. That power was not a treat. It was a burden Laura Roslin had promised herself she would bear with honor.
But the power to make others around her do simple things to please her just because she was the president was not one she'd considered much. Richard had abused that power, abused her with it even, and she'd hated him for it. But now that she had it, she wondered exactly what she might do with it if she allowed herself to ask for something she wanted.
Without warning, the room shifted and Laura felt a warmth and lightness come over her body.
The Commander settled down on the couch next to her and picked up a report from his folder, sipping his coffee as he started to speak.
Laura eyed him. His broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his uniform as he moved and his scent, a musky, masculine aftershave, mingled with the smell of the coffee. His low voice tickled her insides with every vowel, her mind blocking out the exact words and instead focusing on the comforting cadence. He looked up at her expectantly and she realized he had asked her something and was expecting a response.
When she spoke, her voice was low and husky. "Commander, I want you to strip for me."
Bill looked up from the report he was holding, an alarmed look on his face. "Excuse me, Madame President?"
Laura's eyes took on a mischievous glint. "You heard me correctly, Commander. I ordered you to strip for me."
Adama gave her an incredulous look, one that said he was thinking the president had lost her mind.
Laura was quickly frustrated. Hadn't he just said she could order anyone to do anything she wanted?
"I am your Commander in Chief and I am telling you, right now solider, to rid yourself of those clothes. You can start with your pants."
The Commander rose tentatively from the couch, a look of fear tinged with interest crossing his face. He paused for a moment as his hand went to his fly, as if asking if this was truly what the president wanted. When she gave an insistent nod, he slowly lowered the fly, undid the top button, and nudged his pants over his waist, stepping out of them as they pooled on the floor.
"Good, Commander," the president cooed. "Now the jacket."
Bill Adama was rarely speechless but this woman, this fiery haired educator turned leader of humanity, had rendered him so. He stood, mouth agape, unmoving as he stared at her.
"Did I stutter, Commander? Jacket. Now." Laura's tone was presidential and insistent.
Bill's hands shook as he began to undo the buttons of his uniform. When he reached the top one, he slowly shrugged the wool off his shoulders and caught the falling material with one practiced movement, laying the garment on the couch in front of the president like an offering.
Laura gazed at his body, now clothed only in tanks and boxers, appreciatively. His legs were strong and muscular and his arms, easily mistaken for flabby under the heavy uniform, were defined from years of boxing. Laura licked her lips.
"I don't know much about military protocol but those tanks are military issue, right? Part of the uniform?" Laura Roslin's voice was innocent. The look in her eye was anything but.
Bill nodded. He was fighting every urge to run from the room and signal his marines for help. Or break every rule in the book and leap on top of the president, taking her roughly right there on his couch.
"Take them off. Now. The boxers too. Don't make your president wait, Commander." Laura had found her glasses somewhere in the mess of papers on the table and slipped them onto the bridge of her nose. She looked over the frames sternly as she waited for her subordinate to follow her order.
His face now pale but impassive, Bill slowly removed his tanks, one at a time, and tossed them on the couch with his discarded jacket. He looked down at his boxers and realized removing them would reveal the full extent of the bulge this odd encounter had elicited. He looked back up to meet the president's eyes, silently pleading with her to end the madness and return to their reports.
Laura laughed. A hearty laugh, one the people at the end of the world rarely heard from their stoic leader. "Is there a problem, Commander? You understood what I said?"
"Yes, ma'am," Bill muttered, but made no move to avail himself of his underwear.
President Roslin was off the couch in one quick motion, a manicured hand under Bill's chin. Her hair grazed his weathered cheek as she whispered in his ear. "Yes, what, Commander?"
Bill felt his cock come to full attention and his voice came out in a strangled whisper. "Yes, Madame President." As the words left his mouth, he felt the president's hand drop from his chin and join her other at his waist, tugging impatiently at the elastic band of his boxers.
In moments, Commander Adama stood, naked and hard, in front of the President of the Twelve Colonies. She looked down and hummed in approval at what she saw. For his part, he'd never been more terrified and aroused in his entire life.
Until the president took his cock in her hand and began to gently run her fingers up and down the veins, pausing to tickle his head with her fingernail. He tried, and failed, to suppress a groan.
"Now, Commander, I'm going to order you to frak my brains out." Laura gave a gentle tug on his cock as she moved her head to his shoulder and began nibbling on the smooth skin near the nape of his neck.
"Madame President, you're scaring me."
Laura arched her head back at his words, confused as to how a man so hard in her hand could sound so genuinely concerned.
"Don't worry, Commander," she purred softly. "You're in good hands."
"What? Madam President, are you alright?" Bill's voice was now tinged with panic. The president had been talking to him one moment and the next she was staring at him with an odd look on her face, unresponsive to his attempts to get her attention. Now she was mumbling incoherently.
Laura's eyes focused suddenly and she saw the Commander's concerned face just inches from her own. He was fully clothed and, she saw, still clutching his mug of coffee. She shook her head, cursing the chamalla.
"Oh, Commander, I'm so sorry. I must have dozed off." She prayed silently that she hadn't spoken any of her daydream aloud.
Bill looked at her, disbelieving. The woman could sleep with her eyes open? But all thoughts left his head as the president smiled at him. A smile that, bestowed by any other woman, would have read as seductive and inviting.
"Not enough coffee, I suppose," Laura continued. She gracefully brought her hand up and wrapped her delicate fingers around his mug, taking it from him and bringing it to her lips. She savored the caffeinated brew and gave a small hum of satisfaction.
"I'll be requisitioning this, Commander. Presidential power and all," she said, tipping the mug slightly at him and raising her eyebrows conspiratorially. She pulled back and resettled herself on the couch, reaching for one of the reports lying on the table beside them.
"Now, about the fuel shortages…"
FIN