I wrote this back in 2011. Yes, I have more fics I haven't posted here! LOL This was written for a 'Tauron' challenge. It's set during Pegasus. I started writing it as a serious comparison of Cain and Bill, but it got away on me...
Laura Roslin arrived outside the Commanding Officers' quarters of the Galactica at the same time as dinner.
Bill made amiable small talk with the young Marine who was delivering their meal from the galley, leaving her to slip through the hatch, kick her shoes off, sink into his couch and close her eyes.
"The galley brought enough for two, apparently." Bill's comment coincided with the distinctive sound of the hatch closing behind the Marine.
Next, she heard a clink of glasses from the direction of his drinks' cart.
"You're staying for dinner, I take it."
She dragged herself upright and watched him as he lowered his body into the other end of the couch. He had obviously just showered. He was wearing a thick terry towelling robe and his hair damply glistened in the muted light of his quarters.
"Sorry, I'm being presumptuous. I should have asked—"
"Don't be ridiculous, Laura," he cut her off. "You know you're welcome anytime."
She gave him a shy smile over the top of the glass of water he'd just handed her.
He smiled back, and then stared into his own glass for a long moment, swirling its contents thoughtfully. "It seems strange," he murmured.
"What?"
"That we have no Fleet business to discuss before dinner."
She bit her bottom lip.
"I have a favour to ask you," she said, deciding to change the subject.
She pulled out a piece of paper from her jacket pocket and handed it to him.
He stood and found his spectacles, hooking them onto his ears before he unfolded the paper carefully.
Bill read through the traditional Tauron fare listed on the sheet of paper. The official seal of Pegasus was stamped at the bottom of the menu.
"You're dining with Cain?" he guessed, trying to stifle the odd emotions that were welling in his guts at the thought.
"Yes," Laura confirmed. "Tomorrow night. Billy insisted her people send through a menu in advance in case anything on offer will react with the chamalla."
"She knows you're on chamalla?" he asked, concerned what Cain could do with that information.
"No." Laura tilted her head and gave him a sheepish smile. "Billy told them I have allergies."
He snorted, and sat back down beside her.
"I'm glad you feel like you can trust me now," he said, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze.
"Of course I can trust you!"
Laura had to hold herself back from embracing Bill. There was something so attractive about a man trying desperately to be strong and yet still not afraid to show his vulnerability and confusion about the new situation they were facing.
Once she was dead, Baltar and Cain would be in charge of the Fleet. Her blood ran cold at that prospect.
"I thought I should accept, give her a chance to prove that she isn't as narrow minded as I suspect. I was hoping, with you to guide him, that Baltar might make a go of things. Now, I need to make sure Cain's not going to walk all over him; or worse."
Bill turned away before she had a chance to see the tears in his eyes. Cain already thought he was weak. He didn't want Laura Roslin to think the same thing.
"What's the favour," he asked, facing her again when he'd finally composed himself, his voice still gruff.
"I asked your galley to prepare the same menu. Will you teach me correct Tauron etiquette so I don't look ignorant tomorrow night? "
She gave him one of her dazzling smiles that always knocked his heart around in his chest.
"Of course, Madam President."
Laura automatically placed her hand into the one Bill offered to help her from the couch, and let him lead her to the dining table. He had such a knack of making her feel comfortable and at home; with him, as well as within his quarters. Cain could never compare. And it was unfair to expect her to. She would make more of an effort to understand her viewpoint and opinions tomorrow night.
Bill lifted the silver dome lids of their dinner, experimentally sniffing their contents.
"I'll just go and dress before we eat," he murmured, heading toward the bathroom.
She'd continually been telling herself over the last few weeks that she needed to adhere to protocol, and not give into her personal preference-which would be to deal with Bill as head of the military, and not Cain. She and Bill had had many arguments, and continued to have them, but she knew, without a doubt, that Bill had the Fleet's best interests at heart. He was personally connected with the people of the Fleet. Something she wasn't so sure about with Cain…
"Come and sit."
Bill had returned, bringing an end to her musing. He took her arm and eased her into a dining chair.
She caught a faint scent of something familiar on the plain blue uniform he'd changed into. It was a scent she completely associated with him; an odd combination of perhaps vanilla and leather.
"First you need to wash up before dinner," he announced, uncovering one of the trays to reveal a bowl of steaming hot water.
Using a pair of ornate chopsticks that lay beside it, he deftly extracted a small wash cloth from the bowl. With an expert twist of his wrists, he used only the chopsticks to squeeze the excess water from the cloth before offering it to her.
"Oh my goodness, I'll never be able to do that," she lamented, watching in awe at the way he whirled the chopsticks to his bidding to retrieve another cloth for himself.
"Luckily, this is strictly the host's duty. You may never touch this bowl or these particular chopsticks. There are another two cloths in the bowl that we should use once the meal is at an end."
"Paper napkins are so boringly Caprican," she teased, wiping her hands with the hot cloth.
He grinned. "You should wipe your mouth too."
Her eyebrow raised, she asked, "My mouth?"
"Yes. You need to wash any place food may come into contact with; hence, your hands and lips."
"My lipstick is sadly wasted then," she said, patting her lips delicately.
Bill looked away, trying not to stare at her lips for too long.
Instead he concentrated on the food, serving up their first course.
"She's testing you," he noted.
Laura eyed what seemed to be two pastries Bill served onto her plate.
"Why?" she asked, not surprised. Cain was adept at playing games.
"These are hot. So make sure you don't give her the satisfaction of your eyes watering."
She picked up her fork and prodded the apparently spicy roll tentatively.
"Not the fork," he warned, pointing to a smaller set of chopsticks laid out by her plate.
She sighed, hoping Bill wasn't going to laugh when she admitted she never knew how to use chopsticks.
He saw her hesitation. "You've never had Tauron food before at all?" he asked, incredulous.
"Yes, of course. But I've always just used a fork."
"Like this," he said, holding his hand up so she could see how he was controlling the utensils.
Still concentrating on his demonstration, she absentmindedly picked up a chopstick in each hand.
"Never touch them with your left hand," he growled, making her drop them with a clatter. Chuckling at her reaction, he stood and came around to her side of the table, manipulating her fingers into the correct position.
"Okay, hold this one between your thumb and middle finger," he instructed. "And it doesn't move. You only move the one on top."
She awkwardly followed his lead. "What if I'm left handed?" she asked, hoping making conversation might divert her from her involuntary effect his hand in hers was having.
"Doesn't matter; you still have to use only your right."
Feeling completely uncoordinated, Laura managed to pick the pastry up and nibble on the end. It was filled with some sort of meat and an array of vegetables; and, of course, a blend of Tauron spices.
Bill took his own bite when Laura never showed any signs of the food's heat bothering her. Perhaps the galley had prepared the incorrect recipe, he thought.
As he swallowed though, he realised that indeed they did have the correct heat in the dish, and he'd once again underestimated Laura Roslin. He fervently hoped Helena Cain would make the same error in judgement.
"You're okay?" he asked.
She finally took a delicate sip of water.
"Yes. As I said, I've eaten Tauron cuisine before. Usually takeaway though; no tradition involved," she admitted with another flash of a smile in his direction.
"And Gemenese and Scorpion, which are both quite spicy, as well. It's just these chopsticks that are going to give me away as a novice," she complained, chasing one of the rolls around her plate after it slipped from her gasp. "We should have started practising a week ago," she added with a sigh.
He would have liked that. He would like to eat with her every night, in fact. He suddenly wondered how often she ate at all. Each time he saw her, he sadly noted all the small changes to her features. She was losing more and more weight.
As if reading his mind, she pushed aside the second pastry without even attempting to eat it.
"Am I going to insult her if I can't finish it?"
"No," he assured her, reaching out to squeeze her hand again. She turned her hand palm up, and their fingers entwined together. "She thinks you're sick with allergies anyway. She can't expect you to eat an entire banquet."
She avoided his gaze, instead staring at their joined hands for a long while. Eventually she inhaled one deep breath. "Okay, next!" she cried with a brave smile.
"Noodles," he announced with a grin.
"Noodles?" she groaned. "How am I ever going to eat a bowl of slippery noodles with the chopsticks?"
"I'll help for a while."
He passed her a bowl of noodles and a new set of chopsticks.
"Okay, it's the same method as before, only these chopsticks are slightly smaller, gives you more control. You might even find them easier," he encouraged.
"I doubt it," she drawled. "Can I lift the bowl to my mouth?"
"Yes, in fact it's expected."
He watched as she never once managed to get anything near her mouth. Each time she had a noodle between her chopsticks, she dropped it before it made it to the target.
"This is hopeless," she muttered.
"Tilt the bowl a little," he suggested. "It will get some of the sauce out of the way, and may help."
"Now you see why I always just used a fork."
"Here, watch." He gave another demonstration, tilting his bowl and hooking the noodles between his chopsticks with ease. He nodded approvingly at the recipe the galley had followed for the sauce. "They aren't bad, actually."
"I'll never know…"
"Here," he said, capturing a portion and offering it to her.
"I'm allowed to eat from your plate?" she asked, still automatically and obediently opening her mouth and taking the mouthful from him.
"Yes," he rumbled, the collar of his uniform suddenly feeling much tighter when erotic images of her and her mouth flashed into his mind.
"Seems odd."
"You can't take food from just anyone's plate. It has to be family, or someone you consider family. And you have to eat from that person's chopsticks. I couldn't, for example, place my noodles into your bowl for you to eat. If you're to eat my food, you must eat directly from my chopsticks."
She gave him a small smile. "You consider me family?"
He met her gaze, finally only breaking it to cast a quick glance down at her lips, which she'd been running her tongue over.
"Why don't you try again," he urged, setting his bowl back onto the table and dragging his chair closer still to hers.
He held her left hand with his, adjusting the height and gradient of the bowl. Then, he curled the fingers of his right hand over hers, and guided them into position on the chopsticks.
Laura felt a pang of desire shudder through her body almost instantly when Bill's large hands spread over hers so capably.
It wasn't the first time she'd felt the forbidden ache of longing in his presence. Of course, she would never now have the time to act on it. Neither did she bother to take the time to question it anymore. It just was. She accepted that in any other universe she would want, and most likely make sure she had, Bill. In this universe it was completely impossible.
Finally, he took his hands away, letting her attempt a few mouthfuls on her own. She marvelled at how she could still feel his warmth on her skin.
Distracted by her inappropriate thoughts of Bill's skin on her skin, her chopsticks slipped and she dropped the noodles before they reached her mouth. She felt their sticky consistency slide down her chin.
She reached for the wash cloth, but Bill placed his hand upon hers again to stop her.
"You're not allowed to use it during the meal; only before and after."
She blinked and then started giggling with embarrassment.
"So, I have to sit through the rest of the dinner with globs of noodles on my chin?"
"You might have to stop thinking tomorrow night," he said, his hand still resting on hers comfortably.
"Thinking? What do you mean?" Her voice was a now a mere whisper as his gaze lingered upon her mouth.
"It means your mind was ticking over with something when you attempted to eat before, and that's why you dropped the noodles."
"How do you know?" she gasped, somehow both excited and angry that he should read her so well.
He reached out and his thumb slowly wiped some of the sauce from her chin.
"I know you. You had that look on your face. What were you thinking about?" he asked, his voice deep and husky.
You and I naked, she thought, wondering how he'd react if she said the words out loud.
"Nothing," she said instead.
"Liar," he accused, his thumb making a trail to her lower lip.
The desire she'd been thinking so intently about only minutes before spread through her bones, making her loose-limbed and exposed. She couldn't move, could only watch as slowly, oh so slowly, he leaned down and his tongue flicked to lap the sauce from her chin.
She heard someone quietly moaning. She was afraid it was her.
Then, when his lips finally crept up to meet with hers, his tongue gently encouraging her to respond, she stopped being afraid, and with one loud moan that without doubt came from low in her throat, she opened herself to him.
Bill tried not to think about consequences when he lifted Laura from her chair and planted her firmly in his lap, her legs astride him. He was only thinking about how he needed her closer.
While they continued to explore each other's mouths, he untucked the hem of her blouse from her skirt and let his hands wander over the bare skin beneath. His fingers spread across her back, urging her closer yet, her breasts temptingly pressing against his chest.
His heart missed a beat when she broke off their kiss, but it started beating rapidly again when he realised she was merely tilting her head back, offering her elegant neck to him. Like a good soldier, he obeyed her silent command, latching onto the base of her throat where her pulse thrummed under his tongue.
Her nails dug into his scalp, surprisingly relaxing him when he was so on edge, ready to topple over the metaphoric cliff and take her with him.
Laura clutched at Bill's head when he lowered it slowly and deliberately, popping her top few buttons in the process, to run the stubble of his chin across the swell of her breasts visible at the top of her bra. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched his tongue and mouth sexily follow, soothing any scratches or discomfort caused. His thumb and finger teasingly tugged at her nipples through the lace of her bra.
She was suddenly left bereft when he abruptly broke off, his hands and mouth falling away.
"Bill…" she whimpered in frustration, meeting his gaze in confusion.
"I'm not…" He gulped, unsure and uncomfortable. "I'm not going to hurt you?"
Tears gathered in her eyes. She'd forgotten. For a few minutes he'd actually made her forget.
"No…Please, Bill…Don't stop."
Bill never needed any further invitation. He lifted her off of him and stood, clutching her hand tightly to lead her to his rack.
Before they lay down, he undressed her, his eyes lingering with each slow reveal. Lowering her onto the mattress, he was disconcerted somewhat at the more than eager way she watched him undress. He placed a self conscious hand over his scar as he climbed into the rack next to her, but she pushed it away, her eyes sparkling with empathy.
"I nearly lost you," she murmured, sweeping her palm along the long red mark.
"I won't lose you to her," she vowed, her mouth seeking and finding his.
After that they were silent except for the heated murmurings of their lovemaking. They were completely in synch. Every touch, every kiss, every response, was so easy. They innately knew just how to please each other. They knew when to be soft and gentle, and when to apply more pressure to each other's bodies. They knew when to be slow, and when they needed to quicken the pace until they exploded into and around each other.
Laura held Bill close afterwards. She had never given herself so completely to a man. At her age, she had finally found someone she could trust so fully that she had let go and given into the moment, making it more than just sex. She'd finally found perfection, physically, with another human being.
Tears sprang into her eyes. It was too late. She was weakening every day, and she couldn't afford to be selfish and waste her energy on this again.
She knew now – really knew – how much Bill meant to her. She would need all her strength to ensure he was once again in charge of the Fleet, if it was the last thing she did. In fact, it probably would be the last thing she did.
All her good intentions for the dinner tomorrow night disappeared. Be damned with Cain's chances. She couldn't take the chance that her gut feeling about Cain was correct, and Bill, and the Fleet, would be in danger when she was gone.
She reached out blindly as Bill disentangled himself from her and made his way to the table.
He scooped up one of the wash clothes from the bowl of water, squeezing it out with the chopsticks and returning to the rack with it.
He dabbed it across her lips, then bent over her to kiss her passionately.
She shivered when he then ran the cloth down her body, his mouth following its trail. She readily spread her legs wide when he reached there.
"Is this etiquette?" she teased as he carefully wiped her clean.
"No, probably not. But I do like the thought of us starting our own tradition."
He pressed a kiss to her pubic mound.
She was surprised when he began to chuckle.
"What?" she asked, gracing him with a smile in return.
He scrambled up her body and wrapped his arms around her, holding her safe.
"When you get your breath back, I'll need the other cloth."
"Yes?"
"I'll need to wipe around my mouth again. It's tradition to clean your mouth before you intend to eat. And I intend to have a traditional Caprican dessert."
He swept a finger through the curls of her pubic mound suggestively.
"Bill Adama!" she slapped his chest playfully in mock horror.
His sly grin suddenly disappeared and he turned serious.
"Tonight won't ever be enough," he whispered.
"No," she agreed. One night with her loyal Tauron lover would indeed not be enough for her selfish heart, but it would have to be.
"But it will be," he said, reading her mind.
Through her tears, she smiled again. She knew exactly what he meant.
The End