A/N There is some quasi-sexiness/potential squickiness here. It is all done with a light, and non-beating heart, I assure you.
Explosions dotted the alleyways, smoke blotted the sun and ash tumbled down to the sandy earth like snow. Walking down the main street, Tom at her side and screaming civilians running hither thither, Laura felt like a spectator at a particularly raucous Colonial Day parade.
"You know," Tom kicked a corpse that littered the road. "We shouldn't leave all of these bodies here."
"Once all the trouble settles down," she reasoned, "I think everyone can assist in helping clean up."
"Clean up?"
"If they're dead, they're not using their brain," she concluded.
"I think their families might object, regardless." His tone of voice implied he didn't particularly care about this fact.
"I don't think their families will be sticking around much longer."
As it had turned out, much of the screaming when the horde had come into the city wasn't due to their appearance. Some kind of evacuation seemed to be in order, or uprising. With most people running rather than fighting, Laura figured it was an escape. A part of her couldn't help but huffily point out it was a bit late. There were perks to being mostly-likely-probably-dead though.
"Brains?" She offered Baltar's severed head to Tom.
They had found their president aboard Colonial One, about to be killed by Gaeta. They'd asked him to direct his fire towards the man's chest, in order to keep most of his brains intact, but apparently the fact they were both still alive and been a little much for the young man to handle. Actually, no one in that room, even the Six, managed to take it very well.
"Thank you," he pushed past some still attached vertebra and through the man's jaw to reach the fatty mess of gray mater. "What is in this?" Tom asked after slurping down some of the frontal lobe.
"I have no idea," Laura's eyes moved across the sky, interested in the number of colors she was sure hadn't been there before.
"It's not bad."
She hummed in agreement; not sure if the fireball dropping through the sky was real, or the product of the drugs Baltar had been on. It was strangely relieving to know she could still get high, and Laura wondered what else she could still do. She looked over at Tom, who smiled, the missing piece of his face contorting with the action.
"You know, he wasn't wearing an NCP uniform," he stated before she could try something.
"He would have been found guilty of collaboration, and traitors get killed anyway."
"That's questionable."
She looked at him, doing her best to convey that him saying that was one of the most questionable sentences to pass through his lips. Instead of calling him on it, Laura settled on saying, "us being alive, that's questionable."
"True enough."
Deciding to act now rather than let Tom do it later, Laura dropped Baltar's head onto the ground and stepped towards her companion.
"What-"
She cut him off with her mouth on his, clutching his shoulders and closing her eyes. He responded as if her actions had been completely expected, and his hands quickly found her ass. Laura nipped at his lower lip, managing to take most of it off. It was a bit like tofu, when you really wanted steak- or in this case, brains. Tom's hands slid down to the tops of her thighs, picking her up and prompting her to wrap her legs around his waist. She pulled back from the kiss, tongue sweeping across her lips and smearing some of his blood across them in the process. He nuzzled his way down her neck, nipping her collarbone once he reached it, tearing the skin. Laura tugged at his hair to try and match the abuse, pulling some of it free.
Still curious as to one other possibility, she flexed her legs, hoping to bring their hips in closer contact.
"Well, that answers that question."
He glowered at her statement, and her tongue make a cursory sweep of his eye. Tom quickly set about planting kisses and puncturing bites along her neck to move it from her reach.
"Tease," Laura complained, dragging her nail down his neck and cutting into the skin.
"Glutton," he responded, sucking congealed blood out of the wounds he had created.
"Hypocrite," she retorted, tracing the tattered skin on his cheek as he started to gnaw her bra through her shirt.
"Harlot," Tom panted, eyes now looking over her shoulder, hoping to find a wall to push her against. Wood paneling caught his eye and he stumbled towards it.
"Whore," Laura moaned when he pressed her against the reinforced siding of one of the water tanks. She tore open his shirt, fingers examining the bullet wounds underneath before she brought them back up to lick the jelly-like congealed blood off.
"Up," he insisted, nonsensically, to her ears.
"What?" She nibbled at the lobe of his ear.
"Up."
Laura looked up, catching sight of the exposed crossbeam from the wall. She gripped onto it, pulling herself up, and Tom shifted her legs form his waist to his shoulders. Keeping one hand on the beam to maintain balance, she threaded the other back through his hair.
"Don't you dare-"
Tom sank his teeth into her thigh through her jeans.
Her protest quickly segued into a rising cacophony of yes's.
The hollowed eye-sockets in Baltar's severed head watched them from where it was abandoned in the middle of the road, completely forgotten.
