I hope y'all like New Caprica because we are going to be here for a while.
The breeze had picked up, just shy of being a wind. He felt Laura shift more securely against his side. Her little sigh reverberating in his chest and her hair crinkling against his cheek. He had never noticed just how red it was.
Maybe it was the weed… maybe it was the dress. Perhaps it was the benefit of natural light but Gods… her hair.
"Were you actually a blonde?" he heard himself asked.
"Hmm?" she hummed absently, almost sleepily.
"Your hair," he repeated, "were you actually a blonde?"
She giggled softly against his chest and burrowed her head further into the crook of his neck.
"Bottle." She breathed against his neck. "Bottle blonde." Her eyelashes fluttered against the skin above his collar. "Not for very long, mind you, the upkeep… you wouldn't believe."
"Experiment of youth?"
"My first year at university." She agreed, moving her hand closer to where she could feel his heartbeat thump in his chest, her fingernails scratching the wool of his uniform, "I was studying Colonial Literature and the women… My Gods, Bill… Caprican women."
"Are the worst." He grumbled before he could stop himself and Laura let out a short shriek of laughter.
"The worst!" and pressed her face into his shoulder to stifle her giggles, "Oh my gods they were awful to me." She sighed, the ghost of her mirth still lilting in her cadence. "My sisters could have gotten away with it. They were tall… beautiful. Sleek brunettes like my mother."
"Not Virgon red…" he supplied.
"Not Virgon red." She agreed and tipped back her head to catch his gaze. Shifting again so that she was pressed more firmly against him, her breasts flush against his ribs, more aware than ever of the sharp peak of her hip under his hand.
Her eyes were dark even in the light that glowed from her tent. Pupils blown wide.
He brushed his fingers over the slippery fabric of her skirt, tracing the line of her hip, grasping it gently.
"I like it." He husked and was rewarded with a lazy smile.
Space was nothing compared to the depths of her eyes, he decided, not when they stared into him with such intensity as she was now. Threatening to swallow him whole. He traced a path to the dip of her waist, warm in the space between them, pressed his fingers into the softness of her flesh.
She was so close he could feel her nose threaten to brush his own and, when she pressed her lips to his with gentle insistence, his fingers dug deeper.