.01
Laura Roslin clicked along the corridors of Galactica, her stride even more determined than usual. She was well early for her usual meeting with Commander Adama, but she'd just received an evidence-backed report on the diversion and hoarding of critical supplies on certain ships. The image of those who were going short because of the greed of a few was enough to propel her off of Colonial One and through these corridors to Adama's office. This had to be nipped in the bud, immediately.
Petty Officer Dualla was her guide this morning, though by now she really didn't need one. Something in her demeanor must have told the younger woman that the President was thinking about something serious. She didn't speak until she was opening the door to the Commander's office/quarters for Roslin.
"I'll notify the CO of your arrival, Madame President."
"Thank you. I'd like to see him as soon as possible."
Dualla snapped a salute, her security took up station outside the door, and the door closed.
Laura took a deep breath, composing herself. She needed to calm down. She wanted Adama's input to the problem to be based on her facts, not her ire. She crossed to the Commander's private head to check her appearance.
She was relieved to note that she mostly looked her usual serene self. Not a hair was out of place; her dark red suit was pressed and crisp. Then her eyes hung up on the one significant change to her wardrobe, and she frowned.
Her last clean blouse had met with an accident involving a drunk delegate and a glass of ambrosia last night. She had donned the only option she had left for a top, a black V-necked knit shirt that had been lurking unnoticed in the bottom of her bag when she packed her three conservative suits for her original trip to Galactica. Beggars couldn't be choosers, Lords knew.
But she had forgotten exactly how deep that V was.
She shook her head, irritated. So I'm showing a bit more cleavage than usual—all right, a lot more cleavage. There's nothing I can do about it now.
Besides, when meeting with William Adama, it didn't hurt to use every advantage you had.
The thought made her laugh. Are you kidding! "Iron Man" Adama? Do you think he'll even notice, much less care? The most you might get is a raised eyebrow.
A sudden, impish impulse possessed her. She debated with herself, told herself she was asking for trouble, but in the end it was too strong. She took off her jacket, folded it neatly, and draped it over one arm of the sofa, setting her glasses on top of it.
Shall we see what happens?
Smoothing her slightly wicked smile into something more Presidential, she linked her hands behind her back and awaited the Commander's arrival.
.02
Adama was feeling about as relaxed as he ever did these days. His morning workout and run had done its usual job of letting him work through the aggravations of the previous day. Given his upcoming meeting with Roslin, he'd allowed himself extra running time, preparation for aggravations to come. He still left himself plenty of time to shower, change into his day uniform and deal with any minor crises that might have come up. As he toweled the sweat from his shoulders he saw Dualla at the door of the gym.
"Commander? President Roslin is in your study."
"She's early." And there went his relaxed mood ...
"Yes sir. She seems to have something on her mind."
"When does she not?" Dee grinned at this. Adama shook his head and sighed. "Well, whatever it is will have to wait while I get cleaned up. Thanks for the warning."
Dee nodded and left. No salute, Adama was decidedly not in uniform. Draping the towel over one shoulder, he headed for his quarters.
What an irritating woman. I wonder what it's going to be this time.
Once in his study, Adama shut the door behind him by touch, as he was mopping sweat from his face with one end of the towel.
"C—Commander?"
"Madame President." He lowered the towel. "You'll have to forgive my—"
He saw what she was wearing. His tongue locked.
A soft expanse of velvety fair skin, lightly tinted with peach, framed and contrasted by body-hugging black knit fabric, sculpted in delightful curves that made him want to reach out across the short distance between them and—and—
An embarrassing stirring in his loins brought him back to where he was and at whom he was staring. Bill, what the hell are you doing! Eyes up, dammit! He felt his face flood with color.
Heated, confused, and blushing as he hadn't blushed in decades, he finally dragged his gaze to the President's face—
--only to find that her eyes were as glued to his chest as his had been to hers moments before.
Specifically, they had locked onto the spot where the outline of his dogtags showed through his tank shirts. They flicked up to where he could feel a bead of sweat trailing down his neck, tracking the droplet until it disappeared under the neckband of his shirt.
Her lips parted slightly. Her grey eyes were iridescent.
"Laura?" He hadn't meant to use her name, nor let it come out as a husky question ...
It was her turn to yank her eyes to his face, startled realization flooding her expression. He watched a sweetly rosy blush of her own seep upwards from the boundaries of the black knit to eventually reach her hairline.
Both blushing, both on fire, breathing in unison, they stood facing each other across an unbearable gulf that spanned about fourteen inches.
Rocked by her sudden introduction to things normally safely hidden under a uniform jacket, Laura was discovering that being frozen in place had its advantages. If you couldn't unlock your jaw, for example, you couldn't accidentally spill what was going through your mind out your mouth. Hello, Commander. It looks like you're in need of a shower. Care for some assistance?
Of course, judging by Adama's roughened breathing and the duskier-than-usual tones to his olive skin, she was not the only one in this room disturbed by ... degrees of exposure. His smoky-blue eyes held hers, then slowly traveled down to her toes and back up. She felt her blush turning incandescent, tingling everywhere his eyes touched. His hands clenched, then slowly relaxed. And still she couldn't move.
One of us has to break this. One of us has to turn away ...
She took a deep breath to gather her resolve. Bad tactical decision, as she realized when her inhale sent the well-exercised aroma of him straight to emotion-response center of her brain, completely bypassing the frontal lobes. Warm male, sweat, a faint underlying spicy hint, all blended with the electric/metallic tang of Galactica herself, an olfactory impression of weapons, corridors, pressurized atmospheres, danger.
Completely unwilled, her eyes began their own journey. They started with shoulders and biceps that a much younger man would be proud to own, then traveled lower, over the chest that had so entranced her on his entry. The minor amount of middle-aged paunch he carried might have seemed lax on anyone else, but on him looked wonderfully solid. Glimpses of firm thighs and trim calves showed through his gray sweats. She lifted her eyes back to his chest, where they rested. His body was not toned perfection, with muscles fit only for show. Every inch of him had been shaped by hard use under hard circumstances. Her palms yearned to touch, to stroke, to discover every mark his years of survival had left on his compact form.
Is this what our armor was hiding, all this time?
His uniforms. Her suits. A constant visual reminder of who they were, what their relationship was. Even if a flicker of attraction stirred, a hint of heat, it could be easily pushed aside before it fully impacted the conscious mind. Such impulses were minor vagaries to two people in their position, no more than a byproduct of their shared responsibility for the fate of humanity. They surely could never be indulged.
Because she was the President. And he was the Commander.
It was obvious.
But it wasn't the Commander standing before her right now, scorching her with a gaze like a physical caress. And search as she might, she could find no trace of the President anywhere in the turmoil of sensory overload and pure want within her.
Their armor was gone, and with it went all semblance of caution, reserve, reason ... and control.
Another wayward drop of sweat trickled along the cords of muscle in his neck. Not only could she not stop watching it, it was all she could do to keep from leaning over to sip it off his skin. She actually swayed forward for a bare instant before stopping herself.
Her movement, slight though it was, seemed to break down something within him. Moving seemingly of its own accord, his left arm rose and slowly extended. Staring into his eyes, she felt two fingers brush a strand of hair away from her right temple. Feather-light, they traced the curve of her cheek and the slant of her throat before coming to rest directly above her pounding pulse. She trembled.
If it weren't for the hesitant tenderness in that delicate touch, she might have been able to turn around and reach for her jacket. If it weren't for the soft wonder that flooded his eyes at her response to him, it was just possible she could have summoned up her very last ounce of resistance.
As it was, that last ounce drained away on her sigh. "William ..."
The wonder firmed to conviction. The fingers caressing her pulse point reached around the back of her neck and exerted a gentle, insistent pressure. She took a step forward in response.
Miracle of miracles, he actually met her halfway.
She tilted her head back, but the expected kiss took some time to arrive. He settled one arm at her shoulders, one at her waist. As she twined her arms around him in turn, he swiveled and backed up until his desk was just behind him. He then tightened his embrace, pulling her hard against him as he leaned back slightly, bracing himself. Only when she gasped at the feel of him against the full length of her body did he finally lower his mouth to hers.
Oh ... sweet Lords, yes ...
Laura's last coherent thought was that she would never again think of a kiss as something that focused on mouths. His mouth slowly explored and savored hers, but his body imprinted her, breasts to chest, belly to belly, thighs to thighs. The warm pliability of his lips and tongue contrasted deliciously with the firm strength pressed against her. She gave back, sucking briefly on his lower lip, her hands eagerly ranging over the musculature of his back and shoulders, pressing herself against him with every bit of the urgency inside her.
A faint mew of sound escaped her when he broke the kiss, followed by a sigh when his lips sought the same trail his fingers had blazed earlier, temple to throat to pulse. Nuzzling, tasting. She blinked and smiled to see his own neck so close to her face. Starting just behind his right ear, she began a nibbling foray of her own, running her teeth delicately along his trapezius, pulling the neck of his shirt to one side to increase her access to bare skin. Coming back towards center, she nipped at the vulnerable point of his collarbone, soothing the spot with her tongue when he gasped. The salt/sweet/musk flavor of his skin filled her as his scent had earlier. When he pulled her back for another kiss, she went more than willingly.
For his own part, William Adama was far, far gone, lost to the intensity of what Laura Roslin was doing to him and the amazement of what he was doing to her. He wanted to learn this woman, to absorb her with every sense he possessed, to bring her under his very skin. From the feel and taste of her mouth, he moved to bury his face briefly in the scent of her soft auburn hair, listening to her harsh, accelerated breathing. Gently kneading her back, he kissed her closed eyes, then returned to the satiny sweetness of her lips.
His right thigh had somehow, no idea how, found its way between both of hers. Or perhaps hers had slipped between his. No matter now. No possibility of hiding his state of arousal, but that didn't matter either because she made no effort to hide hers. The tiny, rhythmic motions she made against him with her hips threatened to blow him apart, tearing a sound from him that was half-growl, half-groan.
Her own soft cries were coming more frequently, becoming more audible. As if in answer, he slid his right arm from her waist to just under the curve of her bottom and lifted. The motion elevated her to her toes and brought a particular portion of her anatomy to just under his chin level.
Bare inches away from doing what he'd wanted to do since entering the room, he hesitated. Kissing was one thing, hell, even necking, but this was a bare step beyond that. This ... needed permission.
He looked up at her face, just above his own. "Laura--"
She lowered her head, silencing him with her lips, running her fingers through his hair. Then, with rather less gentleness and more insistence than he'd used to bring her into his arms, she brought his mouth to the tops of her breasts. "Will ..." she moaned.
Yes. For a few moments he remained still, just breathing in the intoxicating scent of warm, clean, aroused woman. Then he let his lips roam over the sensitive territory offered to him, an exploration that gradually became more urgent as he brought tongue, then teeth into play. He let her slide down the front of him, one of her hands holding him willingly trapped against her, the other digging nails into his shoulder. His nose nudged fabric aside so that his mouth could follow into unexplored areas, while one hand slid around to cup her in just the right position. She cried out, rocking against him.
The harsh buzz cut clean through the moment when it sounded behind him, causing him to jerk his head up and her to go stiff and still. In a knee-jerk fury at the interruption he clenched his teeth, snarling, "WHAT!"
Fortunately for all concerned, Galactica had never been fitted with voice recognition and response systems on her comm units.
The comm buzzed again as they looked at each other, stunned and dazed. His tanks had come untucked, and his hair was in wild disarray from her hands. Her skirt had ridden up almost to the tops of her thighs, and both shirt and bra strap were in danger of slipping off her left shoulder. Her expression was slipping from stunned to stricken.
Reflexively, he reached for the comm before it could buzz for the third time. At that same moment she pulled away from him, not seeing his equally reflexive reach for her as she snatched up her jacket and glasses and crossed to his mirror.
He cleared his throat. "Adama."
Lt. Gaeta's voice came through. "Commander, I have Colonial One on the line. The President's aide is wondering if she's nearly done with your meeting. She's had a schedule change."
But we've only been here for-- Brow furrowing, he glanced at his timepiece. –an hour!
FRACK.
Aching inside, he shifted to watch her adjust her clothes. "You can tell Mr. Keikeya ... that the President will return to Colonial One shortly."
"Yessir." Gaeta cut the comm.
He watched her still. I can't believe this. A minute ago we were a few breaths away from winding up in my bunk, and now she's calmly fixing her hair!
No. Not calmly. He could see her hands tremble as she pulled on jacket and glasses. Not calmly at all. She emerged from his head, still adjusting her cuffs. Her armor was back in place, if slightly disarrayed.
His was still nowhere to be found.
"Laura—"
She interrupted him. "I actually came over to bring a very important situation to your attention." She nodded at the sofa, indicating the folder lying on it. "All of the information is there. If you can take some time to read it ... we'll discuss it later."
She turned toward the door. In last-ditch desperation he asked straight out. "And is that your plan for what just happened here?" She turned back towards him. "Discuss it later?"
"Commander." Her use of his title was a quiet reproof. "There really is nothing to discuss. It happened. It won't happen again. No blame, no recrimination. It's done."
Laura wasn't cowardly enough to leave without looking him in the face, but in a way he wished she was. The hunger at the back of her eyes went right through him, reverberating with his own.
She swallowed hard. "So let's just leave it at that, all right?"
She slipped through the door and was gone.
Adama was left with aches in places he really didn't want to consider, and a single question.
Did Billy Keikeya deserve promotion or strangulation for his timing?
She might have been the one who fled, but he couldn't deny that he was as badly shaken as she was. Most unsettling of all was the single word that had pulsed through him from the moment he'd taken her into his arms.
Mine.
He had refused to think of another human being in such a way since his divorce. Was he ready to consider the implications now, at his age? With her?
Ready or not, he considered. Most of all he considered the hunger in her eyes and the tremor in her hands. Looked down at the tremor in his own.
"No," he growled suddenly, squaring his shoulders. "No, Madame President, we will fracking well not leave it at that!"
He crossed to the head, stripping off for his overdue shower. Too damn bad it was going to have to be a cold, solitary one.
.03
Laura's wash was warmer, but no more relaxing. She lathered and rinsed reluctantly, not really wanting to scrub away his scent, but unable to risk anyone else smelling him on her. If her guards had noticed anything, they kept it to themselves. Billy had given her an odd look when she relieved him of the prep materials for her afternoon meetings, but that might have been because of the almost-brusque way she'd informed him that she'd be reading them in her quarters.
After drying off, she sat on her bunk in her robe, the damned black shirt in her hands and recriminations dancing through her brain.
How could this have happened! One good look at an extremely masculine male and I forget about position, conflicts of interest, responsibilities, the situation with the hoarders, for frack's sake!
Good gods, her cancer. That thought nearly made her ill, remembering everywhere he'd ...
Not fair. How could I think of death while doing something so totally alive?
Eyes closed, she leaned against the bulkhead, picturing Adama as she'd last seen him, flushed, frustrated, still obviously and unashamedly aroused. She didn't know how she could face him after this.
Her common sense finally cut in from sheer exasperation. Get a grip, woman, and stop the melodrama. You are not an overwrought teenager, nor is he some class jock to whom you succumbed against your better judgement. What happened was two adults doing something they both very much wanted to do. You're going to have to deal with this on those terms.
She opened her eyes, but the picture of him lingered. Not tall, not handsome, not romantic or charming ... well, not usually charming, at least not to her. Downright terse and truculent, most of the time. Unfair that she should be so primed for him of all people.
She looked down at the shirt. I should send this to the laundry. Or put it through the recycler.
She shook her head. Folding the black fabric neatly, she paused for one last inhalation of military masculinity before crossing to place the shirt in her storage. She froze upon opening the door.
Her blouses hung there, freshly cleaned.
Timing. She didn't know whether to laugh or cry. In the end she did neither, but instead pulled out her dark blue suit and got ready for the afternoon's circuses.
After four hours, politics and her own lingering frustration had combined to give her the mother of all headaches. Going over paperwork at her desk, she rubbed the back of her neck and winced.
"Ma'am?"
"Yes, Billy?" Looking up, she summoned a smile for her chief aide.
"We've just had a call from Galactica. Commander Adama has requested to meet with you as soon as possible to follow up on the hoarding situation. Given that it's a priority, I freed up the next slot on your schedule. He'll be here in about half an hour."
Her smile froze. You are just a tad too efficient today. But no, he was right. It was a priority, and avoiding the man wouldn't help anything.
"Thank you, Billy. Let's take a break until then, shall we?"
"Will you want me at the meeting?"
The idea of a chaperone was briefly attractive, but-- "Ah—no. No, I don't think so. You finish that follow-up on the Virgon delegation. I'll deal with the Commander." Somehow.
After taking some painkillers, she spent most of the interim trying not to worry. In dispensing with Billy's presence, she knew she'd set herself up for a reopening of the heated topic lying between them. Not that William Adama was likely to try anything physical here on Colonial One, but surely ... views would be expressed.
Then I'll just have to make sure that mine prevail, won't I?
The comm chimed. "Commander Adama here to see you, Madame President."
"Thank you, Aja. Send him in."
Intellectually she had expected it, but the sight of him back in his uniform was still jarring. Neatly groomed and completely correct, the contrast between his earlier passion and current control felt like a blow.
"Commander."
"Madame President." He nodded and took the chair in front of her desk, opening the folder she'd left for him and donning his own glasses. "I'm glad you told me about this supplies diversion. I'll just need clarification on a few points before we begin."
She blinked, nonplussed. Braced for a conflict, she had gotten—a nonissue. We're to be all business now, are we?
She didn't know what he saw in her expression, but he stopped leafing through papers. "Is something wrong?"
"No, I—no, nothing." I'm just extremely confused about what's happened to you in the past few hours.
He returned to sifting through the folder. "If it's about this morning, I want you to know that you can relax. It won't happen again."
"I ... see."
So it was true. He'd come to his senses as well. The Commander was back, and her ardent William was gone. She pressed her lips together and looked down at her hands. She refused, flat out refused to feel heartsick over getting what she wanted.
"Unless ..."
She yanked her eyes from her desk back to his face. He wasn't looking at her; the folder still held his attention.
"Unless?" She hadn't meant to ask, and she certainly hadn't meant to let her voice raise half an octave ...
He lifted his own eyes to look at her levelly. Then he removed his glasses and leaned forward.
"Unless you prove to me that it wouldn't be something you'd regret later."
The smoky blaze smoldered again in his blue eyes. She sat back, stunned.
He continued to hold her gaze. "I have no intention of even kissing you if all I'm going to inspire are second thoughts and self-reproach." The rasp of his voice was a near-tactile sensation. "So if you demonstrate that you truly want a closer relationship with me, we'll have one. Otherwise..."
The arrogant--!
She swallowed. So tell him. Tell him you prefer to just continue your professional relationship. You'll never have a better opportunity.
The words wouldn't come.
A faint quirk at one corner of his mouth told her that he, too, heard everything she wasn't saying.
"So don't worry, Madame President. You're as safe as you want to be."
Her jaw clenched at a sudden dose of hot anger. How dare you! How dare you take this lightly, try to manipulate me with some bedamned reverse psychology ploy, taunt me with something we want and shouldn't have--
The tension in her face must have been plain to see; she watched his brow crease in response. He closed his eyes for a moment, and seemed to come to a decision.
When he reopened them, his face was completely unmasked. His want, hunger and hope were plain to see. He let them show for a few moments, then dropped his eyes.
Understanding struck, abrupt and total, causing a catch in her breathing.
You idiot. There is no ploy here. He's not trying to tempt, taunt or manipulate you. He's trying to reassure you.
Granted, he's doing it in the most infuriating way he possibly could, but still.
Couched in the cocksure phrasing was a clear message: He was not going to press her while she had unresolved issues about deeper involvement with him. He was leaving the door unlocked ... but he ceded control of that door to her.
The time would be hers, the choice would be hers, and if she could ever resolve those issues to her satisfaction ... he would be hers as well.
A hot quiver spread through her belly at that thought.
Wanting to convey her understanding of him without being misconstrued, she reached out hesitantly to lightly brush the back of his hand, even as he'd brushed her cheek earlier. A delicate caress, an acknowledgment of a possibility.
He exhaled. He slowly turned his own hand up, not to take her hand, but to support it. Her fingertips rested against his palm even as his curved up to meet her from below.
Within the Commander's armor, she could see William waiting. He would wait for as long as she needed, oh yes.
But not one second longer.
She allowed Laura's warmth into the President's smile, pulling an answering smile from him.
Laura was thinking about the primal scent she'd hidden in her clothes store, and inhaling discreetly to take in the more civilized version radiating from across her desk.
William was thinking of the small red mark he'd discovered over his collarbone after his shower, and regretting that now was probably the wrong time to tell her about it.
"Shall we get back to business, Commander?"
"Certainly, ma'am."
She turned her attention to the paper he handed her, but her smile widened at their unspoken codicil.
For now, at least.
The End
Where it came from: Or the demands of SuperMuse and the power of a few pictures. ;)
Quick background: This fic is my answer to a challenge posted by vickyryan in bsgshippers. She asked us to write about how Adama would react if he encountered Roslin dressed in a snug v-neck t-shirt. I replied that I would go one better. In the interests of equality, I would answer the original challenge and describe what happens the first time Laura sees Sweet William in that lovely sleeveless tee-tank shirt combo.
That challenge and a hot morning's work carried me down to just past "breathing in unison", where I stopped. However, requests for completion and the story itself were both unrelenting, so I finished, taking inspiration from yet another of the wonderful rnrmummy's screencaps, Adama in all his sweaty glory, boxing with his son.
I hope you enjoyed the result as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please write me a review if you have a moment; feel free to send your comments to me directly at chris-at-rhinoventures-dot-com.