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Warning: this chapter contains sexual acts; not explicit or graphic but obvious. If you don't like that, or are not of legal age in your country, please skip to chapter 5.

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4.

Lee still hadn't managed to shake the strange feeling of unreality, but at the precise moment he felt her backside press up against his groin, he ceased to care. There was no remoteness in it, no sensation that he wasn't really part of whatever was happening here - quite the opposite, he was completely involved, more intent on his partner than he'd been in years - so he let it slide that nothing was going according to pattern. He didn't play bedroom games, had never needed to frak with a woman's head when her body was on offer; he always liked things to be a little frantic, a little frenetic, in keeping with the nature of the whole casual event.

And that wasn't how this was turning out. It turned out that he could kiss Kara for quite some considerable time, urgency building every moment, and still want to be kissing her. The urge to frak, to rush headlong into release, wasn't overpowering the desire to feel her tremble and make her scream.

She felt more like a lover than a throwaway. That should bother him, he knew, but instead it made him want to see even more, figure her out, divine the reason for his unreasoning attraction. He watched their reflected image in the glass, a shadowy thing of eight limbs and pale skin and her garments drifting down to the floor, and decided at least part of it was how unrestrained she was, how honestly she reacted, how thoroughly she was enjoying his slow attentions.

The first time he had to press her fingers back against the glass, he realised that another part of it was the challenge implicit in her gaze. The game obviously wasn't over yet, and she'd been winning so far. Now the scores were slightly more in his favor. "Not very patient, are you?"

"No," she admitted, and then rubbed her assagainst him again, the scrap of cloth that remained to her tugging at both of them, making Lee growl a little. "Not usually..."

"Who wants usual?" He ran a hand down her flank, following curves, dragging that last brief garment down to her knees before trailing his fingers upwards between her thighs; not too high, not yet, but tantalisingly close. Kara trembled, and her head dropped forwards as she tried to rub against him again. "Don't look away," he urged, curled his fingers around the top of her thigh and slowly eased that leg away from the other, lifting it out of the pool of her fallen clothing. He wondered if she could read his eyes in that reflection, if the glass let her know what he was thinking as he spread her out against the glass. "Don't move, Kara."

"Frak," she whispered, and Lee didn't know how was holding back, but he was. He kissed the nape of her neck, then the side of it, then tucked his face into the curve of her throat and let his hands drift up. Trailing over skin, over shadowy curls, over her flat belly; curving as they found soft flesh, he let his palms map her.

"Gods," he heard himself mutter, voice hoarse, "why haven't I found you before this?" She froze momentarily, stilled, and he reflexively pressed closer; her breasts flexed, tightened in his hands, and they both groaned. Lee closed his teeth on her shoulder before any more stupid, reckless thoughts came out of his mouth, and let one hand drop back down.

The moment he slid fingers against her, found her already slick, she cried out. Inarticulate, but so meaningful, that sound; she had told him the truth. Patience was not her game. Nor was passivity; her own fingers flexed against the glass even as he explored her - slowly, slowly: soft folds, swollen nub, inviting depths. One finger probing made her shudder, two made her curse - oh frak oh frak oh my gods - and then she broke, another wordless noise as her legs buckled and she slumped against his chest.

Lee felt triumph course through him, didn't hesitate for a second; he took two steps forward until she was pinned against the window, nipples already hardened going taut at the touch of cold glass. He felt the shock rouse her and began again, circling outside, teasing and stroking, moving up abruptly to pierce her when she started to respond.

It might only be this one time, he told himself as he worked her back into frenzy. And if its only this once, he was going to make it worth every single second.

---

It was a blur of heat on heat and his hands moving and the chill of glass and the fire of his commands whispered in her ear, and Kara was sure she was insane or dead and in paradise or dreaming because nothing about this could possibly have anything to do with real. If the events were real, what could they - slow, masterly, escalating as they were - have anything to do with Kara Thrace?

She didn't know, but she wasn't going to argue. Not while he held her there, one arm around her ribs, his face against her throat, with his fingers slowly dismantling any form of concentration. She broke again, and heard herself stutter breathily: "Lee. Gods, Lee."

He stopped. Kara pressed down with her hips, back with her ass, trying to regain that maddening sensation; instead the movement made him groan, and an altogether different thrill of warmth went through her. She tensed her fingers, pushed backwards off the glass. They fell on the bed, and the look in Lee's eyes was desperate: she hadn't seen that in the reflection, hadn't been able to see more then the curve of his jaw as he murmured encouragement against her throat. The tables had definitely turned.

Swiftly, Kara straddled him and threw his arms above his head, stripped off his shirt without bothering to unbutton. He reached for her, but she caught his wrists: the slickened fingers of his right hand brushed her lip, so she opened, drew them in and tasted her own pleasure on his skin.

It was his turn to curse; he did so, a low monologue of deities and crudities as she suckled his fingers while her own worked swiftly on his belt and jeans. He pressed the digits deeper, and she let her teeth graze them, her tongue brush them, watched his eyes roll shut. When she released his hand and bent to strip him he helped her. He was clumsy with desperation, grabbed her roughly by the shoulders to drag her down to the bed, his mouth closing urgently over hers.

Kara let him roll above her, let him press her downwards into the mattress: her hands were free. He could outweigh her, but as long as she could touch him, she wasn't helpless. Drifting a hand down his ribs and then lower, she stopped him completely when she closed her palm around his cock. He shuddered, his whole body moving with a sudden tremor that seemed to slide down his spine. "Don't" he tried, breathless, but she ignored it, teased his mouth with her tongue while she stroked him, hard and measured. "Don't, don't..."

"Don't?" Kara asked when the words dried up, slowed her movements.

"Don't stop!"

So she didn't. Not until he was thrusting against her hand, too intent even to kiss her. Then she ceased, her fingers loosening, trailing away over his length as he made a noise of protest.

"You -" he tried, then shook his head and nudged a knee between her thighs. "You are -"

"You already convinced me," she reminded him, tilted her hips up and felt them come together with a shock of sensation so instense she wondered if her heart would stop.

"Kara," he said then, and thrust, and they were gone. Both gone, both become someone else entirely.

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