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Entry tags:
stolen from Clairza
Fuckit. I'm not getting any work done tonight.
Reply with an icon, and I'll write you a ficlet about it.
ETA: My brain has pretty much shut down, but I will keep writing these tomorrow; if you want to request one then do feel free to leave a comment :)
Reply with an icon, and I'll write you a ficlet about it.
ETA: My brain has pretty much shut down, but I will keep writing these tomorrow; if you want to request one then do feel free to leave a comment :)
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~
She had imagined that she could dig her nails into the skin of his shoulders and he would never waver, never halt in his rhythm, never lift his lips from her neck. Just as in every other aspect of their lives.
As in: the way she lashes out at him for keeping so rigidly to the very regulations that have saved their lives time and time again; oh, yes, she knows this. Far better than people realise. Far better than she'll let them realise.
As in: the way she laughs a little louder at Sam's jokes when he's around, the way she'll lean a little closer and act a little less like herself.
As in: the looks she gives him, sometimes, when she knows that he knows that they should both know better. But what the hell, right? He's the great Lee Adama and he can control himself, so she shouldn't have to give this up.
So when she finds herself pressed against a wall in a corner of the Pegasus that half of its crew probably doesn't know about (because Lee is an Adama to his fingertips and when he knows his ship he knows his ship) and she finds enough of her wits to dig her nails into his shoulders, it's something of a surprise when he growls and stops staring at her like she's his everything, when he leans in and kisses her harder than he's ever kissed her before. There's a jolt of something in her stomach and it can't be fear, because the idea of her being scared of this man, her Apollo, is frakking ridiculous.
She had thought.
She is weighing and measuring her misconceptions, letting them break apart and fly from her mouth with every gasp.
She had imagined sheets and sweat and skin on skin.
She had imagined that it would be lazily synchronised, that they would frak just like they fly, that everything would be perfectly aligned limbs and perfectly executed manoeuvres.
But Lee is moving with nothing like a constant velocity; he is tugging at her clothes with urgent need and just as her pulse speeds up to match him he is pulling back and cupping her face, gazing, smiling so beautifully her heart stops thudding and starts breaking instead.
She forces herself to hold that gaze, even though she can feel the fear twining around the lust in her stomach, and even though she can taste the fine bitter dust that used to be all of her assumptions and careless exploitation. She had imagined that she could keep her love for him locked down tight; the gods only know she's had enough practice. A good lay. That's all.
Careless, Thrace, she berates herself, but she knows that it's far too late.
"Kara," Lee whispers, "Kara," and she lets it all go.
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I love this so much I might cry.
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Lee is an Adama to his fingertips and when he knows his ship he knows his ship
I know my 'ship!
*loves on fahye! fic*
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She is weighing and measuring her misconceptions, letting them break apart and fly from her mouth with every gasp.
This is so so so beautiful.
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There's a jolt of something in her stomach and it can't be fear, because the idea of her being scared of this man, her Apollo, is frakking ridiculous.
I like the idea of this occuring to Kara.
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"Kara," Lee whispers, "Kara," and she lets it all go.
oh, happy sigh.
::melts::