Technique [Battlestar Galactica]

by Jennifer-Oksana and Kathryne
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Laura/Kat
Spoilers: Unfinished Business
Disclaimer: Not mine, not gonna be.
Summary: It’s all about knowing how to dance.

Kat’s still sweaty and irritated that the dance ended with Starbuck and Apollo crying on each other like little girls. She doesn’t know why she’s here, she just knows she’s not satisfied. And there’s just this shadow in the corner, smoking a cigarillo, and Kat isn’t even sure who it is at first. She’s surprised to realize it’s a woman, because she’s thinking it’s Cottle or Tigh or whoever.

Then there’s a long exhale and a voice coming out of the darkness. “You’ve got nice technique,” she says, and Kat suddenly realizes that it’s the President hiding in the dark corners of the ship.

“I just like to knock people flat,” Kat says, surprised.

The President laughs. “Sure, and I just like power,” she says with a husky, rough voice. A voice that sounds like she’s been shouting at someone. Probably the old man, if Kat doesn’t miss her guess.

The tip of the cigarillo glows as Roslin inhales, and Kat steps closer and breathes in the slightly sweet smell of the smoke.

“Just different kinds of power,” Kat says, and winces. She doesn’t do philosophy. “Gimme a drag?” she asks to cover her embarrassment.

Roslin hands her the cigarillo, and their hands just touch as the president tilts her head back. “I love boxing rings,” she says, maybe to herself, maybe to Kat. “They smell good. Like…people. Sweat and blood and all these things that should smell bad, but it ends up smelling like life. And then it clings to your skin, like…”

She opens her eyes and gives Kat a sidelong glance, then smirks. “Sorry. I had to pour a lot of ambrosia into the admiral just now. Makes me ramble a bit.”

Kat sucks on the cigarillo and lets the smoke curl up and out her nostrils, the way she used to when she was younger and sneaking smokes with her girlfriends behind the school. This has the same illicit thrill — frak, gossiping about the Admiral with the frakking President? It’s more exciting than any smoke she’s ever snuck before.

“No, it’s good,” she says. “I get you. The boxing, it’s all about remembering that, for the crew. Sometimes we just gotta hit each other, and sometimes we gotta bleed.”

Roslin nods, eyes still half-shut. She looks like a cat, kind of sort of, and Kat’s thinking there’s gotta be a catch here. Shouldn’t there be people who follow her around? It’s just very…funny, thinking of the president hiding out on Galactica from everyone.

“I’m hiding,” Roslin says. “Just in case you were wondering. I don’t feel like being president tonight.”

“Yeah, okay,” Kat says. “So you ever danced?”

That gets Roslin’s eyes open, and now she’s looking at Kat hard, and it’s almost uncomfortable. Kat doesn’t move, though. Partly she’s thinking that Roslin looks like she needs to hit something, but mostly she’s thinking about how that hair would look, tied back in a mess, and about Roslin climbing out of the ring all sweaty herself.

She doesn’t know how much of that shows through in her eyes, but suddenly Roslin’s shaking her head slowly. “No, I never have,” and she sounds kinda wistful. “My father was the boxing fan — I watched a lot as a child. But no, I never got into the ring myself.”

“That sucks,” Kat says. “You never know how sweet it is to be in a good fight until you actually do it. Cuz there are some things you can’t get out any other way.”

“Oh, I can think of at least one other way to get out frustration,” Roslin says with a merry, evil trill in her voice and Kat has so just been hit upon. She’s gonna end up sucking down the rest of Roslin’s cigarillo to cover up her freaking, too. Not good. Very not good.

Right now the worst thing Kat could do is choke, so of course she does, inhaling the wrong way and coughing like she’s never smoked before. She’s probably lost any chance she had of getting into the President’s pants with that little display, but frak if she’s giving up now. Roslin’s smiling, at least, and not outright laughing at her. She takes a last drag and pinches out the cigarillo butt, tucking it into her pocket once she’s sure it’s not still hot.

“I dunno,” she says, deliberately playing dumb. “The thing about a good match is being able to really feel it, you know. Flesh giving way, and how it feels when you’ve finally got somebody at your feet. I gotta put it right up there with flying as a real high.”

“So you fly, too,” Roslin says, rolling her wrists languidly. “I bet you’re good at that, too.”

“Just instincts,” Kat says, the hair on the back of her neck starting to stand up with the electricity. “You get a feel for it, y’know? And once you get a feel, it’s like…”

Roslin grabs Kat’s wrist and their eyes meet.

Just like this, that’s what it’s like.

All Kat’s instincts are telling her is that she ought to kiss Laura Roslin, President Laura Roslin, right here, next to the ring, in the middle of ship’s night. Her rational brain is screaming at her, but it’s being shut down by the scrape of Roslin’s nails over Kat’s inner wrist.

Frak it, she thinks, and slides her other hand up Roslin’s arm, over her shoulder. Pushes aside her jacket and leans in, biting at her collarbone. Roslin shivers and Kat’s all over that, moving in. Roslin can’t back up any further, so she pushes forward. Her other hand forces Kat’s head up and they both lean in for the kiss at the same time.

“Sure you don’t need a round in the ring?” Kat mutters into Roslin’s mouth. “You got a lotta tension, you know.” She tightens her hand on Roslin’s shoulder and Roslin moans, loud enough that Kat’s wondering if there’s anywhere more private around.

But then Roslin’s mouth fastens onto Kat’s neck, and like magic, moves up, down, down, right, and finds the little spot that makes Kat shriek and push up against the president’s torso like this was just some casual pick-up, and not frakked up like crazy.

She twists her hand into Roslin’s hair and pulls, breasts heaving. There’s some crazy back-and-forth sway between their hips, bumping into each other but not quite in the right way.

“It’s been an…eventful…um,…eventful year,” Roslin manages to choke out, trembling. “Come here.”

Kat comes there, mouths meeting and tongue dueling tongue as Kat keeps trying to get more, cuz this kissing is pretty good but Kat’s feeling hotter and hotter and making out just ain’t doing it for her and those choked, frustrated sounds coming out of the president whenever they bump into each other right say it’s no good for Roslin, either.

They’re both into it enough that Kat doesn’t need to worry about getting smacked down, and that makes her bold. She runs one hand around Roslin’s back, under her jacket, grabs a fistful of shirt and pulls. Roslin’s skin is getting sweaty and that just makes Kat hotter, the way her fingers slide down below Roslin’s waistband and into the back of her pants. She pulls, bringing one knee up, and Roslin whimpers and grinds hard against Kat’s leg.

Kat could almost come like this, cuz Roslin with her hair messed up is just as hot as Kat had imagined, but she doesn’t want to get interrupted. Probably no one’s gonna come back down here, but Kat did, and that’s enough to make her pull back and grab Roslin’s hand.

“C’mon,” she says, and tugs, Roslin following after her without any questions. Kat leads her back out of the arena. It’s empty now, most of the lights off, and Kat closes and locks the door.

They hurry down corridors, Kat trying to think of places where discreet hook-ups are supposed to happen, and coming up empty. There’s always someone somewhere on the Bucket, so she’s real surprised when Roslin tugs her arm.

“Here,” she says. “Nobody can see here.”

It’s a relatively dark corridor that goes…somewhere, but Kat’s foggy on where.

“Escape pods,” Roslin says, sliding around a corner. Kat almost laughs, because first, yeah, no wonder she doesn’t know about this place (where would they escape to?) and second, because someone’s been naughty before.

But instead she peels off her sweat-sodden tank and slips around the corner to an approving look and a pair of warm hands slip-sliding over Kat’s breasts hungrily and greedily.

“Faster,” one of them whispers and Kat surges up against the president and her hands and her rising-falling-rising-falling hips.

This time it’s Roslin’s hands that go exploring. From Kat’s breasts they slide down, over the curves of her stomach and further. Roslin makes an approving noise when she finds that Kat’s not wearing underwear, but hell, Kat’s always horny after a fight. She just didn’t think it’d be the president finding out — and then Roslin slides one finger up and in and Kat pretty much stops thinking.

Roslin’s got amazing hands and she seems to know exactly where Kat needs her fingers, where to press and where to rub and frak, Kat hasn’t had it this good in a long time. She knows she’s loud, but she can feel Roslin smiling against her skin and figures it doesn’t matter.

Roslin’s mouth moves lower, leaving a damp trail across Kat’s chest. She licks one nipple before biting down gently; Kat thinks about the last time she watched that mouth giving a speech and screams as her hips jerk raggedly against Roslin’s hand.

And at some point, Kat knows that this has got to stop, but those fingers are sliding between slick lips, teasing-torturing, and Kat is swollen and still dizzy from the first time, sensitive everywhere. So she just gives it up the way Roslin wants, rubbing up against the hand and soaking it, whining and pleading and wanting it in every way she can show, leaning on Roslin, kissing whenever there’s skin available.

Basically just doing what the woman wants her to do, because frak it. The lady wants her to come on her hand again, and Kat can do that, she can do that real good.

There’s a quiet command in Roslin’s eyes when that hand trails up Kat’s stomach and against her mouth and Kat licks it clean, breathing ragged and hard.

Then she presses a kiss between Roslin’s breasts and sinks, slowly, to her knees.

Roslin’s wearing underwear, which Kat had expected but is kinda disappointing anyway. She tugs them down with Roslin’s pants and licks at the inside of one thigh. Roslin moans and twists towards Kat. She’s nearly as wet as Kat is, and her legs are tense and trembling under Kat’s hands. “Gods, please,” she mutters, and Kat likes that she wants it bad enough to ask.

So she gives it, no more teasing, just dives right in with nose and tongue and fingers. Roslin’s crying out and writhing, but Kat pins her hips to the wall with her free hand. The president’s one hell of a frak, Kat thinks, that or she just hasn’t had it in a while. Could be either, could be both, but Kat’s determined that this time isn’t gonna be easy to forget. She’s got her pride.

So Kat keeps going, licking and tasting and when she gets ‘bored,’ she takes nibbles. There’s a bit of thigh that frakking reacts like electric shock when bitten on, and Kat would think that was bad, but nobody’s complaining.

More like the opposite of complaining, with lots of begging and pleading and trying to drag Kat back to where she feels Kat belongs with sharp little fingernails.

This is the good part. This is the very good part. And at one point, dragging her nails down Roslin’s thigh while sucking hard, Kat feels, rather than hears, all those muscles tense and then relax with a shudder, and Kat just goes at her harder, making frakking sure that come makes the president so dizzy that she can’t think, can’t do nothing except rock and jerk out the moment.

And there she goes, shuddering and screaming and riding Kat’s face like it was a Viper in hot pursuit of a toaster fighter, leaving Kat sticky and drenched and smirking against wet-hot skin.

Kat gives that spot one last lick, just to feel Roslin twitch, before standing on legs that are still shaky.

“Gods,” Roslin breathes, and she’s got a smile so big on her face that it makes Kat grin like crazy too. Cuz, frak, that took work, and Kat feels good right now. She wants to go stand in the shower till her body stops aching and then not get out of her bunk for a day or so.

It’s not gonna happen, but Kat can dream, and anyway she feels good enough that it doesn’t really matter. So she grins at Roslin, puts one hand back on her shoulder where it was to start.

“Looks like all that tension’s gone,” she says slyly. “Guess you were right about not needing to get in the ring. But you ever wanna go a round, you let me know…”

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