Suspend the Rules [Battlestar Galactica]

Suspend the Rules
by Jennifer-Oksana (jenniferoksana@yahoo.com) and Kathryne (tellitslant@livejournal.com)
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Roslin/Adar
Spoilers: Epiphanies
Disclaimer: Moore’s the man with the master plan.
Summary: The president relies heavily on the expertise of his ministers.

Everyone’s eyes are drawn to Secretary Roslin, and she has always known how to move in high heels. Slight roll to her hips, the faintest smile as she looks over the bored room of ministers, secretaries, staffers, and Richard.

He sits up a little straighter in his chair, then curses himself silently: the last thing he needs to do is call attention to his focus on her. But his movements go unnoticed in the general rustle and shuffle of the room. He’s not sure whether he should be insulted that they’re more interested in the Secretary of Education than in the President, or whether he should be jealous at the speculative looks in so many eyes.

“The rider attached to the Fair Communications Act makes this bill utterly unacceptable. Previously, ninety percent of the revenue raised by the Universal Service Fee went directly to educational expenses, to ameliorate educational inequity in much the way the universal service fee did for telecommunications,” Secretary Roslin says firmly, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“She’s going to frak us on a ten percent reduction,” mutters one of the defense staffers. “Rich, can’t you call her off?”

“She’s not wrong, is she?” Richard asks tiredly. “Your budget is eighteen times the size of hers.”

“We’re preventing a Cylon invasion. She’s bitching about pennies,” Donovan growls.

Laura’s ears are sharp and the staffer is louder than he should be, and she turns to him with a dangerous smile. “And if the schools can’t afford new textbooks and the students can’t learn the right math, who’s going to fly those lovely ships of yours?” she challenges, stalking across the room. “How are our scientists going to build your weapons, if the labs they train in are falling apart?”

Her eyes are ablaze with the satisfaction of argument, her cheeks flushed, and Richard thinks he can feel the tone of the room swinging behind her. She’s always at her best when she has someone to confront.

“Take it up with the legislature,” the sacrificial idiot babbles, while Laura’s gaze sees through him and focuses on Richard for a split second. “They let it get out of committee. And we are the executive branch…”

“We are, of course,” she says with a devastating smile, leaning forward and turning her attention on laser-focus. “Which is why, of course, I consulted with Marta Stone, the ranking party member in committee. She admitted to me that she was persuaded to accept the rider by someone from the Defense office. So I think I should very much take it up with you, gentlemen.”

Her focus widens to include Richard, who is admittedly more interested in the secretary’s very nice silhouette. Which, of course, is probably what Laura meant him to notice, which makes her triumph a little more enjoyable for her, which embarrasses him all to frak.

“I’m sure Donovan’s people made a mistake,” Richard lies, looking at the crisp white blouse Laura is wearing over her skirt. If he’s not wrong — and he so rarely is — her bra is not white. He’s thinking it’s a pale pink, a color Laura loves but won’t wear in public.

“The call will be made immediately, Madam Secretary,” Donovan says sullenly, pulling out his phone. He scribbles a note to Richard — frak you, asshole — and walks away.

Laura smiles warmly. “And people say governments thrive on gridlock.”

Richard matches her smile with one of his own, carefully calculated for public viewing. “Not every cabinet is blessed with someone as… talented as you are,” he says blandly. “At seeing through the red tape, that is.” His eyes flit down her body and up again, back to hers.

Laura lifts her eyebrows slightly, asking a question. He tips his head in acknowledgment.

“Nor a leader who is so willing to consider the merits of every angle,” she replies. Her lips twitch; they’re on dangerous ground, the thrill almost overcoming their good judgment.

Richard looks away first, down to the agenda before him, and she turns away and walks back to her seat. He swallows hard and starts wondering how quickly he can adjourn the meeting.

Donovan gives him a perfect opportunity — he flounces back in the room and slams his phone on the table. “The opposition party’s decided to have a field day with this,” he says. “Claiming that we’re soft on security.”

“It sounds like you have work to do, then,” Richard says. “Let’s break this tea party off and get to work. Phaedra, why don’t you and Donovan figure out how to get our PR people to soften the blow. Someone find me some pictures of falling-apart schools and show them to me.”

“I have a file waiting, Mr. President,” Laura says, on cue. “I can give my press liaison photos on your approval.”

“We’ll have to choose carefully. We don’t want to lead to accusations that we’ve been neglecting infrastructure,” Richard says. “All right, all of you. Get out. Secretary Roslin…”

“I’m following your lead,” she says, walking up next to him without even a smile, all business except for her arm brushing against his.

“Excellent,” he says. “Is that file in your office?” She nods. “Then shall we?”

He holds the door open, allowing her to sweep ahead of him, and follows her down the corridor with single-minded intensity. It’s not the heels, he decides, it’s the gods-damned stockings. They’re seamed, and his eyes are drawn from the rhythmic click of her heels up along the smooth curve of her calf. Her skirt is cut on an angle, and he follows the lines along the swell of her hips into the softness of her waist.

It’s very distracting.

And when she stops in front of her office and he almost bumps into her, he knows it’s very deliberate.

“My apologies,” she says with a slightly daffy grin as she fumbles for her key. “The fewer keys I have, the harder time I have finding them.”

She plunges it into the lock, twisting the handle and ushering him in graciously.

The door is even ninety percent closed before Richard puts his hands on Laura’s hips and pulls her in for a long, slow kiss. She responds with a low, wicked chuckle.

Then she backs away, bumping against the door so it closes. And locks.

“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore,” she says, wriggling down slightly.

“Oh, that’s right,” Richard says. “We came in here to look for a file. Where could that be? Is it on your desk, by chance?” He reclaims his grasp on her hips and turns, walking them across the room until she is backed against the corner of her desk.

She twines her arms around his head as he bends to nibble on her neck. Behind her back, he runs his hand across the papers piled across her blotter. “You have a terribly disorganized workspace,” he murmurs. “Don’t you ever file anything?”

She hums softly and reaches for his shirt buttons. “I like to have everything I need right at my fingertips,” she replies, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest.

Richard puts a firm finger on Laura’s lower lip, tugging it down. She whimpers slightly and he tilts her chin up. “My dear Secretary Roslin,” he says. “What would the papers say about this desire for instant gratification?”

“That it’s preferable to endless teasing and indecision,” Laura replies, rubbing her foot against the outside of his trouser leg.

“Mmm,” Richard says, putting his hands on her shoulders. “I think that there is something to be said for discipline.”

“Oh, it has its place.” Laura reaches behind her and shoves a pile of papers to the side before hopping up onto the desk. She wraps her legs around his hips and pulls him closer. “In cabinet, say. But I’d hate to think that dull legislation has robbed you of all your spontaneity.”

She fakes a small pout, and he leans in to kiss it away.

Lascivious devil-woman,” Richard says fondly, his hand palming her breast and the neat curve of her waist.

“Ruining your devious plan to give the military money,” Laura agrees, undoing the buttons on her blouse and revealing a pretty pink bra. “What are you going to do to me?”

Richard laughs. “You’ve subverted my cabinet for your own needs,” he points out, sliding his hands down the back of her skirt. “Is there anything I can do but give in to your every whim? Maybe I ought to cede my seat to you. I think you’d enjoy being the one to give the orders.”

“Too much work,” Laura murmurs breathily, her lips against his ear as her hands fumble with his belt. “I prefer to inspire and correct. It’s more suitable to my personality.”

Richard turns his head, forcing her mouth against his and crushing a kiss into it, devouring a warm, lying, tongue and feeling Laura’s teeth against his as her body practically melted against his, her skin warmer and sweat-damp.

With a flourish, he undoes her bra and pulled it away from her, enjoying the contrast of bare, sweaty skin and the discipline of a tight skirt, seamed stockings, and high heels.

“I want you to keep those on,” he says, gesturing at the stockings and heels. “And I want you to take that damned skirt off. Slowly.”

Laura’s pupils dilate, and she very slowly draws her hand over Richard’s chest before slipping away and turning around. “I need help with the zipper.”

He trails his fingers from the nape of her neck all the way down along her spine, watching her arch into his touch. When he reaches the zipper, he drags it down equally slowly. The noise almost disappears into the sound of their breathing.

She steps away again but does not turn. Hands on her waistband, she shimmies her hips, edging the skirt down bit by bit, until finally it drops to the ground. She bends to pick it up and lay it aside — it won’t do to be wrinkled in afternoon session — and glances over her shoulder at him.

He steps up behind her and draws her tight against him. “Mmm, very nice,” he whispers, sliding one hand up to cup a breast. “Very inspirational.”

“Richard,” she pleads, as he strokes her stomach and slowly downward. “We don’t have time to play too long…”

“Frak ’em, I’m the president. I’ll play as long as I like,” he says, guiding her back toward the desk. She whimpers and wriggles, fingers wrapping around the edge shamelessly. “Does that bother you, Secretary Roslin?”

“Of course not,” she says breathlessly, looking at him over her shoulder again. “But you’re starting to sound like you’re all talk.”

He swats her lightly and finishes undoing his belt, drawing it over her hip and the back of her thigh before letting it fall to the ground. Then he leans in and kisses the back of her neck and a particularly delicious part of her shoulder as he undoes his pants.

“Speaking of all talk,” he whispers, running his fingers over the curve of her ass and down, “how long have you been attending cabinet meetings without any underwear?” He slides two fingers into her before she can answer, and she gasps instead, widening her stance.

She whines and pushes back towards him when he withdraws his fingers, but the truth is they don’t have as much time as either of them would like, and he lets his pants drop to the ground.

He settles one hand on the back of Laura’s neck, under the heavy mass of her hair, her skin sweat-slick against his and his thumb resting on her pulse point. Grasping her hip with the other, he thrusts into her, and she moans into her own fingers.

Gods, she’s hot. If he had time enough, he could spend a whole day finding new ways to make her come over and over, yielding and begging and — gods, the way she matches his rhythm drives him out of his mind.

“You’re so good at this,” Richard whispers to her. “Why would you want to give this up? You’re enjoying it as much as I am.”

To demonstrate his point, he takes his hand from her neck and between the front of her legs, flicking his thumb against the hard little nub he finds there. Waiting for him.

Laura’s moan is barely muffled and she bites down on her hand hard, increasing the speed of Richard’s thrusts.

“You’re never going to let this go,” he continues. “It’s too much for you, standing in front of the entire cabinet, knowing I’m thinking about how much I want to undress you.”

His hand tightens on her hip. He’s going to leave bruises. His hand moves faster against her, and her breath is ragged in her throat. The noises she makes drives him mad.

She’s so tight around him, and he knows she’s close. “It drives you crazy that I can’t sit through a session without wanting to frak you,” he murmurs, and she cries out.

His hand claps over her mouth, slightly sticky with her. “Shhh,” he murmurs. “Can’t bring a crowd.”

Her breathing is quick, ragged, and he is close himself, wanting to finish and clean up before Donovan gets on him about the defense issue. At the same time, he could almost…not go back.

If he were to give it all up — not that he ever would — it could be for this woman, with her sharp wit and sharper tongue, her enthusiasm and openness. Almost, it would be worth it.

Of course, then he wouldn’t have the illicit thrill of watching her — and this afternoon he will watch her speak in front of the entire government, knowing that her thighs are still slippery and wet.

He grunts and comes, falling against her for a moment.

She twists under him, stroking his face and sighing. “All the enjoyment in the world doesn’t make this a good thing,” Laura says. “But I do enjoy it. I can’t quite bring myself to stop.”

Richard smiles. “Then don’t worry about it,” he says. “Where did my tie go?”

They dress in a quick flurry of activity, and Laura shoves a file folder into his hands before doing up her blouse. “The pictures,” she explains; he’d almost forgotten. The folder is crumpled where she’d gripped the edge of the desk.

“Thanks,” he says, and slips out; he’s back in his seat before anyone else returns to the room.

When she walks into the room, she looks calm. Composed. As if she hasn’t been frakked thoroughly in the last two hours. It’s quite disconcerting to Richard, how fast she can change back. He’s always sure people can tell he’s gotten his.

Laura looks like she had a good conversation, or perhaps had a good meal at best.

Then Richard looks closer. There’s a run in her stocking.

It makes him feel better, somehow. Like despite everything, despite the need for secrecy and her consummate acting, he’s still left a mark.

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