The Best Production of Death of a Salesman Yet
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Disclaimer: Moore’s the man with the master plan.
A/N: Title, summary, and LJ cut from “Restless.”
Summary: “The play’s already started, but that’s not the point.”
He doesn’t know how he got here, but Gaius Baltar is definitely confused. Things are not quite right. Not at all.
For instance, his blonde fancy should not be wantonly straddling President Roslin. Roslin should not be able to see his fancied woman, come to think of it.
Nor, for example, should Roslin be kissing Six. That’s definitely some kind of mistake. And honestly, when did Roslin get the outfit she’s wearing? It suits her, wines and chocolate tones, and it displays her excellent legs, including a pair of four-inch high heels attached to the end of them, but there is something not right here.
No one is manufacturing couture in the fleet. That’s it. Nor should he be able to smell the rich, fleeting fragrance of Nico Shonel (a smell Gaius always associates with raw sex and his mother), as the last of it is back in the Colonies.
“This is all imaginary, isn’t it?” Gaius squawks. “How can everything be so real? I can practically taste the air, and that’s not quite right…”
“Women have much better imaginations than men, Gaius,” Six purrs, twisting a lock of Roslin’s hair around her finger. She’s in a short black skirt that’s split up the side, and Gaius can see a flash of garter belt. And is it…yes. She’s definitely better made-up than usual.
“So now you’re someone else’s sex puppet? That’s hardly the path to world domination,” Baltar says. “What are you doing?”
Six cackles, nuzzling at the president’s throat and batting her eyes Laura-ward. “Enjoying myself thoroughly,” she says.
“Which one of you said that?” Gaius says. “I don’t think it’s entirely fair, taunting like this.”
Laura, who’s also exquisitely coiffed and dressed, looks up and smiles at Baltar. She looks like she’s been backlit, and her hand moves up Six’s thigh, a fingernail snagging on the filmy material of nylon.
“You were never entirely satisfactory, were you?” Laura asks, cupping Six’s jaw. “Always wavering, and gods, have you ever sat still and thought of someone not yourself?”
“You’ve NO idea,” Six complains, kissing Laura’s wrist. “The only time he ever tried to pleasure me was to demonstrate his prowess. Show me what a man could do.”
“What pleasure can I get from thin air, darling?” he asked. “And what’s this all about, anyhow? I didn’t think Cylons would have mommy complexes…”
“Mommy,” Six says, pulling Laura in for a long, tangled kiss in which hands get caught in hair and Six is pulled further into Laura’s lap.
Baltar gapes, because even though he’s aware how wrong it is, and how ridiculously spiteful, they’re both — well, he’s not made of stone. It’s rather like watching fire meet oil and ignite. He’s always known Six is on fire, but Roslin’s desire simmers over, bubbles up and engulfs Six’s heat and stokes it. She’s slid her hand underneath Six’s skirt, snapping the garters and evoking whimpers.
“This is quite out of order!” Baltar cries after a long moment of gazing at entangled legs. “Honestly, in polite circles, we don’t…”
“Gaius,” Six says with a leer, slipping off her little jacket and revealing a dark scarlet satin bustier-type top that pushes up her breasts and shows off her back. “Lecturing us about polite circles is hardly more than ridiculous, given who’s speaking.”
“He really is a walking erection, isn’t he?” Laura muses, her fingernails scratching over Six’s exposed back. “And twitchy. I could handle the priapism, but never the twitch.”
Baltar purses his mouth and glowers at Roslin, who has found a favorite spot of his on Six’s lovely neck to suck on, and is doing it with aplomb. Six, for her part, is urging Laura’s hand further up her skirt, and it’s really quite the affront. What was he to do, hold up two fingers and imagine himself getting her off?
“If you want to watch, you ought to take a seat with the peanut gallery,” Six says, eyes glittering. Laura, flushed, looks up, and Baltar can see that her lips are swollen.
“Billy, please seat Mr. Baltar with the others,” she orders in a throaty murmur. “Mr. Baltar.”
Laura then returns to Six, her hands slowly undoing the hooks that apparently keep Six’s bustier on as Six arches and moans.
“Madam President, I really don’t think–” and Baltar pauses. Why is Billy standing there now? He hadn’t seen anyone when he walked into the room, and how did Colonial One get large enough to involve a couch?
Also, how did both Adamas end up on that couch without Gaius noticing?
“Don’t block the view,” Adama the Elder orders crankily.
“Are we really going to stand here and watch our president have her way with a Cylon?” Baltar asks, sitting down. “Aren’t you a tad perturbed, Admiral?”
“The president’s explained it quite thoroughly,” Adama says as Six’s fingers disappear between Roslin’s breasts. “This is vital to our security and the president’s well-being.”
“Shagging a Cylon?” Baltar asks as Six grinds down against Roslin’s hand with a moan. “Have you quite lost your mind?”
“It’s for democracy,” Lee Adama says, staring at Roslin intently. “And if we do what she says, she’ll take us back.”
“Us?” Baltar says. “You mean to say she’s having both of you, and my blonde Cylon, and… well, I assume Mr. Kekeiya?”
“I have to finish my training course first,” Billy says. “But then she’s going to knock my socks off.”
Baltar cannot believe his ears, but they’re all watching as Six arches and screams her way through an orgasm, complete with her spine doing the glowing thing it does, Roslin’s face buried between Six’s breasts as her free hand supports Six’s spine.
“Oh…oh…God…yes…” Six is saying, arching and screaming as she writhes topless.
Billy, Baltar notices, is taking notes. Adama is grimly drinking another glass of water, and Lee looks rapt.
“We’ve all gone mad, haven’t we?” Baltar asks.
“Is that a big change for you, Doctor?” Lee asks sarcastically.
Six is practically incandescent, sweat-slick and slumped forward and drawing Roslin’s hand to her mouth to — and all four men lean forward — lick clean.
“I can’t wait to be trained,” Billy says, the tips of his ears bright red.
“This is SO WRONG,” Baltar says. “So incredibly wrong I cannot believe. We’re condoning the union of our leader with a Cylon and treating it like it’s a blue movie for our pleasure.”
The Adama men turn their heads and look at Baltar curiously. “You’re really missing the point, aren’t you, Doctor?” Adama the Elder asks with a flicker of humor.
“It’s not about us,” Lee adds. “She wants us to watch, we watch. She wants us to wait our turn, we wait our turn.”
“But that…that’s mad!” Baltar says. “You’re not the least bit perturbed that you are father and son, and you’re sitting here, together, watching a woman you’re both apparently frakking frak another woman?”
“I plan to kill him later,” Lee says. “She’s mine, of course, but this is how a man gets civilized. Leaning to follow the right rules and leaders. Delaying gratification.”
“Didn’t you know that, Dr. Baltar?” Adama adds. “This is another facet of the shape of things to come.”
Six slides out of Roslin’s lap, parting the president’s knees with a hungry look. Baltar’s eyes are momentarily riveted, but Adama’s words force him to look back at the man.
“President Roslin is part of that?” Baltar asks, confused. “How?”
Roslin’s hands twist in Six’s hair, and her head falls back as her eyes close sensually. Baltar looks over at Billy, who is nodding as if he were taking notes on parliamentary procedure.
Really, this is all quite strange.
“She’s shaping things,” Lee says, as if Baltar should have known that. “If you look closely, you’ll see the strings being pulled.”
“It should be pretty obvious,” Billy agrees, and how has Gaius never realized Billy is a puppet before? His jaw is so obviously hinged. “I’m going to be a real boy, soon. Better than real.”
Roslin’s skirt is about her waist, and Six has her head buried between her thighs as she laps noisily away, but neither woman is looking at the men, who are all watching with strategic objects blocking their own groins.
“I don’t think that this is how things should be shaped,” Baltar says dubiously, Roslin biting on one of her lips hard before moaning and panting at something Six is doing to her. “I don’t know how to express that, but…”
Roslin’s eyes open wide as she arches almost into the atmosphere, her cry at orgasm high and wordless.
They meet Baltar’s, and he realizes that he’s naked except for his underwear, and that she’s going to tell him he’s next.
“Unworthy bastard,” Lee grunts resentfully. “I suppose we’ll have to wait and bond some more, Dad.”
“We’ll be closer for it, son,” Adama replies with gallows humor. “Still planning to kill me later?”
“That or we could ask Laura how to resolve things,” Lee says. “She’s much smarter than we are.”
Baltar has had quite enough of this nonsense. “That’s it. Either I have gone entirely mad, or…well, that’s what I have. I’ve gone entirely mad, but even so, I’ve had quite enough of this,” he says, striding up to Roslin and Six.
“Gaius,” Six says kittenishly, having recovered her spot in Roslin’s lap. They’re cuddling, Six ruffling Roslin’s hair, and Roslin’s arm about Six’s waist as they gaze at Gaius, satiated. “Did you get asked to join in?”
“I did not, nor do I plan to join in your utter depravity,” Gaius says. “I don’t know what devious nonsense you two harridans have hatched, but I do know that you, Madam President, are in no way qualified to pull strings like this. This — this isn’t how it should be.”
Laura crooks her finger and Gaius, to his surprise, leans forward.
It’s only now he realizes he’s got a string attached to his back, and the other end has just been handed from Six to Laura, who looks at him with shining, hard eyes.
“Kiss me,” she says. “You know that it’s inevitable.”
“I would really rather not,” Gaius says, staring at Roslin like she’s grown a second head as Six smirks and waves at him, her body still molded against Roslin’s sensually.
“I didn’t give you a ch–”
Gaius’s eyes fly open.
“Gods frak!” he gasps, soaked in cold sweat. He’s on Colonial One, and no one’s about except a few random aides. Safe — for now.
“Mr. Vice President?” the closer aide asks. “Are you all right?”
“Bad dream,” Gaius says. “Very, very bad dream, and I…bad dream.”
That’s putting it lightly.