Disclaimer: All characters belong to other people, the order of the words belongs to me.
Rated NC-17
Written for VAMB's Spring Fling gift exchange. My match, Cara Mia, requested:" I'm not a Battlestar Galactica fan, but I caught the eps 'Act of contrition' and the sequel 'You can't go home again'. I absolutely love Kara 'Starbuck' Thrace. She's smart, creative, passionate, saucy, cocky, a great tactician, got spunk, not afraid to go against authority, has some serious attitude and kicks ass. I want a J/C fic (pre Voyager) where they're in combat training. Or maybe you can weave it into Voyager. I want J to adopt the above mentioned characteristics (as much as J can realistically pull off), complete with callsign etc. C's role can be anything that the author wants. I would love love some smut in there if you can squeeze it in, but if not, I'm easy ;P"
Not a BSG-Voyager crossover, but I've borrowed a few things from the BSG universe and woven them into the Voyager one. You don't need to know BSG to understand this, but you should consider it AU..
Smoke from Starbuck's cigar curled lazily to the ceiling where it mingled with the fumes from Silverwing's cigarette and the strange aromatic mix from Warrior's herbal rollup.
"I'll buy." Kathryn "Starbuck" Janeway's smile curled as lazily around her mouth as the smoke from her stoogie. Throwing her cards down on the table, she pushed back in her chair and observed her fellow players with a big shit-eating grin.
"Confident, eh?" The fourth player at the table rearranged the cards in his hand and glanced over them at his adversary.
Starbuck's grin grew even wider and smugger. "You bet, Foxrun. Or should that be 'Chickenrun'? You always fold at the first chance. There's no spunk in you. No bluff either. You're easier to read than a first-year cadet in a brothel." She rocked back in her chair and reached for the credits in front of Foxrun. "Guess these are mine!"
Foxrun's eyes twitched nervously between his cards and the precious pile of credits. His fingers tightened briefly on the cards but otherwise made no move.
"You win this hand and I'll let you off tomorrow morning's drill." Starbuck's small white teeth chewed the end of her stogie. "You'll be the only nugget on Deep Space Nine having a sleep-in. Maybe you'll get lucky and persuade some poor sucker to join you." Foxrun's small pile of credits inched toward the heap in front of Starbuck.
Foxrun slammed his cards facedown on the battered table and pushed another credit out in front of him. "Put 'em back, Starbuck. I ain't done yet."
Starbuck's grin reached her ears. "Not yet, nugget." For a moment her fingers drummed idly on Foxrun's credits, then she flicked them back toward him. Looking around the table, she enquired, "Anyone else? Or are you all a bunch of tribbles?"
"I'm out." Throwing in his credits, Silverwing uncoiled his lanky frame from the table and stubbed his cigarette out on his cards. "Reckon there should be some regulation about letting a flight instructor gamble with her students."
"There is." Starbuck picked up his credits and kissed them. Leaning forward, she tucked them into the exposed cups of her bra. "I ignore it." She blew a kiss at Silverwing's departing back. "And you love that I do!"
Warrior, the only other player left in the game stacked up his remaining chips, his long golden fingers aligning them into a neat pile. He slid them forward. "I'll raise you."
Without a word, Starbuck equaled his pile. The smoke haze did little to disguise her smirk. "You want out of tomorrow's exercise too, Warrior?"
"No." His gaze was steady and direct. "I need the practice."
His dark eyes were steady on her face and the low pulse in her stomach had nothing to do with the thrill of the game. No. Not again. For a second, Starbuck's eyes shifted away and her fingers stilled their drumming dance on the cards. "That you do, Warrior. That you do. So even if you beat me now, your ass will be in the briefing room at 0500 tomorrow." The shit-eating grin was back, the moment of stillness passing as if it never was. "So show 'em."
With a snort, Foxrun upturned his cards. A pair of kings.
"Guess I'll see you tomorrow after all." Starbuck reached for his credits as her other hand deftly flicked over her cards. A pair of eights and three queens.
"Not so fast." Warrior put his own cards down, one by one. Four tens. Warrior's quiet smile reached his eyes.
Beautiful eyes, Starbuck thought absently. Still and calm and centered under that strange tattoo on his brow. Everything she wasn't. "My quiet boy has balls after all. Four of a kind." She flicked her chips toward the silent man on the other side of the table. Standing, she blew a plume of smoke into his face. "But your ass will be in the briefing room at 0500. You cannot get complacent."
~ ^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~
0500 and the room was quiet. The nuggets were tense in their chairs, watching the slim figure in front of them.
"Command flight." Jamming her hands on her hips, Starbuck surveyed the room, "That's what I teach. Command flight. If you want to be a pilot or get on the command track you have to pass this. There are no second chances, and the bar is high. When I'm in that cockpit with you for your evaluation, one mistake, one teeny tiny mistake and your ass will be back to whatever godforsaken branch of Starfleet you languished in before." Stepping down from the podium, she sauntered through the room.
The nuggets were watchful, hanging on her every word. As she liked it. Trailing a hand over the back of Flicko's neck, she jerked his collar back into line.
"You know why there are no second chances? You know why even one silly miscalculation, one moment of carelessness will have you dumped faster than a Vulcan on a Romulan freighter? Because one frak-up out there and you'll likely be dead. Which I really don't care about. But I do care that any pilot I trained isn't that stupid."
Stopping in the centre of the room, she waited, looking to make sure she had everyone's attention. Fourteen pairs of nugget eyes were trained on her. Some held bravado, some were quietly confident. One was downright scared--Whiplash, he wouldn't make it. Starbuck's eyes moved around the room. Most were good pilots; most would cut it, but it never did any harm to shake them up a bit.
Outback, Vambie, Dagwood... good pilots all. Her gaze alighted on Warrior and her stomach flopped over once, a solid thump of unease. Now there was someone she simply wasn't sure about. Warrior stared back at her. Golden skin, dimpled chin and eyes that were deep and dark. Warrior tried hard with his piloting, but there was something missing, something vital. His coordination was good, his reflexes fast, but somehow his timing was that little bit off. There was often a split second of hesitation, a nanosecond of doubt maybe. Or self preservation. Maybe he didn't want this enough. A nugget had to want to be a pilot more than they wanted their next breath. They had to have the steady burn of need in their gut. Their motives didn't matter. Some wanted the glamour, some wanted the extra credits, some needed it for the command track, as you couldn't be a captain without piloting skills. And some just loved to fly. Silverwing was of those. But Warrior? His motive eluded her.
She resumed her slow pace around the seats. "Tomorrow morning." She paused, letting the impact of that time frame sink in. "Tomorrow morning, half of you will have your final evaluations. The rest of you have an extra day. "If you're good, you pass. Those of you who don't make the grade are out." Her gaze scanned the room once more before she moved on to the practicalities of scheduling.
Predictably some nuggets were waiting for her as she left the briefing. Whiplash, his eyes showing his tension. And Warrior.
She gestured for Warrior to wait and turned to Whiplash.
"I'm not going to make it, am I?" he blurted.
"You're not going to make it, what?" she hissed.
"I'm not going to make it, Sir!"
He was young but he wasn't stupid. He'd read the scorn in her voice when she'd drummed him down for his mistakes. He had the fire, but he simply didn't have the skill. If there were two courses to take, he chose the wrong one.
"No, Whiplash, you're not going to make it. Not unless the Borg assimilate you overnight and you have access to the collective's skills. If you're sensible, you'll do a bunk and save yourself some shame."
She was turning away, when his voice stopped her. "I'll be there. I intend to try. "
She swung back, strangely touched by the determination in his voice. "Yeah? Well, in that case, you can go in the second day's group. Have a bit longer to shit yourself."
"Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir!"
Starbuck abandoned him stuttering in the corridor. He still wouldn't pass, but at least she'd given him every chance. And that last spark of steel had intrigued her. She'd expected him to slide off at first opportunity.
Warrior approached her. In contrast to Whiplash's jitters, his calmness was soothing.
"I'd like to talk to you," he stated and his eyes held a firmness that Whiplash could never hope to possess.
"I'm listening." What would he be like to frak? The thought slid insidiously into her mind. That golden skin between her thighs, his big body under hers while she rode him to exhaustion. The familiar hum of excitement throbbed low and deep in her belly. If she were going to frak this one, it had better be soon because she doubted he'd make it past the evaluation.
If she were going to have him, it would have to be tonight.
"... pitching the nose forward. I haven't got the coordination of thrust and bank quite right-"
With a start, Starbuck realized he'd been talking while she'd been standing there frakking him in her head. He was looking at her oddly, no doubt wondering exactly what she was thinking. She replayed his words in her head: something about a flight scenario. So he wanted extra tuition. Well, wasn't that convenient.
"Report to my quarters at 2000," she snapped. "We'll go over it then." Turning on a heel, she strode away, so she didn't have to witness his reaction.
It wouldn't be the first time she'd frakked a nugget, but it might be the most pleasurable. She'd make sure his hands were on more than a shuttle's controls.
The thought of more carnal pleasures killed her appetite for food, so she made do with a couple of shots of bourbon.
She showered quickly, mindful of the sour-sweat smell of her body from two days without a shower. Running her hands over her breasts, she imagined larger, golden hands taking the same meandering pathway over her body, and the coil of anticipation wound tighter.
Promptly at 2000, her chime rang. Starbuck downed a final shot of bourbon and called for entry. Warrior was still in uniform, indeed, she hadn't expected any different. He took up a loose parade rest position just inside the door.
Starbuck flung herself down on the couch. "Cut that crap. This is informal."
Warrior nodded and moved to the chair opposite her couch. "Thank you for this. I appreciate you giving up your evening."
"It's my job," she said shortly, even as she wondered how swiftly she could move his focus from piloting to her. "Beating lousy nuggets into shape is my specialty." She let her eyes roam the contours of his body outlined by his uniform. "What particular piece of you do I need to attack?"
Warrior leaned forward, his hands on his knees as he focused on her. His earnestness and stillness were unnerving. "I was hoping you could tell me that. I have the reactions, the bravado, the knowledge," he said, "but there's something missing in my flying and I can't figure it out. I'm always at the edge of getting it wrong. Technically, I'm good. I know what I'm doing, it's just that it goes wrong when it translates though the conn. It's as if there's a fog, something thick, something tangible, distorting my control." He passed a hand over his face and sat back. "I'm probably not making much sense. But I see some of the others fly, I see you fly, and it's as if the ship is wired into your brain. There's no lag, no hesitation. It's part of you. Am I making any sense?"
She'd been watching his hands, her attention caught by how they clenched on the fabric stretched tautly over his thighs. Muscular thighs, as if he spent time sprinting or cycling.
"Sir?"
With a start, she realized he was waiting for her answer. He'd already narrowed down what was wrong, and hearing him say the words had told her what his problem was. But she didn't know whether there was anything he could do about it at this stage.
"Trust your intuition."
When his eyes flew to her face, she realized she'd spoken aloud. "You can't think about what you're doing, not even for a nanosecond. You just have to go by your gut, trust your fingertips on the controls, know that your ship will respond. If you stop to analyze, to calculate, to think 'what if?', then the moment has passed. If you hesitate, you are lost. Do you hear me? You are lost. There are no second chances out there.
Starbucks's breath rasped in her throat. Gut feeling. Some had it, some didn't. And those that didn't shouldn't be pilots. They should fail basic flight let alone command flight, where the stakes were higher. She swallowed hard against the rush of memories that assailed her.
Justin, her lover. A nugget she'd frakked. A nugget she'd cared for, loved even. And like Warrior, he had been missing that elusive, vital element that transported a pilot from the mundane to the sensational. Justin hadn't known that. He'd believed he was one of the elite, that failure wasn't an option. And she'd let him keep his cocky assumption, even as she'd tried to correct him, to teach him. It hadn't worked. His flying had always lacked that edge of intuition, the difference between life and death for a pilot.
Justin should have failed command flight. But because she'd loved him, she passed him.
And because of that, because of her, because of things that should never have happened, but had, Justin had died in a fiery shuttle crash. Something he should have been able to avoid, but couldn't, because he didn't have the skill or ability.
Her fault.
So now there were no second chances for nuggets. She failed all but the best. Narrowing her eyes, she reached inside herself and dragged her bravado out in a clenched fist. "Some pilots have it, Warrior, and some don't." Shuffling forward on the couch, she picked up his hand, spreading each long finger, tapping them on his thigh. "And you don't. Which is why you're going to fail."
He turned his hand over and gripped her fingers, tightly to the edge of pain. "Failure is not an option. I can fly; I know I can. I just have to find that spark inside of me. I know it's there. I just have to tap into it, channel it."
His surety irked her. Coming from him, who nearly took out the docking pylon with each landing, it was a joke. Shaking his hand loose, she snapped "Forget it, Warrior. You don't have the skill. You don't have the temperament. You don't have flight in your bones. Go back to engineering, or wherever the frak you came from. I'm going to fail you. You know it and I sure as hell know it."
"No."
Any desire she'd had for him shriveled and died in the face of his obstinacy. Leaning forward, she hissed, "You don't have a choice."
In the dim light of her quarters--light she'd programmed for seduction--his profile was as implacable and cold as an M-class planet. Where was the warmth she'd seen, where was the promise of sex and seduction, the promise of enough heat to melt the hard icy kernel around her heart, just long enough to fit their sticky bodies together?
"I don't have a chance if you've prejudged me," he said. "But you owe me a fair go. I've listened to you, I've hung on your every word, hoping to become half the pilot you are. At least give me a fair evaluation."
"Why?" she snapped. "You want to get yourself frakking killed? I won't have any more deaths on my conscience."
"If I'm carried out in a box it won't be your fault. Don't flatter yourself, Sir. You're not that responsible for me. "
"Tell that to the tribunal! Tell that to the board of admirals when some just-passed-nugget fries up in a fireball. Of course it will be my frakking fault if I passed you!" It was there in front of her, guilt and memory mixed in a fog of past mistakes, welling up to overwhelm her. Starbuck's hands clenched into fists, as Justin's face swam before her view. Hot tears of anger, of guilt, and yes, of sorrow, pooled in her eyes, and she blinked fast, not willing to let them fall.
She had to get him out of here, so she could be alone in her quarters, sink the rest of the bourbon, curl up on her bunk and let the memories of Justin swamp her.
"Warrior, you're dismissed." It took all her effort to stop her voice from shaking.
Turning away, so that she wouldn't have to watch him leave, she waited for the sound of footsteps, the swoosh of the door. But there was silence,
"I said, get the frak out." Then the couch depressed next to her with his weight and his quiet voice was in her ear. "I'm not him, Starbuck. I'm not the one you lost."
"What the frak do you know about that?"
"Enough." He moved forward again and recaptured her hands, securing them down between his thighs.
Starbuck twisted, trying to free her hands. She had to get him out of here before she lost it completely, her bravado evaporating into the starlight.
"Stop," he said harshly, and his fingers closed around her wrists, tight enough that she knew the skin would be red and raw later.
But she couldn't stop. The clamor in her head, the shame of being seen so weak and needy, the cracks in her facade in danger of shattering into a million pieces at his feet, made it impossible. With an immense effort, she freed one hand and let it fly. It cracked on his cheek which bloomed as red and raw as her wrist.
"Kathryn," he said harshly.
Even as she wondered how he knew her real name, his lips were covering hers and his body pressed her to the couch. He wasn't gentle; his lips plundered and took, leaving no delicate escape. Not that she wanted one. The thrum of desire that had withered during their conversation bloomed anew, strong and fresh and exhilarating in its urgency. The promise of fierce hot sex swept away the moment of weakness and gave her back the upper hand. This was familiar territory. She was back in the game, and it shored up the cracks in her brittle shell.
Starbuck kissed him back, winding her arms around his neck to pull him closer. His breath came in moist pants in her mouth and his scent filled her nose: clean, smelling like a forest after rain. Like her, he must have made time for a shower.
Warrior shifted, so that his body aligned more closely with hers, and she felt the press of his erection through the double layer of their uniforms. She wished she could grasp it, measure its length with her fingertips, feel the thickness and the soft, soft skin on the shaft.
Parting her thighs, she grasped his buttocks and urged him between. Her neck arched as his lips left hers to travel the sensitive line down her neck.
How could he do it? she wondered hazily, how can he know just where to lick, to suck, to nip? And with each tangible sign of Warrior's desire for her, she rebuilt her confidence, the cocky persona that was Starbuck, replacing the quieter, more vulnerable one that was Kathryn.
She'd fail his piloting in the next couple of days, no reasons needed, simply that Starbuck found his flight skills wanting. And then she'd never see him again, never have to look at those fathomless dark eyes that saw so much. So for now, she could just enjoy the moment. Her complacent smile curved against his soft, dark hair.
Warrior moved down, deftly slipping the buttons of her uniform jacket. Underneath, she wore only the gray singlet. It clung tightly to her breasts, throwing them into sharp relief. His lips moved back to claim hers, and his hand slipped easily under the singlet, tracing the line of her pants, running warmly over her belly.
"Soft skin," he murmured.
"You expected scales?" Her voice was lazy and warm, and she heard his laugh against her neck.
The bourbon was giving her a nice buzz, an edge of lethargy so that she just wanted to lie back and let him do all the work. She wanted his large hands cupping her breasts, she needed his face between her thighs, and most of all his thick cock inside her, stretching her until she clenched and came hard around him.
Her hands wound into his hair as he left her neck and started a tortuously slow journey toward her breasts.
"I hope you're a better frak than you are pilot," she said lazily as she let herself drift with the sensations of his lips.
And then all sensation was gone. The tiny hairs on her belly rose in the cool air of her quarters with the absence of his hand. Her neck was cool and damp where his lips had been. A crushing weight on one thigh as Warrior rolled over it and down onto the floor.
In one smooth movement he was on his feet, hands smoothing down his disarranged uniform.
"So Starbuck wants a quick frak to scratch the itch, does she?" he said harshly.
Bemusedly she stared up at him. "Yeah, nugget, Starbuck does. What the frak does it matter to you? Most nuggets would eat engine grease for the chance to get into my pants."
"I'm not most nuggets."
Her anger spiked. "No, and you won't be a nugget for much longer. You'll be on a transport back to whatever backwater you crawled out of. You're going to fail, Warrior. You're going to fail command flight. This was your one and only chance to frak Starbuck, and you blew it."
She'd expected him to hit her in anger, or at the least march out of the door, but he surprised her. He moved and she saw his face and there was a faint smile on it. Something small and secretive and assured, as if she'd just handed him something precious.
"That's just it," he said. "I don't want to frak Starbuck. I want to make love to Kathryn."
His words pierced through her rewoven shield and lodged like tiny barbs in her skin. "No one fraks Kathryn," she snapped. "That is not an option."
He caught her hand and pressed it to his chest. His heart beat steadily through his uniform, a pulse of humanity. "You weren't listening. I said, I want to make love to Kathryn."
"Why?" The single word fell from her lips before she could bite it back. She wished she could vaporize it, that tiny question gave too much away.
"Because she's sparky and sassy, because she's the best damn pilot in Starfleet. Because she's beautiful, with expressive smoky eyes and a body I would give my home world to possess. But mainly because she needs to be loved." He smiled. "Kathryn needs to be loved, and I love her. Does it get any simpler than that?" He stood and finished the adjustments to his uniform. "But you're wrong. I will pass command flight. And to prove to you how sure I am, I'm not going to make love to you now."
"Frak you!"
"Not yet. In two days, the evening I pass command flight, we'll celebrate right here in your quarters. You, me, and a bottle of champagne."
She laughed, and it was a harsh, hollow sound. "Then have your wanking hand ready. You'll be alone. There's no way you'll pass. You haven't got what it takes. Have you forgotten that I'm your instructor? You might as well go home now."
"You'll pass me." "I won't make that mistake again."
"You won't have to. You're nothing if not fair. I'll pass honestly." Bending, his lips brushed her cheek. "See you on the flight deck."
~^ ~ ^ ~ ^ ~
Day two of final evaluations. Thirteen nuggets had had their asses scorched. Eight had passed, including Silverwing and Foxrun. Five had failed, including Whiplash.
One was left.
She'd considered begging off, handing this final nugget over to another instructor, but pride wouldn't let her. As if she did that, she'd never know if he'd really passed, as another instructor wouldn't be as harsh as she.
Warrior was already in the shuttle. Without a word, she climbed into the co-pilot's seat and strapped herself in. When she saw that he was ready, she braced herself and said, "Take it out."
Calmly, he commenced his preflight checks until her jangled nerves got the better of her and she snapped, "Red alert status!"
He gave the order to release the docking pylons and the shuttle accelerated smoothly away from the lights of DS9 into the blackness of space.
She knew she would fail him. She had to fail him. But as Warrior followed her clipped orders, as the little shuttle responded gamely to his direction, she was forced to acknowledge something had changed. Warrior's hesitancy had gone; the jerky maneuvers, the slight shiver of the shuttle's wings as he changed direction, all gone, gone, evaporated into the stars. In its place was a competent pilot-more than competent, he was excellent. A pilot she would be proud to have in her battle squadron. She didn't stop to analyze how he'd accomplished this transformation. Instead, she grimly gave orders for harder, more complicated maneuvers, ones that certainly didn't fall under the auspices of "command flight".
He responded. He excelled.
Still, Starbuck didn't give up. The stakes were simply too high. For if she had to pass him, then he would come to her quarters later and claim his prize. And that she couldn't allow to happen. It wasn't the frak--indeed, that would be welcomed, something joyous and exhilarating in the long gray days since Justin's death. It was the promise of something else--the quiet certainty that he loved her. She wasn't sure she could handle that.
Eventually she had to concede. She'd been out with him for over two hours, nearly twice the length of time the other evaluations had taken. Staring straight ahead, she gave the order to return to Deep Space Nine.
The shuttle docked against an outer pylon without a jolt. Warrior waited until he'd shut down the engines before turning to her.
"You passed."
Without waiting for his response, she swung herself out of the cockpit and marched off, intent on a few shots in Quark's bar. The promenade was busy, and if he were following her, he'd soon be left behind.
Starbuck stayed in Quark's for a couple of hours, until she could no longer pretend she merely wanted a drink. She took her time returning to her quarters, swinging by the officers' mess, studying the flight plans for the next day, checking with engineering on the repairs to a shuttle damaged in a training flight a few days ago.
She didn't expect to find him outside her quarters--he was classier than that-- but when an hour went past and then another and her chime remained obstinately silent, she could no longer contain her irritation. Stomping through her quarters for the umpteenth time, she muttered to herself, "Get on with it, Warrior."
A tiny part of her that wouldn't be suppressed murmured that she was anticipating his visit, waiting for the lick of fire he'd started to rage to a conflagration, and the delightful aftermath. She didn't let herself think of the second part of the evening and his surprising declaration of love. That she pushed to a locked corner of her mind and resealed the door. Love had been for Justin, and look where that had got her.
She was brushing her teeth over the sink when the skin on the back of her neck prickled. She wasn't alone.
Whirling around and spitting toothpaste, she wiped the back of her hand over her mouth and demanded, "How the frak did you get in?"
Warrior shrugged. "I have my ways."
"I could call security and have you do brig time for breaking into an officer's quarters."
"But you won't." He put the champagne he was holding down on the counter and advanced into her bathroom. "One thing I learned about you from the poker sessions is that you always honor your bets."
"We didn't have a bet." She glared at him defiantly, even as her body thrummed in anticipation. "You made a statement. There's a difference."
"But you'll honor it anyway."
"What if I'd failed you?"
He shrugged. "Then I wouldn't be here."
"You passed," she said grudgingly. "I don't know how, but you passed fairly."
His eyes were luminous in the dim light of the bathroom. "Last time I was here, you gave me the knowledge I needed. I now know what the missing edge was in my piloting."
She stared. "I gave you nothing."
He moved closer, silently for such a big man, and touched her cheek. "You told me to stop thinking and act intuitively. So I did. I stopped thinking about angles and sheer and thrust, and just flew. It worked. You passed me. And there was something I wanted at the end of the road, someone I wanted very badly. And if I passed, she'd be mine. I thought about her, and how she'd feel underneath my hands, how I'd feel inside her. The passion of flight. Passion."
His words were hypnotic and she had no doubt as to whom he was talking about. How easy it would be to fall under the spell of his words, to let him pry open the shutters of her heart and slide inside. To give him more than her body.
"I'm sure whatever dabo girl you've got your eye on will accommodate you," she said harshly. "I've had enough of your games. Get-"
He closed the small gap between them and stopped her mouth with a kiss. It was hard and assured, a kiss that demanded a response. Clamping her lips closed, she refused to give him the pleasure.
"You're the one playing games, Kathryn," he said, when he gave up the assault. "You know there's no dabo girl. Thinking of you made my flying come alive."
She craved a cigar, needed the comfort of the smoke and how it gave her hands a purpose. For if there was a cigar in her hand, she wouldn't have the urge to place them on his body, see if her fingers had remembered him well.
Her body hummed in anticipation of his touch, but the perverse demon in her head wouldn't make it easy. She shrugged. "I guess a bet's a bet." Her fingers moved to the clasp of her uniform and she pushed it from her shoulders. "You want to do it here against the counter, or in the bedroom?"
He didn't move, although his eyes followed the movement of her hands as she stripped the uniform from her body. "Do what?"
"Now who's being obtuse. Isn't this why you're here?" Unsnapping her bra, she asked, "You gonna stay dressed? Is that what turns you on?"
"Do what?" he asked again, harshly.
Naked, she pressed up close to him, her fingers reaching for his cock. "I've had enough of your silver tongue. You won a bet, you're here to frak. Now get on with it." He was already hard under her fingers, and she reached into his uniform and freed him from his boxers.
"I'm here to make love to Kathryn."
"Starbuck's here to frak." Her grin was wide and confident. "Take it, or leave it."
His throat worked, and she thought he was going to press the issue, force a response that she simply couldn't give. But when she drummed light fingers up his length, he lunged forward pressing his lips to her throat and his hands to her breasts. His fingers were everywhere, strumming her nipple, running a hot and heavy touch over her body, around her buttocks, curving around to find the damp crevice between her thighs.
She was ready for him, she realized, had been ready and waiting since she'd left the flight deck those hours earlier. And the time for talking was past, and now there was only the harsh rasp of his breath, and his hands, and now his mouth, working their magic on her body.
When he pushed her back against the hand basin and raised her leg up to hook it around his waist, she curled it around his buttocks and urged him closer.
A push, all wrong, as he was taller than she, but he bent his legs and her body was lifted up as he found his mark, thrusting into her with sure, smooth strokes. He was solid and strangely reassuring inside her. As she wound her arms around his neck and dipped her face to bite his neck with sharp teeth, Starbuck had the strangest sensation of having been here before. Not with him, but the warm feeling of closeness that was more than just physical.
Warrior slowed his movements, and she drummed her heel on his buttock with impatience.
His face was damp with sweat in the warm quarters. "Too fast," he gasped.
"I don't care," she said, and her drumming heel urged him on until he was pounding her hard.
She would be sore tomorrow, but that mundane thought evaporated as his fiercely thrusting cock drove up her to her peak. She barely noticed the sharp edge of the basin against her lower back, her world was centered on this man and what he was doing to her.
When he came in a final lunge, his lips stretched taut over bared teeth, his spasms sent her to her own climax. He keep thrusting, even after he must have emptied his seed and be softening inside her, and when her own shudders had ceased she lowered her leg and raised her face from his neck to look him in the eye.
He was red in the face from effort, but his eyes held a devilish gleam. He slipped out of her and the sticky trail down her thighs told its own tale.
Bending, he kissed her gently, then pushed away from her, tucking his limp cock back into his pants.
The satiation of a good orgasm and the after glow made her careless, and she blurted, "Aren't you going to stay?"
He turned, and his hand came up to cup her cheek. "One day I will. One day soon."
"Why not now?" Even as the words left her lips, she winced at their petulance.
"Do you love me?"
So that was what it would take. For a moment, the lie hovered on her lips, but she stretched her lips into her trademark lazy grin, and replied, "No. You're just a good frak."
She'd expected him to, what? Storm out? Sulk? Show visible upset?
Instead, his fingers left her check, drifted down to circle each nipple briefly before going lower, down to where their juices matted her pubic hair and her thighs gleamed sticky in the dim light. Pushing a finger up inside her, he then brought it to his lips and then hers.
"Never mind then." He sounded casual, as if she'd just said she couldn't make a roster change. "I'll see you next time."
"Don't be so sure there'll be a next time," she snapped.
He kissed her, his lips lingering warmly on hers. "There'll be a next time, Kathryn. Very soon. And one day, sooner than you think, I'll be sleeping in your bed."
As she watched him leave, his broad back silhouetted against the light from the corridor, Starbuck wondered how long her brittle shell would last against his flame.
(((FIN))) Feedback? Please. Shayenne
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