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Entry tags:
ficlets, gathered from the K/A thread at Skiffy
Spoilers through Revelations. Also, there are images (and I'm going through and shifting the links from Cujoy's to my own space, it's just taking a little)
I was spamming the thread today, out of boredom and a need to do something to stay awake (and help us get to 500 pages, oooo)
"Sam, stop groping."
"Why?"
"We're supposed to look respectable."
"*snicker*"
"It's not funny!"
"HAH."
"Ok, it is. This is also my elbow in your stomach."
"Ow."
"See? Now behave."
"Maybe."
"...Sam. Stop groping."
"No."
"Fine."
"*smug* Got you to hold my hand."
"...jerk."
"OM nom nom."
"...you are so weird."
"You taste good. *lick*"
"Idiot."
"What, you object?"
"Maybe."
"Uh-huh. You only object because Apollo's up there, watching. Wanna give him a show?"
"I--"
"*liiiiiiiiiick*"
"Ew."
"You weren't complaining last night."
"You weren't acting like an idiot last night."
"I'm always an idiot."
"Damn right. C'mere."
"Thought you objected?"
"Hey, baby, wanna put on a show?"
She loves the way he feels after sex--sweaty and limp, the heat coming off his body making her feel like she's in a frakking sauna. He likes the aftermath, too, nuzzling at the skin of her neck, her shoulders, her cheeks, mouth drifting over random points like he's memorizing her in some way that makes no sense.
For just a few seconds, she can let herself relax, pressed up against him and basking in the warmth and the glow.
Then it's gone--a brush of cold air, or the sound of a boot in the corridor outside the hatch (or someone knocking, shouting about taking too long). And she can't stay here, in his arms.
She hates that.
The first time she moved, struggling free of him and the sheets tangled around them, he'd looked lost for an instant as he watched her. The second time, he'd run his hands over his face, obscuring his expression. The third time... resignation.
She hates that, too.
She's the best thing he's ever seen. Sam's pretty frakking convinced that the Cylons could blow them all up and he'd be ok with that. Kara is alive and she's whole, smiling and laughing and so giddy it takes his breath away. He wants to grab her and never let her go, even though he knows that's not the way they work (never has been). And he doesn't know what he is--she doesn't know. But right now, it doesn't matter.
Kara Thrace came back from the dead, and maybe that makes it possible that Sam Anders has a soul.
'I love Sam, I hate Sam...'
She never says it, and Kara's convinced he should know. She doesn't go in for that frakking mushy stuff, he knew that in the beginnng and she's not going to frakking change now. Not when he should know from the way she keeps coming back to him (it's not just for the sex, can't ever be, as much as she sometimes wishes it was). The way she saved him from Caprica. She frakking married him, after all. She doesn't need to tell him something he should know.
Which doesn't help, because he's shaking and there's something desperate in the way he's holding her like she's the only thing he cares about in the universe.
When she tastes the tears on his lips, it's too much.
"Sam, uh, I--"
And he releases her, letting her pull away if she wants.
She's high on morpha and her hands hurt, and Sam is going to let her go if that's what she wants, and frak it, it's too much. She bumps into him. "Not letting you go."
"Kara--" he laughs a little, then envelops her again, face tilted into her neck.
"Love you," she whispers, hoping he can't hear it.
He doesn't say anything for so long, she's sure he missed it. Then his breath comes out in a shudder and he echoes her whisper back to her. "Love you, too."
Later, remembering, she wonders how she didn't notice. How all the little things didn't pull at her (but she knows, because she was so centered on Earth, on painting, on pushing him away and letting Leoben dictate her Destiny). He'd hovered, hand almost reaching, torn between curiosity and something else (fear). And she hadn't noticed, had just been annoyed with his absent-mindedness, annoyed that he wasn't jumping every ten seconds to her whims.
Later, she knows the truth. Something he never tried to cloak in half-truths and lies--he didn't have to. She never asked.
Later, she wants to rail at him, wants to rant and shout and disown him (he used her). But she doesn't.
She can't.
Because later, she also knows she should have known.
I was spamming the thread today, out of boredom and a need to do something to stay awake (and help us get to 500 pages, oooo)
"Sam, stop groping."
"Why?"
"We're supposed to look respectable."
"*snicker*"
"It's not funny!"
"HAH."
"Ok, it is. This is also my elbow in your stomach."
"Ow."
"See? Now behave."
"Maybe."
"...Sam. Stop groping."
"No."
"Fine."
"*smug* Got you to hold my hand."
"...jerk."
"OM nom nom."
"...you are so weird."
"You taste good. *lick*"
"Idiot."
"What, you object?"
"Maybe."
"Uh-huh. You only object because Apollo's up there, watching. Wanna give him a show?"
"I--"
"*liiiiiiiiiick*"
"Ew."
"You weren't complaining last night."
"You weren't acting like an idiot last night."
"I'm always an idiot."
"Damn right. C'mere."
"Thought you objected?"
"Hey, baby, wanna put on a show?"
She loves the way he feels after sex--sweaty and limp, the heat coming off his body making her feel like she's in a frakking sauna. He likes the aftermath, too, nuzzling at the skin of her neck, her shoulders, her cheeks, mouth drifting over random points like he's memorizing her in some way that makes no sense.
For just a few seconds, she can let herself relax, pressed up against him and basking in the warmth and the glow.
Then it's gone--a brush of cold air, or the sound of a boot in the corridor outside the hatch (or someone knocking, shouting about taking too long). And she can't stay here, in his arms.
She hates that.
The first time she moved, struggling free of him and the sheets tangled around them, he'd looked lost for an instant as he watched her. The second time, he'd run his hands over his face, obscuring his expression. The third time... resignation.
She hates that, too.
She's the best thing he's ever seen. Sam's pretty frakking convinced that the Cylons could blow them all up and he'd be ok with that. Kara is alive and she's whole, smiling and laughing and so giddy it takes his breath away. He wants to grab her and never let her go, even though he knows that's not the way they work (never has been). And he doesn't know what he is--she doesn't know. But right now, it doesn't matter.
Kara Thrace came back from the dead, and maybe that makes it possible that Sam Anders has a soul.
'I love Sam, I hate Sam...'
She never says it, and Kara's convinced he should know. She doesn't go in for that frakking mushy stuff, he knew that in the beginnng and she's not going to frakking change now. Not when he should know from the way she keeps coming back to him (it's not just for the sex, can't ever be, as much as she sometimes wishes it was). The way she saved him from Caprica. She frakking married him, after all. She doesn't need to tell him something he should know.
Which doesn't help, because he's shaking and there's something desperate in the way he's holding her like she's the only thing he cares about in the universe.
When she tastes the tears on his lips, it's too much.
"Sam, uh, I--"
And he releases her, letting her pull away if she wants.
She's high on morpha and her hands hurt, and Sam is going to let her go if that's what she wants, and frak it, it's too much. She bumps into him. "Not letting you go."
"Kara--" he laughs a little, then envelops her again, face tilted into her neck.
"Love you," she whispers, hoping he can't hear it.
He doesn't say anything for so long, she's sure he missed it. Then his breath comes out in a shudder and he echoes her whisper back to her. "Love you, too."
Later, remembering, she wonders how she didn't notice. How all the little things didn't pull at her (but she knows, because she was so centered on Earth, on painting, on pushing him away and letting Leoben dictate her Destiny). He'd hovered, hand almost reaching, torn between curiosity and something else (fear). And she hadn't noticed, had just been annoyed with his absent-mindedness, annoyed that he wasn't jumping every ten seconds to her whims.
Later, she knows the truth. Something he never tried to cloak in half-truths and lies--he didn't have to. She never asked.
Later, she wants to rail at him, wants to rant and shout and disown him (he used her). But she doesn't.
She can't.
Because later, she also knows she should have known.
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I'm sure this will have been hashed out long ago in your LJ, but I missed it: Do Sackhoff and Trucco really have those tatoos, or do they have to be made up when they're doing scenes in short sleeves?
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(Did I say that right?)
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