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crossover: Three Fraks and Three Moments After What Was Almost End of the World, R
Disclaimer: not mine
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Torchwood, Battlestar Galactica
Pairings/orgies: Martha Jones/Kara Thrace/Sam Anders, Jack Harkness/Margaret Edmonson (Racetrack), Jack Harkness/Natalie, referenced/implied: Kara/Sam, Margaret/Kara, Jack/Everyone, Six/Gaius Baltar, Ianto/Jack, Gwen/Rhys
Spoilers: vague ones for DW series 4, Torchwood series 2, and BSG season 4.
Rating: Surprisingly, soft R, language, sexual situations
Length: 1500
Notes: I'm amused to discover that non-porny moments are past tense while the porn is present. I blame all of this on![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
palmetto
Three Fraks and Three Moments After What Was Almost End of the World
by ALC Punk!
They're drunk. They're drunk because Sam's a Cylon and Martha's a doctor and they maybe just saved the world. Or the universe. They're drunk because Kara's a pilot and shot down a Dalek baseship like it was a stroll in the park. They're drunk because it's easier than thinking about everyone they've lost over the last two weeks.
It's because they're drunk that Martha doesn't object when Kara kisses her. Not even when she tugs, pulling Martha to straddle her lap, hands hot on her waist as she pulls her shirt free of the pants she'd borrowed from Cally days before. Sam thinks it's a little surprising, but goes with it, drinking down the last of the ambrosia and leaning over to kiss Kara's neck.
Martha pulls back after a while, leaning her forehead against Kara's and laughing a little, breathless. "D'you treat all guests like this?"
"Only the hot ones," Kara tells her, ducking to kiss Martha's neck and the underside of her jaw when she leans back a little.
Statistics about alcohol and consumption rates flood through Martha's brain and she shoves them aside, leaning forward and and kissing Kara back. She can use a little human contact, after all of this. Somewhere on the ship, the Doctor is probably looking for her, or kicking back and destroying his credibility. She doesn't care, though. Kara tastes like ambrosia and need, a combination that goes to Martha's head faster than she'd expected.
It's different, getting her hands inside Kara's shirts, stroking and touching her breasts. Kara's hard in places men are, but softer in others, and Martha gets distracted by it all, forgetting Sam's there until he coughs.
"Uh, Kara?"
Kara shifts under her, laughing a little, breath smelling of ambrosia and cigar, "I'm going to frak Martha, Sammy. Want to watch?"
"...hot," he acknowledges.
"Do I get a say in this?" Martha asks, reality tilting back upright for a moment. She wants to object to Starbuck's plan. But like the kiss, being touched, fondled and held is human contact. It's not standing and listening to people die. Not trying desperately to save women and men who are already in pieces due to shrapnel and Dalek bombs.
"You can always say no," replies Kara, her tone even. She tilts her head and looks at Martha. "I can always be boring and just frak Sam. He'd probably like that, almost as much as he'd like to watch."
Martha licks her lips, thinking for a moment before saying carefully, "Who says I want him to just watch?"
For some reason, that sets Kara to giggling and her hands are sliding up inside Martha's shirts an instant later.
"I didn't say yes."
"You didn't say no, either," points out Starbuck, mouth claiming Martha's again before she can respond with words.
Not that she needs words. Between one breath and the next, she makes up her mind. She's drunk, they're all three drunk, and people are dead.
It's almost a good enough reason for mindless sex with people she barely knows.
-*-
The Doctor was accepting cup number he'd lost track from Laura Roslin when he tilted his head, eyes going wide. "Hang on. I arrived with some people. Martha? Jack?" He glanced around, confused, "Maybe they stepped out to powder their noses."
From his side of the desk, Adama raised his eyebrows, but let the delusional man have his way. "Perhaps. Now, you were saying about the destruction of the colonies being part of a larger plan by these Dal-whats?"
It wasn't hard to get distracted again, and the Doctor stopped worrying about them, after all, he knew they could take care of themselves. "Aw, well, now--"
-*-
Maggie likes 'em flirty. Not that she's bothered to let anyone else know that. With the way the war's been dragging on, she really can't think of anyone she'd like to tell, anyway.
Lucky for her, Captain Jack Harkness flirts like it's a vital part of his existence.
He's also a good kisser.
And Maggie hasn't been kissed real well in so long she was beginning to think her lips would fall off. She's had fraks and handjobs, masturbated in the showers and her rack, and practically had sex with half the members of her flight pod. But she hasn't had a good kiss since Picon, when some half-drunk Triad-player shoved her up against a wall and acquainted herself with Maggie's lips.
Not that Starbuck remembers doing it, and Maggie's never pushed it (maybe even especially since Anders is around to complicate things).
The storage room is stifling, like it hasn't been aired since before Galactica was set for the decommissioning, but Maggie's not sucking in enough breath to care, anyway.
-*-
"I'm never moving again," Donna declared. She was flopped on her back, arm over her eyes. It had been a very long day. Night. Week, even. "He promised, you know, he said--" she sat up abruptly and glared at the man sitting across from her, "Are you listening, weasel-face?"
"Oh, most definitely," with a twitch, Dr. Baltar tried to give Donna a smile, it came out rather strained.
"Good." Not that she cared what he thought of her. Not that she cared what any of them thought of her. "Because I've got a lot to complain about. Oh, I don't mind Martha and Jack, but this? Invasions and Daleks and death? It's just not on."
For his part, Dr. Gaius Baltar had to agree, even as the Cylon in his head smiled sweetly at him and leaned up against Donna's back. Isn't she lovely, Gaius? All of this human indignation.
"Ah, yes. Not on. At all," managed Gaius, trying to answer both of them in some coherent fashion and failing to do so on either count.
"First it's Zarbi, then it's Torchwood, then it's Daleks and Cylons," Donna continued. She wasn't whining, in fact she seemed almost pleased under the bluster of irritation. She stopped enumerating her annoyances abruptly and shrugged, "'Course, I suppose it could be worse. It could be spiders."
Gaius shuddered.
I had no idea you disliked spiders, Gaius. I should keep that in mind, Six murmured, laying her cheek atop Donna's head.
Donna didn't seem to notice her. "And then there's the shoes. D'you know, my feet are killing me?"
-*-
"I've never had one of you before."
Natalie's silent, head tipped back, trying not to bang against the wall as Jack thrusts in and out, a rhythm that's easy to match. She thinks there might be sparks behind her eyelids, but she isn't going to ask if he can see them.
Forgetting she hasn't replied, he surges harder into her, mouth on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Murmuring words against her skin she can only hear a little. beautiful and angel and don't ever stop, like he's using her to work out some long-held moment of passion never spent (this is what she does, as a Six, she lets them use her, twist her to their own needs).
She's heard other men (her sisters have), the way they grunt and moan, the way they beg and plead. She tried to block them all. This is her moment, Jack is intent on her and her skin. Not someone else, not them.
"Yes..." she whispers, fingers threading into his hair, tugging and pulling his mouth back up to hers as the sparkles explode into something else, and Natalie thinks for a moment that this must be what the Hybrid feels when it jumps.
He's right there an instant later, following her and she catches him as he sags, letting the wall hold them both up.
"Now you have," she murmurs, smoothing her fingers against the back of his neck.
He gives a breathless laugh, turning his face up to hers again, "Can we do that again, please?"
"For me, or the thrill?"
He's honest, at least. "Both."
Natalie lets him kiss her again.
-*-
Ianto Jones was standing in the Hub, frowning at the spot the Doctor's TARDIS had occupied moments before. "Five minutes," he muttered before he turned and headed for the phone. "Five minutes is never short round here."
He knew the Doctor would be back with Jack and Martha. Donna wasn't a member of either UNIT or Torchwood, but she'd do. Until then, he supposed he should give Tom a ring, see if he'd like pizza or something. Maybe invite Gwen and Rhys round as well. He spared a brief worry for the mortal members of the current TARDIS crew and then picked up the phone.
-f-
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Torchwood, Battlestar Galactica
Pairings/orgies: Martha Jones/Kara Thrace/Sam Anders, Jack Harkness/Margaret Edmonson (Racetrack), Jack Harkness/Natalie, referenced/implied: Kara/Sam, Margaret/Kara, Jack/Everyone, Six/Gaius Baltar, Ianto/Jack, Gwen/Rhys
Spoilers: vague ones for DW series 4, Torchwood series 2, and BSG season 4.
Rating: Surprisingly, soft R, language, sexual situations
Length: 1500
Notes: I'm amused to discover that non-porny moments are past tense while the porn is present. I blame all of this on
palmettoThree Fraks and Three Moments After What Was Almost End of the World
by ALC Punk!
They're drunk. They're drunk because Sam's a Cylon and Martha's a doctor and they maybe just saved the world. Or the universe. They're drunk because Kara's a pilot and shot down a Dalek baseship like it was a stroll in the park. They're drunk because it's easier than thinking about everyone they've lost over the last two weeks.
It's because they're drunk that Martha doesn't object when Kara kisses her. Not even when she tugs, pulling Martha to straddle her lap, hands hot on her waist as she pulls her shirt free of the pants she'd borrowed from Cally days before. Sam thinks it's a little surprising, but goes with it, drinking down the last of the ambrosia and leaning over to kiss Kara's neck.
Martha pulls back after a while, leaning her forehead against Kara's and laughing a little, breathless. "D'you treat all guests like this?"
"Only the hot ones," Kara tells her, ducking to kiss Martha's neck and the underside of her jaw when she leans back a little.
Statistics about alcohol and consumption rates flood through Martha's brain and she shoves them aside, leaning forward and and kissing Kara back. She can use a little human contact, after all of this. Somewhere on the ship, the Doctor is probably looking for her, or kicking back and destroying his credibility. She doesn't care, though. Kara tastes like ambrosia and need, a combination that goes to Martha's head faster than she'd expected.
It's different, getting her hands inside Kara's shirts, stroking and touching her breasts. Kara's hard in places men are, but softer in others, and Martha gets distracted by it all, forgetting Sam's there until he coughs.
"Uh, Kara?"
Kara shifts under her, laughing a little, breath smelling of ambrosia and cigar, "I'm going to frak Martha, Sammy. Want to watch?"
"...hot," he acknowledges.
"Do I get a say in this?" Martha asks, reality tilting back upright for a moment. She wants to object to Starbuck's plan. But like the kiss, being touched, fondled and held is human contact. It's not standing and listening to people die. Not trying desperately to save women and men who are already in pieces due to shrapnel and Dalek bombs.
"You can always say no," replies Kara, her tone even. She tilts her head and looks at Martha. "I can always be boring and just frak Sam. He'd probably like that, almost as much as he'd like to watch."
Martha licks her lips, thinking for a moment before saying carefully, "Who says I want him to just watch?"
For some reason, that sets Kara to giggling and her hands are sliding up inside Martha's shirts an instant later.
"I didn't say yes."
"You didn't say no, either," points out Starbuck, mouth claiming Martha's again before she can respond with words.
Not that she needs words. Between one breath and the next, she makes up her mind. She's drunk, they're all three drunk, and people are dead.
It's almost a good enough reason for mindless sex with people she barely knows.
-*-
The Doctor was accepting cup number he'd lost track from Laura Roslin when he tilted his head, eyes going wide. "Hang on. I arrived with some people. Martha? Jack?" He glanced around, confused, "Maybe they stepped out to powder their noses."
From his side of the desk, Adama raised his eyebrows, but let the delusional man have his way. "Perhaps. Now, you were saying about the destruction of the colonies being part of a larger plan by these Dal-whats?"
It wasn't hard to get distracted again, and the Doctor stopped worrying about them, after all, he knew they could take care of themselves. "Aw, well, now--"
-*-
Maggie likes 'em flirty. Not that she's bothered to let anyone else know that. With the way the war's been dragging on, she really can't think of anyone she'd like to tell, anyway.
Lucky for her, Captain Jack Harkness flirts like it's a vital part of his existence.
He's also a good kisser.
And Maggie hasn't been kissed real well in so long she was beginning to think her lips would fall off. She's had fraks and handjobs, masturbated in the showers and her rack, and practically had sex with half the members of her flight pod. But she hasn't had a good kiss since Picon, when some half-drunk Triad-player shoved her up against a wall and acquainted herself with Maggie's lips.
Not that Starbuck remembers doing it, and Maggie's never pushed it (maybe even especially since Anders is around to complicate things).
The storage room is stifling, like it hasn't been aired since before Galactica was set for the decommissioning, but Maggie's not sucking in enough breath to care, anyway.
-*-
"I'm never moving again," Donna declared. She was flopped on her back, arm over her eyes. It had been a very long day. Night. Week, even. "He promised, you know, he said--" she sat up abruptly and glared at the man sitting across from her, "Are you listening, weasel-face?"
"Oh, most definitely," with a twitch, Dr. Baltar tried to give Donna a smile, it came out rather strained.
"Good." Not that she cared what he thought of her. Not that she cared what any of them thought of her. "Because I've got a lot to complain about. Oh, I don't mind Martha and Jack, but this? Invasions and Daleks and death? It's just not on."
For his part, Dr. Gaius Baltar had to agree, even as the Cylon in his head smiled sweetly at him and leaned up against Donna's back. Isn't she lovely, Gaius? All of this human indignation.
"Ah, yes. Not on. At all," managed Gaius, trying to answer both of them in some coherent fashion and failing to do so on either count.
"First it's Zarbi, then it's Torchwood, then it's Daleks and Cylons," Donna continued. She wasn't whining, in fact she seemed almost pleased under the bluster of irritation. She stopped enumerating her annoyances abruptly and shrugged, "'Course, I suppose it could be worse. It could be spiders."
Gaius shuddered.
I had no idea you disliked spiders, Gaius. I should keep that in mind, Six murmured, laying her cheek atop Donna's head.
Donna didn't seem to notice her. "And then there's the shoes. D'you know, my feet are killing me?"
-*-
"I've never had one of you before."
Natalie's silent, head tipped back, trying not to bang against the wall as Jack thrusts in and out, a rhythm that's easy to match. She thinks there might be sparks behind her eyelids, but she isn't going to ask if he can see them.
Forgetting she hasn't replied, he surges harder into her, mouth on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts. Murmuring words against her skin she can only hear a little. beautiful and angel and don't ever stop, like he's using her to work out some long-held moment of passion never spent (this is what she does, as a Six, she lets them use her, twist her to their own needs).
She's heard other men (her sisters have), the way they grunt and moan, the way they beg and plead. She tried to block them all. This is her moment, Jack is intent on her and her skin. Not someone else, not them.
"Yes..." she whispers, fingers threading into his hair, tugging and pulling his mouth back up to hers as the sparkles explode into something else, and Natalie thinks for a moment that this must be what the Hybrid feels when it jumps.
He's right there an instant later, following her and she catches him as he sags, letting the wall hold them both up.
"Now you have," she murmurs, smoothing her fingers against the back of his neck.
He gives a breathless laugh, turning his face up to hers again, "Can we do that again, please?"
"For me, or the thrill?"
He's honest, at least. "Both."
Natalie lets him kiss her again.
-*-
Ianto Jones was standing in the Hub, frowning at the spot the Doctor's TARDIS had occupied moments before. "Five minutes," he muttered before he turned and headed for the phone. "Five minutes is never short round here."
He knew the Doctor would be back with Jack and Martha. Donna wasn't a member of either UNIT or Torchwood, but she'd do. Until then, he supposed he should give Tom a ring, see if he'd like pizza or something. Maybe invite Gwen and Rhys round as well. He spared a brief worry for the mortal members of the current TARDIS crew and then picked up the phone.
-f-
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Oh, man, those three are the hardest to write! I, er, need to think about it, yah...
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I agree with the other poster though; more Doctor, Adama and Rosalyn!!
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I'd love to do more of the trio in charge, but they're the most difficult voices to nail down. Sigh.
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I'm fond of Donna calling anyone that, but with Baltar, it's especially apt. ;]
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Thank you =)
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And "Are you listening, weasel-face?" for the WIN.
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Only Donna would ever get away with saying that to his face. I love her for it.
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