![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fic: newBSG, Kara/Anders
Disclaimer: Not mine. Rating: 18+ Sex. Language.
Set: season two, post-Resistance, pre-The Farm
Pairing: Kara/Anders
Notes: Those of you who know what inspired this, will, ah, know. Yes. Title almost entirely stolen from A.j.
The Joys of Random Middle Names
by ALC Punk!
"Throgmorton."
Sam Anders hasn't heard that name since his grandmother passed away five years ago (well, his mother still used it when she was pissed at him), and he's really not happy to hear it now. Too many memories of home-baked cookies, and the fact that he'll never get them again flood his brain. And for a moment, he's lost in the past and the warmth of her kitchen.
"Throgmorton." Kara repeats, and then she snickers and elbows him.
"Shut up."
"It's your middle name, you should be--" she snickers again, "--proud of it."
He glares at her, then rolls, pinning her to the bed, "I think someone needs a lesson."
"Oooh, I'm scared," she mocks. "Help me, Throgmorton's gonna--" She breaks off, gasping as his mouth closes on her neck. "--gonna lesson me. Gods."
Feeling smug, Anders occupies himself with making her writhe beneath him, lips and tongue merciless.
Not that she gives up easily. But that's Kara Thrace, she's not a quitter, and she plays harder than most men. He's figured all of this out in the last three days of knowing her. He also knows that's not all there is to her, but he figures she'll tell him when she's ready. If she ever is.
As she arches beneath him, body begging for more, she starts a litany, gasping and moaning his name over and over again. Unfortunately, it's: "Throgmorton."
It doesn't take long for it to irritate him too much, and he stops, glaring at her. "Stop that."
"It really bothers you."
"Yeah."
The smirk dims slightly, and she reaches up and touches his face. "Why?"
"Don't ask." He says. And to distract them both, he moves up, positioning himself and sliding in with ease. By now, he knows the exact angle that makes her head fall back to the pillow, her neck arch. His lips are there to kiss it as he drives her slowly insane.
Or she's the one driving him over the edge.
Ten seconds later, he's not sure, because her fingers are on his back, and she's doing that twist with her pelvis, and it's so good that he can't hear her calling him Throgmorton anymore.
Afterwards, he lays on top of her, listening to her heartbeat, and wonders if he's getting sentimental.
"Nice," she murmurs, her fingers stroking through his hair.
"Yeah." He sucks in a breath, then rolls to the side, careful not to fall off the tiny bed. It feels natural to wrap his arm over her, to keep their legs tangled.
Kara wriggles in his grasp, "Hey. This is going to be sticky and uncomfortable soon."
Conceding her point, Anders releases her. "Will you stay?"
The bed rattles as she stands, the boxes holding it up protesting the misuse (not that they were silent before, but it's only just now they register). Kara shrugs. "I suppose."
"Good." Reaching out, he gropes her ass, then kisses her belly.
She groans, "That's unfair."
"All's fair."
"You're right. Throgmorton."
This, of course, requires retaliation.
In the course of the retaliation, the bed gives up the ghost, and spills them onto the cold floor. Not that either of them notice, except for Kara laughing her ass off until he makes her whimper again. And they don't end up pulling the sheets off until it's nearly dawn, and by then, they just move to Kara's small bunk. And Anders prays to the Gods he won't fall off.
-f-
Set: season two, post-Resistance, pre-The Farm
Pairing: Kara/Anders
Notes: Those of you who know what inspired this, will, ah, know. Yes. Title almost entirely stolen from A.j.
The Joys of Random Middle Names
by ALC Punk!
"Throgmorton."
Sam Anders hasn't heard that name since his grandmother passed away five years ago (well, his mother still used it when she was pissed at him), and he's really not happy to hear it now. Too many memories of home-baked cookies, and the fact that he'll never get them again flood his brain. And for a moment, he's lost in the past and the warmth of her kitchen.
"Throgmorton." Kara repeats, and then she snickers and elbows him.
"Shut up."
"It's your middle name, you should be--" she snickers again, "--proud of it."
He glares at her, then rolls, pinning her to the bed, "I think someone needs a lesson."
"Oooh, I'm scared," she mocks. "Help me, Throgmorton's gonna--" She breaks off, gasping as his mouth closes on her neck. "--gonna lesson me. Gods."
Feeling smug, Anders occupies himself with making her writhe beneath him, lips and tongue merciless.
Not that she gives up easily. But that's Kara Thrace, she's not a quitter, and she plays harder than most men. He's figured all of this out in the last three days of knowing her. He also knows that's not all there is to her, but he figures she'll tell him when she's ready. If she ever is.
As she arches beneath him, body begging for more, she starts a litany, gasping and moaning his name over and over again. Unfortunately, it's: "Throgmorton."
It doesn't take long for it to irritate him too much, and he stops, glaring at her. "Stop that."
"It really bothers you."
"Yeah."
The smirk dims slightly, and she reaches up and touches his face. "Why?"
"Don't ask." He says. And to distract them both, he moves up, positioning himself and sliding in with ease. By now, he knows the exact angle that makes her head fall back to the pillow, her neck arch. His lips are there to kiss it as he drives her slowly insane.
Or she's the one driving him over the edge.
Ten seconds later, he's not sure, because her fingers are on his back, and she's doing that twist with her pelvis, and it's so good that he can't hear her calling him Throgmorton anymore.
Afterwards, he lays on top of her, listening to her heartbeat, and wonders if he's getting sentimental.
"Nice," she murmurs, her fingers stroking through his hair.
"Yeah." He sucks in a breath, then rolls to the side, careful not to fall off the tiny bed. It feels natural to wrap his arm over her, to keep their legs tangled.
Kara wriggles in his grasp, "Hey. This is going to be sticky and uncomfortable soon."
Conceding her point, Anders releases her. "Will you stay?"
The bed rattles as she stands, the boxes holding it up protesting the misuse (not that they were silent before, but it's only just now they register). Kara shrugs. "I suppose."
"Good." Reaching out, he gropes her ass, then kisses her belly.
She groans, "That's unfair."
"All's fair."
"You're right. Throgmorton."
This, of course, requires retaliation.
In the course of the retaliation, the bed gives up the ghost, and spills them onto the cold floor. Not that either of them notice, except for Kara laughing her ass off until he makes her whimper again. And they don't end up pulling the sheets off until it's nearly dawn, and by then, they just move to Kara's small bunk. And Anders prays to the Gods he won't fall off.
-f-