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Entry tags:
fic: newBSG, Kara/Samuel, Undone Without Pride, 18+
Disclaimer: not mine.
Rating: 18+ sex, sex, naked people, het, and more sex.
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Spoilers: Through Collaborators.
Notes: I tried to make this fluffy. It did not work (I blame Stabbing Westward, Hole, Nickelback, Depeche Mode, Ace of Base, Erasure, Killing Joke and, MOST OF ALL, Bush. God-damn Science of Things and its ANGSTY MUSIC like '40 Miles From the Sun'). Further commentary at the end.
Length: 1,500+
Undone Without Pride
by ALC Punk!
Sam's still not used to sleeping alone--not on shipboard. He slept alone four months running, he figures he should be used to it, but he's not. Not when she's actually alive and somewhere--and he really has to stop thinking about Kara Thrace. Because she told him some stupid shit about being afraid to hurt him, and he walked away.
A part of him isn't proud of that. Another part is okay with it, likes not being hurt.
Except for the part where he misses cuddling against his wife and hearing her breath and tasting her skin. And half a dozen million other things he's going to have to adjust to.
Because she won't be there.
Like she isn't here now. He huffs out a breath and turns on his side to get comfortable.
Kara's standing there, staring at him.
"What the--Kara?" Sam half-sits up in the rack, wondering what the frak she's doing there.
"Don't talk." She says.
But he doesn't obey her, "Kara, what are you doing?"
Her shirts hit the deck and she's bending over, scrabbling at the laces on her boots, "What's it look like?"
Sam rolls out of the rack and stands. "Kara."
And she stops and straightens. "Sam."
As much as he wants to touch her, as much as his mind and body are filling him with the need to feel and touch and taste her--and he can't help the glance at her bare chest. He hasn't seen that skin in too damned long. But he can't, "Kara, you said--"
"I changed my mind." There's something lost in her eyes. She kicks her boots off and bites her lip.
This is not what she needs. He has a moment to think that before she reaches out for him. And he gives in. He hates himself, but he cups the back of her head and kisses her.
And its worse than her goodbye, because this time, he knows that if she runs it will be the end.
A small part of him wants her to run. Wants her to go before she can hurt him again. But this is his wife, the woman who saved his ass, the woman he married. And he doesn't have the luxury of letting her go. Not when she's all he wants.
"Sam." She whimpers against his lips.
Then he's kissing her, hands on her skin, shoving back until she hits the table.
Kara's hands are sure on his waist, tugging at his belt, and he can feel her demands in every movement she makes. It's going to be hard, and it's going to be fast, and he has no idea how much pleasure she'll get from it. The table moans, or maybe it's him, when she clambers backwards onto it.
Neither of them speak as he drags her pants down and off, mouth stopping to bite and lick along the way until her fingernails slide across his scalp.
Back up and he has time to really register the dog tag dangling between her breasts before she's falling backwards on the table, pulling him with her.
Sam's halfway onto the table when there's an unpleasant sound of metal snapping and the world drops away for an instant. Then his chin slams into her shoulder and they both lose their breath from the impact with the floor.
The broken table reminds him of breaking more than one bed--cots were always notoriously rickety on New Caprica. And a laugh escapes him.
Her hand prods him, "Up."
He shifts up, pushing with his arms until he's still laying across her, but not pressing her so hard into the floor. Another laugh escapes him at the still-surprised look on her face. "The table isn't, ah, sturdy," he manages before it's too funny and he's laughing, head bent.
"'S not--" but she's Kara, and some part of her does think it's damned hilarious, because a giggle erupts from her. And then another.
Then she's laughing and he's laughing.
He can feel her laughing against him, and he's not sure when the tone shifts. He only notices it has after her hand covers her eyes. His own laughter stills. "Hey."
"'S not funny."
"Next time, maybe we should try a bed," he suggests, reaching out and tugging her hand away.
"Yeah." She can't meet his eyes, but he can see something awful in them.
"Kara..." He swallows and pushes up a bit more, wincing as his knees protest the cold floor (not to mention the impact). "We can stop."
Her hands grab his waist, "No." One leg slides up the outside of his and she nudges him with her knee. "No stopping."
Sam sucks in a breath at the contact and bends down to kiss her lips. "All right."
"But the floor's cold."
A soft laugh escapes him and he takes his time, bending to kiss the spot between her breasts before he crawls backwards and kneels. "Bed, Kara."
She winces as she rises from the floor.
"Gonna be bruised."
"Yeah."
Sam tugs his shirt off and drops it, then pulls his pants off the rest of the way before nudging her aside and climbing into the rack. He holds out a hand to her. "Kara?"
The world seems to stop again as she stares at him, eyes wide. It's as if the bed is something more, something permanent, and that's not what she was looking for. It hurts, but he expected it. She'll go now, she'll run again and he won't stop her. Not this time.
"Right." she whispers, "Bed."
When she climbs on top of him, he has no time for surprise. Her mouth is on his, her hands moving with the knowledge of their past encounters. A soft whimper escapes her as she slips down onto him. Sam steadies her hips, holding her still. It's been months for her, and he doesn't want to think the cylon could have done this with her--there are a hundred thousand things the cylons could have done and he's not going to think about them, now.
His hands cup her breasts, and he remembers how much they fascinated him, on Caprica. And then on New Caprica, and she'd mock him for the fascination until his mouth was driving her insane with distraction.
A soundless laugh escapes her, as if she's remembering to, and then she moves.
Sensation captures him, then. Want, need, the feel of Kara above and around him--the soft little moans she makes that a part of him has always been pleased at causing. Her rythm is rough for a time until he catches at her hips. The adjustment makes her growl softly.
"Hot," he mumbles, tugging her down for a kiss that ends only when she pulls away.
Moving his hands over her skin, he marvels at the parts of her that feel different. She's lost weight, lost muscle, there's less of her physically.
She bangs her head on the rack above them, curses, and the rhythm changes again. There's a desperation in her, and he reacts to it, digging one heel into the bed and pushing back against her. Harder, and the dog tag swings on its chain, almost slapping him in the face before she dips her head to kiss him.
Now, he thinks. And it is now, because she's gone, shuddering around him and whimpering. "Sam." She doesn't speak it aloud, but he feels her lips shape his name.
He lets go.
Kara stays arched above him, eyes closed. And then she slowly lowers herself, legs sliding back to tangle with his. He knows this doesn't fix anything. As she collapses and cuddles against his skin, her own coated in sweat, he knows this didn't do a damned thing to fix her. She's just as broken, just as lost as she was when she first walked in.
As the inevitable sleep claims her, he tugs the blanket, half-covering them both. They should move, get cleaned up, but he finds he doesn't have the energy anymore.
This was a mistake, but he let it happen. And he's letting it continue. Because he wants to hold his wife in his arms, breath in her scent, and let himself think (for a moment) that things are ok.
And the one thing he can't get out of his head, as he falls asleep, is that the dog tag isn't labeled 'captain'.
--
She's gone in the morning. Slipped out before he woke, dressed and out the door before anyone else noticed her.
The table is still bent and listing to one side, a silent accusation of the night before. Sam shifts, sticky and in need of a shower. Paper crackles.
He digs in the blanket until he finds the cause. A square folded over something hard. The dog tag falls out into his hand as he opens it. The message is very simple.
'I'm coming back for this.'
He wonders if she's lying to him, herself, or both of them at once.
A sigh escapes him and he stares up at the rack above him. It doesn't matter. In twenty minutes, he has to be awake for his shift.
His wife is going to have to wait.
He still takes the dog tag with him.
-f
Further note: I was reminded of Helo's comment to Sharon, back when he was sending her off in her uniform. The bit about symbols, and how they mean something. And, to me, the body language in Collaborators was... Very much a, "this is yours, but it's a symbol of who you are, and I think you need it." sadly, the words were not that. But I still can't get the idea of Kara and Sam being all obsessive over the dog tag. OMG. Dude, he KEPT THEM FOR A YEAR WHILE THEY WERE STILL MARRIED. er... Yeah. Colors showing. Sorry!
Rating: 18+ sex, sex, naked people, het, and more sex.
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Spoilers: Through Collaborators.
Notes: I tried to make this fluffy. It did not work (I blame Stabbing Westward, Hole, Nickelback, Depeche Mode, Ace of Base, Erasure, Killing Joke and, MOST OF ALL, Bush. God-damn Science of Things and its ANGSTY MUSIC like '40 Miles From the Sun'). Further commentary at the end.
Length: 1,500+
Undone Without Pride
by ALC Punk!
Sam's still not used to sleeping alone--not on shipboard. He slept alone four months running, he figures he should be used to it, but he's not. Not when she's actually alive and somewhere--and he really has to stop thinking about Kara Thrace. Because she told him some stupid shit about being afraid to hurt him, and he walked away.
A part of him isn't proud of that. Another part is okay with it, likes not being hurt.
Except for the part where he misses cuddling against his wife and hearing her breath and tasting her skin. And half a dozen million other things he's going to have to adjust to.
Because she won't be there.
Like she isn't here now. He huffs out a breath and turns on his side to get comfortable.
Kara's standing there, staring at him.
"What the--Kara?" Sam half-sits up in the rack, wondering what the frak she's doing there.
"Don't talk." She says.
But he doesn't obey her, "Kara, what are you doing?"
Her shirts hit the deck and she's bending over, scrabbling at the laces on her boots, "What's it look like?"
Sam rolls out of the rack and stands. "Kara."
And she stops and straightens. "Sam."
As much as he wants to touch her, as much as his mind and body are filling him with the need to feel and touch and taste her--and he can't help the glance at her bare chest. He hasn't seen that skin in too damned long. But he can't, "Kara, you said--"
"I changed my mind." There's something lost in her eyes. She kicks her boots off and bites her lip.
This is not what she needs. He has a moment to think that before she reaches out for him. And he gives in. He hates himself, but he cups the back of her head and kisses her.
And its worse than her goodbye, because this time, he knows that if she runs it will be the end.
A small part of him wants her to run. Wants her to go before she can hurt him again. But this is his wife, the woman who saved his ass, the woman he married. And he doesn't have the luxury of letting her go. Not when she's all he wants.
"Sam." She whimpers against his lips.
Then he's kissing her, hands on her skin, shoving back until she hits the table.
Kara's hands are sure on his waist, tugging at his belt, and he can feel her demands in every movement she makes. It's going to be hard, and it's going to be fast, and he has no idea how much pleasure she'll get from it. The table moans, or maybe it's him, when she clambers backwards onto it.
Neither of them speak as he drags her pants down and off, mouth stopping to bite and lick along the way until her fingernails slide across his scalp.
Back up and he has time to really register the dog tag dangling between her breasts before she's falling backwards on the table, pulling him with her.
Sam's halfway onto the table when there's an unpleasant sound of metal snapping and the world drops away for an instant. Then his chin slams into her shoulder and they both lose their breath from the impact with the floor.
The broken table reminds him of breaking more than one bed--cots were always notoriously rickety on New Caprica. And a laugh escapes him.
Her hand prods him, "Up."
He shifts up, pushing with his arms until he's still laying across her, but not pressing her so hard into the floor. Another laugh escapes him at the still-surprised look on her face. "The table isn't, ah, sturdy," he manages before it's too funny and he's laughing, head bent.
"'S not--" but she's Kara, and some part of her does think it's damned hilarious, because a giggle erupts from her. And then another.
Then she's laughing and he's laughing.
He can feel her laughing against him, and he's not sure when the tone shifts. He only notices it has after her hand covers her eyes. His own laughter stills. "Hey."
"'S not funny."
"Next time, maybe we should try a bed," he suggests, reaching out and tugging her hand away.
"Yeah." She can't meet his eyes, but he can see something awful in them.
"Kara..." He swallows and pushes up a bit more, wincing as his knees protest the cold floor (not to mention the impact). "We can stop."
Her hands grab his waist, "No." One leg slides up the outside of his and she nudges him with her knee. "No stopping."
Sam sucks in a breath at the contact and bends down to kiss her lips. "All right."
"But the floor's cold."
A soft laugh escapes him and he takes his time, bending to kiss the spot between her breasts before he crawls backwards and kneels. "Bed, Kara."
She winces as she rises from the floor.
"Gonna be bruised."
"Yeah."
Sam tugs his shirt off and drops it, then pulls his pants off the rest of the way before nudging her aside and climbing into the rack. He holds out a hand to her. "Kara?"
The world seems to stop again as she stares at him, eyes wide. It's as if the bed is something more, something permanent, and that's not what she was looking for. It hurts, but he expected it. She'll go now, she'll run again and he won't stop her. Not this time.
"Right." she whispers, "Bed."
When she climbs on top of him, he has no time for surprise. Her mouth is on his, her hands moving with the knowledge of their past encounters. A soft whimper escapes her as she slips down onto him. Sam steadies her hips, holding her still. It's been months for her, and he doesn't want to think the cylon could have done this with her--there are a hundred thousand things the cylons could have done and he's not going to think about them, now.
His hands cup her breasts, and he remembers how much they fascinated him, on Caprica. And then on New Caprica, and she'd mock him for the fascination until his mouth was driving her insane with distraction.
A soundless laugh escapes her, as if she's remembering to, and then she moves.
Sensation captures him, then. Want, need, the feel of Kara above and around him--the soft little moans she makes that a part of him has always been pleased at causing. Her rythm is rough for a time until he catches at her hips. The adjustment makes her growl softly.
"Hot," he mumbles, tugging her down for a kiss that ends only when she pulls away.
Moving his hands over her skin, he marvels at the parts of her that feel different. She's lost weight, lost muscle, there's less of her physically.
She bangs her head on the rack above them, curses, and the rhythm changes again. There's a desperation in her, and he reacts to it, digging one heel into the bed and pushing back against her. Harder, and the dog tag swings on its chain, almost slapping him in the face before she dips her head to kiss him.
Now, he thinks. And it is now, because she's gone, shuddering around him and whimpering. "Sam." She doesn't speak it aloud, but he feels her lips shape his name.
He lets go.
Kara stays arched above him, eyes closed. And then she slowly lowers herself, legs sliding back to tangle with his. He knows this doesn't fix anything. As she collapses and cuddles against his skin, her own coated in sweat, he knows this didn't do a damned thing to fix her. She's just as broken, just as lost as she was when she first walked in.
As the inevitable sleep claims her, he tugs the blanket, half-covering them both. They should move, get cleaned up, but he finds he doesn't have the energy anymore.
This was a mistake, but he let it happen. And he's letting it continue. Because he wants to hold his wife in his arms, breath in her scent, and let himself think (for a moment) that things are ok.
And the one thing he can't get out of his head, as he falls asleep, is that the dog tag isn't labeled 'captain'.
--
She's gone in the morning. Slipped out before he woke, dressed and out the door before anyone else noticed her.
The table is still bent and listing to one side, a silent accusation of the night before. Sam shifts, sticky and in need of a shower. Paper crackles.
He digs in the blanket until he finds the cause. A square folded over something hard. The dog tag falls out into his hand as he opens it. The message is very simple.
'I'm coming back for this.'
He wonders if she's lying to him, herself, or both of them at once.
A sigh escapes him and he stares up at the rack above him. It doesn't matter. In twenty minutes, he has to be awake for his shift.
His wife is going to have to wait.
He still takes the dog tag with him.
-f
Further note: I was reminded of Helo's comment to Sharon, back when he was sending her off in her uniform. The bit about symbols, and how they mean something. And, to me, the body language in Collaborators was... Very much a, "this is yours, but it's a symbol of who you are, and I think you need it." sadly, the words were not that. But I still can't get the idea of Kara and Sam being all obsessive over the dog tag. OMG. Dude, he KEPT THEM FOR A YEAR WHILE THEY WERE STILL MARRIED. er... Yeah. Colors showing. Sorry!