Title: Navel-gazing
Author: Ria
Rating: R / M
Pairing: Adama/Roslin
Summary: An ode to intimacy
Disclaimer: Characters are property of RDM and Universal Pictures.
Thanks for hunting mistakes in this one, [livejournal.com profile] courylenwillows
And thank you very much for being, for being you, E. and [livejournal.com profile] sira01. *HUGS*



Navel-gazing

A soft giggle escaped her as the flesh under her fingertips trembled once more. For a long while, they had been lying in his rack like this: he flat on his back, reading; she curled up next to him with her head on his chest, listening and caressing his stomach; both of them naked.

A navel had never been more fascinating to Laura than Bill’s was right now. It was endearing how his flesh quivered under her touch from time to time when she trailed her digits in a feathery brush around his navel, occasionally dipping into it. His long scars met there as well, but she didn’t notice them, never really had after the first time of being in close contact with them, although she had the habit of kissing her way down his torso along the line of the larger one. These marks were a part of him, one she didn’t know him without. Her heart hadn’t opted for physical stainlessness when choosing its partner. If she had wanted that, she’d have to have a look around the pilots’ quarters, among the younger men. But what did a perfect body matter when the mind coming along with it didn’t match hers, couldn’t challenge her, couldn’t challenge her the way Bill did? While she had never been averse to a good frak, the last years had changed her view on the world, on her life, had changed her and her goals. No, she hadn’t chosen her lover, her partner for the perfection of his looks – besides, beauty lay in the eye of the beholder –, and the thought of giving up the strong arms that held her at night whenever possible, that made her feel secure, that had become her harbour, was the last on her mind. She wouldn’t trade him, this peace he brought her for anything, especially not for something as superficial and perishable as common handsomeness.

She loved their quiet evenings like this one; in fact, this was her favourite way of relaxing – a good book read aloud by one of the most wonderful voices that had ever caressed her ears, a strong hand resting possessively on her back, stroking her. These evenings were rare, though. Seldom, they both managed to escape work, to sneak away to their sanctum which used to be simply his sleeping place.

On silent agreement, they shed all barriers before climbing in here together, let nothing, not even the sheerest piece of clothing, come between them. She had been surprised how natural being naked with him felt. It was a level of intimacy she had never shared with anyone before, never had wanted to share with anybody, but Bill was an all-or-nothing deal, and nothing wasn’t an option. The first time she had stripped to go to bed to sleep with him, to cuddle with him, she hadn’t known what to feel. This was everything she wasn’t accustomed to. Getting naked for sex – no problem; cuddling, especially afterwards – okay; sharing a bed with a man – possibly nice, possibly not. However, everything with as little intimacy as possible, please. Laura Roslin belonged only to herself, didn’t need anyone to keep her inner balance. Or so she had thought until Bill Adama had first pulled her naked body closer to his own and wished her a good night without even hinting at sex. That was the turning point at which it became impossible to continue to deny that her heart was no longer her own. For a long time, she had refused to acknowledge that Laura Roslin had finally met her match, that she needed somebody, and that this somebody was Bill Adama.

Smiling, she shook her head lightly. This wasn’t how she had envisioned her life – running from the Cylons while being president and literally in bed with the military –, and yet, she couldn’t remember ever having been more content.

She widened the circles around his navel, let her fingers slowly wander downward to the edge of the sheet which covered his lower body. All the while, he continued to read and to fondle her; only when her fingers crept under the sheet did he falter for a word or two but caught himself very fast.

She knew he liked her hands on his body and didn’t care where – she was granted the freedom of touching him wherever and however she pleased as long as they were alone. The condition was a concession to their jobs; hated but necessary. It just wouldn’t do for the president to have her hand in the Admiral’s trousers in the middle of the CIC or on his ass while walking along the corridors of Galactica. In private, though, she made good use of her freedom; after all, he took every chance possible to touch her as well, and be it only his fingers brushing hers when he handed her a glass or passed her. It felt good to have this connection, to know that somebody was around, somebody who cared for you, who desired you, but most important, who loved you. Every moment they spent away from the prying eyes of the fleet, he ensured that she sensed his love in every touch, no matter how fleeting it was, as if he had to make up for the time he was forced to be nothing more than friendly to her. A feeling she understood, shared even. Ever since she had surrendered to her heart’s longing, to him, it got harder and harder to keep the mask of professionalism, of simple politeness in place. She used to be a master of the game of two faces, of being a lover in the shadows nobody knew about. But contrary to lust, intimacy was more difficult to hide. Intimacy lived in the small gestures, seeped through your whole being, took possession of your subconscious and nestled there; you had no control over it. Furthermore, you did not find intimacy like you found lust; intimacy found you and could, would leave you again if it stopped feeling at home.

Laura vigorously hoped that it wouldn’t leave her, them, any time soon for it flooded her body, her mind with a contentedness that vibrated in every fibre of her being, gave her strength, helped her to endure the strains of her position, her job. It was a contentment she knew Bill experienced alike, shared.

No past lover had remained this still, seemingly blasé, while her fingers caressed him this nearby his penis. They all had more or less jumped her bones when she had only hinted at going there. Bill, however, was different. Together, they were different. It would be a lie to say he wasn’t affected by her digits tiptoeing along his length for she could hear his heartbeat increasing beneath her head, could feel him taking a deep breath, his member hardening, yet he didn’t abandon the book, continued to read to her with a soothing voice instead of throwing it onto the bedside table with a loud bang and attacking her body with his hands, mouth and other body parts.

Just like they had done with his navel, his stomach earlier, her fingers explored his sex leisurely, kneaded his member tenderly, drew patterns on it, wrote letters to playfully mark him as her possession – a move upon which she felt him smile beneath her – massaged his testicles with diversifying force.

At first, she simply observed the movement of the sheet caused by her hands under it, but after some time, it wasn’t enough anymore so she pushed the obscuring fabric aside, further down to see the reaction of his flesh to her touch again. More like an artist than a scientist but very thorough, her fingers explored his member, followed every vein, circled its tip. At times, she surceased it, only nudging the head teasingly with a forefinger, smirking when it jerked slightly. She had seen many a penis in her life, but no man had ever shown the patience Bill was exhibiting to let her study the object closely. They wanted to use it, to get it used, would most likely have felt self-conscious and uncomfortable under her probing fingers and observing eyes. Then again, she wasn’t even sure she would have wanted to get to know those men in such detail; which should tell her a bit about those relationships. Bill, however, was a patient object for study and totally comfortable in his skin.

As the time passed, an urgency, the longing to be even closer to him rose within her. So she shifted with reluctance, fighting his possessive, questioning hand, out of his embrace to straddle his hips, to join bodies with him.

Having stopped reading in the meantime, his concentration on what she was up to, he picked up where he had left of once his member was completely sheathed by her and she lay down on top of him. His arm not holding the book wrapped around her waist again, cuddling her close.

Thanks to the new position, his voice resonated in her whole body, sent shivers through it, and she could reach his neck with her lips. Despite the occasional kiss to any place within easy range of her mouth and her inner walls squeezing him, he made no move to forsake the reading in favour of a more carnal pastime. She loved him for that, loved that they could simply be, be together as one. It was a feeling she didn’t want to live without, couldn’t live without anymore, and the feeling was intrinsically tied to him.

With time, the frequency of her kisses decreased, they became lazier, yet not less heartfelt, less loving, less sincere; it was simply his voice and contentment that lulled her to sleep.

When her breathing evened out and she felt heavier on him, only relaxation reigning her muscles, he stopped reading in the middle of the sentence and put the book aside. Breathing a lingering kiss onto her head, he stretched carefully as to not wake her to turn off the light and pull the covers over them. Gently, he stroked her back for a little while, happy to be with her, to have her here, to be completely enwrapped by her before he followed her into the land of dreams.


= End =
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