BSG Fic: "Interior", Marcia/Kara
Feb. 26th, 2007 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
boomqueenFirst installment of my Marcia "Showboat" Case femslash plot bunny attack:
Title: Interior (1/?)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
jcathm
Pairing: Marcia/Kara, mention of Kara/Lee
Spoilers: Up through 2.17 "The Captain's Hand"
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Don't own anything or anyone, but they are oh so fun to play with.
Summary: Marcia's POV.
Author's note: Both general feedback and concrit are definitely appreciated. Feel free to refer to the picspam that inspired this fic ;)
Part One:
The Pilots Head
I can feel the ache slowly easing up across my neck and back as the water pours down from the shower head. CAPs have been more hectic and tense since the Galactica showed up. Frak--EVERYTHING has been more hectic and tense. Cain, Fisk and now Garner. I'm amazed the Beast is still in one piece.
Not to mention the transfers. I can still hear the loud bravado of a certain recently transferred pilot echoing across the wireless. The low thrum of her throaty laugh. I try not to picture the accompanying smirk each time I hear it, but I can't help the rush of my blood every time she talks. Lords, she should be forbidden to speak--how the frak am I supposed to concentrate on flying when she's there.
My muscles relax under the water's pressure but the ache increases. I see flashes of blonde and a bright wide smile. My fingers trace along my skin and I see the perfect curves of her form. My nipples throb and I see her wicked tongue flicker between her lips when she laughs.
There's a loud noise outside the stall and I realize she's actually out there, yelling at the pilots, "Shut the hell up! We lose two raptors in a training mission, and I only find out when the commander throws it in my face...Don't all speak at once."
The sound of her voice, so angry and so close, is too much. I can't help it: I break over my own fingers. Her fire and rage shoot through me and I have to bite my lips to keep from screaming out her name.
* * * *
The Briefing Room
Galactica's CAG walks into the briefing room and I call all the pilots to attention. I still haven't decided whether having more Galactica crew on this ship is just further distraction or a gods' send.
Someone's distracted at any rate. Her shift in mood and posture is immediate. From her normal relaxed confidence to a tension that shoots across her shoulders and a look on her face somewhere between anticipation and dread.
Even on the Beast we've heard the rumors of starbuckandapollo--the hot shot pilots who've saved the fleet's collective ass time and time again. But I see the way she alternates between staring at him in fascination and turning away in barely repressed guilt. There's a history there. And layers of pain and emotion that I don't even want to think about. She stares at him and he barely looks at her.
He asks after Stinger and she replies a little too loudly, too brashly. "He's in hack for mouthing off to Garner."
I can't help the prick of jealousy at her transparent cry for his attention. Well, I can distract too.
"Frakkin Garner." The pilots around me laugh and I can see some of the stress ease from her shoulders. Good. "He's such an idiot."
She smiles at that one, and I see a hint of gratitude when she meets my eyes. Before I can hold her eyes for longer, the tight-ass CAG interjects again. All rules and reprimands. He calls us all out for insubordination, but his eyes are only on her. Everyone shuts up quickly. Her eyes drop again and we're back to square one. Guilt and tension. I want to kick the CAG's frakkin ass from here to Kobol.
He starts up again. "Now...we need to start thinking outside the box." And then turns to just her, "Which is supposed to be what you do best." His words are somewhere between a challenge and an apology.
She acknowledges him with a quiet, "Major."
I can't stand to see her like this. Broken, quiet, ashamed. She is fire and flight. Brash and unrepentant. A blaze of blonde and muscle. A full mouth and a lethal tongue. I want to shake her and snap her out of it. Out of him. But whatever it is that he does or whatever he represents to her is beyond my control.
He leaves the briefing room and I take control of the group once again. She keeps staring at the table, muscles wired and taut on her arms as she leans. She listens but she doesn't meet my eyes again.
* * * *
The Distress Call
She flicks her pen around and brushes it across her lips. I can see her struggling with the words. They certainly didn't leave much for us to work with here. She repeats the lines from the page over and over, mumbling too low for me to hear anything clearly--but I can feel the vibration of her voice across the desk. I can't stop watching her frakking mouth.
As she shifts back and forth in her chair, I watch the sinews of her body work beneath the skin. The smoothness of skin along her arms and neck. The tanks that hug her sides, her breasts, her waist. Frak me. I can't stop staring.
She looks up at me expectantly and I realize I forgot to listen to what she was saying. Fumbling to recover, I repeat the gist of the transmission. She nods and goes back to mumbling to herself.
Time passes as we trade ideas back and forth. I picture her hair loose and splayed across the desk, her skin soft and her muscles hard beneath mine, the trademark Starbuck-smirk erased from her face as she gives in to pleasure...
Her body shifts as she says, "...received distress call."
Maybe she's right. "Okay, from who?"
She grins and shrugs. "I don't know."
It's good enough though to pass on to the Commander. I tense up slightly. I know there's a time limit on this rescue op but I don't want to walk away just yet. She sees my hesitation and smiles smugly.
"Problem, Showboat?"
I smirk back. "Maybe."
She raises her eyebrow in quiet question. I start to walk away and I can feel her watching. I stop and turn slightly to look back at her, hunched over her papers.
I hear her low chuckle as I walk out of the room and it hits my blood like a jolt. I try to shake off the heat. No time now--I've got to clear my head.
* * * *
Pilots' Quarters
I head to my rack for some much needed sleep, and the added incentive of possibly having an inspired dream or two. As I approach the hatch door I can hear her arguing with someone. So frakkin Garner has her restricted to quarters. And it sounds like Galactica's CAG is coming down on her pretty hard too--that cocky bastard doesn't seem to realize who he's messing with. Whatever his problem is, I don't want to be the one to walk in and receive the heat of their diverted anger. I've got time to grab some water and still get enough sleep.
I let a few minutes pass and head back. It's quiet now except for a slow steady breath going in and out. I open the hatch and I almost lose it completely. She's still here, though I don't know where Adama went--and I'm mesmerized by her as she pushes off the benches in an endless series of perfect push-ups.
Sweat dripping. Tanks soaked. Her hair pulled tightly back but I can see little wet wisps along her hairline that catch the overhead light. Her lips drawn tight in frustration and barely contained rage. I could just watch her move all day.
"Are you going to close the frakkin door or are you just going to stand there?"
Frak. Busted. She grins again and I have to look away to keep breathing.
I close the hatch door and head to my locker. I kick off my boots and unzip the rest of my flight suit, sticking them inside. As I close the door, I feel a hand tentatively reach to my shoulder. I can hear her breathing behind me now and my heart races so fast that I know she must feel it through my skin. I turn my head to face her and the second our eyes meet the contact changes from tentative to strong.
She pushes me back against the locker, one hand on my shoulder and the other tracing a maddening path up my waist.
"I believe you had something to say earlier, Captain?"
I open my mouth to speak but before I can respond, she is there with those full, warm lips and I couldn't speak if the fate of humanity depended on it. Her kisses are wet and just a little angry, a careful balance of teeth and tongue. She's moving fast, pulling up my tanks and tugging at my waist and I want to slow down but I'm not sure I could stop her if I tried.
All the blood is rushing from my head to path of her fingers and the center of that ever-present ache that she creates. Dizzy. Still calling the shots, she pushes and twists me back and beneath her onto my rack. Gods bless the day that I got a bottom bunk.
Half beside me and half above me, she continues her assault on my mouth and pushes my underwear aside making me gasp. Lords, I don't think I've ever been this wet before. Her quiet chuckle of appreciation makes my skin buzz even more. Two fingers inside of me, pressing and pushing relentlessly, and her thumb tracing practiced circles around my clit. My brain is on fire. I need for her to be feeling this too, but she is still mostly clothed, holding me beneath and away from her, grinding her hips into my leg for friction.
"Frak, Starbuck, let me touch you."
"No."
And a few seconds later. "Call me Kara."
With that small concession, she relaxes slightly--just enough to let me pull her down to me and nip at her breasts through her tanks. She moans and it's all I can take: slammed over the edge, orgasm shooting through me until I forget that I have ever been anywhere but here at the mercy of the her hands and her mouth.
She clenches her legs tighter around me and I can see her blood racing in the veins on her neck as I bite and kiss and lick along any free skin I can find. Her breath hitches and she moans again, this time louder, when we are both startled by the blare of the klaxons sounding above us.
"Set condition one throughout the ship. All pilots report..."
Our eyes meet again--excitement, frustration, and desire--and through the lust-haze I catch a glimmer of someone behind the Starbuck smirk. Something angry, passionate and vulnerable. Kara.
She snarls in a bedroom voice, "this isn't over" as she pushes off me and runs to her locker for her flight suit.
Stunned. I sit freshly-frakked and completely immobilized in my rack for several seconds before I manage to stand and follow suit. I can feel the thud of my blood pumping all the way to my toes. Damn straight this isn't over.
TBC...
Cross-posted to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
bsg_femslash.
Title: Interior (1/?)
Author:
jcathmPairing: Marcia/Kara, mention of Kara/Lee
Spoilers: Up through 2.17 "The Captain's Hand"
Rating: Mature
Disclaimer: Don't own anything or anyone, but they are oh so fun to play with.
Summary: Marcia's POV.
Author's note: Both general feedback and concrit are definitely appreciated. Feel free to refer to the picspam that inspired this fic ;)
Part One:
The Pilots Head
I can feel the ache slowly easing up across my neck and back as the water pours down from the shower head. CAPs have been more hectic and tense since the Galactica showed up. Frak--EVERYTHING has been more hectic and tense. Cain, Fisk and now Garner. I'm amazed the Beast is still in one piece.
Not to mention the transfers. I can still hear the loud bravado of a certain recently transferred pilot echoing across the wireless. The low thrum of her throaty laugh. I try not to picture the accompanying smirk each time I hear it, but I can't help the rush of my blood every time she talks. Lords, she should be forbidden to speak--how the frak am I supposed to concentrate on flying when she's there.
My muscles relax under the water's pressure but the ache increases. I see flashes of blonde and a bright wide smile. My fingers trace along my skin and I see the perfect curves of her form. My nipples throb and I see her wicked tongue flicker between her lips when she laughs.
There's a loud noise outside the stall and I realize she's actually out there, yelling at the pilots, "Shut the hell up! We lose two raptors in a training mission, and I only find out when the commander throws it in my face...Don't all speak at once."
The sound of her voice, so angry and so close, is too much. I can't help it: I break over my own fingers. Her fire and rage shoot through me and I have to bite my lips to keep from screaming out her name.
* * * *
The Briefing Room
Galactica's CAG walks into the briefing room and I call all the pilots to attention. I still haven't decided whether having more Galactica crew on this ship is just further distraction or a gods' send.
Someone's distracted at any rate. Her shift in mood and posture is immediate. From her normal relaxed confidence to a tension that shoots across her shoulders and a look on her face somewhere between anticipation and dread.
Even on the Beast we've heard the rumors of starbuckandapollo--the hot shot pilots who've saved the fleet's collective ass time and time again. But I see the way she alternates between staring at him in fascination and turning away in barely repressed guilt. There's a history there. And layers of pain and emotion that I don't even want to think about. She stares at him and he barely looks at her.
He asks after Stinger and she replies a little too loudly, too brashly. "He's in hack for mouthing off to Garner."
I can't help the prick of jealousy at her transparent cry for his attention. Well, I can distract too.
"Frakkin Garner." The pilots around me laugh and I can see some of the stress ease from her shoulders. Good. "He's such an idiot."
She smiles at that one, and I see a hint of gratitude when she meets my eyes. Before I can hold her eyes for longer, the tight-ass CAG interjects again. All rules and reprimands. He calls us all out for insubordination, but his eyes are only on her. Everyone shuts up quickly. Her eyes drop again and we're back to square one. Guilt and tension. I want to kick the CAG's frakkin ass from here to Kobol.
He starts up again. "Now...we need to start thinking outside the box." And then turns to just her, "Which is supposed to be what you do best." His words are somewhere between a challenge and an apology.
She acknowledges him with a quiet, "Major."
I can't stand to see her like this. Broken, quiet, ashamed. She is fire and flight. Brash and unrepentant. A blaze of blonde and muscle. A full mouth and a lethal tongue. I want to shake her and snap her out of it. Out of him. But whatever it is that he does or whatever he represents to her is beyond my control.
He leaves the briefing room and I take control of the group once again. She keeps staring at the table, muscles wired and taut on her arms as she leans. She listens but she doesn't meet my eyes again.
* * * *
The Distress Call
She flicks her pen around and brushes it across her lips. I can see her struggling with the words. They certainly didn't leave much for us to work with here. She repeats the lines from the page over and over, mumbling too low for me to hear anything clearly--but I can feel the vibration of her voice across the desk. I can't stop watching her frakking mouth.
As she shifts back and forth in her chair, I watch the sinews of her body work beneath the skin. The smoothness of skin along her arms and neck. The tanks that hug her sides, her breasts, her waist. Frak me. I can't stop staring.
She looks up at me expectantly and I realize I forgot to listen to what she was saying. Fumbling to recover, I repeat the gist of the transmission. She nods and goes back to mumbling to herself.
Time passes as we trade ideas back and forth. I picture her hair loose and splayed across the desk, her skin soft and her muscles hard beneath mine, the trademark Starbuck-smirk erased from her face as she gives in to pleasure...
Her body shifts as she says, "...received distress call."
Maybe she's right. "Okay, from who?"
She grins and shrugs. "I don't know."
It's good enough though to pass on to the Commander. I tense up slightly. I know there's a time limit on this rescue op but I don't want to walk away just yet. She sees my hesitation and smiles smugly.
"Problem, Showboat?"
I smirk back. "Maybe."
She raises her eyebrow in quiet question. I start to walk away and I can feel her watching. I stop and turn slightly to look back at her, hunched over her papers.
I hear her low chuckle as I walk out of the room and it hits my blood like a jolt. I try to shake off the heat. No time now--I've got to clear my head.
* * * *
Pilots' Quarters
I head to my rack for some much needed sleep, and the added incentive of possibly having an inspired dream or two. As I approach the hatch door I can hear her arguing with someone. So frakkin Garner has her restricted to quarters. And it sounds like Galactica's CAG is coming down on her pretty hard too--that cocky bastard doesn't seem to realize who he's messing with. Whatever his problem is, I don't want to be the one to walk in and receive the heat of their diverted anger. I've got time to grab some water and still get enough sleep.
I let a few minutes pass and head back. It's quiet now except for a slow steady breath going in and out. I open the hatch and I almost lose it completely. She's still here, though I don't know where Adama went--and I'm mesmerized by her as she pushes off the benches in an endless series of perfect push-ups.
Sweat dripping. Tanks soaked. Her hair pulled tightly back but I can see little wet wisps along her hairline that catch the overhead light. Her lips drawn tight in frustration and barely contained rage. I could just watch her move all day.
"Are you going to close the frakkin door or are you just going to stand there?"
Frak. Busted. She grins again and I have to look away to keep breathing.
I close the hatch door and head to my locker. I kick off my boots and unzip the rest of my flight suit, sticking them inside. As I close the door, I feel a hand tentatively reach to my shoulder. I can hear her breathing behind me now and my heart races so fast that I know she must feel it through my skin. I turn my head to face her and the second our eyes meet the contact changes from tentative to strong.
She pushes me back against the locker, one hand on my shoulder and the other tracing a maddening path up my waist.
"I believe you had something to say earlier, Captain?"
I open my mouth to speak but before I can respond, she is there with those full, warm lips and I couldn't speak if the fate of humanity depended on it. Her kisses are wet and just a little angry, a careful balance of teeth and tongue. She's moving fast, pulling up my tanks and tugging at my waist and I want to slow down but I'm not sure I could stop her if I tried.
All the blood is rushing from my head to path of her fingers and the center of that ever-present ache that she creates. Dizzy. Still calling the shots, she pushes and twists me back and beneath her onto my rack. Gods bless the day that I got a bottom bunk.
Half beside me and half above me, she continues her assault on my mouth and pushes my underwear aside making me gasp. Lords, I don't think I've ever been this wet before. Her quiet chuckle of appreciation makes my skin buzz even more. Two fingers inside of me, pressing and pushing relentlessly, and her thumb tracing practiced circles around my clit. My brain is on fire. I need for her to be feeling this too, but she is still mostly clothed, holding me beneath and away from her, grinding her hips into my leg for friction.
"Frak, Starbuck, let me touch you."
"No."
And a few seconds later. "Call me Kara."
With that small concession, she relaxes slightly--just enough to let me pull her down to me and nip at her breasts through her tanks. She moans and it's all I can take: slammed over the edge, orgasm shooting through me until I forget that I have ever been anywhere but here at the mercy of the her hands and her mouth.
She clenches her legs tighter around me and I can see her blood racing in the veins on her neck as I bite and kiss and lick along any free skin I can find. Her breath hitches and she moans again, this time louder, when we are both startled by the blare of the klaxons sounding above us.
"Set condition one throughout the ship. All pilots report..."
Our eyes meet again--excitement, frustration, and desire--and through the lust-haze I catch a glimmer of someone behind the Starbuck smirk. Something angry, passionate and vulnerable. Kara.
She snarls in a bedroom voice, "this isn't over" as she pushes off me and runs to her locker for her flight suit.
Stunned. I sit freshly-frakked and completely immobilized in my rack for several seconds before I manage to stand and follow suit. I can feel the thud of my blood pumping all the way to my toes. Damn straight this isn't over.
TBC...
Cross-posted to
bsg_femslash.
