"Bill, what's that on your face?"
The Admiral raised his eyebrows. Saul Tigh made vague flapping motions at his mouth from across CIC console. "On your chin, and, er, cheeks. It looks like a nasty rash."
Adama's jaw clenched a bit. "Razor's getting dull."
It was not, technically, a lie.
"Bill, wait--no..." Laura's protests trailed off into a succession of whimpers as Bill browsed a line up her inner thigh. She was humming blissfully by the time he pressed his mouth to her cotton panties, breathed against her, and felt--a prickle. He pulled back a bit, eyebrow raised, and Laura's hands tightened in his hair.
"Oh gods--just--just get up here." Bill looked at her in moderate disbelief as her fingers tugged ineffectually at his hair. Laura Roslin had never, ever turned down oral sex. Well, there was the one time she'd chokingly told him to get up there and frak her now, but he imagined the prior fifty minutes he'd eaten her out of coherent thought and verbal ability had had something to do with that.
And now here she was, hips squirming, fingers clenching, legs splayed out against his couch and a look like despair on her face.
She met his eyes unwillingly. "I--I need you inside me right now, Bill."
It was not the most convincing line reading ever. Coming from the politician she was, it pretty much sucked. Bill's eyebrows went higher, then gathered towards his nose in a look all too familiar to CIC staff having trouble breaking bad news.
"Inside you?" he rumbled tightly. Not breaking her gaze, he nudged the cloth just to the side and slid two fingers up, into her--and felt the rush he felt every single time of wet, so wet, and hot and tight and...prickly. His hand twitched a bit and Laura stiffened, looking more torn than ever, and there was the rough scratching against the back of his hand where there was usually just smooth, smooth skin.
Laura shimmied higher against the armrest, trying to get away, and his other hand came up and held her hip immobile.
"Laura." Implacable, eyes still holding hers. She bit her lip and, when he moved his fingers higher inside her, shut her eyes.
"It's just--I haven't..." She swallowed, grit her teeth, and pulled on the presidential demeanor. "I simply haven't been able to find a new razor in the past week," --Bill half-expected to hear 'Admiral'-- "and the, ah, situation really isn't conducive to what you're planning." She took a breath and looked at him squarely. "What you were planning. So, now that you understand the circumstances, could you get up here and do it already?" Just a little desperation tinged the professional smoothness. Bill looked on, impressed--and buried underneath the stolid expression, he was grinning gleefully.
Some of the tension went out of Laura when Bill slid his fingers out of her, and her legs relaxed. Which was her mistake.
Catching a finger in the crotch of her panties, Bill whipped them down and off and then pressed her thighs open underneath his forearms, hands hard on her hips and thumbs trailing toward that not-so-smooth skin.
Laura's voice wasn't smooth either. "What are you--you can't--" She took a deep breath. "Bill, you won't like it."
The maniacal grin broke free. "I doubt that. Very much." The opportunity to do something to Laura Roslin, something she would love and hate and be embarrassed and turned on by all at the same time...that had his cock twitching wildly.
"I won't like it."
"Now that is a lie, Madam President."
Laura stared at him, eyes warring with his, having one of those long, silent conversations they did so effortlessly. Bill leaned forward, rubbing his mouth deliberately against the lips of her rough sex, breathing hot air into her, breathing her in. And Laura collapsed back against the couch in defeat, arm coming up to cover her eyes with her wrist.
Now that he had her, Bill took his time. He bent his head and licked the crease of her thigh, tongue tingling against the stubble. He freed one hand and smoothed it over her lightly, so lightly, just letting his skin brush against the short hairs and wake up all the nerve endings there. Laura groaned and her hips surged up.
"Shhh," he murmured, not soothing at all. "You have to be careful. You don't want to scratch me. You need to keep very still."
Laura eyed him from between spread fingers. "You're a kinky bastard. You know that, right?"
Bill grinned up at her over the horizon of her stomach and lowered his head. He rubbed his cheeks against her pussy, flicked his tongue along her lips occasionally to watch her shudder.
"I've heard complaints about beard burn before" --Laura narrowed her eyes-- "but I've also heard the" --he paused to lick more firmly-- "sensations involved in getting it can be...Mmmm." He was sucking at her lips now, not opening her up but nuzzling his whole face into the bristly space between her legs. He noticed that when he rubbed his face up, the sharp hairs pricked him with feeling, but when he slid down, her skin was almost meltingly soft. A lot like Laura herself, really. Just had to rub her the right way.
So he did, pulling his face away and petting her softly with his fingers, stroking until she moaned and then, suddenly, sliding his fingers up against the grain and tugging her apart. Laura startled at this, and then almost screeched when his head came down again, whole mouth over her cunt, cheeks buried in the bristle and tongue circling a clit so swollen and desperate there was no way she was going to last.
And even there, at the edge of falling, she was still torn, fingers weaving in his hair, pushing him in, pulling him back. "Bill...ohhhh...your face...you..." She gave a high-pitched whimper when he pulled back.
"Laura. Just take this. I want you like this, soft and sharp and falling apart under me. I want to see it, and feel it. So just take it."
She gave him a look that, buried under the sexual prostration, promised a reckoning later, but she loosened her fingers and let her knees fall away.
And she took it.
Bill dipped his head and rubbed his face against her hard, but the lips and tongue circling her clit were soft and never quite there, never quite long enough where she needed them most. Laura shivered, and shuddered, and finally surged up to meet him. He held her down, keeping the pressure light, until the scratching on his cheeks and chin began to itch, to burn a bit against the wetness that was all over her. Then his tongue moved over her directly and he flicked it against her clit. Dimly, he made a bet with himself how many strokes it would take before she shattered.
She lasted to four, and she screamed when she came.
"If you're really strapped, there's always the black market." Tigh's face was guileless.
"Yeah, I had Gaeta buy up" --Bill cleared his throat-- "a bunch of them last time he was over there. But supply's not infinite."
Not even Saul Tigh saw the smirk lying under that statement.