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Trying Again

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President Roslin gets what she wants. Laura usually does, too. Ice cream as a child, books as a teenager, a job at that one dream school. 

President Roslin can get Admiral Adama to see the benefits of her ideas… yes, only on some occasions, but Laura can’t get Bill to take a frakking hint. 

What she wants now, what she has wanted for a while is her stubborn, hardass military counterpart, the one who makes her feel alive, who makes her laugh, the one whose smile sends tingles through her entire body and knocks the breath out of her lungs. But so far, nothing has worked. 

She started out with what she felt were already clear signs: staying in his quarters longer than usual, letting her hand linger on his arm, giving him smiles far away from professional. It didn’t work. So she tried another method: pretending that she needed his help getting a stain out of her shirt, commenting on how hot it was, and how they’d be more comfortable with fewer layers; all rather unambiguous propositions. But nothing. He remained perfectly obtuse.

At some point, she wondered if she’s so rusty she hasn’t made herself clear enough. It has been a while, after all. 

When he rubbed his forehead, one day, trying to get rid of the pounding in his skull, she told him she knew how to soothe his headache, that she could take care of it. She approached him slowly, locking her gaze with his, coming to stand between his legs as he sat on his couch. Then, with a sly smile, she said, “You see, there are some activities one can do to relieve tension.” And what did he tell her? He looked away and said she didn’t have to trouble herself, that all he needed was some shuteye. That practically pushed her out the door. 

No matter how obvious the hints, Bill seems as unwilling to take them as he is to take her. 

One time, as she has business on Galactica in the morning, she makes the sensible decision to sleep on the warship in order to have an easier time meeting this early. That’s the official version, at least. Unofficially, it gives her an excuse to linger, to stay later than usual. She has dinner with Bill and they discuss fleet business, go over water resupply, argue about civilian safety, and then they move to the couch and share a drink, as they’ve become used to doing. 

Conversation slides off serious fleet matters and into more relaxed subjects; the book she’s given him, the pilots’ latest shenanigans and maybe even a little bit of the rumour mill’s latest. When she laughs, throwing her head back, she can feel his gaze on her exposed throat - it’s his lips that belong there, but he makes no move to act on what they want. His laughter is quieter, taking less space in the cabin, but his eyes are dancing with something that makes her heart skip, and her smile widens. 

“Don’t tell Lee you know about that,” he says as she keeps giggling at the ridiculous story.

Laura bites gently on her bottom lip as she winks at him. “Oh, Bill, my lips are sealed.” His eyes drop to her lips almost instantly, then snap back to the glass between his hands. Frakking self-control, why does he have so much of it?  

She gulps down the rest of her drink and stands up, setting the glass on the coffee table with a satisfying air of finality that got his attention. When she reaches up to the top button of her blouse, his eyes almost bulge out of his head. His shoulders, which relaxed while they were talking, stiffen again and he sits up straight, looking into her eyes to avoid the temptation of her chest. 

“Do you mind if I use your shower?” she asks, fingers stopping short of undoing the button and stilling. “It’s a lot better than any other on the ship.” 

Bill clears his throat and nods as he tries to find his voice again. When he does, she could swear it’s lower and thicker than it was five minutes ago. “Be my guest,” he replies. There’s no way he doesn’t want this, not with the way his eyes devour her, the way the heat in them could set her ablaze. 

Her hands drop away from the front of her blouse, and she relishes the flash of disappointment that cross his gaze. So now he’s listening.

“Thank you,” she smiles at him and he nods again in response, but doesn’t say anything else. So she kicks off her shoes and pads to the head, throwing him a look over her shoulder as she reaches the threshold. “There are hard-to-reach places I could use help with.” She doesn’t wait for an answer and disappears into the bathroom, leaving the hatch just open enough to be an invitation. As if everything else she said wasn’t an invitation, this confirms it.

She makes quick work of the buttons of her blouse, listening intently for any sound from the living area that would indicate what Bill is doing. He has to come. There’s no way she can be clearer about her intentions. She almost started undressing in front of him, for frak’s sake. He’s going to come. She lowers the zipper of her skirt, making as much noise with it as humanly possible and steps out of it and the rest of her clothes. She shivers and looks back through the half-open door, but can’t see far enough to be useful.

When she stands under the hot spray, she keeps waiting for him to drag his stupid ass over there, for once, to understand what she’s saying, but he doesn’t. She remains alone, naked in his shower, still waiting to be helped with those hard-to-reach places. After a few minutes, she gives up and reaches for the soap. The shower might be an excuse to facilitate some...connection, but she’s still going to use it and enjoy it even if it didn’t work.  

But… oh. 

There are footsteps now.

He’s coming towards the head. He really is. Laura wets her lips in anticipation and can’t help the smile that breaks on her face at the thought that this time, frakking finally, he got it. After so many tries, Bill Adama is finally going to strip and join her in the shower. It comes as a flash through her mind, kissing him with unbridled passion, tangling her fingers into the wet strands of his hair, rubbing her bare skin against his. 

She holds her breath as his footsteps grow nearer, the thrill of anticipation almost unbearable.  

“If you don’t close the hatch, you’ll let all the steam out,” he says, and then frakking closes it. She wants to bang her head against the wall. She wants to bang his head against the wall, preferably the wall of the shower as she finally takes what she wants from him. 

The shower feels cold afterwards as she sighs and sets out to wash herself. 

Does she have to be more obvious than that? There’s no such thing, unless she just wants to leave the shower naked and stand like that in front of him.

It’s not such a bad idea, actually… oh well, if it’s come to that...

But if he grabs a towel and wraps it around her because she’ll get cold, she swears she’ll throw him out the airlock.