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“What’s on your agenda for today?”

“Duty in the CIC, meeting with the Captain of the Rising Star, conference with Saul, Lee and Gaeta, frakking the president on her desk, maybe a trip to the gym…”

“Oh, shall I rearrange my schedule to fit in the second to last point?”

“What? No, I can handle those three on my own.”

She broke into giggles at the other end of the line. “No, no, that,” she tried to calm down, “was the third to last point, Admiral.”

“It was?” The confusion was evident in his voice.

“Yes, it was,” she snickered.

His mind worked hard to free itself from the cloud of confusion, contemplating what he might have listed after the conference. Then it hit him. He didn’t, did he? He couldn’t have! Had anybody been in the room, they would have witnessed a rare event: Bill Adama blushing. He coughed embarrassed. “Well…”

“Yes, Admiral?”

“I didn’t mean…”

“You didn’t mean to say it or you didn’t mean it?”

He remained silent. Was there a way to get out of this gracefully?

“Admiral?” She sounded worried.

Taking a deep breath, he answered. “I didn’t mean to say it.”

Had that been a sigh of relief he heard at the other end? “I see,” was all she said before silence fell between them.

He coughed lightly. “Well, is there anything else I can do for you, Madame President?”


Frak, he had thought, hoped to get away from her and not to see or hear from her for a long time to come. “Yes?”

“When do you want to schedule the meeting?”

He swallowed. “Laura?!”

The frequency of his heartbeat increased. She was pulling his leg here, wasn’t she?

“Yes, Bill?” Her voice was sugar-coated.

He hated not knowing whether she was playing with him or really meant it. Not being able to see her didn’t help matters. Usually, he could judge her state of mind by the expression of her face or eyes. With time, he had gotten good at reading her; but with only her voice as an indicator for her mood, he couldn’t be sure for she was able to control it well to the point where it would carry the opposite emotion of the one she felt. A growl formed in the back of his throat. “Don’t play with me, Laura.”

“Who says I’m playing?” Her voice had taken on a serious, almost presidential tone.

The woman was frustrating, infuriating. “Laura.” This time, her name was spoken as a warning.

“Bill.” She mirrored his tone.

This was clearly getting nowhere. While he still considered his best course of action, she inhaled deeply.

“Okay, how about a quarter past three in the afternoon?” She flipped through her agenda.

From one moment to the next, all coherent thought left him again. Serious she was; he couldn’t believe it. Even in his wildest dreams, he hadn’t imagined things happening like this, her calling him up on a slip of the tongue. However, as appealing as the thought to take her hard against, on her desk, to frak every presidential nerve out of her was, it wasn’t what he had in mind for their first time. Not that he would ever admit that publicly, but he was a romantic at heart. He longed to savor her body, to learn it slowly, inch by inch. Quick fraks between meetings, amidst important, official folders, against furniture that wasn’t designed to sleep on were further down on his list. Yes, he had a list, albeit a mental one: places and ways to frak Laura Roslin, sorted by the urgency of his desire to make the fantasy reality.

“Or an hour later if that would be more convenient for you.”

“Uhm, Laura, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You -” she broke up, obviously not able to go on.

“No, no, don’t get me wrong. Could we make this a late night meeting over dinner? No appointments afterwards. That aide of yours off duty.”

“You are willing to skip the gym for an evening with me?” she teased.

“Not a hardship, especially since I’ll get my workout anyway, the way I understand it.”

She laughed out. “Yes, that was the idea, Admiral. I could use a ‘workout’ myself. It has been too long…”

“So, 21:00, my quarters, and we postpone the other meeting?” He was grinning broadly.

“Yes, that would be acceptable.” Her tone indicated that she wasn’t alone anymore.

“Good. See you tonight, Laura.” It took some strength to keep himself from blowing her a kiss through the connection before hanging up. Dear Gods, he felt like he was floating some inches above the ground, a feeling of adolescence he hadn’t missed and yet had missed at the same time.

Schooling his features was a task he had to accomplish before he left his quarters, or at least, before he reached the CIC, otherwise Saul would know something was up and call him up on it which was something he wanted to prevent at any cost.

Laura, on the other hand, stared at the receiver for some moments, trying to process what had just occurred.

A grin spread across her face, and she had to forcefully repress the urge to add “getting laid” to her schedule in big, fat letters.

No, she had to uphold her business façade, even though she felt more girly than presidential at the moment, so “Adama” was all she noted on the agenda. However, in her mind, those small blue letters were glowing red and read “BILL”. She shook her head at herself, she was such a girl. But there was nothing she could do about it, she had to get through the day without squealing, grinning like an idiot or bouncing through the corridor – not an easy task to accomplish. Her long years in politics were helping, though. With practice, she put on her presidential mask and made sure to keep it in place for the rest of the day that didn’t seem to pass fast enough.

Bill could sympathize with the feeling of time passing too slowly. He had to suppress the urge to look at the time display every two minutes.

No matter what they thought, time did pass at its normal pace, and it reached the point when the watches switched to 21:00. A few minutes later, Laura knocked on Bill’s hatch. As if he had stood right next to it, only waiting for the sign of her arrival, the door was opened instantly. A broad smile on her lips, she entered, not stepping further into the room than necessary for him to close the hatch again. Once the lock was secured, Bill found himself shoved against the bulkhead, his lips sealed by Laura’s in an urgent kiss.

Making good use of his surprise, she pried his lips apart with her tongue, exploring his mouth. Just when he was about to catch up, she let go of him and took a few steps back.

“You said something about dinner earlier today?” she asked, slightly out of breath.

She had done it again, caught him by surprise when he had least expected it. He swallowed, lightly shaking his head to clear his mind. “Yeah, I did. Over here if you please, Madame President.” He made his way over to the table and pulled the chair out for her.

“Thank you, Admiral.” Grinning, she sat down, making Bill wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into. Though surely, he would find out soon.

And really, it didn’t take long after they had started eating, silently; she stood up, walked over and motioned for him to push his chair back a bit.

Curious about her intention, he did as she had asked. Gracefully, she slid onto his lap, legs dangling at one side, kissed his cheek and reached for his fork. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her closer to his torso. He couldn’t resist the calling of her skin, so he nuzzled her neck while she contently chewed his dinner. But who cared about nourishment – not even a very tasty one – when he could feast on Laura? Bill certainly not. He would be content for a long time to fondle Laura’s skin. She, however, didn’t seem to agree as she offered him a forkful of his dinner. When he made no move to open his mouth but eyed the food questioningly for it looked less delicious than she, she rolled her eyes.

“I don’t wanna hear your stomach growl later, so open your mouth, Bill.”

Sighing dramatically, he complied, albeit reluctantly.

“Good man,” she praised him in her best teacher’s voice, causing Bill to groan in annoyance. He had heard more ‘hot for teacher’ comments among his crew than he cared for and didn’t want to be reminded of them right now. But hearing that tone in her voice, it was too easy to picture her with a big ruler in front of a blackboard, ready to discipline unruly, misbehaving students. He shook his head to banish the image from his mind.

Unaware of his musings, Laura chewed another bite. When one of his hands relocated to her knee, though, she turned her head to him abruptly.

“No dessert before dinner, Admiral.” She slapped his hand away but wriggled her behind.

“Tease,” he groaned.

“It’s your own fault. You invited me for dinner. If you only wanted dessert, you should have said so, and I’d have tried to grab a bite between meetings.”

“Duly noted.”

Contenting himself with simply holding her to him, he waited for her to finish the meal, occasionally accepting an offered bite. As much as he longed to touch her skin, the feeling of her against him exceeded his expectations for the day. What he had blurted out unintentionally in the morning had been on his daily to-do list for a long time, but his duty, their responsibilities had always left the point undone. Aside from repressing his happiness, he had fought his sense of duty the whole day and still hadn’t managed to bury all of his concerns about what was going to happen tonight. It was his commander in chief sitting on his lap after all. However, the man in him who desired the woman behind the office overruled the doubting part, wiped away the worries with love and desire.

Once finished, she put the fork down and turned her head to capture his lips in a deep kiss.

“Time for dessert?” he inquired a bit breathless when they parted.

“Hmhm.” She traced his bottom lip with her thumb, smiling at him lovingly.

Kissing her fingertip, he returned the smile. At the same time, his fingers began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She reciprocated by unbuttoning his uniform jacket.

“Let’s go somewhere more comfortable.”

In wordless agreement, she got up, shedding her jacket and blouse. Thrown halfway through the room, the material landed on the couch, followed by her skirt shortly after. Bill’s mouth went dry at the boldness with which she stripped down to bra and panties. Not that she had to be ashamed of her body in any way, and certainly not in his presence. He couldn’t imagine ever thinking of her as anything but beautiful.

With her hands on her hips, she eyed him challengingly. “You’re overdressed for this course, Admiral. Or is this self-service?” She raised an eyebrow. The thought of Laura touching herself sent jolts of arousal through Bill’s veins, straight down below his waistline, but as tempting as the image was, he longed to touch her himself even more.

“No, Madame President, you will be served. Unless you’d prefer it the other way…”

“No, thank you. I’ll just wait.” It was evident in her voice, though, that she wouldn’t appreciate having to wait long. So he hurried to get up as well as out of his jacket. Obviously considering the unplanned show part of the service, Laura made herself comfortable on his couch, letting her eyes travel over his body hungrily. A shower of goose bumps swept over Bill under her undisguised hungry stare. After such a long time, he hadn’t expected to ever see a gaze of this kind directed at him ever again. After all, who would desire an old, grumpy, stubborn military man? For whatever reason, the most beautiful woman of the fleet did, and he wouldn’t question it.

“Shoes.” Her voice pulled him out of his reverie.


“Your shoes. I’d advise you take them off next.”

Looking down himself, he had to admit she had a point, and a very good one at that. With a heavy sigh, he sat down again and unlaced his boots, taking his socks off as well while he was on it. Once he had gotten rid of his footwear, he looked up at Laura to find her crooking her finger, beckoning him closer to her. More than happy to comply, he walked over, coming to stand in front of her. It seemed she had reached the conclusion that some sort of self-service was required if she wanted her dessert any time soon. With nimble fingers, she made short work of his pants and boxers, attacking his cock with her mouth as soon as the clothes were out of the way. Bill was under the distinctive impression that he personified dessert, but enjoyed himself too much under her touch to care.

Lost in the sensations she created within him, it took him by surprise when she suddenly pushed him back. He stumbled and fell backward onto the coffee table. Neither graceful nor soft was his landing, but at least, the table didn’t break.

Appraising him with a glint of self-satisfaction and pride in her eyes, she didn’t give him a chance to collect himself as she swiftly shed her panties and straddled him. With her hands on his chest, she pushed him down until he was flat on his back. Only then, when he was looking up at her in what could be called amazement, did she take off her bra.

“Show-off,” he rasped, his throat tight with overwhelming desire. As her chest shook in giggles, his hands moved on their own volition to cup her breasts. Her giggles turned into hums turned into moans – sounds he fell in love with instantly, sounds he wanted to hear more of, couldn’t get enough of; so he kneaded the soft flesh, teased her nipples, tweaked them, massaged them. Full of relish, she arched into his touch. Lust took control over her body, carried her away; her wet centre rubbing against his hardness brought him along at a fast pace.

He couldn’t keep his groans from mingling with her lustful noises, couldn’t reign in the urgency that rose in his blood, demanded to have it all, to feel her completely, to take her. In an answering rhythm, his hips moved along with hers, craving the contact, the stimulation, the promise of release.

Needing to feel more of him herself, Laura leaned down to kiss him, to frak his mouth with her tongue – passionately, wantonly, hungrily. He responded in kind, returning the kiss with the same ferocity. The grip on her breasts became stronger as if he was holding onto her flesh to not fly away, to not loose himself completely in the wide sea of heady desire – and he hadn’t even entered her. Not sure if it was his age, the long abstinence or the effect of the woman on him that drove him wild and wilder, but refusing to take even one moment to contemplate this matter, he simply set to rectify the situation. With not a small amount of reluctance, he abandoned her breasts and moved his hands to her hips, stopping their movement against her protest, albeit only a feeble one, to then lift them slightly. Obviously, she caught up on his intention for she swiftly reached between their bodies to position his member before sinking down on it, not slowly but clearly savouring the moments. Once completely joined, she kissed his lips goodbye and sat up. Towering over him, she began to ride him hard. Her hips in a tight grip, he met her thrust for thrust.

The urge to close his eyes to enjoy the feeling of her to the fullest was strong, but the sight of her was too mesmerizing, too enchanting; skin blushed by arousal, covered by a film of sweat, head flung back, neckline exposed, begging to be latched onto by his mouth, lips parted in moans, breasts swinging with their bodies’ every move, she was a picture of voluptuousness, of lust. His mind had never done her justice at night – or during boring hours in meetings or in the CIC, for that matter –; however, it absorbed every detail of her now to replay it later in his dreams, in his daydreams, to give him a flash of it at the most inappropriate of moments. It would be torture, but oh so delicious.

Having already worked up a high level of arousal, of need, they told the common image of “old sex” to go and frak itself as slow and soft as it wanted to while they made a sweaty run for bliss. Accompanied by a wet sound, their hips clashed again and again in a frantic, erratic rhythm. Loud moans and groans as well as encouraging and joyful, barely coherent words provided the background music until suddenly a scream pierced through the air, provoked by the overwhelming surge of orgasm that hit first her and then his body.

Together, they rode out the orgasmic waves that continued to hit them till they slowly ebbed away. Panting, Laura collapsed onto Bill’s equally heaving chest. His arms enveloped her in an embrace whose tenderness belied the prior urgency of their bodies.

“Wrong table, but nice,” she murmured against his skin after some time.


“That’s your table not mine. And I’d say I frakked you and not the other way around, but it was nice.”

“Nice?” He pushed her up slightly to look her in the eyes. The twinkle he encountered there was somehow reassuring. “I’ll give you nice. Next time, it’ll be your table, Madame President.”

“When do you want to schedule that meeting, Admiral?”

= End =