misscam | Ficlets: "Madam Nugget" & "Getting Your Raptor Up" [Adama/Roslin]

Two Adama/Roslin ficlets I wrote for the weekly hiatus survival meetings over at

fandom_bitches - one today, one a few weeks ago. Posting here so I don't lose them. Quite silly and not with angst.

(And both were written at work. Bad, bad me.)

"Madam Nugget", PG, challenge: getting Laura into a flightsuit.

"This really isn't funny, Bill."

Problem is, Bill knows, it really is. One drenched President, no change of clothes for said President in his quarters and Saul Tigh and Lee Adama due for a planned strategy meeting in ten minutes. Which gives him about five minutes to get creative and five minutes to enjoy the undressing of said President.

"I'm not laughing," he says firmly, considering his own wardrobe. Laura in tank tops, Laura in his bathrobe...

"You're smiling," she says acussingly, pointing a dripping wet finger at him. "I know you, Adama. That's laughing out loud for anyone else."

"I'm very sorry you had a shower accident," he says sincerely. She still glares, especially when he reaches into his closet to offer her his robe.

"Bill, I am not meeting Colonel Tigh and Lee in your bathrobe. It will look like..."

"You're sleeping with me?" he suggests, putting the robe back. "How fortunate for us both that you are. No one could accuse of us of misrepresenting the situation."

She still looks stern, but he can see the tiniest sparkle of amusement in her eyes. If she wasn't dripping wet and he didn't have his uniform on, he's pretty sure he would be finding himself fortunately snogged. As it is, he can just store the intention away for later.

"There is another option," he says, considering. "You could wear my flight suit."

She seems ready to tell him off, then just sighs. "Fine. Maybe they'll think I'm trying to be military. 'President Hot Shot'."

"Actually," he says, watching her peel off her jacket and equally wet shirt, "I think I prefer Madam Nugget."

If Laura does kill him, Bill considers, at least he'll die an amused man.

*****************

"Getting Your Raptor Up", teen for some language, challenge: the Adama manouevre.

"So what you're telling me is that your viper is your penis?"

This, Bill Adama realised with a sigh, was not going as planned at all. The plan had been simple - distract Laura from Presidential worries and himself from thinking about her cancer and just have a pleasant evening in. A little reading, a little distraction and possibly a few pilot stories or military anecdotes to make her laugh.

The plan was simple. Life isn't, and Saul Tigh had popped by and shared a few anecdotes of his own until Bill had managed to eyeball him into remembering a very important meeting elsewhere.

"Laura," he says calmly, pausing in his pacing and trying to be unfazed by her taking penis into her mouth. (Don't go there, don't go there, don't go there.) "All Saul meant was that sometimes, pilot jargon is not just about the flying but also..."

"About the frakking," she says equally calm, flashing him a smile. She's draped herself across his couch, feet naked and at least she looks relaxed. That part of the plan seems to be working well.

"Yes," he acknowledges.

"So the famous Adama manoeuvre Tigh mentioned is not actually something I would find in a military textbook."

He was going to have to kill Saul, Bill realised with just a tad regret. Some day very soon. A tragic accident involving an open airlock and a lot of armed marines.

"No," he acknowledges.

"Mmmm," she says lazily. "I must say, Admiral, you have me very curious as to the nature of this manoeuvre."

He tries not to smile and fails just for a second; the glint in her eyes tells him she noticed.

"Furthermore," she goes on, watching him in a way that makes him feel a bit like an eat-all-you-want buffet she isn't sure where to start with yet. "I do believe 'frakking' falls in under civilian activities and therefore under the Presidency."

"Madam President, I am happy to be under you any day."

Her laugh is low and throaty, brushing across his skin like a caress and he savours it. He finally sits down, and she moves into his space right away; a hand on his shoulder, playing with his earlobe, a foot across his knee, toes brushing against the underside of the other.

"However," he says, trying not to notice her tongue darting across her lips, "I must disagree with your logic. Given this manoeuvre was conceived in a military setting, I do believe it falls under my authority."

She glances down at his lap. "Admiral, your authority is clear to me."

He doesn't have time to reply before she's kissing him, parting his lips insistently and brushing her tongue against his in what seems a manoeuvre she's especially adapted for him. She moves her foot up too, and it's very easy to feel authoritarian this close to her, he has to admit.

"Would it help if I asked nicely?" she whispers, a hand on his hip squeezing a little. This close, he can feel her heartbeat, and kiss the top of her breasts. She breathes as she does, and he feels strangely young enclosed by her.

Time to see if he still got it, he decides.

It takes about a minute to get her laughing, five minutes to make her forget it ever was funny, and ten to declare him a military genius with the tactics and moves to match.

He thinks maybe he won't kill Saul after all.

II

When Bill almost limps into CIC the next morning, Saul doesn't ask. He knows that limp, and that smile that only reaches Bill's eyes and can only be a little envious.

"Mr Gaeta, keep your eyes on your work and not on the Admiral."

"Yes, sir."

You'd think no one had ever seen an Admiral who had docked his raptor in combat spread with weapons hot before, Saul thinks.