BSG fic: Sin Eater (Kara/Sam)
Feb. 26th, 2009 02:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seriousficTitle: Sin Eater
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: R
Word Count: 991
Characters/Pairings: Kara/Sam
Timeline: Set during 4x11 - Sometimes A Great Notion
Summary: Kara wonders what happened to the woman Sam married. Sam wonders if it’s the corpse in the Viper.
One thing Sam had on Lee: He knew when to shut the frak up. He didn’t say anything as Kara flew him down to Earth. She was thinking loud enough for both of them.
She showed him the Viper. She’d covered it up as well as she could with a stained parachute. A short walk away, smoke was still drawing a curlicue from the pyre.
“That’s me,” Kara said, picking up a handful of ash and letting it run through her fingers. “This is me.”
Sam half-shook his head like a machine with something caught in the gears. “How is this possible?”
“You tell me. You’re the Cylon.”
He put his hands on his lips rather than say anything.
“You don’t have one word to say to that?”
“Were you expecting an apology?”
“I expect an explanation! What the hell am I?” She wiped at her eyes. “Huh?”
He put an arm around her. “You’re my wife, for starters.” He was about to give her the old go-team spiel, which could console any Pyramid player whether he was riding the beach or going through twenty years’ worth of divorce, when she shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Kara.” He took one small step toward her, hands held at his waist. “You cannot do this alone.”
“Yeah?” There was a knife in her hand. “When did you know?”
“Since before you came back.”
“Frak!” She put the knife to his throat. “You’re more of a bastard than I gave you credit for.”
Seeing her entirely focused on him, alone on a dead planet except for him and a blade, made his heart race. No distractions. He wanted to bend her body under his like a palm tree in a hurricane. “How long has it been since we’ve slept in the same bed?”
“Don’t change the subject, asshole. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you might kill me.” He said it with his teeth clenched and not an ounce of softness. “I still might.” She bunched his tanktop in her hand, moved the knife to his groin. “One less Cylon to worry about.”
“Maybe you should. Killing things is all you’ve ever been good at anyway. You’d make a better executioner than a wife.”
The blade ticked over the teeth of his fly, pressing hard, caressing him. “I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.”
She brought the knife up, cutting through his belt, throwing it away. “Cylon,” she said, half-amused, before she was bent back under him.
Kara was reminded of scythes, sweeping through crops, as he pulled her clothes off. She didn’t resist, didn’t help, just held onto the knife so hard that the tips of her fingers went numb as he kissed her and undressed her and entered her.
He was on top of her and it was weird how quickly she felt something, felt everything. The sweet agony and heat of his thrusting, the zipper-teeth of his open jacket caught between their skin, the gritted soil scratching at her back. She couldn’t undress, couldn’t break the hold he had on her, so she slid her fingers under his jacket and beneath his shirt and felt his skin, slick and prickled with faint hair and hot as metal left out in the sun for too long. Sweat beaded down the arms he had holding him over her, making the tattoo he shared with her sparkle, and she was frakking a Cylon. Funny as hell, Sam still made her feel real.
It was cold on Earth, and the wind could howl at any second like a wolf on the hunt, and it bayed grit from the dirt like the sea-spray from the wave that capsizes you. Kara heard it rain down on his back, get in his hair, made them squeeze their eyes shut and frak blind. He was still inside her and night had fallen.
“I love you.” His lips were rough and chafed as they touched her face, over and over again, like another burst of grit. “I can’t stop loving you.”
He was moving lower and she said “I dreamed of Leoben doing this, like he was my frakking destiny, right? He made me come.”
Sam kissed the old scar along her collarbone. He was still within her, under her skin. “Your life’s pretty weird, you know?”
“Don’t…” let me think about it, ask, change, “stop.”
Close to her heart. He moved and she forced her eyes open, tearing up and hurting, to find his face. Their lips met and it was like some chain broke. She tore at his clothes, not getting them off, but getting his pants around his ankles and his shirt hanging off one arm and when she wrapped her limbs around him, all she could feel was warm, human skin.
Kara could feel nonsense words echoing in her throat, full of portents and pretty weirdness, and she suffocated them against Sam’s throat. He howled when she kissed him there, like she’d hurt him in every way but painful. They crashed back down to the ground, the burnt-out soil hurting like razors but not being felt, and as Kara reached out to steady herself she felt something glassy and fine as beach sand.
Her ashes.
“Kara? Kara, you okay?” Sam had stopped. His right hand was in her hair and his body was red with arousal and irritation, and she knew no one else could be there, in that moment, as sure and as strongly as he was. Pretty frakking weird.
She took a handful of her ashes and let them fall between her breasts, smeared them down her naked body before she curved up to meet Sam. “I’ll live.”
He was in her again, hard and human as always, their own little alliance, and all she could feel was the ash running down their bodies and being trapped in their sweat. Felt nice. Like it was taking all her sins with it.
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Rating: R
Word Count: 991
Characters/Pairings: Kara/Sam
Timeline: Set during 4x11 - Sometimes A Great Notion
Summary: Kara wonders what happened to the woman Sam married. Sam wonders if it’s the corpse in the Viper.
One thing Sam had on Lee: He knew when to shut the frak up. He didn’t say anything as Kara flew him down to Earth. She was thinking loud enough for both of them.
She showed him the Viper. She’d covered it up as well as she could with a stained parachute. A short walk away, smoke was still drawing a curlicue from the pyre.
“That’s me,” Kara said, picking up a handful of ash and letting it run through her fingers. “This is me.”
Sam half-shook his head like a machine with something caught in the gears. “How is this possible?”
“You tell me. You’re the Cylon.”
He put his hands on his lips rather than say anything.
“You don’t have one word to say to that?”
“Were you expecting an apology?”
“I expect an explanation! What the hell am I?” She wiped at her eyes. “Huh?”
He put an arm around her. “You’re my wife, for starters.” He was about to give her the old go-team spiel, which could console any Pyramid player whether he was riding the beach or going through twenty years’ worth of divorce, when she shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!”
“Kara.” He took one small step toward her, hands held at his waist. “You cannot do this alone.”
“Yeah?” There was a knife in her hand. “When did you know?”
“Since before you came back.”
“Frak!” She put the knife to his throat. “You’re more of a bastard than I gave you credit for.”
Seeing her entirely focused on him, alone on a dead planet except for him and a blade, made his heart race. No distractions. He wanted to bend her body under his like a palm tree in a hurricane. “How long has it been since we’ve slept in the same bed?”
“Don’t change the subject, asshole. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you might kill me.” He said it with his teeth clenched and not an ounce of softness. “I still might.” She bunched his tanktop in her hand, moved the knife to his groin. “One less Cylon to worry about.”
“Maybe you should. Killing things is all you’ve ever been good at anyway. You’d make a better executioner than a wife.”
The blade ticked over the teeth of his fly, pressing hard, caressing him. “I don’t want to hear your voice anymore.”
She brought the knife up, cutting through his belt, throwing it away. “Cylon,” she said, half-amused, before she was bent back under him.
Kara was reminded of scythes, sweeping through crops, as he pulled her clothes off. She didn’t resist, didn’t help, just held onto the knife so hard that the tips of her fingers went numb as he kissed her and undressed her and entered her.
He was on top of her and it was weird how quickly she felt something, felt everything. The sweet agony and heat of his thrusting, the zipper-teeth of his open jacket caught between their skin, the gritted soil scratching at her back. She couldn’t undress, couldn’t break the hold he had on her, so she slid her fingers under his jacket and beneath his shirt and felt his skin, slick and prickled with faint hair and hot as metal left out in the sun for too long. Sweat beaded down the arms he had holding him over her, making the tattoo he shared with her sparkle, and she was frakking a Cylon. Funny as hell, Sam still made her feel real.
It was cold on Earth, and the wind could howl at any second like a wolf on the hunt, and it bayed grit from the dirt like the sea-spray from the wave that capsizes you. Kara heard it rain down on his back, get in his hair, made them squeeze their eyes shut and frak blind. He was still inside her and night had fallen.
“I love you.” His lips were rough and chafed as they touched her face, over and over again, like another burst of grit. “I can’t stop loving you.”
He was moving lower and she said “I dreamed of Leoben doing this, like he was my frakking destiny, right? He made me come.”
Sam kissed the old scar along her collarbone. He was still within her, under her skin. “Your life’s pretty weird, you know?”
“Don’t…” let me think about it, ask, change, “stop.”
Close to her heart. He moved and she forced her eyes open, tearing up and hurting, to find his face. Their lips met and it was like some chain broke. She tore at his clothes, not getting them off, but getting his pants around his ankles and his shirt hanging off one arm and when she wrapped her limbs around him, all she could feel was warm, human skin.
Kara could feel nonsense words echoing in her throat, full of portents and pretty weirdness, and she suffocated them against Sam’s throat. He howled when she kissed him there, like she’d hurt him in every way but painful. They crashed back down to the ground, the burnt-out soil hurting like razors but not being felt, and as Kara reached out to steady herself she felt something glassy and fine as beach sand.
Her ashes.
“Kara? Kara, you okay?” Sam had stopped. His right hand was in her hair and his body was red with arousal and irritation, and she knew no one else could be there, in that moment, as sure and as strongly as he was. Pretty frakking weird.
She took a handful of her ashes and let them fall between her breasts, smeared them down her naked body before she curved up to meet Sam. “I’ll live.”
He was in her again, hard and human as always, their own little alliance, and all she could feel was the ash running down their bodies and being trapped in their sweat. Felt nice. Like it was taking all her sins with it.
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Date: 2009-03-02 04:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-03-17 04:09 am (UTC)