Disclaimer: not mine
Rating: R/NC17
Warning: sex, language, girls kissing
Pairing: Anastasia Dualla/Kara Thrace, ref: Kara/Lee, Dee/Lee, Kara/Anders
Set: during the missing year of New Caprica
Length: 1,300
Notes: I was doing to fic roundup meme and came across a post, talking about them being hot and stuff, and, well... Sigh. I'm so easy.

by ALC Punk!

Dee knows she shouldn't be kissing Kara Thrace. But Starbuck is drunk, and she's always been a little bit wild when she's drunk, throwing herself at life and trying to steal the fire from it. And Dee wants to feel that, wants to taste Kara's heart beating against her chest, wants to feel her own skin slick with sweat.

It isn't that this is new (being married is new), Dee has encountered Kara before. Has pressed Starbuck up against a wall and tasted the ambrosia on her mouth.

Something indefinable drew her here. Dee came down on a routine missions, playing courier and trying to convince Felix Gaeta that it was all right, President Baltar would come to his senses. They both knew that was a lie, but the words seemed to comfort him. Stopping for a drink at one of the bars which had sprung up had seemed like a simple idea--the raptor crew were trading off, anyway, and wouldn't be ready for at least two hours.

It was part of Commander Adama's rotation schedule. The Admiral had never said whether he approved or not.

Kara Thrace had been holding court, laughing, her head thrown back. She was alone, and Anastasia couldn't resist the lure of moving closer, of trying to see what her husband saw in Starbuck. But it wasn't just that. Even as she stepped too close and Starbuck reached around her for another shot, she knew that was merely an excuse. Dee wanted to be right where she was, basking in the glow and catching sparks off Starbuck's skin when she leaned too close.

They end up drinking too many rounds for Dee to count--she's not one for ambrosia, but Kara is intoxicating. And when the tent is spinning, it feels right to lean against her, hand slipping down below her waist.

And Kara doesn't object. Kara leans back and laughs softly, mouth hovering too close--

The kiss is awkward and not what Dee remembers, she can't taste anything but the alcohol until Starbuck's tongue teases her mouth open. And then it's easy. Caught between the past and the present, Dee moans into Kara's mouth, her hand coming up to tug at her collar, trying to get her closer.

It's not that she doesn't get sex from her husband. She does, but they're still stationed on two different ships, and sometimes, he's not there to scratch the itch--like now.

Someone finally notices the two women kissing, and cat-calls and suggestions fill the bar.

Dee jerks back, flushing hotter than before. "I--we should go," she says, taking charge of her life, of this moment.

"Wanna frak in a dark alley?" Starbuck teases, her lips wide and eyes dark.

It's cold out of the tent and if she looks up, Dee could see the stars, maybe even catch the brief, silver gleam of Pegasus as it orbits majestically, shadowing Galactica. Starbuck trips over her own feet and they tangle, trying to stay upright.

A laugh escapes Dee, and she pushes up, capturing Kara's mouth again. This is wild and stupid, on some level, and she doesn't care.

"Gods--" Kara gasps, pulling back and for a moment almost sober. "Dee?"

"Should I walk you home, Starbuck?" It would be the kind thing to do. She's buzzing and every inch of her skin feels like it wants walk on its own, but she's still a good little girl underneath it all. She won't take advantage where it's unwanted.

"You've done this before."

"Last year--" Dee stops, because reminding Starbuck of pining for the man she's now married to could stop this. And she doesn't want it to stop.

"You tasted like peanuts," murmurs Kara huskily, and then her mouth closes on Dee's.

Peanuts? Dee has time to wonder about that, since the last time there was anything resembling peanuts on Galactica, Kara was still on Caprica getting the arrow. Obviously, being drunk had warped Starbuck's memory--although it was rather nice to think she remembered their previous kiss.

Starbuck moves them again, and they end up in the communal shower tents, Dee backed against one of the board walls, uniform unbuttoned and falling off her hips.

This is wrong, she wants to say, but the taste and feel of Starbuck have already driven her to stop caring. And when she makes Starbuck squeal just a little when she nips her bare shoulder, Dee thinks it might all worth it.

Concentrating on her fingers, Dee gets Kara's shirt up and her hands on her breasts. Starbuck gasps, arching into her, begging wordlessly for more. Dee leans forward and down, her mouth wrapping around one hardened nipple. Starbuck tastes like sweat and dirt, honest things that Dee's forgotten.

Starbuck isn't hard to figure out, her hands tugging at Dee's, both of them fumbling her pants down enough for Dee's hand to slip inside. Kara is wet and growls when Dee's fingertips brush against her.

"Now," Starbuck whines, legs clamping closed as Dee shifts and presses, figuring out the rhythm that causes Kara to whimper and plead.

She feels powerful, stroking Starbuck to orgasm. She thinks, if she can do this, she can conquer the world. Dee feels drunk on Starbuck more than the ambrosia. She's spinning around, and the world could end right now and she would go to the Gods free and clear of all obligations.

Kara comes with a jerk of her hips, voice hoarse with repressed words that Dee can almost hear.

Panting, leaning against Dee, she shivers. "Turn around."

Dee laughs softly and pulls her hand free, pulling her mouth from Kara's breasts and moving on her shaking legs.

With her back to Starbuck, she finds the sensation different--and then she's pressed up against the wall, Starbuck heavy against her, laughing softly, "Should I help you, Dee? Or should I send you back to Lee all horny and needy?"

Gods. The flash of heat is shame and need, both, and Dee grabs for Starbuck's hand, pulling it inside her uniform. "I'm not going back yet," she says, hoping there's enough conviction in her voice.

"Your conscience," Starbuck says.

"Just shut up and frak me, or are you afraid to?" snaps Dee, angered that Starbuck won't just do what she does with everyone else. Like there's something wrong about touching her.

"Not afraid." Her hand yanks and digs, getting under Dee's shirts and then down under her waistband.

Dee's eyes flutter closed and she leans her forehead against the wood, concentrating on the smells--Kara still smells like sweat and dirt, ambrosia and sex. The communal showers could use a good bleaching, mold and mildew coating the air like they're making up for lost time.

The hand between her legs almost burns, or maybe Dee's just burning with the need to rub herself raw until she's come too many times to count. There's something reckless and dangerous about the pleasure that builds at the base of her spine. She shoves back against Starbuck, rocking against her hand and almost pleading, her hands flat against the wall, feeling the grain of the coarse wood pressing into her palms.

She's clenching her eyes so tight, when the orgasm hits, she sees stars. Gods... Slumping forward, she tries to catch her breath.

Kara bites the back of her neck and then pulls free of her, "I gotta get home." Her voice is almost slurred, now, and Dee figures all that ambrosia is finally catching up to her.

When she's gone, Dee shivers again, and wonders if she should take a shower before buttoning up and finding her ride back to Galactica. She washes her hands at the sink, and decides not to bother--she owes no one an explanation, least of all her husband. The man who came to her fresh from the bed of the woman she's just frakked.

Her lips are still tingling as she buttons her tunic closed. Maybe she'll visit Lee in the morning--he might have time for a morning meeting with the liaison from Galactica.