disclaimer: not mine.
rating: eh. PG. Language? Suggestion of naked people.
Pairing: Kara Thrace/Sam Anders
Set: in that nebulous time after Taking a Break and The Woman, King. Y'know, when Kara was obviously happy. Wait, you mean canon doesn't have a decent logical throughline in characterization? SAY IT AIN'T SO...
by ALC Punk!
Sam was playing with her hair again, fingers flipping the ends almost absently. It was something he tended to do when half-awake and lost in thought. Like the feel of her hair against his skin was just an excuse for being a sappy asshole.
Nudging him, Kara murmured, "Missed your calling as a hairdresser?"
He paused, brain apparently assimilating her words and waking him a little further, then shrugged. "Nah," his fingers moved against her scalp, tips pressing gently before he stroked outwards and tugged lightly at her hair, "Going to cut this again?"
A loaded question. Kara had let her hair grow out on New Caprica, not seeing a need to cut it. And she'd been happy, there. Even with it constantly tangling and getting in her way, there'd been something comfortable about it being long. And now, he was asking if they were back at that level. Or something. Sam used to push about getting their marriage back, as if afraid she wouldn't believe he wanted her anymore.
The closing-in feeling had sent her running faster than Leoben's box of toys.
She knew better now, of course. And he'd learned to back off.
But maybe they were almost back to that stable place. Maybe he thought they were. And maybe it wasn't a loaded question at all. "Dunno. Have to see if it gets in the way when I'm wearing a helmet."
He shrugged, not pointing out 'Track or Sharon or half a dozen other pilots who wore their hair long. Maybe he was getting smarter in his old age. "Do I get to vote for it being long enough for me to tug on?"
"Maybe I should go bald," Kara suggested, amused.
Maybe they weren't dancing around anything at all. Kara grinned and joined him in his laughter, enjoying the feeling, for the moment, that there was nothing to worry about. "Anyway," she said a few moments later, "What makes you a fashion arbiter?"
"My awesome sense of style," he informed her, obviously smiling in the darkness of her curtain-drawn rack.
Kara snickered, "You have any?"
"Tons," he assured her, yawning and stroking his fingers through her hair again.
"Right. You have as much style as Hot Dog."
"Better arms," Sam shot back.
"Damn right, baby." She started to add that she'd have to leave him, otherwise, but stopped. In reality, she had left him, more than once. But it had never been for better arms.
"Way I figure it, without my arms and my ass, you'd never have come back for me," Sam said, voice still lazy.
That was a little too close to prodding barely-closed wounds and Kara stiffened. She poked him, voice a little muffled, "I keep my promises, Sam."
She could feel him shifting and looking at her, even in the dark. "Yeah."
His fingers combed through her hair again, "I keep mine, too."
Unwilling to let the conversation continue in a serious tone, Kara rolled her eyes, even though he couldn't see it. "Oh, you do not."
"I don't?" He must have noticed her tone change, as he didn't seem to take offense.
"Nope. Where's my clean laundry?"
He snickered and tugged at her hair again. "Laundry is for Helo to do," he informed her.
"Yeah? You don't believe in clean laundry, Sammy?"
"Nope. You should be naked."
"Uh-huh." Kara snickered, "I don't think so, Sam. Flight suits chafe."
His hand brushed over her shoulder and down her arm, fingers trailing close to her half-covered breast. Kara could feel the leer on his face, "I can help put cream on the burn."
She hooted, unable to help herself, "You idiot."
He was grinning when he tugged her mouth to his for a long kiss.
Settling against his side, Kara nudged him, feeling lazy. "You should get my boots."
They'd left them outside the door to claim the room, and keep the others from disturbing them. There was probably a crowd outside the bunkroom, though, bitching about them taking their time and how they all needed rack time. If she hadn't been Starbuck, Kara figured someone would have burst in by now.
"My cue," he murmured, fingers brushing her hair back from her face. He sounded regretful. Then he pulled away and climbed out, picking his pants off the floor and shrugging into them before moving to the door.
Kara shifted onto her side to watch him, enjoying the view. He spoke to someone outside the door, and then came back with her boots in hand. Kara appreciated this view, too.
"You're popular, honey," he said cheerfully as he sat down and began rummaging for his shirt.
"'Course I am." Kara made sure his shirt was tucked under her hip.
"Dragon says to get your ass down to the rec room for triad," Sam told her, giving up on his shirt for the moment and pulling on his socks.
"Frak cards," Kara said, hooking her fingers into his waistband and tugging.
"Papercuts," pointed out Sam as he pulled on his second sock.
Kara tugged harder, "Sammy."
A sigh escaped him and he turned, leaning over her, "Something you want, Kara?" He knew the drill, the routine. Sex, a little after-sex cuddling--if she was in the mood, and then dressed and gone before she had to feel like he was crowding her, like maybe they were getting close again.
"Well, y'know, if you don't have anything better to do..." She swallowed and tried to keep her tone light, knowing this wasn't the routine anymore. "...and I don't have anywhere to be..."
"Rec room not enough for you?"
"Maybe not." Looking up at him, Kara met his eyes.
"Are you asking me to stay, Kara?"
It wasn't a joke, anymore. None of it was (it never had been, and she'd always known it wasn't). He was looking at her, eyes serious. Kara wanted to crack a joke, or shove him off the rack with harsh words, but that wasn't what she wanted. And it might not work anymore. He knew her too well, these days.
"And if I was?" She asked, her fingers gripping his waistband harder, knuckles white.
"I'd say one of us still needs to do laundry."
He wasn't leaving. Kara felt a surge of triumph and promptly stuck her tongue out at him.
"I'd also point out you're taking up the entire rack."
"You're a smart man," she taunted, "Improvise."
He chuckled and bent down to kiss her. Somewhere in the middle of it, his hands slipped under her, and hers tugged at him again and they twisted and rolled, and Kara pushed up against the back of the rack with her husband's very naked chest pressed up against her.
"Sam," she said, what felt like hours later, when the other pilots had wandered in and out, and he'd yanked the curtain closed.
"Stop playing with my hair and take your frakking socks off." She poked him and shifted, wrinkling her nose. "They stink."
He laughed, but moved to comply.
Kara fell asleep before he'd stretched back out, his fingers tracing down the black ink on her arm.