Author's notes at the end. Please withhold comments and judgments until then.

A Moment In A Storage Closet.

It's always been "later" for them. So what happens when "later" finally arrives? "Later" finds the two of them in a storage closet the rest of the ship thinks is welded closed, wearing only what they were born with, staring at one another when Kara hands him an old belt.

Is it wrong for him to want this? He takes the belt from her hand, eyes holding hers. She wants this, at least that's what her eyes say, but does he? The fact he's hardening just standing there, holding the belt and watching her lean over the table, answers that question rather conclusively.

More to the point, is it even a good idea? He knows something of her childhood, and has learned more from Leoben; she's no stranger to physical abuse. His mother was bad, hers was worse. Kara liked it fast and dirty; he knew this from experience and because there are no secrets in the barracks after all. Lee Adama hates the marines because Kara Thraces likes them; same joke, different anecdote.

His breathing gets ragged and for whatever reason he thinks of what happened to her on New Caprica, imagining its him rather than that mis-wired skinjob playing house with her. Gods was he that twisted up now? Since when did he start associating love with pain? When Kara ran off and married Anders while he was asleep, or was it before then?

That's almost enough to have him start swinging; the burn of anger that causes his balls to tighten and gut churn. He loves her; even when he hates her and wants her throat in his hands, he loves her. She hurts him and he keeps on loving her. He wants her to be happy no matter who or what it is that makes her so.

"Why?" he croaks.

She hears him, understands the question, and answers. "Because…because you need, and I need." Her words are panted, but not strained. No, the strain is in her knees and hips, fighting to keep still against the onslaught from both within and without.

"I need…what?"

"Control." Kara straightens and turns as she says this, her eyes now holding his. "You…lost that when I was…" She shakes her head. "You need it back."

"I think I've been doing fine." He hasn't and they both know it. The words are a lie, but a necessary one. They've both been at the mercy of outside forces for so long - her destiny, his capture and now his office - it is difficult to remember a time when they answered only to themselves. Downright impossible in fact.

Yeah, he wants some control back. Over himself, but moreover (godshelphim) over her. She's been the star he orbits, bathing him with the stuff of life and death; the gravity of her slow collapse into something indefinable pulling him along. He wants and needs to wrest some control over the course of his life, because it isn't just his life anymore and he's not going to let her fade from the universe.

"What about you?"

"Trust."

This stings a bit. "I've always trusted you."

Kara shakes her head, hair swinging and swaying like a wave. His fingers tingle to reach out and touch it. "Me, being able to trust someone else," she clarifies.

He wants to joke, say something stupid to break the atmosphere that's suddenly gotten so hot and heavy. If anything, he's hardened to stone and it's starting to hurt. "This is trust?" He can only look between the belt and her. Kara hasn't looked down and has one arm crossed under her breasts, unconsciously playing it coy even if her words are dead serious.

"You know it is." She shifts slightly, her free hand hovering over her pubic triangle and right knee bent over the left. It's nearly enough to make Lee want to tear his hair out.

"Masochism, Kara?"

"Trust," she insisted.

"I don't want you hurt anymore."

"You won't hurt me."

He looks at the belt again. "Then what the frak am I supposed to do with this?"

"Whatever you want, Lee." She takes a breath and adds "I'm yours."

They both know words are cheap. Maybe she senses that because she turns from him again. Leaning down, arms outstretched to a point with head bowed between them, she could be mistaken for a supplicant in Temple.

He hates himself because he draws back his arm and brings the belt down on her perfectly formed and firm ass. It's a glancing blow but a blow all the same. She whimpers; a strange sound, but music all the same. A Kara whimper is a symphony for his ears, positively intoxicating. It earns her another blow.

He hates himself and hates this, and so is very careful about how hard he hits. He'll give her the blows, but he won't…won't what? Hurt her? Bruise her? Break her? Hasn't he, isn't she…?

No wonder they're such a matched set; both broken in the same-yet-different ways by their mothers.

He's half out of his mind right now with frustration, and now he's got Kara egging him on. What the frak good is control if it gets swept away the instant it's tested? How the frak is she supposed to trust him when he doesn't dare trust himself? The wrong word, the right gesture from her, and he'll have her slammed her against the table or the wall or the floor and be buried inside her.

That horrid scene gives him an even more perverse thrill. Oh, he loves Kara, will always love Kara, and he won't…can't…be satisfied with just knowing she's happy. It's him or nothing. He'd kill every other man or appliance that ever thinks of touching her intimately.

Thankfully the thrill and impulse prove fleeting. He swings the belt again, this time leaving her cheek reddened. Her moan is raw joy and it nearly sends him over the edge.

He imagines what Kara might have been like, kneeling before Leoben or some nameless Six, maybe naked and beautiful welts crisscrossing those breasts and back. He wants to vomit at the image, even as the head of his member glistens with a sheen of pre-cum.

Try as he might, getting his breathing back under control is next to impossible. He misjudges the strength of his next blow and causes Kara to physically falter. She cries out this time, low but audible. His moment of clarity hits, and he drops the belt; there's no way on the gods green earth he can keep this up. He'll break her trust and loose control, so instead he's pulling her into his arms and holding her tight. His stiffness is nestled along the vertical between her still-burning cheeks.

She's shaking in his arms, crying and moaning and making no effort to break away. She instead leans her head back to rest on his shoulder, leaning into his arms and grasping his forearms. Lee feels the dampness of her tears on his own cheek, heart clenching at the possibilities in those tears.

Had he gone too far? How thoroughly had he broken her? How could he make this right?

She's shaking and crying and moaning and leaning into his arms, sliding herself around so they're nose-to-nose. Lee winces as this movement pushes his hardness at a sharp angle. He says nothing because this moment is her's and her's alone. He's endured being stripped to the core; he'll endure momentary discomfort.

Their foreheads are touching now, their eyes downcast and bodies molding into each other. This is what the gods had made them to be.

Who needs the pain of the body, when the pain of the soul runs so much deeper? Who needs wedding vows, when the pieces two broken hearts fit so perfectly together?

Fin.

De Author Seez: Okay, so what the frak was all this? The long answer is "a scene from a story that will never get written, because it was planned as a sequel to another writer's work, and said author disapproved (strongly!) of the content, thus the story in question will never see the light of day."

The short answer is "something that clawed its way up out of the muck of my demented ego." I make no judgments upon the pilots or the actions herein. We humans are bizarre and complicated creatures, and these two are no different.

I post it here without further comment, and await the effigy burnings with calm equanimity. Expect more sedate and 'normal' material in a day or two. Cheers.