Characters: Caprica, Head!Six, implied Head!Baltar, implied Baltar, implied Roslin, implied Tory Foster
SPOILERS: Generalized Season 4. No specific spoilers.
Summary: Caprica Six receives a very unexpected visitor in the brig
Beta: the lightning fast daybreak777
It was also submitted to the 4th Annual Kink/Cliche Challenge
Caprica is not stupid. She knows they are watching.
They watch her every hour of the day. Watch her eating, reading, pacing. They watch her put on the makeup they deign to bring her every now and then. (She never gets to choose the colors. Apparently that would be a show of weakness for them.) Sometimes they have even watched her cry.
Then there are the things they watch without understanding. They can’t possibly understand. They watch her project – forests, beaches, beautiful, peaceful places. Wide open places. Places where their hatred can’t touch her. Where she can almost feel alone and at ease.
Another thing she’s pretty sure they don’t know? Sometimes, they watch her kiss.
When he deigns to appear to her, which is random these days, and not very often, but he appears more often than the real Gaius, who never comes, even though he could now if he wanted. But she tells herself she doesn’t care, because when he comes to her, he takes her chin gently between his fingertips and runs his other hand through her hair, kissing her slowly, with appreciation. He nurtures her, keeps her going, although he always waits until the moments when she thinks she will finally go crazy in this cell.
But it is never more than that. In that way, he is fundamentally different from the real Gaius. He never wants more than to kiss her, to touch her gently, lovingly, which she of course appreciates; but sometimes, sometimes, though she is loath to admit it, she misses the sex she and Gaius used to have.
She remembers the day her people destroyed humanity – the way she violently threw him on the bed, the way he couldn’t resist tearing off her clothes, the way she tore off his. She remembers noticing how he didn’t give a damn what she wanted really, just told her what he thought she wanted to hear, so they could get to the part where he was inside her. Except he wouldn’t tell her the one thing she really wanted to hear him say. (Why did she only want it then? On the day she was going to kill him?)
The sex had felt cruel and wrong, like a lioness toying with a mouse, but she couldn’t deny that it had felt incredibly hot, kinky, and somehow dangerous. As if in the throes of passion, she might let something slip about the Plan while there was still time for it to go wrong.
“You wish just once he would show up here and tear your clothes off like that, don’t you? Touch you until you moan, until you feel alive again.”
Caprica opens her eyes in shock, hearing a voice that is strong and breathy, and female, and familiar. Who is in here with her?
Her shock only increases when she sees an exact duplicate of herself standing there in front of her. How did a Six get in here with her? And what is a Six doing here on Galactica? Had she been that lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t heard the clang of the cell door? Impossible.
She just stares at her for a long moment, then, in shock, realizes she hears nothing in the ether of her mind, none of the familiar, warm static of two of the same model coming within range of each other. There is only silence between them. Confused, she reaches her hand out in an unconscious, practiced gesture, waiting for her sister Cylon to do the same so they can touch and share memories, share an explanation between them without the need for speech.
But instead, her sister Cylon laughs; it’s a laugh that’s deep and throaty, and undeniably sexual. Caprica finally notices how everything about her double is sexual, especially her dress, a scanty red item that exposes her midriff and is tight around every other part of her body in a way that Caprica can’t help but notice with the slightest of stirrings of desire.
Her hair is like Caprica’s, but somehow, Caprica thinks it shimmers more, so that it almost seems ethereal, even in the harsh lighting of this cell. It’s all confusing. Why doesn’t she feel a connection to her?
“Gaius Baltar, for all his flaws, is a pretty good in bed when he’s focused, isn’t he?” she chuckles, moving in to Caprica’s personal space, now finally reaching out a hand towards Caprica – not in communion – but to shove a rough hand up Caprica’s shirt, so fast Caprica barely has time to react before the woman’s tapered fingers are rolling her nipple between them.
“I could give you all he had to give and more, you know,” she says, “right now.”
Caprica gasps in surprise, not only at the suddenness of it all, but at the shocking wetness she feels inside.
She feels a hand on the back of her head and feels herself being pulled in towards her sister’s lips. The kiss is rough, sloppy, demanding, a lot like Gaius’ kisses used to be, yes, but without any of the doubt she could sometimes sense within him.
Her back arches immediately in desire until she hears herself moaning into the kiss and she disentangles herself in a panic, aware again of the cameras that are always watching. This is nothing like the demure, gentle kisses she is used to from the Gaius in her head.
“I wouldn’t worry,” her double says, visibly amused at Caprica’s sudden shyness. “They can’t see me. I’m not really here.”
“What?” she croaked. “What are you talking about? Who are you?” Her mind went down an insane path: “Are you him?” she asked.
Again, she laughed, nestling her palm back onto the back of Caprica’s head. “Why would he go to the trouble of disguising himself? He knows whom you want him to be, after all.”
The hand moves down Caprica’s head, trailing down her neck and then her spine, coming to rest at Caprica’s ass, where her fingers explore the waistband of her pants, working their way underneath. A sharp intake of breath whistles through Caprica’s parched lips. Fingers are making their way to the front, long fingernails lightly scratching against her skin. They are fiddling with the button on her waistband.
“I- I don’t know if this is such a good idea,” Caprica whispers, still thinking of the cameras.
“Come on,” she coaxes, wresting the button free of its loop. Caprica hears the sound of her own zipper pulling down. “How many times have you thought about those cameras up there and wanted to say, 'frak you, Laura Roslin, frak you Adama,' and show them how very well you know they’re watching?”
Caprica gasps. Fingers are worming their way into her underwear, seeking out the ache inside her. “You’re not really here?” she whimpers, her eyes going half-lidded as she feels one finger beginning to spread her apart. Already, she feels a lightness, a distance from her own body.
“No, but you are,” the woman bends into her and breathes into her ear. “The cameras see everything. So what do you say we give Roslin and her little assistant on the other side of that wall a show they’ll never forget?”
A second finger goes in and Caprica feels dizzy. Her thighs feel gloriously heavy and gelatinous as the fingers start to pump in and out of her, Caprica summons all her strength to squirm herself on them, ride them, her mouth falling open in her concentration, focused now on only one thing – satisfaction.
“That’s it,” her own voice coos into her ear again. “I like it when you’re selfish like this, demanding; you’re stronger.” She rewards Caprica with another finger thrust up inside, and Caprica yelps, but already she doesn’t care that it hurt, that the cameras are watching. Her eyes are shut tight in anticipation, head thrown back towards the ceiling. She can feel the fingers pumping faster now, harder now, driving her towards the release she wants so badly.
Without a plan, Caprica reaches out blindly, touches hair so familiar in its texture, she’s startled a moment. She tangles it in between her fingers, using it to pull her seducer into a rough kiss that elicits a impressed grunt of pleasure. This woman feels so real, far more real than projection has ever felt. She lets the grinding of her hips fall in sync with the thrusts of her kisses, trails her hand down shoulders and fondles those perfect breasts (her own) as she feels the body next to her jerking with sudden shocks of desire under her ministrations.
Her lips shift from the woman’s mouth down to the nape of her neck, tongue flicking mischievously, possessively, while all the while, her hips keep grinding a desperate rhythm. Her hands wander restlessly down into the slit of the woman’s fire-red dress.
To Caprica’s surprise, she feels no underwear there, and her face blooms with a devilish smile. Her fingers quickly find their way to their prize, pushing inward. The body next to hers jerks in sudden, surprised desire under her ministrations, and Caprica hears her begin to emit low moans as Caprica quickly steps up the pace to match the fingers thrusting inside her.
“You’re so beautiful,” Caprica tells her in between kisses, fully aware of the irony in her own words. I can’t believe how much I want you, she thinks.
“Beautiful,” her twin echoes, her voice breathy above Caprica’s head. Her lips can feel the vibrations in the woman’s neck. This is so real. How can it be?
Somewhere in the back of her mind, this feels wrong, on so many levels; but it only makes her want it all the more. She takes one last glance up at the ceiling. She feels the woman’s body pull back with another throaty laugh.
“Yes, they’re watching. Always watching. You don’t care anymore, do you?” The fingers inside her move faster now, more insistently. Caprica growls and matches her pace. Both women groan and sigh in unison with weak-kneed pleasure. They are both so close. Caprica is dripping in sweat with the exertion of their hips rising and falling as one.
“Let them watch,” Caprica barely manages to get out before her whole body spasms into a loud, shocked gasp. The sweet, paralyzing bliss overtakes her and she falls back onto the cot, pooled in sweat, her ears filled with the sound of her sister Cylon crying out with an exact duplicate of her own orgasm.
Caprica lies there for a long while, eyes closed, her limbs drooping to the floor in luxurious exhaustion. Already, her double is nowhere to be found. Well, that’s fine. Caprica has always been used to that with him. Her flesh is beaded with sweat, her clothes disheveled, in full view of the cameras. Anyone can see the lingering evidence of her ecstasy. Maybe they will, she thinks, as her tongue flickers over swollen, parched lips. No doubt they recorded every moment.
She smiles, feeling her body begin to vibrate, then erupt into spasms of self-satisfied laughter as she opens her eyes. She laughs straight into the mechanical eye above her head, laughing at those who watch, who always watch.
The rest of the day, she does not pace. She does not read. She does not cry.
She lies on her cot, alone in her thoughts, alone and at peace.