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Snakes
by Exfilia
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica 2005
"Pairing": Roslin/snake dreams
Rating: is there a rating beyond "adult?" Because this is actually pretty sick.
Distribution: How much do I owe you for hauling it off?
Spoilers: Up to and including Colonial Day
Email: exfilia at livejournal dot com
Disclaimer: if I owned them, they'd have a lot more fun
Finally the door closed, and they left her alone. Young Adama and his tall blond companion were her bodyguards for the night. She didn't need bodyguards, not here on Galactica, but she'd been unable to convince anyone of that, and so someone sat next door in the study whenever she was here. It was a way for her followers to bond, and so a good thing, but inconvenient tonight. The shuttle ride from the neutral ship had been rougher than usual, and her tumor seemed to be looking for an excuse to ache. She took a deep breath and immediately regretted it, as the movement of her ribs nudged the clump of cells resting just above them into sharp, painful displacement. Her arms folded across her chest and she concentrated on breathing as lightly as possible until the pain faded.
She was not going to take a pill. It wasn't because of the probability of a midnight summons to deal with the developements that kept her on Galactica, when she would be sleepy enough without drugs. The nightmares from the pills did far worse to her imagination than cancer was doing to her body. Perhaps the pain drugs interacted with her primary medication. She could mention it at her next consultation, she supposed. She could also wear a lighted badge on her chest that said "raving lunatic incapable of leading lemmings to perdition."
She was not going to take a pill.
She unbuttoned her jacket without incident, then gasped as her arm moved wrong when the garment slid from her shoulders. The same thing happened with her blouse. She stood in front of her mirror to recover herself, swearing that the next day she would institute a fleet-wide search for brassieres that closed in front.
When she'd managed to remove it, she went into the head and threw up.
A while later, her nightgown on and her stomach recovered, she gulped one of her huge pink pain pills. She slid between the soft sheets, arranged pillows and comforters so nothing pressed against the tender bit and tried to blank her mind and invoke sleep. It seemed to be working pretty well, until something moved under the covers with her. She jumped, and found that her wrists and ankles were held fast. She took a deep breath, regretted it, and bit her pillow as the intruder coiled around her knee.
Coiled?
She opened her mouth to scream, but a scaly body wound itself across her face and gagged her. The one at her knee slithered under the hem of her nightdress and made its way upward.
She closed her eyes. She was asleep. She knew this perfectly well, and knew that there were no snakes in her bed perpetrating a reptilian sexual assault. It was all a drug-induced fantasy, and the only thing that could make it worse would be for it to become public.
There were other things to worry about, though. In her first... experience, there had been twelve snakes. Where were the other six? As soon as she thought of it, she felt them pressed alongside her under the coverlet, blunt heads probing for the openings in her nightdress, tongues flicking out to taste her flesh. The one in her mouth twitched as if it were a man's... she forced that thought away beyond a sturdy mental door, locked and barred and with heavy brain furniture pushed up against it. Yet another snake slide under the elastic leg of her panties and a third worked its way up her chest. She would not scream. She absolutely would not. She would think of something else.
This was Commander Adama's fault. She clung to the idea, using it to blot out immediate sensation. Adama could have insisted that the conferance be held on Colonial One, sparing her the long trip in the madly vibrating shuttle and the consequent need for hallucinogenic medication. Her current predicament was entirely due to his lack of insight.
So how come Adama didn't have snakes in *his* bed? There seemed to be plenty to go around. She had a momentary vision of a reptilian jaw disjointing so as to swallow vital parts of the commander's anatomy, and almost giggled. Then she felt a huge, diamond-shaped head resting on her pubic bone, its body draped behind it to lie between her thighs, and every time it breathed it pushed itself against the most personal parts of her. Hot tears spilled across her face as it undulated against her, scraping back and forth.
Would it leave her alone, after? How lonely she'd become, and how twisted, that such a horrid dream could actually elicit enough moisture to coat the serpent in warm ickiness that spread over her flesh when it moved. She might have vomited again, but with the scaly coil gagging her she might well choke on it. The great head withdrew to join its body. She thought for a moment it was finished with her, but then she felt it probing, pressing....
She did scream, then, and found herself sitting upright in a bed mercifully free of all other occupants. The only vibration was the mad knocking at her door. She pulled a shawl around her and let them in.
"Sorry," she said. "Nightmare." Her young Apollo bustled around the room, looking in the head, in the closet, under the bed. "No monsters?" she asked when he was satisfied.
"No, ma'am," he said. "Are you sure you're okay?"
She nodded.
"Would you like something to help you sleep?" the girl asked.
"Oh, God, no."
"Ma'am?"
"No, thank you. I'm going to sit up for a while, and review the conference notes. You two get back to your game," she said, nodding toward the cards on the desk.
"If you're sure," said the boy.
"I'm fine," she said, and closed the door behind them. She set her forehead against it for a moment, then curled up on the sofa, notes in her lap, and sat for the rest of the night watching her bed for any sign of movement.
The End
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