And so she kept coming back, even when it wasn't necessary, just to spend time with him. Most of it was spent in bed, it was true, but it wasn‘t always for cover. In fact, it was barely ever for cover. She wasn't so surprised that even after two years, this Casanova of a no strings man still wanted her, after all they’d made her model look the way she did exactly for that purpose. What had surprised her though, was that she kept wanting him more as time passed. Sometimes she’d sneak into his house and crawl into his bed, in the middle of the night, waking him up with her touches and her kisses. (He never gave her a key but she could always get in and he quickly stopped asking about it. It was just the way things were.) She found herself addicted to his touch, to the feel of his hands on her. Gaius Baltar was a lady’s man, and he had the skills to prove it.
She enjoyed his touches when they were in public too, his hand firmly locked around her waist as they walked around town, while he looked upon the crowd in superiority. She liked to think it was partly because of her, knew it probably was. She was a sort of trophy to him. But not always, not when they were alone. They could have so much fun then. They’d drink and talk about politics and science and the latest media gossip, and he still had this superior tone in his voice, but that was okay, because it was who he was. Then they could also spend hours sitting on the balcony of his house, with his arms around her, starring at the gorgeous view of the lake, she would listen to him talk about himself, or they would just sit in companionable silence. Either way, it felt nice.
So he didn’t remember her name, but he knew what her favorite drink was, and how she took her coffee in the morning. He knew of her uncommon belief in the one true God, and didn’t try to convert her. He also had this uncanny ability to sense when she was cold and always covered her with a blanket. That was enough for her.
She had asked him if he loved her, spun it as a joke, but she had wondered for real, if underneath it all, there was something more for him. Maybe. She wondered if she loved him, too. Probably. Then, as he was about to die, the answer was definitely.
Battlestar Galactica - Gaius/Caprica Six - What's in a name, anyway? 2/2
And so she kept coming back, even when it wasn't necessary, just to spend time with him. Most of it was spent in bed, it was true, but it wasn‘t always for cover. In fact, it was barely ever for cover. She wasn't so surprised that even after two years, this Casanova of a no strings man still wanted her, after all they’d made her model look the way she did exactly for that purpose. What had surprised her though, was that she kept wanting him more as time passed. Sometimes she’d sneak into his house and crawl into his bed, in the middle of the night, waking him up with her touches and her kisses. (He never gave her a key but she could always get in and he quickly stopped asking about it. It was just the way things were.) She found herself addicted to his touch, to the feel of his hands on her. Gaius Baltar was a lady’s man, and he had the skills to prove it.
She enjoyed his touches when they were in public too, his hand firmly locked around her waist as they walked around town, while he looked upon the crowd in superiority. She liked to think it was partly because of her, knew it probably was. She was a sort of trophy to him. But not always, not when they were alone. They could have so much fun then. They’d drink and talk about politics and science and the latest media gossip, and he still had this superior tone in his voice, but that was okay, because it was who he was. Then they could also spend hours sitting on the balcony of his house, with his arms around her, starring at the gorgeous view of the lake, she would listen to him talk about himself, or they would just sit in companionable silence. Either way, it felt nice.
So he didn’t remember her name, but he knew what her favorite drink was, and how she took her coffee in the morning. He knew of her uncommon belief in the one true God, and didn’t try to convert her. He also had this uncanny ability to sense when she was cold and always covered her with a blanket. That was enough for her.
She had asked him if he loved her, spun it as a joke, but she had wondered for real, if underneath it all, there was something more for him. Maybe. She wondered if she loved him, too. Probably. Then, as he was about to die, the answer was definitely.