She pulls off her clothes by rote, brain still reeling with gunfire and flying patterns and tactical moves, and steps into the shower block.
Kara freezes, eyes shooting wide open for the first time in two days.
Standing under the nearest faucet, hands on the wall, head bowed under the spray is Lee Adama. Water sluices down his back, between his shoulder blades, over pale skin and bulging muscles, every inch proving that life can indeed imitate art and the CAG’s callsign was no joke.
Naked bodies are generally about as interesting as the bulkheads on a battlestar. Kara never stares, didn’t even when she was rook.
But this is Lee. And she’s wondered for far too long to stop staring now.
Making the most out of those 33 minutes…