Firefly: Mal/Inara R "Down Time"

[pepperlandgirl]

Title: Down Time
Rating: R
Notes: Post-Serenity (Big Damn Movie). Mild spoilers. 5,032 words. Crossposted to pepperlandgirl4, mal_inara, ff_fanfic


“You can find Mal in the cockpit,” River greeted as she stepped into Inara’s shuttle.

Inara looked up, frowning. She didn’t know what to do with that information. River must have sensed her confusion. “He won’t leave,” she elaborated.

“Won’t leave?” Inara had noticed that the corridors and the common area of the ship had been virtually abandoned in the past week. Kaylee and Simon were busy exploring each other’s bodies, histories, and futures, caught up in the excitement of new desire Jayne had holed up in his bunk, cleaning, repairing, and modifying his weapons, muttering about Reavers and scary little girls. Zoë spent a lot of time in the cargo hold on the catwalk, dangling her legs over the side swinging them impatiently, as if waiting for something. Inara herself rarely left the shuttle, though it hardly seemed like hers.

River shook her head. “I can’t stay with him anymore.” She tapped her chest. “He hurts me too much.”

“He hurts you?” Inara’s confusion and alarm grew.

“He can’t contain his own pain anymore. It surrounds him. The ghosts.”

Inara bit her lip. “Then nothing has changed,” she muttered.

River looked troubled, but she left Inara’s shuttle without saying another word. Inara knelt in front of her shrine, lighting incense and bowing low, trying to do her best to ease her mind, to ignore the image of Mal in Wash’s—in the pilot—seat, alone, bereft.

She knew her place was on the Serenity, with Mal and his crew. She accepted that fact when she stood shoulder to shoulder with Zoë and Simon, prepared to die for them, prepared to die for Mal. But that didn’t mean she had any further responsibility to Mal, beyond paying her rent every month.

That’s what Inara told herself anyway. One day, she might actually believe it.

She sighed, standing again. The meditations were not easing her mind. Only one thing would.

Inara pulled on a red silk robe—one she had noticed Mal admiring once. She long ago accepted the fact that she catalogued Mal’s every word and look. The vivid memories had been priceless and painful during her short exile from the Serenity.

“I’m just going to talk to him,” she murmured. “Make sure he’s been eating and sleeping. That’s all.” It seemed reasonable enough.

Inara passed River as she walked through the kitchen, the two of them exchanging a short look. River still had bad days, when everything came in a jumbled, disoriented mess, but most of her time was spent enjoying the world that the rest of them shared. Inara had always held a certain fondness for the Tams, but now she was starting to understand the ceaseless devotion Simon had to his younger sister, now that she wasn’t so far away from them.

Mal seemed to sense her approach, but he didn’t turn around or greet her. Inara stood behind him, uncertain. The cockpit was never spotless, of course, but now it smelled of sweat beneath stale, recycled air. Inara covered her nose with her handkerchief, gently touching Mal’s shoulder with her other hand.

“You come looking for a fight?” he asked.

“No, Mal. River was…concerned.” Inara pitched her voice to be neutral, yet inviting.

Mal didn’t respond.

Inara took a deep breath, then grimaced. “You need a bath,” she declared, delicate diplomacy forgotten.

“I reckon I might. Hasn’t really been high on the priority list, you understand.”

“Well it should be. It reeks in here, Mal.” She could hear disapproval creeping into her voice.

But Mal seemed indifferent to the words and her tone. “Smells like the boat to me.”

“Everybody else manages to keep their quarters from smelling like a zoo…except Jayne.”

“This ain’t my quarters,” he countered, studying the console in front of him with great interest.

“Why don’t you take a break, Mal?”

“Someone’s got to navigate the ship, Inara.”

Inara gripped his shoulder, prompting him to finally look up at her. “Turn on the auto-pilot, Mal. You need some food, and sleep…and a bath.”

Mal shook his head, clearly annoyed, but he flipped on the auto-pilot before standing up. Inara took his elbow, guiding him out of the cockpit. She noticed the way he stumbled, like his legs weren’t quite cooperating. Perhaps they were asleep.

“Where we going?” He asked, when she marched through the ship.

“To my shuttle.”

“What’s there?”

“Refreshments. And soap.”

“You’re not going to prettify me are you?” Mal asked with a half-grin. It faded when he stepped into her shuttle. “You’re not planning to stay.”

Inara looked at the sparse decorations. It certainly didn’t resemble the rich comfort she had worked so hard to perfect before. “No, I just haven’t…I haven’t had time to decorate it the way I like. Most of my belongings were left at the sanctuary.”

“Why didn’t you mention it?” He asked, his words laced with irritation. “We could have swung by there.”

“It didn’t seem to matter,” Inara said, directing him to the divan. “I’ll worry about it later.”

“No,” he said, making a quick, slashing motion with his hand.

Inara blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You should be comfortable, now that you’ve paid for the month.”

Inara nodded. “You’re right, Mal. Would you like some tea?”

Mal watched silently as she prepared the tea. He accepted the delicate cup, cradling it in his large hands before sipping the liquid. He spit it out immediately, spraying the tea all over the floor. “Lao tyen yeh, what is this?”

“It has restorative properties,” she explained, amusement tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“It tastes like gos se.” he said, trying to hand the cup back to her. “Coffee suits me just fine.”

“Please drink it, Mal.”

She expected further argument, but he just shrugged and downed it in one gulp, like he was taking exceptionally sour-tasting medicine. He grimaced, setting the cup on the table. “That’s powerful nasty.”

“You’re supposed to savor it,” Inara said, unable to hide her laughter now.

Mal shrugged, standing with a tight smile. “Is that all? Can I go now?”

“No, you still need a bath.”

“I can bathe myself,” he assured her. “Been doing it for years.”

Inara wrinkled her nose. “Could have fooled me. Take those filthy clothes off.”

Mal gaped at her. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t look so appalled Mal. I won’t hurt you.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he muttered.

Inara ducked into the shuttle head, filling a large bowl with hot water, soap, and essential oils. She smiled at the newly created fragrance of wood and herbs. She thought it would suit him, mingling well his own natural musk. When she returned to Mal, he had removed his shirt, but his pants and his boots remained.

“You normally bathe in your boots?” she asked.

“Only if I think I’ve got some running to do,” he said without humor.

Inara spread a soft towel on the cushions. “Lay back,” she murmured.

“Inara, this ain’t necessary.”

“Is it necessary to keep fighting me? Now just relax.”

Mal did recline against the cushions, but he didn’t relax. Inara wasn’t surprised. He carried the stress, fear, and loss of the past month with him; it coated his skin like invisible slime. She wasn’t concerned about the sweat that clung to his body, but she did fear the cloud of suffering that surrounded him.

She avoided meeting his eyes, knowing that it would just make him more uncomfortable. Instead, she moved the damp sponge around his chest and shoulders in an exact rhythm. Each move of her wrist was choreographed, designed to comfort and relax as she manipulated his nerve endings, certain pressure points, and the naturally delicate areas of his skin. It wasn’t meant to be sexual or erotic—but it could be with minor adjustments.

Inara knew the moment it began to work from Mal’s soft sigh.

“How’s that?” she asked.

“What’s in that water?” Mal lifted his head, reaching for the bowl. “It smells like planetside.”

“Just soap and essential oils,” she said, moving the bowl out of his reach, her voice pitched low. She moved to the bottom of the divan, pulling the boots from his feet. He didn’t move, but she expected him to put up a token effort of resistance when she unbuttoned his pants.

“What are you doing?” he asked, putting his hand down to stop her.

“I’m finishing the job.”

“Look,” he said quickly, “that’s not what I want. I mean, I don’t think we should…”

Inara sighed. “Mal, I’m just going to wash your legs.”

He looked skeptical, the tension returning to his face.

“Mal, I’m a professional.”

“A professional. Right. I forgot. So I suppose that makes me another client? I appreciate the kindness, Inara,” he said, straightening, “but I think I’ll be on my way.”

Inara put her hand on his thigh, stopping him. “Please, Mal. Let me do this for you. We can fight later, I promise.”

She waited several seconds for him to respond, or get up and leave anyway, but he did neither. When he finally settled back again, she returned to his pants, removing them without fuss. She expected a cruel comment about her skills, but he still didn’t speak.

Inara worked with professional efficiency, holding herself in the delicate area between physician and consort. She couldn’t be too clinical, or the dance of the sponge across his skin wouldn’t have the positive effect she sought. If she were too personal, they would both go spinning out of control—Inara because she wouldn’t be able to deny her feelings for another second, Mal because he wouldn’t have a choice. His body would respond the way nature intended.

But she knew the balance, and she was able to keep it, despite the fact that her spinning head and trembling fingers. Once she finished washing him from his neck to the tip of his toes, she reached from a bottle of slick powder.

“Hey, hey,” he said, his words slightly muddled. “None of that frou-frou stuff for me.”

Inara sprinkled a small amount in her hands, then placed them palms down on his chest. She dragged her hands down his body, to his knees, rubbing the powder into his skin.

“What is that stuff?”

“It’s to make you feel warm.”

“I feel very, very warm.”

Inara smiled, “Good. That means it’s working. Now you just stay here…”

“Where are you going?” he asked, lifting his head.

“I’m going to prepare your supper while you rest,” she explained, taking the blanket from her bed. “Here, this will make you more comfortable.”

Mal grabbed her wrist. “I don’t want to rest.”

“Mal, don’t be so stubborn. It won’t kill you to get some sleep.”

“No, but it might if you leave.”

Inara knew her eyes must have betrayed her, because he frowned. “That came out not like I intended.”

“I’ll stay if you like,” she said, gracefully settling herself on the floor beside the divan.

“Don’t sit down there like some sort of gorram dog,” he growled. “There’s plenty of room up here.”

Inara laughed softly. “What can I do to make you go to sleep?”

“C’mere, and I’ll tell you.”

Inara kneeled, facing him. “Yes?”

“Closer.”

She dipped her head until just inches separated their mouths. “Yes?”

Mal put his hand on the back of her head, pulling her even closer. The kiss sent ice water down her spine. She reared back as if she had been stung, shocked, the breath caught in her throat. Mal seemed equally shocked by her reaction. No longer languid, he jumped to his feet, unmindful of the blanket that fell to the floor.

He gathered his clothes while Inara tried to find the words to explain, or stop him. It wasn’t until he had his pants around his waist and his boots on that she could speak. “Mal, wait. Please.”

“It’s clear I misunderstood the layout of the terrain. Not the first time it happened, most likely won’t be the last. Though I usually I get shot at for my efforts.” He glanced at her, his eyes a dark blue, wry amusement twisting his lips. “I guess in a way I did.”

Inara held up her hands, shaking her head. “No, Mal. I didn’t…you just surprised me.”

“I’ve got a job to do,” He muttered, heading for the door.

She hurried to the door, blocking him from exit. “We aren’t finished.”

“I think we are. Get out of my way.”

Inara straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “No.”

“I am the captain of this boat, and I’m telling you to get out of the way.”

“I will not. I can’t let you go like this…”

“Move.”

Inara understood that he wasn’t in the mood to listen to reason. Not that she had any to offer him. Words would be meaningless at this point. Nothing she could say would be powerful enough to stop him, so she did the only thing she could. She kissed him with all the pent-up passion, aggression, and lust she had inside of her—every feeling she struggled to deny and overcome through her meditation exercises. She should have known better.

It only took a second for Mal to react. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her back with the same level of intense emotion. His lips were sweet and questioning and demanding, his hands firm against her back, his body hard.

Inara could think of a thousand reasons why she should break the kiss, push him away; she could think of a thousand reasons why he should break the kiss and push her away. But that all fled her mind when he backed her against the door, his hands seeking her flesh through the layers of clothes that separated them.

Mal cupped her breast through her robe, his thumb massaging her nipple. He slowed the kiss, gradually lightening the pressure until they were finally separated. Mal searched her face for a clue, but she didn’t know what he saw in her eyes. She had been trained to reveal only what she wished to reveal, keeping everything else carefully locked from prying eyes. But now she felt raw and exposed, unable to protect herself from the lightest perusal.

She hoped he saw the truth, because she didn’t want to talk anymore.

Mal held her against the door, his hands on her shoulders. “You want me to stay?”

Inara could only nod.

“I don’t…” Mal pushed her away, putting several feet between them. He opened his mouth, closed it, before finally say, “I don’t think I can.”

Something stung the back of her throat. Why not? Why are you doing this? I can’t stand these walls between us, Mal. But she only nodded again. “I understand. You don’t trust me.”

“What?”

“It’s not a secret how you feel, Mal, though I choose to ignore it…overlook it.” Inara swallowed hard. “I don’t know what else I have to do to prove myself to you, Malcolm Reynolds, after everything.”

“How do I feel about you?” Mal asked, his jaw set in tight line.

“I’m just an alliance whore, aren’t I?” she asked with more dignity than she actually felt.

Mal reared back, his eyes wide. She could actually see the vein in his forehead pulse. Inara knew the words would make him angry—most of all because she knew he wouldn’t be able to deny it. Why not have the truth laid out between them, raw and bloody?

“That’s not what I think of you,” he said slowly, his voice tight. “And you know it.”

Inara shook her head. “No, I don’t.”

Mal reached for her, pulling her against him again, burying his hand in her thick hair, holding her head in place as he lowered his mouth to hers again. He kissed her slowly, taking his time to deepen the kiss until she felt completely consumed by his mouth, his warmth, his need. Heat suffused her body, making her skin burn with a deep red blush, fogging her mind. Everything else fell away—the shuttle, the ship, the ‘verse. Nothing between them or around them except heat, except the exquisite sensation of two bodies fitting together after a long denial.

Inara spread her hands across his chest and down his shoulders, pushing his shirt away. She could feel a thousand stories beneath her fingers—each winding bump and small scar another tale he wouldn’t speak of. She wanted to know each one.

They broke away at the same time, their chests heaving. Inara’s lips felt slightly swollen, bruised. A large lump settled in her throat, making it difficult to breathe, impossible to speak. He looked torn, his body leading one way, his eyes following another course. If he still wanted to leave, she couldn’t stop him.

“Captain?” River’s voice came through the intercom. “You’re needed up here.”

Mal shook his head. “I knew it. The minute I leave…”

Inara stepped away from the door, allowing him to pass. He straightened his shirt and pulled his suspenders over his shoulders, sending her one final glance as he exited the shuttle. The door closed behind him with a heavy sense of finality.

Whatever had called Mal to the bridge hadn’t been dire. Or at least, that’s what Inara assumed, since he didn’t call for all hands, and the ship hadn’t crashed into some forsaken moon. Inara didn’t make an effort to find out the source of River’s alarm. If had been something important, somebody would tell her soon enough.

Maybe it would be best if she went back to the sanctuary. She had been foolish to think she could stand to be near him again, stand to live and work with his blue, disapproving eyes following her every move. What new sort of hell had they just created for themselves?

A small part of Inara not only hoped for Mal to return to the shuttle, but expected it. How could he stay away from her? No man could, if she wanted him. But Mal did pride himself on being a stubborn cuss…

Inara eventually drifted into a shallow, brittle sleep, her ears still trained for any sound outside her shuttle.

#

Mal lost count of the minutes he stood outside Inara’s shuttle, debating whether he should knock or run away. His skin and lips still burned with her touch, his body crying for more. He couldn’t remember when he had felt anything so…fine. The shuttle and the woman inside had become a haven now, one that he didn’t dare enter for fear of destroying it.

Like he destroyed everything else.

“Are you looking for something, Sir?”

Mal spun around, surprised to see Zoë just a few feet from him. “Don’t sneak up on your captain like that.”

“Sorry, Cap’n.” She folded her arms. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What are you doing?” She looked pointedly at Inara’s door.

“Just, um, checking that everything’s secure.” Mal nodded. “Yep, everything looks fine.”

She shook her head. “You’re a terrible liar, Sir.”

“I’ve got work to do,” he said, his tone indicating that he didn’t want to talk about it anymore. How was he supposed to explain this to anybody? It didn’t even make sense to him. In fact, he’d be mighty thankful to anybody who could make sense of the situation for him.

Zoë caught his arm, stopping him. He could feel the subdued strength in her hands, holding him in place effortlessly. “Sir, I think you should go in and talk to her.”

“Who? Inara? No, we don’t have much to say to each other these days.”

“That’s a shame, Sir.” She pushed him back to the door. “You’ll have to think of something else to pass your time.”

“Just who do you think you are?” he demanded, pulling his arm away.

Zoë calmly knocked on Inara’s door. When there wasn’t an immediate response, she knocked harder. Faintly, Mal heard, “Ching jin.”

“You heard her, Sir.” Zoë calmly walked away, leaving Mal to stand in the corridor like a fool.

“Mal?” Inara asked, opening the door behind him. “Do you want to come in?”

Just the sight of her felt like a blow to the gut. When was the last time he had this much difficulty breathing when poison or a good beating wasn’t involved? “No.”

Inara blinked. “Then why did you knock on my door?”

“I didn’t…” Mal shook his head. “Were you asleep? I’ll just let you get back to that.”

She rubbed the corner of her eyes. “I was just resting. Is everything ok?”

“Fine, fine. Just a wave…”

“A new job?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, good.” Inara nodded. “Good night, Mal.”

“Wait…Inara…I would like to come in.” He didn’t know what prompted him to speak, but he wasn’t sorry he did when she stepped back and allowed him to pass. “I think I should explain…”

Inara held up her hand. “Please, don’t. You’re tired and under a great deal of stress. It’s natural to seek a form of release.”

“I wasn’t seeking relief,” Mal protested.

“Fine,” she allowed. “It’s natural, then, to have impaired judgment…”

“My judgment is just fine,” he cut in. “Great, in fact.”

“Everybody makes decisions they wished they hadn’t.”

“Don’t I know it,” Mal said. “I have a lifetime of wrong-headed, stupid decisions to plague me to the grave. But kissing you wasn’t one of them.”

Inara looked surprised. Good. Maybe now he wouldn’t be the only one who felt out-of-sorts and confused. He just wanted to kiss her again. If she gave him an opening, he would take it without hesitation.

“We can’t do this, Mal,” she sighed. Their eyes clashed and she added softly, “It won’t work.”

“You’re right.” He closed the distance between them, gripping her shoulders and searching for any clue on her face. “But supposin’ we do it anyway?”

Inara tilted her head back, closing her eyes. It was enough of an invitation for Mal. His lips found hers again without hesitation. He loved the way she tasted, the way her mouth felt, the softness of her touch, of her breath. Mal had never met anybody so refined, so sweet, so out of place. She didn’t belong in his world, in his arms, and they both knew it quite well. But even so, he found he couldn’t let her go. His arms tightened around her, pulling her against his body, his fingers digging into her back, clutching the liquid-soft material of her robe.

Mal pulled the pin out of her hair, allowing it to fall down her back, burying his hands in it. He inhaled deeply, letting the vague, sweet aroma fill his head. She reminded him of spring on the ranch, when all the trees blossomed, and the flowers unfurled themselves in the sunlight. It was a sharp, nostalgic, painful feeling that sent a shaft through his chest. He broke the kiss, a little frightened by the intensity of the sensations overtaking him.

“Mal, if you’re going to leave…you’ve got to do it now. If you want to stop whatever we’ve started, it has go to be right now, because I won’t be able to stand it,” she said, her words surprisingly unsure, shaking even.

He understood. They were skirting the edge. If he wanted to pull up and retreat, he was quickly running out of time. You can’t pull yourself up from the pit once you fall over the brink.

“I have no intention of leaving,” he said, his voice low. If he was going to jump, why not go in feet first?

Inara nodded, shrugging the robe from her shoulders, allowing it to fall to the floor with a soft swish. He could hear everything, it seemed. The steady humming of the ship, the rhythm of Inara’s breath, the soft pounding of her heart. She stepped forward, back into the circle of his arms, her nimble fingers making short work of his buttons.

How many thousands of times has she done this?

Mal bit his tongue. The question didn’t need to be asked, and it didn’t need to be answered. She looked up, her eyes questioning. He distracted himself by kissing her again, branding her lips with his. He gathered her loose gown in his hands, breaking the kiss long enough to pull it over head, leaving her naked, proud, not a hint of shyness on her face.

And why should she be shy or self-conscious? She was perfect. Mal knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help himself. He let his eyes feast on the vision of womanly perfection in front of him, memorizing every soft curve, every inch of perfumed, petal-soft skin.

Inara continued to undress him, leaving him exposed to her touch and her eyes for the second time that night. Once the clothes were kicked away, nothing on their skin but the low light of her flicking candles, they stood there, facing each other, awkward, uncertain. After an eternity of watching her, Mal finally trailed his fingertips along the slope of her shoulder. He felt like he was apt to burst from his own skin. Too much space separated them, but she was just a whisper away.

“ ‘Nara,” he whispered, his throat dry, the name cracked on his lips.

Inara cradled his hand, bringing it up to her lips and kissing the palm. The brush of her hot lips against his rough skin jolted him out of his trance and into action. Mal took her shoulder and guided her to the bed, gently pushing her onto the mattress. She fell backwards, holding her hands out to him.

Mal had intended to make it slow. He did want to kiss her, touch her, become intimate with the hills and valleys of her body. He had thought about it often, especially since she left the ship—left him. Mal would lay awake at nights, allowing himself to forget who she was, what she did, how she maddened him, instead thinking of the endless delights he could find in her arms.

The fantasies always left a bitter taste in his mouth when he remembered where she learned how to delight and captivate men.

But once their bodies made full contact, flesh against flesh, skin against skin, lips against lips, legs and arms tangled together, his curiosity and her grace was lost. He felt clumsy—his hands too rough, his mouth too desperate, his body slow to act, to move. But somehow, she responded to everything he did. She moaned when he touched her, arching her back for more, returning his kisses with ferocity, knotting herself around his body.

Mal ran his fingers down her body, stopping at the slick skin between her thighs. He slipped his fingers between her pulsing flesh, surprised and gratified by how wet she was for him. It was only fair, of course. His cock felt like stone, a steady ache radiating from his groin through his body. He pulled his hand away from her, rubbing his wet fingers down his shaft, preparing himself for her.

Mal hesitated again, bracing himself on one arm over her body. She looked up at him with cloudy, questioning eyes. Was this just another job for her? Was he like her clients? He knew better than to ask, but how could he push the questions out of his mind?

“Mal?” she whispered. Of course, she had spoken his name a million times before in a thousand different ways, but it never sounded like that. He couldn’t explain why, but he knew it was different. He knew they were different.

Mal thrust into her, a strangled groan escaping his throat. She moaned, a long sound that came from deep within her body. He moved, still feeling clumsy and awkward, like he had never been with a woman before. He couldn’t seem to remember what to do or how to do it. She moved with the same uncertain jerks, following his lead rather than guiding the situation herself. Despite that, he reveled in her soft heat, unable to recall anything that had felt so divine. Mal closed his eyes, concentrating on the rhythm of his body, the rhythm of her body, on holding both together as long as he could.

When he opened his eyes, he found she was still looking directly at him, unblinking, her eyes never leaving his face. He swallowed hard, suddenly unarmed by the intimacy in her expression. She looked like she had just witnessed something shocking, yet expected. He moved faster, his body finally losing the self-conscious edge.

Mal kissed her, pushing his tongue into her mouth as he jerked his hips faster. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling her nails down his back, sending surprised shocks of pain down his spine. Whatever had been holding them back fluttered away, leaving both unbridled and hungry.

Inara arched her back suddenly, her body tensing until he thought she would snap in two, her shout of stunned pleasure lost against Mal’s mouth. Her whole body clenched around him, convulsed, muscles contracting, holding him. The sound of her climax echoed in his ears, until it was all he heard, and her breath came in jerking gasps as she strained against him, poised for another trip over the edge.

“Mal,” she panted. “Mal…please…”

He reached between their bodies, his fingers finding her pulsing nub easily. He massaged the quivering bit of flesh, rewarded with the heady sensation of her body flexing around his cock again. This time, when she tensed and cried out, she triggered his orgasm, the sharp bliss exploding in his body, leaving him spent and exhausted.

“Will you sleep now?” She asked as he struggled to catch his breath beside her.

He nodded, watching her as she stood up, lit a stick of incense, and pulled the blanket from the floor, over his sweaty, shaking body. She crawled back into bed beside him, her body curled against his like a cat.

“This bed is a mite more comfortable than my bunk,” he murmured.

She laughed. “I imagine a bit more expensive as well.”

“Don’t let me sleep too long,” he said, his eyes drooping.

“Of course not.” She kissed his cheek. “Good night, Mal.”