Mmmmm, Timmy and Emma Zool...

That was so. damned. hort. Coffin sex!

Wrod. Not that I think about it frequently or anything.

Holy cow. I think Deb just broke me. (And, Erika, it kills me not to know H:LotS at all, because your writing is so damned good. Argh.

Ahem.

I wrote something. Firefly ficlet.

Essential

Light glints on the slick glass stopper as she draws it towards her wrist and smears scent across her skin. Lotus blossom; the perfume curls through the stale ship's air like a living thing, sweet and warm and potent. Soothing. Inara closes khol-darkened eyes and her nostrils flare as she breathes in deeply. She remembers the walled gardens of Shenyang, and a time when flowers were something she took for granted. Her rooms back at the Guild had been filled daily with freshly cut blooms, sweet and clean and always new. The maid would change them long before they began to wither or fade; one never considered, at the time, that they were dying from the moment they were cut. Inara has leisure to think about this now. She inhales preserved sweetness, and marvels that crushed flowers can produce something so delicious from their death. With eyes closed, it is almost impossible to tell whether the scent is from living flowers or their ghosts.

At her side Mal shifts uneasily in his sleep and she freezes, suddenly guilty. She did not mean to wake him. Inara stealthily returns the stopper to its cut glass bottle and sets the essential oil back in its place beside the bed, each movement painstakingly slow. She is more than half dreading the moment when his eyes meet hers again, with the knowledge of vulnerability hanging between them both. It is too new, this intimacy, and she is afraid she has made a mistake from which she may not recover – but there was an inevitability to it, whether for good or ill. In the end, she could not help herself.

She hopes that, when the time comes, he will smile at her, blinking sleep out of his clear eyes, warm, welcoming, glad; but she is afraid that he will not. In the dim light Inara studies him like a poem, like a pillow book she might learn by heart, and she tries not to hope. She wants very much to stroke the soft line of his eyebrow and to taste again the sweat moistening the indent of his lip, to caress the strong curve of his collarbone and trace the outline of his tattoo with one smooth fingernail, but she holds back. She knows every expression that can cross a man's face – or a woman's – upon awakening. Shyness, embarrassment, smugness, desire, disgust, adoration. She cannot decide which expression would be worst upon Mal Reynolds' familiar features. Inara regularly opens her ears, her lips, her thighs, and provides comfort and escape from the mundane, but throughout it all she remains her own woman. She is needed, but she does not need. Normally. She gives pleasure judiciously but remains immune to hurt, encased in the protective shell of professionalism. Her heart is not involved. She wishes them well, to be sure, these intimate strangers whom she wraps in her limbs and her sheets, whose egos and flesh she massages so tenderly, but she loses nothing to them. She risks nothing with them.

This is not the case with Mal.

She has never felt so naked. It horrifies her that Mal has such power over her.

The sex was energetic, uncomplicated, desperate. She was – not herself. Amateurish. Not awkward, of course – never that – but still there was an urgency to the coupling that had her blushing afterwards. She had banged her elbow and smudged her makeup. She had been, ridiculously, on the brink of tears. He had come too quickly, that first time, and she had been furious with him; thinking, for once, not of her lover's pleasure but her own. He made it up to her with his fingers and lips, mumbling broken words of apology and love into her damp skin, touching her tenderly, as though she were made of the thinnest porcelain or the most bruisable petals. "Harder," she had demanded, beyond courtesy or pretence, biting him hard enough to hurt and wringing a startled grunt from deep in his throat. Her own breath had hitched and she dug her nails into Mal's shoulder until she felt him wince. "I won't break, damn it. Damn you. I – yes! God, yes. Like that. Harder. I can take it." She felt the rumble of his laugh vibrating through her flesh as he took her at her word, and she knew an instant's wrathful regret for so wholly losing control and dignity, for being so close to begging.

She came so hard that, for a moment, she forgot her own name.

Mal looks younger when he sleeps. People often do, of course. She wants to keep him safe. To be kept safe. It hurts to think how much she wants this. How impossible it is. There is no safety anywhere – and, anyway, even if there were, Mal Reynolds is not a man to settle down, nor can he accept her career. She loves her independence. She has spent too many years training to become who she is, has sacrificed too much already to consider giving up her work for the old fashioned qualms of a smuggler.

This is only a passing fancy, Inara tells herself, without conviction. She is, after all, no blushing maiden to be crushing on her captain. It was whimsy, and hormones, and perversity, perhaps. Desire. Nothing more. Inara is a free woman, with no ties and no commitments that are not of her own choosing. She is in control of her own life. She could leave Serenity tomorrow if she wished.

(He might not want her, now he has had her.)

He rolls over, one long leg tangling with her own as his arm falls across her waist. Sleeping fingers clasp her hip possessively. After a moment he begins to snore. A rueful smile curves Inara's mouth, unwillingly tender in the face of his obliviousness, and then something clenches in her gut and she finds tears in her eyes again.

She is in way over her head. He has become essential to her now.

Whoooeee. Fay, I know zilch about Firefly, but that just hits me right upside the heart. Man.

Sweet zombie Jesus on a bicycle at the circus, Fay. That's beautiful, and heartbreaking.

blush

Thank you! Go me!

Very sensuous, Fay.And thanks for the compliment...knew the Bitches would love that...canonical coffin sex.(She's a death groupie...murder gets her off. And y'all are probably thinking "Pot. Kettle. Black." But no, I'm no Emma Zoole. I've never made a man fall for me at first sight, either. (She got two.) At first, Timmy thinks "No, no, that's too weird. I could never do that...thanks for the drink." But the chemistry is so strong he rips his clothes off and gets in her coffin-built-for-two...that scene was hot enough I was glad Grandma was a cremation proponent, ok...I don't trust myself not to look at one that certain way for a while.ETA: And any of y'all could go extremely Felton on me with that piece of information. Beau Felton=the wrong person to tell all your freaky stuff. If Munch had been in that bathroom first, it could have been an era of new respect for them.

Wonderful, Fay.

Fay - I have recently come into the Firefly love and that was just....wow.

More Vamp!Munchkin

“So, what’s with the tissues, huh?” She gives me her “Don’t kid a kidder look.” Which is fearsome even when accompanied by suspicious facial pinkness, smeared make-up, and the Amazing Killer Breasts.
“As often as I make women cry? You’re kidding, right?” I shrug, putting on a show of how OK everything is. I came this close to being the grieving one. Twice. One miracle belongs to the OR at Hopkins. But I’ll take the credit for this one.

“If anyone asks, I’m denying it..” she says, grimly applying more lipstick. It’s still sexy, even if she does it like she’s adjusting the Kevlar(which, incidentally, was absolute shit in her particular case, but thinking about that pisses me off all over again, so I won’t. My anger’s a lot more dangerous now.)

“Tell me something I don’t know.” There’s a little silence that gets weird. Kay looks at me like she’s broken again. I have to say something. “It’s not so bad, Kay.”

“What? This party? Yes, it is, I was offered $1000 to pelt a demon with grasshoppers. And I thought about taking it.”

“Not that...although that makes me think you may be in the wrong business. I mean undeath...I wasn’t exactly the best at being human.” “Now, Munchkin, I know it’s hard, but quit talking crazy, huh? You are a fine human, and I work for God and have no business pelting anything with bugs.”

Just because a heart doesn’t beat doesn’t mean it can’t break. “Kay, how do you do it? Keep believing that humanity works...that it sets the highest standard, with all we’ve seen. All I’ve done.”She would never have accepted Lilah’s dirty money, not even for a minute.

“That’s where we’re different Munchkin...you analyze everything. I just put one foot in front of the other, right? Take it one step at a time.”

“And where should I be taking these steps, huh?”

“I asked you not to make fun of me for that. Babe. “

“I’m evil...I can do what I want now. Inhuman undead bloodsucker with no rules or scruples, right here.”

“That’s too bad, cause I was gonna help you find what you’re looking for, but maybe I won’t...I don’t mess with the forces of evil. Not for free, anyway.”

“Now, who’s evil?” I ask.

“Me? It comes with the suit.” And she smirks, like a deviant. Like me.

“Kay, please, you have to tell me. I beg of you, Mistress Katrina. Enlighten me.”

“A gal could get used to so many guys kissing her ass, I gotta tell you...maybe I’ll keep you on a string for a bit? A little suspense, huh?”

“Honest to God, Kay, you’re testing me here...”

The demon growled inside me, filling me with a horror I hadn’t known since I saw my first murdered corpse...a daughter killed by her father cause she stayed out late. I still remember how drunk I got that night. If I hurt Kay there’s not enough alcohol in the world.

“Bear in mind, this advice comes from Ed Danvers. “ She says, holding up her finger, mom-style.

“That little Establishment geek?” I sneer out of habit. But if there is a God, I want Him to bless Ed Danvers because thinking of him in all of his button-down glory makes the monster in me quiet. Probably does the same for Kay.

“In one of his cases, Ed was able to catch the guy because the guy was an artist and sent himself ideas...there was a timestamp on them...blew his alibi.”

“Thank you for putting Ed Danvers and blow in the same sentence....I won’t sleep all day.”

“Just grow up and go to the mailroom.” God, she is so brilliant. And I never told her, cause I’m a cowardly ass. I’m fucking immortal and still a cowardly ass...God must be a woman and she’s laughing her ass off.
Oh, crap, Halfrek. Sure enough, the demon is bearing down on us like a heat-seeking missile.

“One thing,” I say. “Kiss me. Just to hide my face.”

”Munchkin,” she says. “I don’t think...”
And I give her the Cadillac of first dirty kisses...I’ve had some practice. “Mmm,” she says...but it may be oxygen deprivation. Out of the corner of my eye(which you understand, I’ve not been able to use since I’m ten)

I can see that the demon has moved off. I start off toward the mailroom. “Sorry, babe. Duty calls.”

One thing about Kay. Her world could be falling down and she always has a sense of humor. “Great.” She says. “Typical male. You get what you need and you’re done...there are names for guys like you, Munchkin.”