Shore Leave or That Youthful Feeling By Kaynara *** Post-BDM. The crew visits a drinking establishment on Beaumonde—no, not that one. Shameless Mal/Inara fluff ensues. *** Almost disgustingly fluffy, save for a bit of Mal-brooding. Wow, I feel dirty. I'll try to angst it up next time. :)

Special thanks to my Flan B gals, Leiasky, Tamsibling and Leighkohl, for beta-ing. And to AWindsor for helping me teach Mal how to flirt. ;) *** Considering the sequence of events resulting from their last visit to the Maidenhead, Mal thinks it prudent to take his crew to the drinking establishment down the street, lest they run afoul of any old friends. He actually has it in his head that they'll have a fine evening of crew bonding and conversation, even means to buy the first round of drinks. His crew, it seems, has other notions. Soon as they step through the door, his crewmates disperse in six different directions—five, actually, as Simon and Kaylee disperse together—leaving Mal to stand alone in the entryway, a stupid expression on his face as he watches them go. “Y'all just...have fun then,” he calls after their retreating backsides. Shaking the abandoned-puppy look from his face, he ambles over to the bar, angling apologetically between a pair of middle-aged women on barstools. “Ladies. Sorry,” he says, trying to decide if one of them just stroked his butt on purpose, and ai ya, don't make eye contact. There's a band playing—some techno-rock noise that makes his ears bleed. He tosses a few coins on the counter for a drink, “and make it a double, please.” A double shot of whiskey later and he's feeling a little better about life. Or, at least life is quieter and less bright. He laps the perimeter a time or two, sipping from a bottle of Blue Sun-brand beer, known throughout the 'verse for being cheap and...well, cheap. Trying not to wonder if it's wise to allow eighteen-year old River, or Jayne—he doesn't know how old Jayne is, would guess the man's long since abandoned his thirties—to drink unaccompanied, he locates a quiet-like booth from which to watch the merriment at a safe distance. He tries to keep an eye on all of them without looking like he's keeping an eye. Usually he ain't one for interfering in matters don't concern him, like his crew’s social habits. Unless…you know, he has a good reason. But tonight, for some reason, he's feeling a little...apprehensive as all hell. Maybe it's 'cause last time they all went out was so damn exciting. He's had enough exciting to last him the rest of his days. He finds himself watching River like a finicky mama. He knows she's a good girl, and bright. No question she’d got him beat in the brains department. God knows she can take care of herself, and ni ta ma duh where's that bar rat got his hand? Is that her thigh? Is he touching her thigh? Mal starts to rise, anticipating the unadulterated satisfaction of breaking a couple fingers on that offending hand, but River chooses that moment so swing her head up in a smooth arc. From across the bar, she fixes him with a steel-edged glare. Down, Captain. Like she can read his thoughts, which, of course, she probably can. Reluctantly, he sits down again, curling his hands in fists of frustration. Shiny. Let her have her fun. Course, if she tries to leave with the hwoon dan, Mal's gonna tell Simon and let big brother drag her kicking back to Serenity. The dragging part might not work out so well, but there's sure to be kicking, and Mal figures it will be an amusing sight to see. Speaking of Simon…. Mal rolls his eyes, spotting Kaylee with her hands in Simon’s back pockets, their bodies rocking in what might, by some cultures, be termed dancing. Mal wonders when young people started dancing that way: trying to hump each other through their clothes. He wonders when he stopped being “young people” and became…what? Captain No Fun? He reckons Simon expected a black eye or at least a strong word for getting, uh, familiar with Mal's mechanic. Truth be told, which Mal only does some of the time, he almost doesn't hate the doctor nowdays. And he figures Kaylee could have done worse, has done a time or two. He's glad for her, just so long as he doesn't have to hear about it ever, or walk in on something no captain should be seeing his mei-mei doing in the not so private space of the engine room. They’re kissing now, somewhat enthusiastically from the look of things, and he looks away, embarrassed for them or by them; he ain’t exactly sure. Long as they stay clothed, he doesn’t plan on interfering. It’s bad enough he's been getting those protective urges when it comes to the little albatross. His eyes glaze over the swarm of people occupying the dance floor, picking out Jayne by sheer height. Mal's socialized with Jayne enough to know the big man's routines. Some nights Jayne is content to drink Mal under the table while trading boasts and jibes and half-heartedly ogling the waitstaff. Other nights Jayne is seeking a little more than Mal's companionship. Tonight appears to be the latter case, and Mal expects Jayne won’t be back on Serenity before dawn. Rolling his eyes with something that, if not affection, is at least acceptance, he lets deep blue orbs come to pause on his first mate. She strolls the outer edges of the dance floor, pauses long enough to raise her own Blue Sun bottle to her lips and drink deeply. Her attention lingers on table full of young men scarcely old enough to shave, and as she looks away one of the ‘men’ is already rising to offer his chair. Zoe hesitates a moment, appraising the boy coolly from under her lashes. When he’s sufficiently sweaty, she treats him to a small smile, head bobbing in acknowledgment, and lowers her willowy form into the chair. A little taken aback—mostly glad though—Mal shakes his head. Zoe may be dependable as death, but that don’t mean she can’t surprise him. He was plenty surprised when she went and married Wash. Could be she just wanted some time off-ship tonight, time away from the ghosts. He can understand that. Anyway, he’s not too worried about Zoe. If and when she wants his input, she’ll ask. Until then, he won’t offer it. His blue gaze pans the crowd again, searching. He’s accounted for everyone except...Inara. Huh. Where’s that woman flitted off to? Not that Nara flits. Nope, she’s more apt to…well, glide. He scans the room for her head of dark curls. Usually, she stands out. He figures she can’t much help but stand out. Finally, he locates her at the bar, her body bound up in rust-colored silk and sparkles, her hair a thick, tumbling sweep that invites a man to bury his hands. Her graceful body arcs over the counter, one smooth-as-satin hand resting on the barman's shoulder as she speaks into his ear. Mal imagines the whispery feel of her breath, and how it would brush the cheek like a kiss before weaving warm and sinuous into the ear canal. Jealousy is so familiar a consort he wonders how it can still sucker punch him in the gut after all this time. In a way this is all the more wrenching because tonight she's not being paid to flirt and tease. She's doing it of her own volition. And from the look of things, enjoying herself mightily. “All by yourself tonight, mister?” a female voice inquires at his elbow. Reluctantly, Mal tears his gaze away from Inara and her new “friend.” A barmaid, fresh-faced, too young, considers him through bottle-green eyes. One palm supporting her laden tray, she uses her free hand to offer a fresh beer before sweeping up the empties. “Well, that ain't exactly...yeah.” He shrugs, mouth curving in a lopsided grin. “Sounds about right.” “Whoever she is, can't be too bright, leaving a swai fella like you to drink by his lonesome.” He arches a brow into his hairline and takes a lingering sip of his brew. Well, now. “Can I get you something else, Mister...?” “Reynolds...Captain Reynolds. Malcolm's fine. And, thanks but, no. I'm good...with my beer.” “Nice to meet you, Malcolm.” She holds out her free hand and waits for him to take it. Casually, he glances at the bar to see if anyone happens to be looking in their direction. Not that he cares overly. “That tray looks awful heavy, miss.” His smiles in a manner he hopes is charming and not creepifying. “Care to set it down a spell?” “I'm done in ten,” she drawls after an appraising pause. A flirty hand slides the length of her dark-blond braid. “Could keep each other company...back at my flat.” “Ohhh. Hey. Well.” He shifts in his seat, hands fumbling with the label on his beer bottle. “Honestly, that sounds real nice. Truly. It's just...” “My place is just two blocks from here.” Her tongue darts out to moisten full, pink lips. “Booze is free and I won't make you drink alone.” “That's, uh...thanks...for the, um, offer. I mean, that's very flattering, truly.” It’s shiny that somebody wants to spend time with him, even if that somebody don't happen to be a certain brunette with black-tea eyes a man could swim in. “Just ain't really up for it, er...company...tonight. Any other night though—” “Hey, that’s alright.” She cups the bone of his shoulder, squeezing gently, and bends down to whisper near his ear. “I understand.” “You do?” “Suuure. Fella gets to be your age, reckon he ain’t always up for it anymore.” “What? Hey! No, that ain't what I—” “How ‘bout your friend?” she interrupts, missing his look of horror. “Sorry?” He honestly is now. Tipping back his beer, he takes a long pull and wills his face not to blush red as ‘Nara’s silk sheets. “Guy you came in with.” She flicks her wrist in a vague gesture at the throng occupying the floor. “The cute, younger-looking one.” “Simon?” Mal motions to the doctor, who's performing an oral exam on Kaylee's mouth. “He's uh...well, he's makin' me a little sick, is what—” “No, the other young one.” This time he's able to follow her gaze to a largish man with short brown hair tucked under a bright-blue ski cap, woven with love. One wide-palmed hand rests in the small of a lady's back while the other lifts a shot glass to a mouth that rarely stops flapping its opinion. Oh, this has gotta be some sort of joke.... “Jayne?!” “Check out those arms,” she giggles, sounding not unlike Little Kaylee in that moment. “Suppose everything on him's that big?” “Whoa, now. Hold up a nano! Jayne ain't exactly...I mean, of the two of us, he's not...ai ya. You two kids have fun, hear?” He waves a benevolent hand as the young barmaid sashays off, her tray balanced perfectly in hand. “Play safe.” Shaking his head, Mal tips his beer back and drinks deeply. And almost chokes when a soft weight lands in his lap. Slender fingers grip at his shoulders, one thumb finding purchase in his collarbone. “Oops.” He's known Inara going on two years now. In all that time, most of it living in pretty close quarters, he ain't ever heard her say that word. “Oops,” she murmurs again, and her forehead crinkles in concentration. “I guess I must have slipped. The floor, it was...slippery.” She giggles. Not the smooth chuckle she does for show, or the rich, warm laughter when something strikes her as genuinely funny. But an honest-to-God giggle. In his lap. He lifts a hand to her waist to steady her, and his fingers glide over the bare skin between her top and bottom garments. She's never been this close. Dear God and Buddha, he can smell her. “Havin' a good night?” he asks with as much calm as he can muster. She just nods and...wiggles a little in his lap. One delicate hand slides down his shoulder, brushing bone and muscle cord like he's some piece of fabric she can caress at will. “Good,” he manages through clenched teeth. “That's good.” “Do you mind?” Her free hand locates his, and for a breathless second he thinks she wants to hold his gorramn hand. He ain't held a girl's hand in a way that wasn't trying to pin her since...but no, she's just trying to work the beer bottle from out his grasp. “It's a little warm in here,” she says. “You ain't kidding.” He nudges the bottle into her hand. “Thank you.” She graces him with a smile like he's offered to share a lot more than his beer, and lifts the bottle to her parted lips. “Good drinks?” He tries to keep very still and not squirm. One of them squirming around is bad enough. “The first two were poorly made. The next two were better.” “Well, that'll happen,” he agrees sagely, one hand reaching up to brush a spare curl out of her eye. “Who'd you do all this drinking with?” “No one. Myself. And the man tending bar...he was sweet.” “Yeaaah.” He snorts and drops his gaze to the tabletop. “Looked like he was being real sweet, letting you drool in his ear.” “Don't be jealous,” she scolds, and he looks up in time to watch one, perfect brow rise in admonishment. She hiccups and sets down his beer, which is suddenly a lot more empty. “You think I'm...? Darlin', I can assure you that ain't the case.” He twists his lips in a scornful mock smile. “Wait, you weren’t by chance trying to make me…?” “Why should I do that? Anyway, if anyone deserves to feel jealous, it's I,” she says in a voice that's as milky smooth as the hand cupping the back of his neck now. “After that, humph, display with the waitress....” He wishes he could see her face, look into those liquid brown eyes, but her features are hidden in shadow. Not like he's ever been able to read her expressions anyway.... “You, uh, you saw that, huh?” “How could I miss it? You clearly wanted me to see.” “Whaaa? Inara, it might interest you to know I don't spend all my waking hours mooning over you.” “But you do spend some,” she smiles smugly. “Listen, ain't like I was trying to...I mean, it would have been rude not to....Poor girl was all besotted.” “I'm not surprised,” she says, nodding. “You ain't?” “Why should I be?” She raises her chin, and meets his eyes, her darker ones soft and beguiling “You're an attractive man, Mal.” “I am? I mean, you think I'm....?” He looks shocked. Downright stunned. She must be able to sense his discomfort, see the surprise stamped on his features, but that companiony control keeps her from saying so. “Huh. I mean, thanks...Thank you, Inara.” “You're perfectly welcome. Lucky for both of us, you're so terrible at flirting.” “Hey!” he protests, most of his unease at her unexpected compliment forgotten. “I'm just a little rusty!” “Don't be a baby. I came back here to sit with you, didn't I?” He swallows hard, mouth all manner of cottony. Too bad she drained his beer. “On me. In fact.” “Hmm?” She narrows her eyes to curious orbs that snap open when she realizes his point. The hand cupping the back of his neck falls away and with a soft, “oh, right,” she slides off his lap. Holding the tabletop for support, she swings around to the other side of the booth with, if not her usual grace, a good approximation. She plops down on the bench facing him with a gentle 'oomph.' His lap feels empty without the soft, warm weight of her, but he figures this is a mite safer as seating arrangements go. “Everyone seems to be enjoying themselves,” she says when she's settled, one delicate palm cupping her chin and cheek. “Kaylee and Simon look happy.” “Drunk. Would be the word I'd use.” He thinks the word applies to a few of his crew just now, but is wise enough not to express that view. “Hush, they deserve a night of frivolity.” “I wasn't gonna throw them in the brig,” he assures, eyes rolling. “I think...I think we all need a night like this.” Acting on impulse, he stretches a hand across the small space separating them, and runs his thumb along the inner curve of her wrist. “Not gonna argue with you there,” he says solemnly. “No?” she prods, and her tone is deliberately playful. Her lashes dip in a manner that could be construed as flirtatious if she's not careful. Maybe she just doesn't want to talk about “it.” Meaning Haven and Miranda and that cloud-coated Moon. Blood and Screaming Death. He don't particularly wanna talk about “it” either, and nods his head once in tacit agreement. “Well, that's a first,” she says after a not-uncomfortable space of just sitting together, eyes darting once and again to each other's faces before retreating each time to their own laps. “You and I not arguing something to death.” He chuckles. “That's a mite unfair. Didn't we go a whole day—think it was two, three weeks back—without a fight?” “Well.” She laughs lightly. “Surely that deserves a toast at least. I'm buying.” “You're buyin'? How can I say no.” She beckons a passing waiter with a curl of her fingers. “Two shots of tequila, please.” She names her brand of choice. Mal arcs a brow but says nothing. Within minutes, the man returns with two full shot glasses, a tarnished saltshaker and two, pathetic-looking lemon slices. “To...frivolity.” She clinks her tiny shot glass against his, spilling a few drops of amber on his sleeve. “Oops. Cheers.” “You know how to do a tequila shot...?” He trails off as she sprinkles salt in the space between her thumb and forefinger, licks daintily before tossing back the alcohol. He hurries to catch up with her, closing his eyes as the expensive tequila slides down his throat. When he blinks them open, she's watching him, a lemon wedge pursed between full, dark-crimson lips. “Another round?” she asks, one hand delicately drying her lips while the other rises to summon the waiter. “I think I need a minute,” he says which isn't exactly a falsehood. His head's sort of spinning. “Alright.” She looks vaguely disappointed. “We could play a game then...in the spirit of frivolity.” “Sure, you got cards or some such?” “We have a bottle,” she says, her gaze lighting on the empty Blue Sun bottle posed in the center of the table. He struggles to ignore the fluttering of a hundred winged insects down deep in his belly. “You wanna make a rocket?” he asks hopefully. One-handed, she twirls the bottle by the neck. Mal leans back on the seat, trying not to cringe. “You know, I've never played. I'm a...Spin the Bottle virgin.” She chuckles, a light, throaty sound. Pretending his pants didn't just get real binding all of a sudden, he carefully extracts the bottle from her fingers and stands it upright on the table. “Now how is that possible? Beautiful woman like yourself....” One shoulder climbs up to glance her cheek. He thinks maybe she's blushing at him calling her “beautiful” but it might just be the alcohol making her cheeks glow. “I was very devoted to my studies. There wasn't time for—” “Frivolity?” She flickers her eyes and smiles. “I take it you know how to play....” she says flatly. This is getting serious. Ain't exactly a boatload of ways two-person Spin the Bottle can end. And he wants to kiss her—of course he does; that's sort of a big fat duh. He's imagined it enough times, and it would be interesting to learn just how pitiful his imagination actually is when it comes to him and her. But, well, she's not perfectly sober. Not totally drunk, neither, but he wouldn't feel quite right taking advantage, and sweet Ye su, the woman is massaging his thigh under the table! “Mal? You do know how to play...?” “What makes you think...? Okay, yeah. Might have played once or twice as a kid. Usually was more than two of us playing, and also...it's been brought to my attention recently I ain't a kid no more.” “Old is a state of mind, not being.” Her tone is at once dismissive and coaxing. “You're as young as you feel.” He feels about fifteen. All hormones and harsh emotion, no control to be found. “Mal?” Her hand ventures a little farther up his leg, and he rears under the table. “Where did you go?” she muses, curious. “Back now,” he quips. “You, uh, you found me.” “That's a relief. Because I'm waiting for you to kiss me....” “Kiss you?” He leans back in his seat, trying to act like his belly ain't one tight ball of lust and nerves and something that might be, hard to know as he ain't felt it in a while, joy. “Don't I gotta spin first?” Her brow dances, amusement gliding over her features. “And when have you ever played by the rules?” She has a point. Still, he's pictured kissing her a hundred times in a hundred sweaty dreams, and they weren't ever kissin' in a dimly lit bar whose floors were sticky with beer and...other things. Mostly his fantasies have him kissing her on his dimly lit boat, and, okay, Serenity's decks aren't exactly spotless, but— “Whoa, now!” A hand, bold and knowing, passes fleetingly over his weapon. “I thought that might arouse your attention,” she says, delighted. “Inara....” His voice takes on a twang of desperation. “You're a little...well, honey, you're drunk. I think maybe we should take a minute here to discuss—” “Ai ya, Mal. I'm sick to death of talking.” Silence. He counts his heartbeats. One, two— He gives the bottle a good spin and, without waiting to see where it lands, half rises and hunches over the small table to cup her cheek. He strokes his thumb along the bone before sliding his hand around to palm the back of her head. Fingers fanning over her scalp, he captures her lips with his and without speaking a word makes messy wet love to her mouth. It's not skillful kissing—she's more than a mite tipsy and him drunk with need; angle's not really optimum either, and his back is cramping—but sweet ye su, this feels right. “Huh,” he says when he breaks the kiss, when he's still reeling from the taste of her, when she's sprawled on the seat opposite him, her hair mussed from his hands, her fingers probing experimentally at her swollen lips. “Huh,” she echoes. “So...what happens now?” “Now,” she answers, “I believe is traditionally known as my turn.” “Good. That's...yep.” He watches her angle the bottle so the nose points him dead in the chest. “Darlin', isn't that cheating? Well, I suppose it's okay. Seems your turn would be the next best thing to my—” Hands tangling in the fabric of his shirt, she kisses him, stoppering his rambles with lips and teeth and tongue slipping soft and wet alongside his own. He doesn't groan when she slides her mouth down to bite at his neck, but it takes all his manly efforts not to. After one last kiss, more affection than passion, her mouth just brushing his, she leans back in her seat, soft eyes regarding him from beneath her lashes with some mixture of pride and vague embarrassment. He opens his mouth, intent on assuring her there's no call for the latter. He glances up upon hearing a dull roar that probably meant to be a whisper in the early stages of its development. “Look, Simon! They're playing Spin the Bottle, awwww.” “I can see that, Kaylee. How...sweet.” Maybe he should have bruised the boy after all. “Something I can do for you both?” Mal asks, face a model of infinite patience. “Just came over to check on you, Cap'n. Figured you might be lonely.” “That's real, uh, thoughtful, Kaylee. Remind me to put you on latrine duty next month as a show of appreciation.” Inara swirls her eyes at him from across the table and then turns smiling to the young couple. “Would you two like to sit?” “That's okay...” Kaylee starts, but Inara seems not to hear. Shooting up from her seat, she skirts the edge of the table. A gentle shove has Mal sliding over so she can settle herself under his outstretched arm, her thigh flush with his on the wooden bench. Kaylee and Simon slip into the newly unoccupied side of the booth, Kaylee's hand snaking down to rest on some part of the doc's anatomy that's below his line of sight, thank the lord. Incredulous, Mal gapes at Inara, not at all sure how she arranged matters so neatly. Shaking his head, he draws her closer, settling her more snugly against his side. “Don't feel like you two gotta hang around the old people.” He winces as the palm of Inara's hand makes firm contact with his thigh. “Ouch. Me, not you. Ai ya. Seriously, though, I wouldn't wanna keep you kids.” “I'm thinkin' it's lucky Simon and me came when we did,” Kaylee observes, a wicked gleam in her narrowed eyes. Inara chuckles and noses her face into his neck. “What's that supposed to mean?” Mal demands. “Just that you gotta show some restraint, Cap'n Hotpants. Right, sweetie?” Kaylee nudges the doctor who glances up, blinking. “Hmm? Yes. Right,” Simon deadpans. “Don't you kids have bunks?” Yup. Definitely should have slugged the boy. He opens his mouth to say as much but doesn't get the chance. “Hi, Captain.” “Hey, Mal.” “Sir.” He looks up to see the rest of his wayward crew approaching. They look a little worse for wear, but no bloodied noses or missing teeth that he can tell. “How'd you find me? I mean, hey.” He squints at the group suspiciously. “What are you all doin' here? If you’re looking for money, I’m broke.” “Thought we was all gonna have a drink together, Mal.” Jayne scratches idly at the back of his head. “Yeah? Who's dumb idea was that?” “Yours, sir,” River supplies helpfully. Her hair is sweat-dampened and a sight, her eyes shining out from the dark curtain. “Smush in?” “Sure.” Inara digs her elbow into Mal’s side until he exhales a sigh of resignation, and scoots to the far corner of the booth to make room. Zoe squeezes in with Simon and Kaylee, and Jayne occupies the end after relieving a fellow two tables over of his seat. “Let's make this snappy, okay?” Jayne straddles his chair back and grins lustily. “I got a barmaid waitin'.” “I don't wanna keep you, Jayne,” Mal offers. “Any of you. Y'all got things you'd rather be doing, I won't hold it against you.” Jayne snorts. “Zoe here says no one's leaving till we all have a drink. So here I am. Let’s get to the drinking.” “Zoe said that?” “Just following orders, sir.” A glint of humor sparks in his first mate's gaze. Mal would bet a dishonest day’s wages it has something to do with the way a certain Companion’s cozied up to his chest. He’s suddenly very grateful for the barrier of the table, and the fact that none of the others can see Inara's hand ghost up his leg to cup the gun on his hip. “We gotta talk about you following my orders so darn well,” he mumbles, blushing. He finally manages to flag down a waiter. “Seven, uh....huh. Um, y'all want beer?” Silence. Six blank stares greet him. “Think I'll just have a soda, Cap’n.” Kaylee pats her belly and offers an apologetic smile. “Ain’t tied one on in a awhile, and well…feelin’ a little queasy where I tied it.” “Just a water for me, please,” Inara murmurs. She rubs the heel of her hand over her temple and smiles weakly at Mal's expression of concern. “I'm with Inara on this one,” Zoe says. “Three waters,” Simon chimes, his pretty pale face beginning to appear an interesting shade of green. “Now that you mention it, my stomach's a little on the shaky side,” Jayne admits after a moment’s pause. “Better get me a fizzy water, too, Mal.” Mal bites down hard on his lip to keep the grin from spreading. “You heard the people,” he tells the waiter. “River? You want a soda or something, sweetheart?” “Whiskey, please. Make it a double.” Six pairs of eyes settle on the tiny, slip of a girl, sitting calmly on the bench with her knees drawn to her chest. She shrugs, big brown eyes innocent as spring and just as bright. Lucky kid won't even be hung over tomorrow. Mal shakes his head. “Kids.” ***