Late, Again
Tuesday, April 18, 2006

Mal makes Inara late for her client, again.


A/N: Just a little M/I to fill the void. I’ll post this in the next Redux week for FF_Friday under Challenge #99 – Running Late, but in the meantime, I thought I’d post it here. Word Count: 741 Rated: R for sexual situations Paring: Mal/Inara Spoilers: None

Late, Again by 2x2

He likes to mark her.

Little nips and sucks intended to lay his claim, let them know that she is his, even as she plies her trade. It drives her mad; she knows he does it intentionally, even yelled at him for it once, the first time, when he’d ambushed her barely half an hour before she was due to meet her client, messing her finely arranged hair and clothes, his mouth leaving a trail of red welts around her neck, impossible to conceal.

He can’t regret it, and she doesn’t really blame him. It’s one of her concessions in their on-going war over her job. He lets her go, but he always makes sure they’ll know she’s spoken for. And, judging by the way she moans when he brings his teeth into play, she doesn’t really mind. It amazes him, the way she can’t resist when his mouth plunders her skin, and he’ll use that to his advantage today, marking her, making her late, as he does every time.

* * * * *

Applying the last touches to her make-up, Inara hears the shuttle door open and sighs; knows she is doomed.

“Mal,” she protests as he pulls her to him, mouth attacking her neck, teeth nipping and tongue laving. “Mal, please… I’ve got a client in twenty minutes…” she trails off into a moan. Damn him, she hates his ability to render her weak and helpless with need for him. He’s going to make her late, she knows it, but she can’t care. Can’t even pretend she hasn’t been waiting for him in fretful excitement.

He bends and slides his hands beneath her gown, pushing it up her thighs, his fingers trailing up the inside of her legs before slipping between her moist curls, already wet for him. He strokes her, mouth catching hers in a hungry kiss, pressing himself against her, hot and urgent.

“Damn you,” she breathes against him, tugging him down onto the bed with her, feeling his smug grin against her lips. She reaches for him, freeing him from his pants, heavy and pulsing with need in her hand. “Hurry, Mal,” she pleads, guiding him between her legs, a cry ripping from her lips as he drives himself into her, pressing his head into her shoulder, face against her neck as he shudders.

She closes her eyes, savoring the feel of him inside her, above her, and then she urges him on, her hands frantic on his back as he begins to thrust.

It is fast and hard, as it always is before she leaves to meet her clients; hard enough that she will carry the feel of him for the rest of the day, late enough that she will carry the reminder of him, hot and sticky between her legs, even as she smiles at another man.

His rhythm is erratic, his hips jerky and desperate. He bites her when he comes, and she cries out, the feel of his teeth on her skin enough to trigger her own orgasm, quick and tight, white hot in its intensity.

She comes back to him laving her collarbone with his tongue, soothing this newest brand of his. She breathes heavily, feels sweat at the small of her back, behind her knees, between her breasts. Mal lies on top of her, chest heaving, face cushioned on her breasts and she strokes his hair lovingly.

“I love you,” she whispers, as she always does in their little ritual. Sometimes his answer is a sad smile and a kiss; sometimes it is silence. Today it will be bitter, she can tell. She always can.

“Then don’t go,” he says, and she closes her eyes, tired. He rolls off her when she doesn’t answer, puts himself away and stands angrily, like she’s the one who barged into his room. She watches him leave, knowing when she gets back she will have to sooth this hurt, as she always does, and earn her place in his bed again. And as much as it hurts and frustrates her, she knows she will keep doing it, because she really does love him.

Sighing, she rises and readjusts her gown, makes last minute fixes to her hair and make-up; smoothes her fingers over the red blemish he’s left on her skin with fondness, then puts away her love and passion.

Composed, she leaves to meet her client, and apologize, again, for being late.


Tuesday, April 18, 2006 11:34 AM


Oh, yay! I love little M/I quickies! Passionate and intense, and her frustration, mixed with undeniable desire is portayed very well! Thanks for this!

Tuesday, April 18, 2006 12:20 PM


omg this is so beautiful. well, in a devastating sort of way. i think i'm gonna read it again when i'm not at work lol.

i think this is my favorite:
"Little nips and sucks intended to lay his claim, let them know that she is his, even as she plies her trade."

lovely lovely. can there be a sequel? i love the idea of there being a series of vignettes.

thanks for this,

Tuesday, April 18, 2006 12:46 PM


I think all I can say is: GUH! Excellent work!

Tuesday, April 18, 2006 12:52 PM


Excellent but I feel sorry for Mal that while Inara really does love him she can never really be his. Ali D :~)
You can't take the sky from me

Wednesday, April 19, 2006 2:41 AM


Ooh, this was a nice present to have with my breakfast tea. I love your writing. I haven't had time to play here long, but when I get settled in I'm gonna read every word you've written!

Oh, and btw this was HOT!!! In a good way! :-)

Thursday, June 29, 2006 6:11 AM


why doesn't the daft woman just QUIT?!? i know i would...


Monday, October 9, 2006 7:45 PM


Beautifully done and very sad. In your world, would she stay if he told her he loved her too. I get the feeling both in this story and Joss's world that he never can't say it.


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History of an Object
There’s no reason to keep it, damaged as it is. Save one. Doesn’t matter that it’s finer than any other cup on the ship, even with the crack. Doesn’t matter that it would never hold liquid again without some of it seeping through. Burning your fingers. Was only one reason he still has the cup.

Five Years' War
The night was warm. Clouds, low on the horizon, blue black in the last light of the setting sun. Nothing but the breeze and the buzz of the cicadas breaking the stillness. A perfect evening.

The Close Shore, At the End, Untenable
“Dead ’re in my head tonight,” he said finally. “Can’t get ‘em out. Don’t got the booze or the bar to distract me. Don’t know why I’m here ‘cept I don’t think I can go through it alone.”

The Slower Path: All the Difference - Part 15 - Sequel to The One Less Traveled By
She let out a breath, saying nothing for a long moment before she raised her eyes again. “There are some things I want you to know,” she said softly. “Things I want you to understand.”

Much as he wished he could ignore it, he could see it was important to her that he know whatever it was she wanted to tell him. He knew he wouldn't have let himself see it in the past, but that weren't where they were anymore, or at least, not where they wanted to be, either of them. Their relationship had changed, was changing, and he weren’t so stupid he didn’t recognize that. He didn't know that he wanted to know it, much less understand it, but she was reluctant enough to talk about any aspect of her life as it was; could be he might ought not stop her when she wanted to.

Unlucky at Cards...
“I… You can’t be that lucky!” Mal moaned as Inara beat him again, laying out her cards with a flourish.

The Slower Path: The One Less Traveled By - Part 14 - Sequel to Regrets
They fell silent again, struggling to find the ease that they had found, before; before the argument that had almost ended things.

"I feel like-," she started.

"This is-," he said at the same time.

They looked at each other. "Awkward," they both said, laughing lightly.

Always Had Faith
Faith in a higher power? That was always Mal's thing, the Captain, back in the war.

Loved and Lost
Love’s the biggest kind of hurt there is.

And I wouldn't trade that love for nothin'.

The Mood That Passes Through
He felt the first trembling shudder go through her, heard her breath hitch and felt her fingers grip his skin; knew it was comin', the wave that was cresting the walls she'd built to hold it back, whatever it was. Knew they were about to come crashing down around her. The first sob still hurt though, still lanced through his heart like a searing hot blade to hear her make that sound.