Part Two: In Which Our Heroes Have Sex and Meaningful Discussion with a Healthy Dollop of Snark

~*~

When they finally come to their senses, lying in relatively the same position on a slightly damper, messier bed, Inara can only groan her consternation.

"Drugs," she finally says crossly, not even trying to sound unruffled. "Someone sent us drugs and you made us drink it." Blearily reaching up and wiping the fatigue from her eyes, Inara props herself up one elbow, staring down at Mal.

"I didn't know it was drugs," Mal says into his pillow, his voice muffled. "It said it was hot cider 'specially shipped from Eros. It looked like cider, smelled like cider, tasted like cider. How was I to know it was crazy-makin' sex drugs?"

"Eros? Eros? Oh, that's just wonderful." Inara rolls her eyes and throws up her hands in exasperation. Or at least, she tries to. Mal takes ahold of her hand mid-gesticulation, reaching up and snatching her wrist, then gently entwining his fingers through hers. His palm is warm and slightly damp, but his grip is strong and the pads of his thumbs rub circles gently against her skin. He just looks at her, his blue eyes bright and his lips quirked in a slight smile. A hot lick of flame zips down Inara's back and she gasps, steels herself.

Who ever knew that the sight of Mal Reynolds not talking back to her would be one of the sexier things in this universe?

No, she says sternly. No more. Her body obeys and cools down (for the moment at least) because what is Inara, if not disciplined?

She takes a deep breath and attempts to ignore the pulse beating faintly against her own, wrist to wrist. Back on track, she reminds herself. Back to safer territory.

"So let me get this straight. You get a package from a planet widely acknowledged to be hedonistic in their practices, and it's not suspicious to you? In fact, it's so not suspicious that you drink whatever's been sent? What's more, you share?"

Yelling at Mal, it is, then.

"That could have been poison, Mal! Thanks for letting me know for future reference, that you're an incredibly easy target. I'll just slip some cyanide in a box of chocolates and watch as you dole out that fun treat--"

"Was laying with me so disagreeable, Inara?"

Mal's voice is quiet and ragged. Inara would think it is because of the veritable marathon they've just gone though, except for the note of defeat in his tone. She pauses in her tirade, a little surprised at Mal's reaction. After all, that first time, he'd been the one to wake up screaming. It only makes sense that he'd be upset this time, too, doesn't it?

Maybe not. Maybe because underneath all the lust and the...the grinding, Inara remembers the pure feeling that had practically sung through their joining.

And that sort of feeling doesn't just come from drugs.

Inara has sensed their relationship deepen, grow into something different in the recent months. Ever since Miranda, and the Guild declaring Inara's removal from official standing, there has been a certain insularity that has overrode their innate defenses. A need for each other that has grown, she supposes, out of their seclusion from the worlds that have shunned them. Still, for all their late-night talks and slow, steady friendship, there is a line Inara knows they still haven't crossed. That they are too afraid to cross.

Laying with Mal isn't the problem. It's what to do after she's laid with him that's gotten Inara all flummoxed. Clients leave after all is said and done, and money exchanges hands. But Mal, he isn't the type to leave. Not when something more precious than credits is at stake.

That terrifies Inara a little.

So terrifies her that Inara is tempted to tell Mal that yes, laying with him was utterly a mistake, that it will never happen again, that she is leaving again and this time, there will be no catching her and trapping her in a net of uncertainty--of words like truth, and home, and love, words so blinding and beautiful and intangible that one could almost believe in them.

She's so terrified that her hand almost disengages from Mal's, loses the thread of tentative friendship that has woven them together and kept things from falling apart even amidst all this chaos.

But Mal's face as he turns over to face her, the careful blankness, the guardedness of his features, it makes Inara feel oddly empty, almost teary. She wants him to sneer again, or smirk, or get dangerous-looking, with that tight-set jaw and those flinty eyes. She wants him to smile, even, that rare, soft, friendly smile that tells Inara she means more to this man than she ever has to any other.

And perhaps that is what scares her most of all, more than just having sex with Mal, more than knowing him intimately like that. The thought of knowing him in an even more intimate way, of letting down her defenses and welcoming him, weary and wounded, into her open arms...

This time Inara does snatch her hand away, touching the base of her throat in a nervous flutter.

"No," she blurts softly, her eyes widening a bit at the force of strength that word pulls from her. "No, it wasn't disagreeable, laying with you."

She sits, staring down in wonderment as Mal stares at her, and they let the moment and what it may mean wash over them.

Then the moment is passed and Mal is all business, straightening up and leaning down to get his pants. "We'll talk later on what all this means," he says evenly, swinging his legs out of bed and wriggling into the pants in a very distracting manner. "Not because I'm gettin' all womanly on you, mind, but because it's something needin' to be done." His eyes bore imaginary holes in Inara's back, and she almost flinches. "No more running, dong ma?"

Inara snorts delicately. That's rich, coming from a captain who spends his time dragging his ship just as far into the black as he can go. Human beings are always running, it's in their nature. And yet, Inara has spent so long eluding her ghosts, of staying one step ahead of all her fears. And when the prize bull in running, the captain who's run from his faith and his war and his happiness for so many years, finally decides to stop...

Perhaps Inara ought to give more credence to his way of thinking.

No reason to tell him that, though. After discovering the smug brilliance of Mal's victory smirk everytime a gasp or moan spilled from her lips, Inara is loathe to see his ego expanded to reaches farther than his head can hold, attractive as that head may be.

So she responds lightly, "Where's there to run to these days, anyway?" and really, it's the only answer she is even able to give Mal at this point. It must be enough for him, because he gives a terse nod and stands, pants, belt and boots all in place. His shirt hangs from his shoulder, draped casually over the lean muscles. His bare chest is a map of scars, hard and expansive with a trail of light, downy hair from his navel to his...

Inara's mouth again goes dry, and the tell-tale heat starts at the soles of her feet.

"Oh no," Inara groans, closing her eyes and folding her hands tight in her lap. "Blast, shoot, and damn," she whispers. "This is utterly impossible. Mal. Put a shirt on now."

Mal gives her a strange look. "I was gettin' there, Inara," he says testily. "Give me a second, will you, woman?"

Inara shakes her head. "We don't have a second," she hisses. "The drugs you gave us--"

"I thought it was cider--"

"--the cider with the drugs in it that you gave us, I think what they do is amplify sexual desire. By thousandfold." Inara's eyes are clamped shut now, but her breathing is shuddery and her hands are shaking. Images of Mal's skin, warm and sweat-streaked, flash behind her eyes and she gasps, curses.

"Inara," Mal's voice is flat. "Are you tellin' me that this drug takes whatever itch you may feel and makes it so it's near impossible not to scratch?"

Inara nods, not daring to open her eyes. "So to speak," she says weakly. "Although what I'm feeling is a bit more potent than a mere itch, I can assure you."

"Inara." Mal's voice is lower now, darker. "Are you tellin' me I get some sort of itch started in you just standin' here without my shirt on?"

Inara lets out a huge, shaky breath. "Yes," she whispers, waiting for Mal to just give in and kiss her already. Instead, there is silence, heavy, potent silence as ever minute sensation in Inara's body is magnified. Her nipples are so hard they ache, and there are continuous lightning bolts of arousal tightening Inara's lower body, causing her to take long gulps of air.

Then, Mal laughs. He actually laughs. "Hell, 'Nara," he says gleefully, "Lasting power ain't one of them things the Academy makes a point of teaching you fine, reputable Companions, is it? If I knew before that walkin' around topless would get you going, maybe I'd have shucked this thing a long while ago." Mal drops his shirt and looks down at it, then up at Inara, grinning proudly the whole while

Inara looks up, glaring as intensely as she can to communicate just how severe her dislike for this man is at this moment. It doesn't seem to work, because Mal just chuckles some more, shifting to his other hip. The motion draws Inara's attention to Mal's other, erm, assets. The ones that those ridiculously tight pants never could hide. Another hard burn of arousal zooms through Inara and she slams her lips shut against the urge to actually drool.

This is ridiculous. Inara Serra, once the most sought-after Companion at House Madrassa, is fairly dissolving on the spot and Malcolm Reynolds, obstinate, idiotic, arrogant petty thief, is laughing. It's just, Inara decides, not done.

Time to break out, in Mal-speak, the big guns.

Inara stands on shaking legs as Mal continues to grin, and, counting to ten, she lets her robe open. She stands there for a moment, letting the cool air drift past her body. Every cell tingles, every inch of bare surface available has goosebumps, but standing there she remains, watching Mal with an even gaze.

He stares for a moment, his eyes dark and his throat obviously working against a hard gulp of air. "Well, now," he says hoarsely, all trace of laughter gone. "That ain't playin' fair. Besides, one look at you won't get me riled up so easy--"

Mal's mouth drops open. "Again?" he asks incredulously, looking downwards with an expression of dismayed betrayal. "But I just got dressed--ai ya, what is in this stuff, Inara--" He closes his eyes and shudders too, body jerking slightly as the first wave of sensation hits him. Then Mal's fingers are busy undoing the pants he just got on, while Inara leans closer to help frantically.

The haze is thick and rose-colored over Inara's eyes, and her last real coherent thought is that she and Mal make quite a team when a common goal is at hand.

~*~

His lips are warm and drizzles of honeyed heat slide down Inara's spine as he kisses her temple, her cheekbone, her jawline, the arc of her neck. He's breathing hard in between kisses, and gripping her robe like a lifeline. Inara is fascinated at the play of muscles in his thighs, his abdomen, his forearms.

"Inara," Mal rumbles, his voice deep and gravelly. He peels off her robe slowly, lets it drop at her feet, and looks his fill. Drinking her in, his body only centimeters from hers, and the standing here so close to something she's wanted for so long is almost too much for Inara. Her stomach clenches and breathing becomes difficult for her too, and at the crescendo building within her, she closes her eyes and leans in, lets her cheek rest on the slope between Mal's shoulder and neck, breathing in the salty-sweet smell of his skin.

"I wish we had more time to go slow and enjoy this," she whispers tightly, desperately working against the rushing vortex of lust that is touching down in the center of her belly. And then because she can't take it anymore, she leaves the warm nook of Mal's neck and kisses him, kisses him without lipstick on her lips as a barrier, feels the dry, heated cling of his mouth against hers. It's like the brush-fires that plague Ares during their summer months, and she feels her body go up like kindling. He tastes like sunshine, pure and hot and clean.

"Inara," Mal says again, pushing her away gently. Inara only looks up dazedly, her pulse racing. He looks down at her for a moment than feels like eternity, his gaze electric and his thoughts stunningly clear, like an arrow piercing her heart in a moment of perfect, aching clarity.

"We got all the time in the world," he breathes, and then he's reaching for her again, tugging her sharply into his world, breaking Inara out of the haze she could get lost in if he weren't there to save her.

My hero, she thinks half-deliriously, keening as his mouth closes over her breast, the liquid heat of his tongue sliding through her, warming her muscles and melting her down. My big, damn hero.

~*~

It's sometime after they've left the bed and ended up on the floor that Inara finally thinks it's necessary to address what's happened to them, lest she get so caught up in the surreality of this permanent state of arousal that she forgets.

"Adverts," she breathes, in between desperate kisses, as Mal's hands slide down her body, every touch hot as melting butter. Her hair is in a disarray, and all her makeup has rubbed off, but he looks at her as if he's never seen anything more beautiful in his life, and Inara wonders what he would say if tomorrow she decided to wear a pair of pants like Zoe or Kaylee. Not that she would, it's just--

She could get used to this sort of...earthiness. The rug burns on her thighs are a bit like souvenirs.

"Adverts?" Mal grunts, pressing her up against the wall of her shuttle. Inara gasps as cool metal heats against her skin. Her fingers trail up Mal's arms, tracing the ridges of old bullet grazes and knife slashes and who knows what else marking his skin. When her fingernail edges around the puckered skin of the bullet hole on Mal's abdomen, he growls and jerks slightly, laving a hot trail from her jaw to her collarbone. Inara sighs and arches up, rubbing wantonly against him.

"Advertisements," Inara clarifies, letting her hands wander down to his ji ba, stroking the skin there and watching as Mal's eyes slam shut. "Establishments on Eros regularly send advertisements out. They search the Cortex and pick randomly and then--"

"Cider," Mal breathes, though his voice is tight. "The gorram cider. That's their advertisement?"

Inara nods, working his erection expertly. Her fingertips circle the head, spreading the clear fluid leaking out and smiling at the relief that blossoms across Mal's face. The friction is tighter now, smoother, and Inara leans her head against the shuttle wall as Mal moans into her shoulder, sound muffled.

"Eros has several hotels, you see," Inara explains, her voice low and languid. Mal's hands have been as purposeful as her own, and his fingers are currently tracing light patterns against her slick, heated center. "Hotels devoted to the--" her breath hitches as Mal's thumb rubs against the bundle of nerves that sends tugs of pleasure to every point of her body. "--devoted to the finer things in life," Inara finishes, her hand stilling against Mal's erection.

Mal's hand also stills, and Inara thrusts her hips a little, mewling. "And these hotels send out loony juice to lure unsuspectin' individuals to their dens of carnal sin?" Mal asks, laughter and something else darker in his voice.

"Yes," she confirms. Mal's hands are warm and steady as they grab her hips, hoist her higher so that her legs can fold around his waist. She closes her eyes as he breathes a hot puff of air against her neck, as he braces against the wall behind her and angles his hips. "Yes."

He slides into her as easily as he has for the past few hours, and just when Inara thinks they both ought to be sated, the desire flares to life, pin-sharp and laser-bright. They are, at risk of sounding trite, a perfect fit. Chest to chest, heart to heart, skin melting into skin so that if Inara lets her eyes droop, the only way she can tell where she ends and Mal begins is by the pulse drumming to life between them.

"Well, that's pretty clever of 'em, I'll give the perverts that," Mal chuckles as he sets a slow, tantalizing pace. The tightening starts in Inara's lower back and begins working its way through her limbs, and as she rolls her hips towards Mal's meeting him thrust for thrust, she can't help but agree.

"Effective marketing," she gasps, bracing one hand behind her to gain added leverage, sighing at the press of Mal's damp, warm chest beneath her other hand.

"How long does it last?" Mal asks, gritting his teeth as he speeds up a little, as his thrusts get a little more erratic. Inara clenches her muscles around his erection, moaning low when his tongue traces her neck before he takes a nip.

"About--about twenty-four hours," she answers. "And by my estimates, we've used up about...eight of those hours already. Perhaps four or five hours sl-sleeping, and three or f-f-four hours...oh yes, right there--four hours doing other t-t-things." Her voice stutters and trails off as Mal increases his pace, his breath harsh and warm against her ear.

With one final thrust, Mal gives a low groan and grips Inara's thighs as he spills into her. His fingers pluck at her clitoris, rubbing firm, warm circles so that even as his body is still jerking and trembling, Inara's body tightens and folds, a soft cry expelling from her lip.

The sparks combine inside her to form one untamed, wild supernova of blinding, hot light. Inara opens her eyes and gazes deep into Mal's, getting lost in the churning waters of his stormy eyes. Her fingers tunnel through his hair and she closes her eyes against the explosion rocketing through her limbs.

When she can finally breathe again, Mal sets her gently down on the bed, staring down at her with an indiscernible expression on his face.

"We best get to usin' those last sixteen hours as wisely as we can, huh?" he asks finally.

Inara sighs. The bastards on Eros really did know their business.

~*~

Kaylee loves nights like these.

The bridge is relatively quiet, except for her peaceful tinkerings underneath the control systems panel. It's so late at night it may actually be early morning, but these are Kaylee's favorite times to work. Free of distraction, noise, and an ornery captain breathing down her neck asking, "What's this one do?" every two seconds. Kaylee loves the man, but he don't know diddly about machines. It's a fair relief to not have someone poke an' prod at all her workings, asking this and that while she tries to concentrate.

So it's just her and her metal right now, the parts and wires strung together and latched onto each other in a way that makes Kaylee feel like a kid with a new puzzle to decipher. Yep, she sure does love these quiet times all to herself on the ship.

"Stay the hell away from me, Mal!" the voice screams through the corridor leading up the bridge, and Kaylee jumps, shocking herself against one of the wires leading to the nav board. She hisses, sucking at her finger, and slips out from under the tangle of cords.

Inara is standing on the bridge, her hands braced against the pilot's chair as if she's liable to use it as a weapon. Her hair is in a tangle, knots and snarls in the long, usually elegant black strands. The flowery robe she always likes wearin' is tied loosely around her waist, wrinkled and mussed. She looks a little like a mad woman, her eyes all wild and her lips swollen and red.

Kaylee tilts her head. Also, and she may be wrong, but...she can't help and wonder if Inara ain't maybe walkin' a bit...bowlegged.

"I mean it," Inara cries, pointing her finger wildly. "I am tired. I have a headache. I...I have to wash my hair!"

Mal just stands there in the corridor, all breathin' heavy and sweaty and--and shirtless? Shirtless. Oh. Oh!

Shirtless. Bowlegged. Breathin' heavy. Havin' a headache. Even Kaylee (hell, especially Kaylee) knows a thing or two about what them factors mean. She gets the feeling that maybe she ought to go find quiet time elsewheres, lest she find out things 'bout the captain and Inara that ain't no one wanna know. Well, no one but Jayne, anyhow.

Kaylee beats a quiet retreat and wonders but wonders, Inara and the Cap'n don't even notice she's leavin'. Kaylee'd wager they never even noticed she was there. When she turns back to look one last time, she slams her eyes shut. Big mistake.

Looks like Inara didn't hold out too long, or else the Cap'n wore her down, 'cause they're practically eatin' each other's faces in the threshold to the bridge. Kaylee makes a face and beats a hasty retreat to her bunk.

The two of them together-like might be sweet as spun sugar, but it's a mite more disturbin' when they get to doin' it in plain sight. There are bound to be advantages, though, Kaylee thinks diplomatically. The Cap'n's gonna be happier, or at least less nebby-nosey 'round in hers and Simon's day-to-day.

And as Kaylee steps down the ladder to her bunk, she smiles, maybe a little deviously.

She sure can't wait to tell the rest of the crew.

tbc