Mal climbed, very carefully, down the ladder, Freya waiting at the bottom.

“I’m shiny,” he said, not wanting her to know that the bullet wound Simon had patched up hurt in any way.

She obviously wasn’t convinced. “You’re an idiot.”

“I’m captain.”

“So that precludes you from being an idiot?”

“Yes.”

“No.” She stood in the centre of their bunk and watched as he tried to undo the buttons on his shirt. “Here, let me,” she said finally, stepping closer.

“I can manage,” he insisted.

“Of course you can. You’re captain.” She looked into his blue eyes. “I’m just offering to help.”

“Oh, well, if it’s just that …” He stood still as she undid his shirt, pushing his suspenders carefully from his shoulders.

“You should have stayed in the infirmary, like Simon wanted.”

“I’ve been shot before.”

“I’ve noticed. And that’s no excuse.”

“Frey, I want to be in my own bed. What’s so wrong about that?”

“Nothing,” Freya conceded, slipping the shirt off his back and tossing it onto the chair. “As long as you don’t plan on doing anything stupid.” She eyed the bandage around his waist, the red of the bloodstain already seeping through a little.

“I wasn’t planning on getting shot in the first place.”

“Mmn.”

“Mmn? What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, watching her as she undid the fly of his pants.

“Your plans don’t always exactly go smooth.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?”

“I thought I’d made myself perfectly clear.”

A noise from the nursery had Freya turning from her husband and going to check on their son, giving Mal the opportunity to sit down carefully, reaching down to tug off his boots. Instead he stopped and groaned.

“Just dreaming,” his wife said, stepping back into their room and sliding the door closed.

“Good dreams, I hope.”

“Probably about playing with Bethie.”

“Sounds good.”

Freya reached down and grabbed his ankle, lifting his leg to pull off his boot. His sock came next, which she threw into the corner, something of a disgusted look on her face. Then the other boot.

“So the fever’s gone?” he asked, watching her rear end as she worked, admiring the way it filled her pants again, now that she’d – at least physically – got over what Wing did to her. She almost back to her normal self, her body toned but soft in all the right places, just the way he liked to hold and caress her …

“It wasn’t a fever, Mal,” she said, turning to look at him. “Just half a degree.”

“But Simon’s happy he’s okay?”

“Ethan’s fine. He’s been sleeping a lot, but … no, he’s shiny.”

“Good.”

“You, on the other hand, stink,” she said conversationally.

“What?” After what he’d just been thinking about her he took a mental step back.

“You’ve been wearing these clothes for more than two days straight, and they smell of whisky. You need a shower.”

“Not something I think I can manage,” Mal said apologetically, gesturing to the bandage. “Simon wouldn’t be too happy if I got this wet.”

“No,” Freya agreed, biting her lip in thought. Then she nodded. “Lay back.”

“What?”

“Lay back.”

He rolled carefully onto his back and she pulled his pants down off his legs, then his undershorts.

“You know, I feel kinda naked, what with me being somewhat undressed while you’re not,” he said, watching her as she looked at him. He wondered what she saw.

Her eyes roamed across his body, from his wide shoulders and smooth chest down to his narrow waist and hips. His manhood was curled in the hair at his groin, but it twitched as she looked him up and down. His legs were long and well-shaped, and even the tattoo at the top of his right thigh was glowing in the light.

“Hmmn.”

“Like what you see?” he asked, his voice just a little deeper.

“Always did,” she admitted, smiling. “Just prefer it a little cleaner.”

“So what’s your solution?”

In answer she turned to the small sink, pulling a bowl out from next to it and running warm water into it. “I think you should have a bed bath.”

“Frey, that’s … won’t it soak the mattress?”

“True.” She pursed her lips, then picked up a blanket, laying into onto the floor and covering it with a couple of towels. “Come on.”

“You expect me to get down there?” He eyed it with distaste.

“I’ll help you.”

“No, no, I think I can manage.” He rolled carefully off the bed, favouring his side, and lowered himself gingerly onto the towels. “This is crazy,” he said. “I don’t smell that much.”

“You smell like Jayne after he’s been working out.”

“That bad?” Mal sniffed under his armpits.

“Yes.” Freya put the bowl of hot water down on the floor next to him, then began to unbutton her own shirt.

“You stripping off?” he asked, surprised.

“I don’t want to get my clothes all wet too.”

“Oh.” A happy smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Why didn’t you say so?”

She looked down at him, his naked body spread out like a feast before her, and grinned. “And you can keep thoughts like that to yourself too,” she said. “That’d be a sure way to open that wound up again.”

“You expect to be leaning over me …” His breath caught as she stripped her shirt off then her bra. “Leaning over me all naked and for me not to think about being inside you?”

She stepped out of her trousers, and for a moment stood with her hands on her hips, dressed only in a pair of white panties. She looked almost virginal, if you ignored the scars on her body that were fading to pale lines. And her nipples that were standing as hard peaks. Pulling a pillow from the bed she knelt on it, lifting the flannel from the bowl of water and wringing it out a little. She lathered it with the soap and began to wash him.

“You just keep your mind on other things, Captain Reynolds,” she said, running the flannel over his chest, swirling it around his nipples and under his arms.

“Oh, I am,” he said, having to make a conscious effort to stay still, but knowing his shaft was thickening at her closeness, at the way her breasts were only inches from his face.

She glanced down at his growing erection. “Don’t you have any control over that?” she joked, rubbing the flannel around his hips, then turning to wash his thighs.

“Nope,” he admitted. “Sort of has a mind of its own.” He stared at her buttocks, so close, the smoothness of her mound just showing at the apex of her thighs. There appeared to be a damp spot on the white material, and he smiled. She might be acting like she was totally okay with this, but her body was betraying her. He reached up and touched it.

“What are you doing?” she asked, stopping with the flannel at his knees.

He pushed slightly and was rewarded by an intake of breath and more moisture. “Just seeing what happens,” he said, his voice becoming increasingly throaty with every moment.

“Mal, stop it,” she said, not moving as he circled the damp area with his finger. “You’re supposed to be … oh.” He’d pressed further in, releasing a flow to soak the thin fabric. His fingers hooked under the elastic and took possession of her sex. “Mal, that’s … you … don’t …” Her body moved back onto his fingers so they penetrated her.

He could feel the slickness flowing from her, and the way his hand was stretching the entrance to her most intimate of places. She was leaning over his legs, her head down, eyes closed as she felt him inside her, filling her.

“Come here,” he said, pulling at her hips with his free hand.

“Mal, we can’t,” she said, having just enough willpower to move away from him, turning so that his fingers slid from her and out of her panties. “You’re injured.” She looked down at the bandage around his waist, then her eyes shifted down to the thickness of his penis as it lay on his belly, too heavy to stand. “Oh, Mal,” she said, always amazed at how hard he was, how big, not knowing that it was her proximity that did it.

“Got to do something about it,” he said, running his hand over his erection, feeling the ridge in his palm. “Not good to get all excited and have nothing to show for it. ‘Specially now. With me being wounded and all.” He lifted his other hand, the one that had been inside her, and licked his fingers. She groaned, watching as he ran his tongue over them, knowing he was tasting her juices. He watched her face, the desire filling her eyes. She tasted so sweet … “Why don’t you come here?”

“So you can do what?” she asked, not moving.

“I want to taste you properly.”

“This is crazy.”

“You want me to order you? ‘Cause I can. I’m captain, here, even if I am momentarily incapacitated.”

Her lips twitched as she glanced down at his cock. “Only momentarily?”

“Frey. Come here.” His voice caught. “Please.”

She stared into his blue eyes, then pulled her panties off in one swift movement. She sat down next to his head, her legs drawn up so that she was on display for her husband, the scent of her arousal filling his nostrils.

He leaned carefully on one elbow, making sure he didn’t pull the bullet wound, then lay his head on her thigh, looking at her so closely. Her clit was nestled in the folds, which he parted with one hand, stroking the skin around it as she began to pant. Thick liquid had lubricated her, and he put out his tongue to catch some. Then he began to flick and nuzzle at her.

She threw her head back, her hands on her breasts, kneading them, rolling her nipples. She looked down and felt a rush of need at his head between her thighs. “Mal …” she began, repeating his name as she felt his fingers slip into her again, three this time, opening her up. She wedged her hands on the floor behind her and her hips began to buck.

“That’s my beautiful ai ren,” he whispered into her, moving down to catch the juices from her before returning to his ministrations of her clit. “Feel me. I’m right here. That’s it. Come for me.” His lips moving on her as he murmured made her clench.

“God, Mal …”

His fingers felt the beginnings of her climax, tightening in waves on him, and he sucked harder, drawing that little bundle of nerves into his mouth as she came, her hips lifted from the floor as she pressed herself against him, trying to drive her body into that sensation as he made her let go of all the pent-up worries of the last few days.

She sat back, sweat running between her breasts, and he looked up at her, moisture glistening on his chin and cheeks.

Without a word she kissed him, tasting herself, finding it flared the arousal back into a flame. She straddled him, her legs opening wide and letting him see her as she lowered herself onto his straining cock. She was so hot and tight and wet that he felt he was sliding into paradise.

“Let me do all the work,” she said, raising and lowering her hips on him, almost to the point where he slipped out of her, but not quite, the head of his shaft just inside her opening, before riding him back into her, as far as he could go.

She was panting, her breasts hanging over him, and he reached up to play with her nipples, knowing that it always enflamed her, sending waves of stimulation through to her core.

She began to speed up, moving her hips on him even as she thrust herself up and down, more erratic as her second orgasm approached. Her eyes were closed, her hair wet with sweat, but that made her even more amazing to him.

He felt her muscles grip him, holding him tightly inside her, and her eyes slammed open, fixing on his as her climax took her, and he let the pressure take him over, his own release thundering into her interior, filling her.

“Frey …” he mumbled, his neck tight with the effort of driving his seed into her.

Finally he jerked no more inside her, and she sat up, still connected even though he was softening.

She looked down at him. “I love you,” she said softly, tears on her cheeks.

“Why are you crying?” he asked, reaching up to stroke them away, feeling the ache beginning again in his chest and ignoring it.

“Never leave me,” she whispered. “I don’t know what I’d do if you did.”

“I won’t,” he promised, holding out his arm to her.

Instead of laying on his chest as she wanted, she was mindful of the wound in his side, and lifted herself carefully from his hips, his shaft falling wetly from her. She lay down next to him, and he cuddled her close.

“My darling, beautiful wife,” he repeated. “I love you, and I will always be here for you.” He kissed her nose. “Always.”

“Even when we smell like this?” she asked, putting her hand across his chest, feeling his seed bathing her inside.

“At least we both smell the same now,” he joked, tugging her closer.

“I’ll have to clean you up again,” she said, smiling.

“In a while,” he said, closing his eyes. “I think I might need to recover somewhat first.”

She didn’t answer. She had already slipped into a light sleep.

He grinned. Maybe later.

---

In the darkness of the nursery, Ethan tossed and turned, pushing back the bedclothes from his little body, sweat darkening his sleepsuit under his arms and around his back …

to be continued