thick as thieves the last of leaves in the winter sun holding fast this freezing branch is home to us

Mal looked around the galley at his crew, taking in their assent to his plan. He had just asked everything of them, and suddenly it was Serenity Valley all over again, the knowledge that he might once again lose all. He sighed deep, and more than a little tired. As the crew wandered off to their own thoughts and needs, he noticed Inara silently slip out, back towards her old shuttle. Silently, he trailed after her, and found her, standing by one wall, running her pretty, small hands over the dust that had accumulated since she left. “Nara.”

A shudder seemed to pass through her as she turned back towards him, the hem of her purple dress dragging through the dust bunnies on the floor. “Mal.” Her face was a mask of confusion and loss. More than any of them, what they had seen on the holotape on Miranda had been the end of her world as she knew it.

“Nara, I’m sorry you got caught up in…” The sentence died as she suddenly closed the space between them with the sort of speed and grace River might have used.

“Shut up, Mal.” Her lips were pressed against his, grinding and urgent as her hands tangled fast in his hair. His own moved of their own accord, pulling her lithesome body tight against his, delving into her mass of dark curls. He groaned against her mouth as her teeth bit hard on his lower lip, almost enough to draw blood. In that moment, he knew they weren’t dancing around each other anymore. This was a whole new step entirely.

step, step right over the line and onto borrowed time when it’s life, not waiting to die waiting to divide to divide

He had wondered when he first met her what sex with a companion would be like. He had known his share of whores in his time, but there was sure to be a difference between brothel girls on a back-water moon and the crème of the fabled Guild. In the end though, it wasn’t what he wanted from her. Not that way. Because when money changed hands, sex was just sex, and no amount of perfume or frippey was going to change that. No, from the moment Malcolm Reynolds had seen this woman, he had wanted to possess her, body AND soul. Only he hadn’t reckoned on being the one possessed as her hands moved up and began pulling at the buttons of his shirt, finally yanking in her impatience to have it off of him. He might have protested that he didn’t have many shirts as the lost buttons clattered on the shuttle’s metal floor. Then he remembered they were probably going to die anyways, and chose instead to pull the shirt the rest of the way off. Suddenly, her nails were raking the skin of his chest and back, gripping and kneading and making him impossibly hard. His own hands shook as he turned his attention to her dress.

Inara couldn’t help it anymore. What she knew now had destroyed in an instant everything she had ever known, everything she had ever been taught. Except this man and this crew and this ship. And suddenly, she cursed herself for a fool to have pushed him away for so long. She never would have thought that in the end, this man would be the one true thing in her universe. And yet, he was surprising her once more, as he moved gently to undo the fastening of her dress, despite the fact she had just torn the shirt off of him. The gown and its wrap slid off her, pooling on the floor. The fact that Inara was nude underneath gave him only a minutes pause, and then his hands and lips moved all over her, brushing the plains of her stomach, suckling gently on her breast. Her breath caught sharply, because it was never like this for her. Her training always required complete control, attention to the clients needs. She wasn’t that woman anymore, as she felt liquid heat pooling in her core from what Mal was doing.

counting stars and passing cars on the interstate the end is near I feel it dear, but I am not afraid

Mal had seen her in dresses that clung and moved, and so he had thought he knew her body. But he had never in his loneliest, darkest fantasies come close. He couldn’t have anticipated the thin, light dusting of freckles on her stomach, or the tiny, almost imperceptible scar on her hip he was now tracing with his tongue. And he certainly couldn’t have imagined her response to him, the soft mewling sounds as his hands ran up and down the back of her thighs, the shudders as he nipped at the flesh just below her belly button. When she softly moaned his name, he nearly came undone. Instead her picked her up and carried her to the old bed against the one wall, laying her down and moving to kick off his boots undo his gunbelt and pants.

She moved her hands up to help him, wanting to touch him, taste his skin, and feel it pressed against her own. She wanted a million things she had never given much thought to before, and she was impatient to have them now, knowing not much time was left. She let him lay his holster aside, then moved her hands to his, and together, pulled off what remained of his clothes. Her hands found his hardness immediately and she let them explore it with such vigor, he nearly fell over from the sudden assault to his senses. If this was a job, she would draw it out, take the time to bring things to their maximum pleasure. But she needed what she needed, and she wanted it now.

step, step right over the line and onto borrowed time when it’s life, not waiting to die waiting to divide to divide

He fell onto the bed next to her and pulled her into his arms. He knew he could take much more, a year’s anticipation being more powerful than a day’s foreplay. Rolling onto his back, he pulled her on top of him and felt the wet heat of her pressed against the head of him. Breathing hard, he looked up into her eyes, wanting her to take the last first step, knowing it was more a sea change for her than it would be for him. He was rewarded when she thrust down hard against him, sheathing him completely inside her. His hips bucked up to meet hers as an animalistic groan tore from his throat.

She moved with an urgency she had never known, to a rhythm she had never found. She cried out as one rough hand captured her right breast, kneading and massaging it in time to their motions. She would have a bruise there later, but it didn’t really matter anyway. She moved her hips, drawing on some parts of her training, but for her own devices, forcing him to stretch her and mold her to him, to feel him all over. In that instant, his other hand found her center and stroked it so lightly, she might have mistaken it for a brief gust of air. Instead, it mounted sensation on sensation and broke her control, as she let her rhythm grow wilder and more erratic, drawing them both on.

but you say you’re getting tired you’re tired and so am I when you fall I’ll fall behind

He was panting now, too out of breath to moan, trying to touch her everywhere and somewhere at the same time. He could feel her starting to falter, beginning to lose her timing and her choreography. And so in that second, he pushed harder against that one last place he had just found, and suddenly, she came crashing down around him, spasm after spasm rippling through her and into him as she cried out wordlessly. Her balance gone, she fell against his chest as he thrust one last time into her, spilling himself into that warm embrace. For just a second, he thought he might have blacked out. When he opened his eyes, he was looking to hers, dark pools of something deeper and farther than he had dared to expect.

She was almost positive there was no turning back as she lay on his chest, starring up into his face. His own blue ones stared back, and she saw something flicker there, something like hope, and then vanish, leaving something tired and worn in its place. She brought her hand up and traced his cheek, feeling him press back against it. Moving carefully, she shifted to lay beside him, head on his shoulder, and let herself drift into the warm safety they had in this moment.

step, step right over the line onto borrowed time when it’s life, not waiting to die waiting to divide to divide but you say you’re getting tired you’re tired and so am I when you fall I’ll fall behind

He watched her sleeping for a while, the soft rise and fall of her breathing tearing at him like a knife. He wished they hadn’t and wished they always had been. That there wasn’t this one moment on the edge of this maw of destruction fate was sucking him towards. More than anything, he wished she was somewhere safe, somewhere warm, where none of this ugly would touch her. Moving not to disturb her, he crawled out of her, no their bed and pulled on his pants and his boots and his guns, and went to find a shirt fit to meet death in.

She woke not long after he left, the loss of his warmth a void to her now. Lying near the top of the bed was his ruined shirt and she pulled it to her face to staunch the tears that sprang up. It smelled of musk and leather and sweat and she breathed it deep like a drowning man gasps for air. It wasn’t enough, not even close, and yet it was all she might have. And in that instant, she remembered how long it had been since she had been with a client, and how long it had been since she had seen to certain things, and in that instant, her hand drifted to her own stomach and she felt both gut shot and hope. But mostly hope.