Mal and Inara’s courtship dance consisted of precisely three steps: one up and two back. One-two, cha cha cha. Three-four, back to start. Repeat as necessary.

This particular dance was so familiar to Mal, he was damn near doing it in his sleep. Save for the part where in his dreams, he didn’t say something monumentally asinine involving the word “whore” and she didn’t throw teacups at his head. As it was, they’d made some progress. Gotten as far as some pretty heavy-duty makeout sessions that, frustratingly, seemed to end at second base. So imagine his surprise when she finally made the offer, loud and clear, in terms that even got through his thick skull. He’d tried to duck and evade, but she had him pegged in her sights with a flash of what might happen in her eyes.

“My shuttle, 10 pm.”

If there was one lesson Mal had learned from his Ma, not long after the one about branding the buyer instead of the cattle, it was to never ever keep a lady waiting. If you were fool enough to do that, you deserved your fate.

Malcolm Reynolds was done playing the fool when it came to Inara. Which was what lead to him being outside her door, promptly at 10 pm. He’d even gone so far as to kipe one of the dozen roses that the doc bought for Kaylee like they was goin’ out of style. Not like Kaylee’d toss the bouquet back in the doc’s face if there were only 11 anyways. It had taken long enough. Sweet Baby Buddha knew that for certain. And not like, in those dreams where he never said anything stupid and she never tossed crockery at him, that things didn’t get just a bit on the steamy side.

He had himself a pretty good idea of what she looked like under all that finery. Her in that filmy, see-through negligee the night she gave him a fencing lesson still stayed with him. Thong panties, as he recalled, along with an intense desire to pull them off. With his teeth.

Under almost any other circumstance, that particular desire would get saved for 3 am, in his bunk alone, when he tries to come up with a compelling reason why Inara’s hand on him feels just as rough and calloused as his own. But there was that hint – that glimmer – in her eyes that told him maybe this time, things might be different.

So Mal was more than a little surprised to have her open the door, barefaced and bare-legged, wearing of all things a close-fitting grey ribbed tank top and a pair of boxer shorts. Somehow he’d expected summat with more lace and flowers. Mayhaps even a butterfly or two. But certainly not a gal’s equivalent to what he wore under his clothes pretty much every day.

Not that he had cause to bitch, mind, as she smiled prettily at him before turning away to bend over and fetch the teapot off the low table. In that instant, he understood Wash’s going all on about where Zoe’s legs met her backside.

Mal had even less cause to bitch when she then bent down toward him a few minutes later to give him the cup of tea as he settled himself on the couch and kicked off his boots and socks. No question that was 100 percent her under that tank top. No fancy structural engineering necessary – they were perfect all by their lonesome. And he was pretty damn sure they weren’t augmented either.

Once the tea was finished, Mal reached out and gently pulled Inara into his lap. He’d expected her to sit sidesaddle as she has done in the past, but she surprised him by instead choosing to straddle him. Surprised himself even more that his physical reaction to her doing so was sharper and more immediate than ever before.

Inara leaned forward, and his head was suddenly full of night-blooming jasmine, musk and tea. A heady brew, to be certain, and one that intensified that physical reaction further southward.

“So what do you think of my new look, Captain?”

Mal slipped a tentative finger under one strap of the tank top and gently lifted upward a few inches.

“These Companion regulation, darlin’?”

“Disappointed?”

Mal’s finger began to trace the neckline.

“Woulda thought summat a bit more ruffly. With mebbeso a bow or two.”

Inara gave a mock pout, giving Mal the irresistible urge to nibble on that lower lip.

“You don’t like?”

By now, Mal’s fingers were skimming over her breasts, making her squirm in such a way that he’d have to strip down his own self in the not too distant future.

“Don’ hear me complainin’ now do ya? Just…unexpected s’all. Now what I don’t care for, sweetheart, is that I am feeling more than a little overdressed for the party”

For his troubles, Mal got another pout out of her before she swiftly got up so that he could start to undress. Curiously, she did not move to do the honors. He wondered if her clients expected that of her.

When he was down to just his briefs, Inara cocked an eyebrow at him.

“I do believe Kaylee owes me a batch of her famous peanut butter cookies.”

Mal looked confused.

“Kaylee thought you were a boxer man. I disagreed.”

He had the good grace to blush, not being used to the womenfolk on his boat discussing his choice of unders. However, he was not about to be one-upped by Inara as he slipped out of the garment in question.

“Used t’ go regimental. Surprise midnight attack on our position one night taught me the error of my ways.”

Inara covered her mouth and giggled. An honest-to-Buddha giggle. Like a schoolgirl, even. Mal was inordinately pleased with himself to have gotten that out of her.

Things took a much more serious turn, however, once Inara settled herself straddling him again. By this time, Mal had removed that troublesome tank top. Hell, if he was bare-chested, only fair she should return the favor.

“Mal?” Slightly breathless and still with the squirmy.

“Mmmm?” Around a mouthful of nipple.

“Would you prefer the fancy lingerie?”

By now, he had her laid out on the couch and was busily undoing the tie on her shorts. With his teeth.

“Nah, I like you just the way you are right now.”

“Mmm…that’s good.”

“Why?”

“You try wearing a push-up bra sometime. That’s the definition of pain.”