Title: Steamed Author: thomaszhang Rating: mild R Word Count: 3703 Pairing/Characters: Firefly: Mal/Inara Spoilers: None particularly.

Mal sagged against the shower wall, waiting as his equilibrium and his breathing slowly returned to normal. He sighed, banging his head against the tile angrily. This had to stop. Not only was he succumbing to his body's will far too often, this time he'd been particularly vocal, not to mention that the crew were bound to start noticing the frequency with which he was using the shower...

But having her on board, so close, her perfumes and incense scenting every corner of the ship - even his own gorram bunk smelled like her. It was getting to the point that even a look from her was enough to set him off.

He shook his head, turning off the water and running his hands over his face wearily. It had to stop, he told himself again, resolving - as he did every time - that he would not do this any more.

Nodding in agreement with himself, he dried his hair and then wrapped the towel around his hips, mouth falling open in dread, face heating, as he opened the door to come face to face with Inara waiting on the other side.

Inara had waited, her foot tapping impatiently on the grated metal for Mal to finish showering. Since the man had decided to evade her all week, she’d made up her mind to catch him the first chance she got. When she’d seen him disappear into the head with his soap and towel, she'd gone for her small calendar then come back to wait him out. Then, thinking he might take the other exit, she’d opened the hatch and stepped inside.

The steam surprised her. Mal was usually so spartan with everything on the ship that she'd half expected him to bathe in icy cold water. She was just about to call out for him to hurry when he’d made a short huffing grunt that cause her whole body to heat in surprise, followed by something very much like desire. She stood stunned, aware of what she’d obviously interrupted and was just about to spin and leave when he stepped out.

The words she’d been ready to blast his way flew out of her mind at the sight of him; wet, hair spiked, flushed, wrapped in an old, very worn towel. All she could do was stare before she swallowed hard and turned to hurry away.

Mal's entire body went cold, oblivious to the heat of the steam curling around him at the realization that she'd been in the room - tiana! while he was.... doin' that... and just as suddenly, he was white hot with anger, yanking the door open again before it had even fully closed, striding out after her.

"You got a problem understandin' the concept of a closed door, Inara?" he asked, nostrils flaring, his hands resting on his hips. "Conjure it's a simple enough concept even one such as yourself ought to comprehend," he added harshly.

His words and tone combined to stop her dead in her tracks and had her spinning in angry amazement to face him, her calendar clutched to her chest.

“Me? I have trouble with closed doors?? You are constantly barging into my shuttle without knocking or paying any attention to my closed door. I haven’t had a moment of true privacy since I stepped onto this boat. The only time I can be sure you won’t walk in on me is when I take my ship and leave. And ‘one such as myself?’ What exactly does that mean, Mal?” she spat out.

Mal crossed his arms. "'S my ship, Inara. Conjure I can go where I gorram please! Don't recall ever bargin' in on you in the shower!" he retorted, ignoring her other question. "You make a habit of sneakin' in on your clients when they're cleaning up after you... do what you do? Or 's it just me you're lookin' to get an eyeful of? Woulda thought you'd've looked your fill that time Saffron left me in my all-together in the desert. Or is that it? You got one look and couldn't resist taking another? Hmmm? What's that, Inara?" he asked, holding his hand to his ear sarcastically.

Her eyes momentarily narrowed in rage at his sarcastic tone and her palms itched to slap his hateful face, but who knew what retaliation this maniac might take if she hit him, she thought, ignoring the odd feeling in her stomach at the possibility of some of those reprisals.

Inara raised her eyebrows and let a slightly mocking smile touch the corner of her mouth as she pushed her anger behind a cool façade. She purposely let her eyes drop to his bare, wet feet, and leisurely make their way up his body until she met his flushed cheeks.

“My clients never have to finish off in the shower; so, no, it’s not a habit I’ve formed,” she practically purred, her smile growing as she focused on his small towel. “And I’m still not sure I’ve gotten an eyeful, but I suppose you could blame it on the cooler air here in the corridor,” she added silkily.

Mal felt the first stirrings of a reawakening arousal as her eyes traveled over him; a definite tightening in his groin as she said 'finish off', the tone of her voice and the subject matter going straight to his nethers even as he felt a flush of embarrassment wash over him, knowing that she had indeed heard him.

Her comment about his size was quickly proving false, however as he felt the tell tale signs of a full on erection beginning and he ground his teeth together, trying to focus on his anger and not on the way her face was flushed and her eyes flared at him. He shifted uncomfortably. "Oh, I'm sure you're very good at your job," he fired back, his tone making it obvious that he thought very little of that.

Her smile was pure evil as she watched his growing problem with amusement, pleased to have him at a disadvantage for once. She opened her mouth to respond to his barb, but then her eyes met his and she stopped, surprised at what she saw there. Not lust, but a longing, a desire that she realized was mirrored in the way her body was responding to his nearness. She looked down, her eyes focusing on the calendar in her hands with flustered relief.

“I’d be better at my job,” she fired back, “if you’d take me to my next appointment. I’ve asked for a week now, Mal,” she added, deciding that the tumultuous atmosphere needed to be cooled down.

At that moment, if there had been an airlock next to him, Mal would have happily jumped out. Her smile told him she knew exactly the effect she was having on him, and he cringed inwardly, waiting for the scathing remark he knew was coming. But instead, her smile faded and there was something in her eyes he couldn’t decipher, was on the verge of calling her on it when she charged ahead, bringing up her damned appointment again. Still, Mal nearly breathed a sigh of relief as the moment shifted into territory he was much more familiar and comfortable with.

"An' I told you we ain't gonna have the fuel to make it 'till we reach Beylix. That ain't changed anytime in the last week, Inara," he said roughly. "When we get to Beylix, we'll look for work, an' then we can make your trip into the Core. Meantime, crew's got to eat. That's the way it is."

“And I think you’re lying,” she charged baldly. “We’ve stopped twice at planets where we could have fueled. I’ve offered to advance you the rent, but both times you’ve made an excuse not to take it. I cannot just sit here while you find work that may or may not pay out, Mal. I have a reputation to maintain and missing my appointments is not conducive to keeping that in good standing,” she insisted. “All you have to do is land and I’ll give you my rent, then you can afford to buy some fuel and staples. If you’d just stop being so stubborn,” she added almost too softly for him to hear.

Everything but anger was driven from Mal's mind in an instant at her words, and he found himself advancing until he towered over her, breaths huffing through his nostrils. He grinned humorlessly, the only way he knew to keep himself from completely losing control.

"I know that you did not just call me a liar, to my face, on my own boat," he said, laughing dangerously, eyes hard and glittering. "Weren't fuel enough on either a' them moons without havin' to buy from the cartels, an' I don't fancy putting my self, nor this boat, in debt to them." He looked at her significantly. "Or anyone else. We get to Beylix, we get fueled, and then you can rut with as many of your rich, Core-bred types as you can fit in. Until then, I'm suggesting you stay the hell outside of closed doors when openin' them ain't none a' your business!”

Inara swallowed the offending hurt, unable to take her eyes from the cutting blue gaze, though her neck began to ache from the angle. Even knowing that she’d provoked him, she was always startled, frightened even, when this dark, dangerous side appeared. She wanted to run, felt the urge in her very bones to turn and leave while she was still whole; but it angered her, too, the way he used his size to intimidate her - and his malicious words to slice into her heart. He knew too easily how to wound her, she realized, but she knew his weaknesses as well.

“Is that what you think about while you’re in there alone?” she whispered softly, knowing she was baiting him cruelly and almost hating herself for it. Two wrongs never made a right, but she couldn’t stop, wouldn’t back down from him this time. “Me? Rutting with those other men? Rich, sophisticated men who know how to behave with a woman? Are you imagining the things they do to me? Say to me? Are you pretending it’s you inside me? Do I scream for you, Mal?” she taunted quietly, almost weeping from the pain she was inflicting on them both, feeling no victory as she watched the humorless grin slowly die.

Mal took a step back, feeling the power shift almost physically, and suddenly he was the one who felt the urge to run, trapped. Her words struck too close to the mark, and the last thing in the 'verse he wanted her knowin' was that he eased his needs to thoughts of her, but he knew the truth was written all over his face. Because the truth was he had thought about it, had imagined what it would be like to be inside her, to make her come – him – and yes, she had screamed for him.

He swallowed roughly, trying desperately to keep his eyes on her face, knowing to look away would be another admission of guilt, but he couldn't do it. His eyes slid away from hers and he felt his chest tighten with hurt, humiliation and anger. So she knew, so what? he told himself, forcing his gaze back up resolutely. She'd probably known long before now, trainin' like she had. She was just playin' dirty, plain and simple, and the thought made him want to hurt her back.

The sarcastic grin came back as he focused on her and leaned into her space again, bringing his body even closer to hers than he had before and he shrugged. "Ain't that what a whore's for?" he asked, lips twisting cruelly as his eyes bored into hers.

It was the slight shudder in his breathing that gave him away. Inara held her ground, her mouth curling in a small triumphant smile as Mal pressed even closer, nearly touching. In trying to intimidate her, he’d shown his hand.

She moved her calendar to her left hand and did what he least expected; she stepped closer, dipping her head so that her hair brushed teasingly under his chin and her breasts barely touched his chest. His just-showered smell enveloped her, and she breathed deeply, trying to ignore the twisting desire in her stomach. This was no time to lose control. Mal thought he could manipulate her, but he had no inkling of the years of training he was up against.

She gently touched his left side, noting the tremulous jerk of work-hardened muscles under the backs of her trailing fingers.

“It’s not everything we’re for,” she whispered into his neck. “Sometimes there’s talking and just touching, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen.” She let her fingertips wander over his hip, dipping into the top of the towel, to sweep lightly over his stomach, swallowing hard as she heard him gasp. “Everyone needs affection and caring, Mal, even if they have to buy it,” she murmured, her own eyes sliding shut at his closeness.

Mal’s mouth dropped, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as she touched him, and when her hand slipped beneath the fold of his towel he couldn’t stave off the gasp that was torn from his lips, his stirring nether regions suddenly paying acute attention. His hand shot down to her wrist, pulling her fingers away from his body violently.

“Well I don’t need to,” he growled dangerously, desperately. “Don’t need nothin’ that much.” He shoved her hand away, glaring down at her, his chest heaving with aroused anger as he pretended to ignore the way the smell of her hair made him want to bury his face in it, or how soft and fiery her fingers had felt against his skin.

She was breaking the rules – the unspoken rules they’d followed in their unspoken game. No touching. They never touched, except when one or the other of them let their emotions slip too far and they couldn’t help it. But she’d crossed that line, hell, she’d crossed a whole lot of lines in the shower alone, and he really didn’t know what that was gonna mean. All he knew was she was so close he could feel the heat of her skin next to his, smell the scent of her perfume, her hair, her skin… and he was painfully aware that the only thing between his straining manhood and her was a threadbare towel and inches.

He swallowed thickly, knew he should move away, but he told himself that would be conceding part of their battle’s victory to her, and his pride wouldn’t let him. That’s what he told himself as he stood there, waiting to see what she would do next.

She brought the hand he’d slapped away back to his arm, sliding her hand down to span his bare bicep, noting with satisfaction the trail of chill bumps on his skin in the wake of her touch. She raised her head, nuzzling lightly into his neck, her lips barely caressing his skin.

“Of course not. But you’re not like other men are you? You don’t need any of us. You only need this ship and the black.” She watched as her fingers teased a line up his arm to cup his shoulder. “But what about what you want? What do you think would happen if you let yourself have something you desire, Mal?”

“Tamade,” he hissed, hands flying to her arms to hold her back. "Inara…what…?” he asked, blinking in astounded confusion as he stared down at her, eyes wide and vulnerable. His gaze cut away and he took a step farther back, studying the floor intently as he struggled to keep his breathing under control. “All right, you win,” he said at last, barely more than a whisper, his voice thick with fear, pain and confusion, surrendering the contest. He didn’t know this Inara, didn’t know how to predict her actions, and they were straying far too far into territory that was gonna have consequences and maybe no path out again.

Inara closed her eyes and slowly shook her head, surprised that she didn’t feel the expected rush of exhilaration at his muttered admission.

“Why does it always have to be a contest?” she asked wearily. “I don’t think either of us ever win when we hurt each other like this,” she admitted softly. She concentrated on the feel of his large hands cupping her arms, sending tendrils of heat down to her fingers. It wasn’t fair; she thought, that she’d won only to lose, being so close to him but unable to act up on it. His scent and heat swirled around her, soap and the musky scent of his body combining to nearly drive her out of her mind. She drew a deep breath and opened her eyes, surprised to find him studying her closely.

He sighed. “Conjure you ain’t far wrong,” he said, letting her go and dragging a hand through his hair, frustrated. He dropped his hands to his hips, head bowed. “I ain’t disregarding your schedule,” he said quietly. “But there are reasons why I can’t always do things the way you want; safety of this crew and… it ain’t just stubbornness or pride…” he trailed off, not knowing what he was really saying or what more he should say, this kind of talk between them completely foreign to him.

“I didn’t understand about the cartels,” Inara admitted, relieved that he was actually discussing something with her instead of yelling at her. “But you know, Mal, that if you need the rent…” she paused, afraid of shattering the peace, but continued when he didn’t explode. She looked at his averted face, wishing she could see his eyes before continuing, “I mean…I know I’m not crew but I do have their best interest at heart and I want to do my part. I would never jeopardize yo-...their safety.”

You’re crew – It was on the tip of his tongue, almost out before he caught the words, wondering where they had come from, and how, deep down inside, they’d become the truth. And yet. And yet, it was so far from the truth that it twisted things up, made him confused. Everything about her made him confused. Like how he didn’t know how to tell her that it was hard enough accepting money from her for the rent, knowing where that money came from, knowing that he needed it to survive. And that he’d do anything he could not to ask her for an advance. If he said any of that to her, they’d just end up fighting again, and while fighting with Inara was territory a lot more familiar than where they were now, somehow… he didn’t want to fight with her anymore. But if they didn’t fight, and they kept on this path of talking and… bein’ close… Day would come when he wouldn’t be able to keep it all inside no more. And then he’d do somethin’ stupid, somethin’ he’d regret, and there’d be no more arguments, no more sharp words and flushed skin and flashing eyes. There’d be no more her on his boat. And so that left him in this in between place. Unable to go backwards, unwilling to go forwards… twisting around in circles, hurting and bein' hurt and burying it all, pretending it didn’t matter.

He looked up finally, realizing he’d been quiet for far too long. “Rents due the first of the month,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “We get to Beylix, then we’ll get the fuel to take you where you need to go. Don’t got to worry ‘bout the rest.” He dropped his eyes again, dismissively, wishing she’d just go away and let him think clearly, wishing she wouldn’t. Twisting, twisting…

Inara studied him as he stood quietly in front of her, recording memories into her subconscious. This was one she would remember. The Mal that stood naked in front of her except for a threadbare towel and was still more brash and wild than any man she’d ever met. No matter how long she knew him she didn’t think she’d ever be able to predict what he’d do next.

She wanted to touch his face, she realized, surprised, wanted to cup his cheek and tell him not to worry, that they’d be alright - even if she wasn’t sure that was true, even knowing he would know better. She longed to brush her thumb over his lips and press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, soothe him, take him to her shuttle for the afternoon and make him forget, for a few hours, his constant struggle with the Alliance and with himself. And that very longing was the reason she knew she was going to have to leave soon, before her thoughts became actions and she became entangled in a relationship that would destroy both of them.

His words brought her back to the present and his dismissive tone told her that he was through with the conversation. If only she could be as dispassionate about him, she thought, as he seemed to be with her, wishing she knew what went through his mind at times.

“Well, then if there’s nothing else to discuss, I suppose I’ll leave you to get dressed,” she said, and started past him.

His hand moved before he could think about it, catching her arm before she could leave, cursing himself for a fool for doing so as she turned a questioning gaze to him. His mouth opened, worked silently – he had no explanation for why he’d stopped her, nothing he could say, anyway, except that something about her words made him regret pushing her away. Inevitably, he closed his mouth and gave a small shake of his head, breathing out a sigh through his nose as he let go of her.

Inara paused, wanting to stay, then forced herself to move away from him, knowing that the day was coming soon when she'd be walking away forever.