Mal stepped into the shower with a grateful sigh, pulling the door shut behind him as he stepped under the hot spray, anxious to rid himself of the dirt and grime and sweat of the day’s labor. He groaned as the heat cascaded over him, slowly soothing the ache of his muscles. Turning so the pounding streams of water pulsed against his back, he closed his eyes in relief as the water massaged his skin, quite certain that nothing at that moment could feel better—

Mal paused, blinking in the steam as a sudden thought came to him, a different kind of heat suffusing his body suddenly. …should he? Slowly, as though mesmerized, he turned, his gaze following the jets of water up and back to their source, and to the tiny silver pin that held it in place.

Images of Inara flashed through his brain, gauzy orange slip of material bunched and wet against her skin, surrounded by steam, the shower head and it’s rhythmic, pulsing spray positioned strategically in one hand, that tiny, breathless, keening sound from her lips…

Would it work for him? …did he dare?

Curiosity, and his own pulsing need, had him reaching up, his fingers fumbling with the pin until it slipped out and the shower head came free in his hand. Holding his breath, he drew the spray closer, the pressure increasing against his skin as he circled it over his chest, letting his eyes close again as his breath grew shallower and his hand moved lower.

He hummed low in his throat, appreciating the deep, pulsating massage the water offered as he moved it over his ribs, the warmth flooding through him, all the while the picture of Inara flared brightly in his brain, drawing him closer and closer as his hand moved lower and lower and—

”Wo de ma wang ba dan--!” Mal shouted as a well-placed jet of water struck his most tender bits, doubling over at the sudden, nauseous agony that spread throughout his nethers. Eyes scrunched shut against the pain, he braced himself against the wall, sucking in air as he fought the accompanying urge to vomit.

“Mal? Are you all right?” came Inara’s voice suddenly, and, panicking – God knew he didn’t want her catching him like this – Mal struggled desperately to get the shower head back up in its bracket, one-handed as the other held his wounded pride.

But the pin, that god-cursed metal traitor, would not co-operate, and he turned wide horrified eyes at Inara as she slid the shower door open to see him, the incriminating evidence still in hand.

Inara stared back at him, her gaze flicking from his face down to his one hand, up to the other, and back over, blinking as she put the pieces together and, with what must have been herculean effort, forced her lips to do nothing more than give the slightest twitch.

Mal’s face turned what he was sure was a shade redder than hell in mortification.

Calmly, Inara reached for the shower head, slipping it from his fingers and sliding it back into position with a deft and graceful twist, all the while watching him in obvious amusement. Then, smirking, she shook her head slightly and turned, heading for the door.

Mal groaned, dropping his head against the wall of the shower as he felt his heart sink; this was gonna be all over the ship before he even got toweled off…

“Inara—” he called after her in a last-ditch effort to save some of his dignity.

She threw him one final amused look as she stepped through the hatch and he begged:

“Don’t tell Jayne!!”