A/N: Just a little M/I to fill the void. I’ll post this in the next Redux week for FF_Friday under Challenge #99 – Running Late, but in the meantime, I thought I’d post it here. Word Count: 741 Rated: R for sexual situations Paring: Mal/Inara Spoilers: None

Late, Again by 2x2

He likes to mark her.

Little nips and sucks intended to lay his claim, let them know that she is his, even as she plies her trade. It drives her mad; she knows he does it intentionally, even yelled at him for it once, the first time, when he’d ambushed her barely half an hour before she was due to meet her client, messing her finely arranged hair and clothes, his mouth leaving a trail of red welts around her neck, impossible to conceal.

He can’t regret it, and she doesn’t really blame him. It’s one of her concessions in their on-going war over her job. He lets her go, but he always makes sure they’ll know she’s spoken for. And, judging by the way she moans when he brings his teeth into play, she doesn’t really mind. It amazes him, the way she can’t resist when his mouth plunders her skin, and he’ll use that to his advantage today, marking her, making her late, as he does every time.

* * * * *

Applying the last touches to her make-up, Inara hears the shuttle door open and sighs; knows she is doomed.

“Mal,” she protests as he pulls her to him, mouth attacking her neck, teeth nipping and tongue laving. “Mal, please… I’ve got a client in twenty minutes…” she trails off into a moan. Damn him, she hates his ability to render her weak and helpless with need for him. He’s going to make her late, she knows it, but she can’t care. Can’t even pretend she hasn’t been waiting for him in fretful excitement.

He bends and slides his hands beneath her gown, pushing it up her thighs, his fingers trailing up the inside of her legs before slipping between her moist curls, already wet for him. He strokes her, mouth catching hers in a hungry kiss, pressing himself against her, hot and urgent.

“Damn you,” she breathes against him, tugging him down onto the bed with her, feeling his smug grin against her lips. She reaches for him, freeing him from his pants, heavy and pulsing with need in her hand. “Hurry, Mal,” she pleads, guiding him between her legs, a cry ripping from her lips as he drives himself into her, pressing his head into her shoulder, face against her neck as he shudders.

She closes her eyes, savoring the feel of him inside her, above her, and then she urges him on, her hands frantic on his back as he begins to thrust.

It is fast and hard, as it always is before she leaves to meet her clients; hard enough that she will carry the feel of him for the rest of the day, late enough that she will carry the reminder of him, hot and sticky between her legs, even as she smiles at another man.

His rhythm is erratic, his hips jerky and desperate. He bites her when he comes, and she cries out, the feel of his teeth on her skin enough to trigger her own orgasm, quick and tight, white hot in its intensity.

She comes back to him laving her collarbone with his tongue, soothing this newest brand of his. She breathes heavily, feels sweat at the small of her back, behind her knees, between her breasts. Mal lies on top of her, chest heaving, face cushioned on her breasts and she strokes his hair lovingly.

“I love you,” she whispers, as she always does in their little ritual. Sometimes his answer is a sad smile and a kiss; sometimes it is silence. Today it will be bitter, she can tell. She always can.

“Then don’t go,” he says, and she closes her eyes, tired. He rolls off her when she doesn’t answer, puts himself away and stands angrily, like she’s the one who barged into his room. She watches him leave, knowing when she gets back she will have to sooth this hurt, as she always does, and earn her place in his bed again. And as much as it hurts and frustrates her, she knows she will keep doing it, because she really does love him.

Sighing, she rises and readjusts her gown, makes last minute fixes to her hair and make-up; smoothes her fingers over the red blemish he’s left on her skin with fondness, then puts away her love and passion.

Composed, she leaves to meet her client, and apologize, again, for being late.