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whiskeycoffeeTitle: Albatross
Author: m.jules
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/River
Prompt: 23, “Lovers”
Rating: Slightly mature. Heavy PG-13, light R.
Word Count: 2,468
Disclaimer: Joss’s. Love - so much love! - not money.
Light spoilers for Serenity, the movie. Thanks to Mark for offering encouragement and suggestions.
He isn’t really surprised when she follows him down into his bunk instead of heading for hers. She remained with him on the bridge long after she could have left, and he stayed with her there long past the point of putting the ship on autopilot and letting it soar into the black. They talked, and he was a little unsettled at how much sense she made, but mostly, it was a comfort. He’d heard her on Miranda when she told Simon she was all right with that sense of wonder in her voice, and from that moment on, he’s known his fate is sealed.
He was already bound to her (”I had every reason in the ‘verse to leave her layin’ there...” “In earnest, Mal, why’d you bring her back on?”) and she had proven with the quick flash of her feet and the efficient, ruthless grace of her one-two-three-spin-crack dance of destruction that she was more than capable of being a partner the likes of which he’d never had before.
All he had been waiting for was the proof that she would be able to handle the fallout of it all, because love and making it could get mind-addling enough for someone who wasn’t already whimsical in the brain pan. She’d proven that and more, and after Miranda, she sat apart from the rest. She separated herself from her brother and placed herself under his protection. (“A man shall leave his mother, and a woman leave her home...”) She had chosen him, wasted no time in telling him with every nuance of her eyes and body that she had decided the time was right.
He can’t see as to how he could disagree with that assessment and if he hadn’t had to man the cannon atop Serenity he might have taken her to bed that very moment and sealed his claim on her good and proper. But he’d had business to attend to first, and she’d assured him softly that she wasn’t going nowhere for a long time, so he guessed that it would all have to wait until everything shook out in the end and he got to take a tally of who was still standing, which was just no one, but at least they were mostly sitting upright-at-an-angle and conscious.
And then he thought they’d lost her, and all he could think was Bad luck -- we’re in the ruttin’ path of hell now because some idiot had gone and killed his albatross. But she was untouched, without a scratch, surrounded by the dead bodies of what looked like hundreds of Reavers but were likely only dozens (and only was such a deceptive word sometimes).
She is watching him now as all these thoughts flash through his mind in an instant, and when he comes to the last one, his mind lingering on the image of her, victorious, she blushes and smiles with pleasure and whispers, “I like the way you look at me. You steer your eyes and see what is and not what it looks like. You’re not afraid to see all of me.”
“It’s a damn fine sight, darlin’,” he agrees, not moving though his body aches to go to her and his mind says to just get on with business as usual and ignore the fact that she is just standing there, waiting.
She takes a step toward him, graceful, toe to heel, and says in a low tone (but not a shy one), “That was my dowry. I am paid for in blood.”
He blinks in surprise because he isn’t sure if he’s hearing things or if she just declared herself betrothed to him. Though he wants to say something about that, question how she can be so bold as to assume such a thing (but that would be a stupid question because she doesn’t assume, she knows), what comes out instead is, “Hell of a bride-price.”
“Hell of a bride,” she tosses back with a saucy smile and another step towards him, and this time he obeys his body and his mind is on board with the plan as he closes the final distance between them and rests his hands on her waist. He leans down, slowly so as not to startle her even though she knew he was going to kiss her before he did, and when their lips are a whisper away from each other she murmurs, “You understand your place in all this?”
He can’t help but chuckle as he answers, “Do you?”
“Better than you think,” she says and before he can protest that he’s learned not to underestimate her, her lips are on his and her tongue slips inside to find his and coax it back into her mouth, and he realizes that he had underestimated her in this, at least. Then thought is gone and once she places his hands on her body, gives him permission to roam, he gets down to the business of pleasure and touches skin he’s only seen bare once before.
His hands push her dress off her shoulders and the fabric falls with a whisper, and he toys with the straps of her underdress as he murmurs against her mouth, “You tell me if I’m goin’ too fast for you, y’hear?”
“Can’t,” she answers, and he freezes for a moment, his eyes opening to find hers, because he isn’t sure what she means by that -- if she can’t tell him that, and why not -- but she merely nuzzles into his jaw and reaches for the clasps on his shirt, her hands sliding beneath to find warm skin, and says, “Can’t go too fast for me. Two steps ahead of you.”
“That’s gonna take some gettin’ used to,” he admits, and she smiles with mischief, her tongue darting out to taste him before she answers.
“Don’t worry; I’m a good teacher and you’re a fast learner.”
His hand finds her breast through her underdress and squeezes firmly in retaliation, and she giggles, reaching around to pinch his ass lightly. The shock of sensation jerks his hips forward, into hers, and suddenly their playfulness is swallowed up by urgency as their mouths find each other again and his hand stays on her breast and hers on his bottom as they press into each other like they are trying to exist in the same space at the same time.
She starts undressing him eagerly, suspenders and shirt, and his breeches hang low on his hips. He slips the straps of her underdress over the pale skin of her arms and she moans as his hand wastes no time in finding the bare flesh of her small breasts. She puts her hands on his shoulders and presses down until he understands, until his hands go to her hips to boost her as she jumps, her legs going around his waist, the buckles on her boots catching on the fabric of his breeches.
His hand slides down to cup her bottom through her thin cotton panties and she curls her body around him, graceful and lithe, and light as a feather. They break for a moment, and she searches his eyes. He wants to tell her, wants to make sure she understands that this is about love -- he told her as much on the bridge, but he wants to be certain without a shadow of a doubt that she knows that applies to this too.
The words stick in his throat; they feel wrong, too heavy, too cliche, not good enough for her, for this. But she kisses his eyebrow and says tenderly, “I know. But I would like to hear you say it.”
And he closes his eyes and whispers hoarsely, [“I will love you forever,”] and she repeats it to him, soft and sincere. He finds it ironic that the last time he got married, he had no idea he was going through a proper ceremony, but now he is aware and knows that this is not a ceremony that is legally binding in any colony except the one right here aboard the ship. And he feels certain that they have exchanged vows with these simple, heartfelt declarations, and she isn’t arguing with him.
And while she weighs barely anything at all, his arms are starting to tremble and his body is reminding him that he got beat to a pulp not that long ago and that he needs to sit down now. And he does, and she braces her knees on the bed on either side of his hips and pushes him backwards gently. He reaches for the buckles on her boots and she reaches back to unsnap his as well.
“You still doin’ okay?” he asks because he needs to hear her say it, needs to know that she isn’t scared, even though he knows she would tell him.
“Shiny,” she answers, then tilts her head with a smile of discovery. “Glowing, even. Sparkly. Like a meteor shower on a dark world.”
He can’t help but smile at her descriptions, but he isn’t moving anymore, and she frowns at him with sudden seriousness. “Are you okay?” she asks, the tips of her fingers tracing over his furrowed forehead, brushing his hair.
“I’m fine, darlin’,” he answers automatically, but his thoughts betray him and he doesn’t know why he bothered lying to her in the first place. Nervous. Fragile. Breakable.
“It’s all right,” she reassures him with such tenderness he feels it swell inside his own chest. “I’ll take care of you. I won’t break you.”
“No--” he starts to protest. He had been thinking of her as delicate, afraid that he would hurt her one way or another. But he realizes that he is vulnerable, after all. That taking her as a lover is going to be opening up a place he’s kept closed off for a long damn time, and for good reasons.
“It’s all right,” she repeats. “Lots of people take care of me. You, Simon, Serenity... more. Everyone takes care of me. Everyone sees my cracks, knows I need holding together.” She leans forward and kisses him softly on the mouth, with understanding that seems to filter into his bloodstream. “Nobody knows you need glue sometimes, too. Except Serenity. She tries to hold you.” Now she is stretching her body out over his, wrapping her arms around his chest. They are skin-to-skin, and he feels strangely secure in her embrace. “I will hold you. I will have you. I will take care of you. I won’t forget you break, too, if you’re dropped from high up.”
She places several kisses on his chest, and their interlude is over as he reaches for her boots again and this time gets them off, and she succeeds in ridding him of his boots and breeches. And he’s still a little nervous but he watches her eyes for any sign that she isn’t okay and sees nothing but gentle, utter confidence that he will take care of her.
As they start to move together, slowly at first, he has a sudden clear-ringing thought that it’s so obvious she’s a dancer, and she smiles broadly at him, delight in her eyes. He grins back at her as he asks, “What’s got you smilin’ so big and happy-like, little albatross?”
“You have to ask?” she teases, and he can’t help laughing a little.
“I’d like to hear you say it,” he says, and though it’s halfway to being a joke, he’s serious, and she cups his face in her hand.
“I like the way I look to you. I like the way I feel to you. I like the way I’m inside you like you’re inside me. I like the way you feel, the way you sound and smell and taste and look. I’m glad you took a chance on me, believed I was worth something when I didn’t, when nobody did. Worth your life. Worth everyone’s life.” Tears are welling up in her eyes now and he reaches up to thumb one away as it spills down her cheek. “I wasn’t,” she whispers. “I wasn’t worth it. But maybe I can be now, maybe someday I can be.”
“Hey,” he says, getting her attention as he fits her face between both of his palms and sits up in his bed, their dance momentarily stilled. “You already are.” He kisses her softly, tasting salt. “I don’t take on worthless cargo. Ain’t smart.”
“Yes, you do,” she says, smiling sadly.
“You callin’ me stupid, darlin’?” he teases and though it’s watery, she laughs, shaking her head.
“No,” she answers. “Just... a prophet. You look at what is and see what can be, and you believe in it strong enough to make it happen.”
He’s uncomfortable with her description at first -- too close to church-talk; makes him a mite antsy -- but he brushes it off and asks, “So what does that make you?”
”A prophecy fulflled,” she smiles as she leans down and kisses him again. “Something out of nothing. Worlds out of words.” He captures her mouth, and even the last traces of hesitation are beginning to fade. “One out of two.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks it isn’t as dramatic and mystical as all that, that he ain’t God and never will be, but somehow he understands what it means to her, that she’s found his belief in her a solid enough anchor to start believing in herself, or something approximating that. And right on the heels of that is the thought that he’s glad she gave him something to believe in before he was swept out to the sea of meaningless cynicism.
She catches that thought and laughs softly against his mouth, and he can feel her struggling to concentrate and form words as she pants, “At least now your bitter sarcasm has a purpose.”
“You’d better watch that pretty mouth of yours, little girl,” he manages to grunt. “Seems to be runnin’ away with you, gettin’ kinda sassy.”
“You talk too much,” she giggles, and he kisses her again just to shut her up. He wraps his arms around her and thinks, in a moment of rare optimism, that this thing might actually work out better than he’d dared to hope for -- that of all the times he’s taken a wild chance, this one might actually be worth it.
Author: m.jules
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/River
Prompt: 23, “Lovers”
Rating: Slightly mature. Heavy PG-13, light R.
Word Count: 2,468
Disclaimer: Joss’s. Love - so much love! - not money.
Light spoilers for Serenity, the movie. Thanks to Mark for offering encouragement and suggestions.
He isn’t really surprised when she follows him down into his bunk instead of heading for hers. She remained with him on the bridge long after she could have left, and he stayed with her there long past the point of putting the ship on autopilot and letting it soar into the black. They talked, and he was a little unsettled at how much sense she made, but mostly, it was a comfort. He’d heard her on Miranda when she told Simon she was all right with that sense of wonder in her voice, and from that moment on, he’s known his fate is sealed.
He was already bound to her (”I had every reason in the ‘verse to leave her layin’ there...” “In earnest, Mal, why’d you bring her back on?”) and she had proven with the quick flash of her feet and the efficient, ruthless grace of her one-two-three-spin-crack dance of destruction that she was more than capable of being a partner the likes of which he’d never had before.
All he had been waiting for was the proof that she would be able to handle the fallout of it all, because love and making it could get mind-addling enough for someone who wasn’t already whimsical in the brain pan. She’d proven that and more, and after Miranda, she sat apart from the rest. She separated herself from her brother and placed herself under his protection. (“A man shall leave his mother, and a woman leave her home...”) She had chosen him, wasted no time in telling him with every nuance of her eyes and body that she had decided the time was right.
He can’t see as to how he could disagree with that assessment and if he hadn’t had to man the cannon atop Serenity he might have taken her to bed that very moment and sealed his claim on her good and proper. But he’d had business to attend to first, and she’d assured him softly that she wasn’t going nowhere for a long time, so he guessed that it would all have to wait until everything shook out in the end and he got to take a tally of who was still standing, which was just no one, but at least they were mostly sitting upright-at-an-angle and conscious.
And then he thought they’d lost her, and all he could think was Bad luck -- we’re in the ruttin’ path of hell now because some idiot had gone and killed his albatross. But she was untouched, without a scratch, surrounded by the dead bodies of what looked like hundreds of Reavers but were likely only dozens (and only was such a deceptive word sometimes).
She is watching him now as all these thoughts flash through his mind in an instant, and when he comes to the last one, his mind lingering on the image of her, victorious, she blushes and smiles with pleasure and whispers, “I like the way you look at me. You steer your eyes and see what is and not what it looks like. You’re not afraid to see all of me.”
“It’s a damn fine sight, darlin’,” he agrees, not moving though his body aches to go to her and his mind says to just get on with business as usual and ignore the fact that she is just standing there, waiting.
She takes a step toward him, graceful, toe to heel, and says in a low tone (but not a shy one), “That was my dowry. I am paid for in blood.”
He blinks in surprise because he isn’t sure if he’s hearing things or if she just declared herself betrothed to him. Though he wants to say something about that, question how she can be so bold as to assume such a thing (but that would be a stupid question because she doesn’t assume, she knows), what comes out instead is, “Hell of a bride-price.”
“Hell of a bride,” she tosses back with a saucy smile and another step towards him, and this time he obeys his body and his mind is on board with the plan as he closes the final distance between them and rests his hands on her waist. He leans down, slowly so as not to startle her even though she knew he was going to kiss her before he did, and when their lips are a whisper away from each other she murmurs, “You understand your place in all this?”
He can’t help but chuckle as he answers, “Do you?”
“Better than you think,” she says and before he can protest that he’s learned not to underestimate her, her lips are on his and her tongue slips inside to find his and coax it back into her mouth, and he realizes that he had underestimated her in this, at least. Then thought is gone and once she places his hands on her body, gives him permission to roam, he gets down to the business of pleasure and touches skin he’s only seen bare once before.
His hands push her dress off her shoulders and the fabric falls with a whisper, and he toys with the straps of her underdress as he murmurs against her mouth, “You tell me if I’m goin’ too fast for you, y’hear?”
“Can’t,” she answers, and he freezes for a moment, his eyes opening to find hers, because he isn’t sure what she means by that -- if she can’t tell him that, and why not -- but she merely nuzzles into his jaw and reaches for the clasps on his shirt, her hands sliding beneath to find warm skin, and says, “Can’t go too fast for me. Two steps ahead of you.”
“That’s gonna take some gettin’ used to,” he admits, and she smiles with mischief, her tongue darting out to taste him before she answers.
“Don’t worry; I’m a good teacher and you’re a fast learner.”
His hand finds her breast through her underdress and squeezes firmly in retaliation, and she giggles, reaching around to pinch his ass lightly. The shock of sensation jerks his hips forward, into hers, and suddenly their playfulness is swallowed up by urgency as their mouths find each other again and his hand stays on her breast and hers on his bottom as they press into each other like they are trying to exist in the same space at the same time.
She starts undressing him eagerly, suspenders and shirt, and his breeches hang low on his hips. He slips the straps of her underdress over the pale skin of her arms and she moans as his hand wastes no time in finding the bare flesh of her small breasts. She puts her hands on his shoulders and presses down until he understands, until his hands go to her hips to boost her as she jumps, her legs going around his waist, the buckles on her boots catching on the fabric of his breeches.
His hand slides down to cup her bottom through her thin cotton panties and she curls her body around him, graceful and lithe, and light as a feather. They break for a moment, and she searches his eyes. He wants to tell her, wants to make sure she understands that this is about love -- he told her as much on the bridge, but he wants to be certain without a shadow of a doubt that she knows that applies to this too.
The words stick in his throat; they feel wrong, too heavy, too cliche, not good enough for her, for this. But she kisses his eyebrow and says tenderly, “I know. But I would like to hear you say it.”
And he closes his eyes and whispers hoarsely, [“I will love you forever,”] and she repeats it to him, soft and sincere. He finds it ironic that the last time he got married, he had no idea he was going through a proper ceremony, but now he is aware and knows that this is not a ceremony that is legally binding in any colony except the one right here aboard the ship. And he feels certain that they have exchanged vows with these simple, heartfelt declarations, and she isn’t arguing with him.
And while she weighs barely anything at all, his arms are starting to tremble and his body is reminding him that he got beat to a pulp not that long ago and that he needs to sit down now. And he does, and she braces her knees on the bed on either side of his hips and pushes him backwards gently. He reaches for the buckles on her boots and she reaches back to unsnap his as well.
“You still doin’ okay?” he asks because he needs to hear her say it, needs to know that she isn’t scared, even though he knows she would tell him.
“Shiny,” she answers, then tilts her head with a smile of discovery. “Glowing, even. Sparkly. Like a meteor shower on a dark world.”
He can’t help but smile at her descriptions, but he isn’t moving anymore, and she frowns at him with sudden seriousness. “Are you okay?” she asks, the tips of her fingers tracing over his furrowed forehead, brushing his hair.
“I’m fine, darlin’,” he answers automatically, but his thoughts betray him and he doesn’t know why he bothered lying to her in the first place. Nervous. Fragile. Breakable.
“It’s all right,” she reassures him with such tenderness he feels it swell inside his own chest. “I’ll take care of you. I won’t break you.”
“No--” he starts to protest. He had been thinking of her as delicate, afraid that he would hurt her one way or another. But he realizes that he is vulnerable, after all. That taking her as a lover is going to be opening up a place he’s kept closed off for a long damn time, and for good reasons.
“It’s all right,” she repeats. “Lots of people take care of me. You, Simon, Serenity... more. Everyone takes care of me. Everyone sees my cracks, knows I need holding together.” She leans forward and kisses him softly on the mouth, with understanding that seems to filter into his bloodstream. “Nobody knows you need glue sometimes, too. Except Serenity. She tries to hold you.” Now she is stretching her body out over his, wrapping her arms around his chest. They are skin-to-skin, and he feels strangely secure in her embrace. “I will hold you. I will have you. I will take care of you. I won’t forget you break, too, if you’re dropped from high up.”
She places several kisses on his chest, and their interlude is over as he reaches for her boots again and this time gets them off, and she succeeds in ridding him of his boots and breeches. And he’s still a little nervous but he watches her eyes for any sign that she isn’t okay and sees nothing but gentle, utter confidence that he will take care of her.
As they start to move together, slowly at first, he has a sudden clear-ringing thought that it’s so obvious she’s a dancer, and she smiles broadly at him, delight in her eyes. He grins back at her as he asks, “What’s got you smilin’ so big and happy-like, little albatross?”
“You have to ask?” she teases, and he can’t help laughing a little.
“I’d like to hear you say it,” he says, and though it’s halfway to being a joke, he’s serious, and she cups his face in her hand.
“I like the way I look to you. I like the way I feel to you. I like the way I’m inside you like you’re inside me. I like the way you feel, the way you sound and smell and taste and look. I’m glad you took a chance on me, believed I was worth something when I didn’t, when nobody did. Worth your life. Worth everyone’s life.” Tears are welling up in her eyes now and he reaches up to thumb one away as it spills down her cheek. “I wasn’t,” she whispers. “I wasn’t worth it. But maybe I can be now, maybe someday I can be.”
“Hey,” he says, getting her attention as he fits her face between both of his palms and sits up in his bed, their dance momentarily stilled. “You already are.” He kisses her softly, tasting salt. “I don’t take on worthless cargo. Ain’t smart.”
“Yes, you do,” she says, smiling sadly.
“You callin’ me stupid, darlin’?” he teases and though it’s watery, she laughs, shaking her head.
“No,” she answers. “Just... a prophet. You look at what is and see what can be, and you believe in it strong enough to make it happen.”
He’s uncomfortable with her description at first -- too close to church-talk; makes him a mite antsy -- but he brushes it off and asks, “So what does that make you?”
”A prophecy fulflled,” she smiles as she leans down and kisses him again. “Something out of nothing. Worlds out of words.” He captures her mouth, and even the last traces of hesitation are beginning to fade. “One out of two.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, he thinks it isn’t as dramatic and mystical as all that, that he ain’t God and never will be, but somehow he understands what it means to her, that she’s found his belief in her a solid enough anchor to start believing in herself, or something approximating that. And right on the heels of that is the thought that he’s glad she gave him something to believe in before he was swept out to the sea of meaningless cynicism.
She catches that thought and laughs softly against his mouth, and he can feel her struggling to concentrate and form words as she pants, “At least now your bitter sarcasm has a purpose.”
“You’d better watch that pretty mouth of yours, little girl,” he manages to grunt. “Seems to be runnin’ away with you, gettin’ kinda sassy.”
“You talk too much,” she giggles, and he kisses her again just to shut her up. He wraps his arms around her and thinks, in a moment of rare optimism, that this thing might actually work out better than he’d dared to hope for -- that of all the times he’s taken a wild chance, this one might actually be worth it.
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Date: 2008-10-09 05:55 pm (UTC)Yeah, I loved that bit. Thanks!
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Date: 2010-06-25 03:29 am (UTC)You work is always so beautiful and I love it and had to revisit it, like a good, old friend.