[ fic ] hang you from the heavens

[sardonicynic]

title: hang you from the heavens
author: sardonicynic
rating: R for decidedly adult content
summary: this U-Day heralds less drinking, and less bleeding, than usual.
word count: 692
characters: inara, mal; mentions of kaylee and zoë
pairing(s): inara/mal
spoilers: set at a nebulous point post-serenity, but no real spoilers for the series or the movie.
disclaimer: the characters aren't mine; the words are.
a/n: written for porn battle xii. prompt: war stories. title taken from a dead weather song of the same name.

Mal's body tells the stories of his past better than words ever will.

Her fingers smooth over skin and scar tissue, stirring and stilling ghosts with each featherlight touch.

"'Nara — "

His voice is low, rougher than usual, his eyes so dark they're black in the dim, rich light of her shuttle.

"Fàngxīn," she says, her lips hovering a half-breath from his earlobe. "I'm not asking."

She doesn't have to — not with the pads of her fingers reading the history of his war with the Alliance like it's written in Braille.

"That's good." He pulls her on top of him, his hands molding to the curves of her hips. "'Cause I don't much want to talk, at the moment."

"How convenient," she says, shifting just so, and taking private pleasure in the hiss that leaves his clenched teeth. "Neither do I."

She isn't certain what brought him to her door, tonight, of all nights; with Mal, Unification Day usually involves more drinking, and more bleeding. Less of this, in any case.

But she didn't dare turn him away, especially with him holding a bottle and two dented tin cups, his face awash in trepidation, and her own heart beating triple-time.

Mal pulls her down for a kiss, and the shuttle shrinks to her bed. Kaylee's homemade rice wine swirls in her system, leaving her dizzy with want.

His callused thumb grazes her nipple. She kisses him hard, harder, because he's still treating her like she's made of porcelain.

He groans, shifting under her, and sweet réncí de Fózŭ, she needs him to touch her. (Needs, she marvels, because she doesn't need at this juncture — that's not what Companions do.)

"More," she says, her mouth at his jaw.

He rolls, and she welcomes the warm weight of him, craving contact and connection.

She tilts her hips, and he eases into her; her nails bite his shoulder blades, and deep in her dinosaur brain, she hopes this is what he never expected — there's no practiced grace or perfected art to this, only tangled limbs and hammering heartbeats.

But within seconds, she's no longer thinking at all.

He buries his face in the curve of her neck and shoulder, and forces a hand between their torsos. His thumb sweeps low on her stomach, lower, and he touches her just where she wants. There, oh, there —

She bucks beneath him, swallowing a sharp sound.

He grunts, a wŏ de mā muffled against her skin.

Her hand joins his between her thighs, meeting hot, slick skin, guiding the press and circle of his thumb until she's trembling.

"Mal," she says, barely a breath.

"Please," he says, panting, voice tight with restraint.

She breaks apart, the sound of his voice the final nudge. Her legs tighten around his waist, and her fingers thread into his hair; holding him close, she can feel the telltale shudder that streaks down his spine.

He comes hard with a choked groan, his mouth at her collarbone.

She strokes his nape, pleased to feel him shiver with the attention.




- - - - -




She wakes to the rustle of clothing, a muted thunk, and a muttered curse.

Raking her hair from her face, she sits up to see Mal stagger over a discarded boot.

"Mal — "

He starts, nearly dropping the sock in his hand.

"I, uh." He smiles, too quick and bright to be anything but false. "I've got captaining to do."

She nods, drawing the sheet to her shoulders.

"Of course."




- - - - -




Much later, Zoë hauls Mal back to Serenity, as bloodied and bruised as Inara's ever seen him.

He limps toward the infirmary for some much-needed stitches, and Inara swallows a cutting retort as he passes her in the galley.

She reaches for a tea bag — green will do nicely, tonight — and bites the inside of her cheek.

The adage is true, she thinks, waiting for the water to boil. The more things change, the more they stay the same.




- - - - -

translations:
fàngxīn : don't worry
réncí de Fózŭ : merciful Buddha
wŏ de mā : mother of God

Comments

[charlie-bz.livejournal.com]

I liked this fic very much. Especially: his face awash in trepidation, ...

Great line!

[sardonicynic]

Thank you so much -- glad to hear you enjoyed the read!

The things these two do to my heart, I swear. Augh.

[rocketgirl2.livejournal.com]

Oh man, this was beautiful and sad. You write them so well - I love she hopes this is what he never expected — there's no practiced grace or perfected art to this, only tangled limbs and hammering heartbeats.
.

The ending is perfect. Great fic. ♥

[sardonicynic]

Oh, you are the sweetest, spoiling me with this kind of feedback, you know that? Thanks so much — happy to know you enjoyed this!

And augh, your icon. Love, love, love.

[rocketgirl2.livejournal.com]

:3 Well, there is not enough good Mal/Inara out there. And thanks! lonekitty made it. :)

[agent-rouka.livejournal.com]

Oh, this was nice! Very dark and sad, though. There's something almost bitter in the way Inara is trying to impress him, focuses on how he might see her during this, and it ends up being - while certainly not unfeeling - just a thing he did before his usual U Day ritual, not momentous enough to warrant a change, or perhaps just another thing he deals with by fighting it away. Especially dark since he initiated the whole thing in the first place. "Not enough" is a thing they are great and making each other feel.

I like her reaction: green tea and cold anger.

Beautiful piece. :) Do you do cheerful things, too?

[mieystrapurore.livejournal.com]

I liked how you structured this into the moments. good reading!