Hate, Grief and Discontent
Oct. 25th, 2006 10:55 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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firefly_fanficTitle: Hate, Grief and Discontent
Disclaimer: Belongs to somebody not me. Blah blah blah, yackety schmackety
Rating: PG-13
Now, the red silk was just tight enough over her growing curves that it was not quite suitable for wearing in front of the crew.
Especially in front of Jayne.
Not that Mal himself minded the extra curves. Particularly when he pondered the notion of why she was getting them - in between bouts of sheer terror at the notion of a small voice calling him 'Daddy.'
Or worse, a sullen teen-ager.
But for now at least, her in that skin-tight red silk was driving him to all manner of distraction.
"Hey, c'mere!" He reached for her as she set the tea tray down in front of them, leaning down to give him an eyeful of some of those extra curves. Inara let out a playful squeal as he pulled her into his lap.
Six months ago, you coulda shot him dead before he'd believe Companions could squeal.
He put a gentle hand on her slightly expanded stomach. "How's the butterbean doin'?"
He knew she hated him calling their child 'butterbean,' but he figgured if he didn't give her something to get just a bit riled over, she'd begin to wonder about him.
"Our *child* is just fine. Simon says in another month, she'll start kicking."
"She? You know it's a her?"
Inara smiled. "Yes. I just got the test results."
"Just what I need. Another female on this boat to give me hate, grief and discontent."
She shifted in his lap, making parts of him feel almost as tight as that dress. "I don't always give you grief, Mal."
He smiled into the side of her neck. "True that...but you are very good at the discontent."
Disclaimer: Belongs to somebody not me. Blah blah blah, yackety schmackety
Rating: PG-13
Now, the red silk was just tight enough over her growing curves that it was not quite suitable for wearing in front of the crew.
Especially in front of Jayne.
Not that Mal himself minded the extra curves. Particularly when he pondered the notion of why she was getting them - in between bouts of sheer terror at the notion of a small voice calling him 'Daddy.'
Or worse, a sullen teen-ager.
But for now at least, her in that skin-tight red silk was driving him to all manner of distraction.
"Hey, c'mere!" He reached for her as she set the tea tray down in front of them, leaning down to give him an eyeful of some of those extra curves. Inara let out a playful squeal as he pulled her into his lap.
Six months ago, you coulda shot him dead before he'd believe Companions could squeal.
He put a gentle hand on her slightly expanded stomach. "How's the butterbean doin'?"
He knew she hated him calling their child 'butterbean,' but he figgured if he didn't give her something to get just a bit riled over, she'd begin to wonder about him.
"Our *child* is just fine. Simon says in another month, she'll start kicking."
"She? You know it's a her?"
Inara smiled. "Yes. I just got the test results."
"Just what I need. Another female on this boat to give me hate, grief and discontent."
She shifted in his lap, making parts of him feel almost as tight as that dress. "I don't always give you grief, Mal."
He smiled into the side of her neck. "True that...but you are very good at the discontent."