A Smattering of Recs and some Lust de Mal (aka fic)
Here are some random recs for one-shot fics I've read recently that I liked.
Veronica Mars
Four Christmases that Logan Echolls Never Had, and One He Probably Did by buffyx. This is not your mama's Christmas fic. Unless your mama likes her Logan angst with a liberal dose of dark humor and wistfulness.
An Inexplicable Tendency to Tap Dance I like my L/V sadiekate-flavored. Banter, hotness, the requisite awkwardness and a nice (but not sickening) dose of sweet.
Firefly
Unbalanced by ana_grrl. It's Inara and Jayne. Not Inara/Jayne if that's what you're looking for/trying to avoid. Excellent characterizations and it explores the idea that Inara had self-defense training which is a conclusion that I also came to myself.
And here is a snippet-like outtake from "the Inara fic" aka "A Woman's Worth" (or at least I think that's what I'm going to call it.
A Mal POV Fic-Snippet That's not as Smutty as You Think It Is
Title: “Rice Wine Reality”
Author: femmenerd
Characters/Pairing: Mal POV, Mal/Inara
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 702
Disclaimer: These pretty, angsty people belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy, not me.
Summary: Sake and sympathy…sort of. Set post-Serenity, in the ‘verse of my as yet unposted Inara-centric fic, “A Woman’s Worth.” This is a snippet really. Vaguely spoilery for the third chapter of that fic although I don’t really think that if a story is labeled NC17 and Mal/Inara, the fact that they have sex is too big of a shock.
Author’s note: I’ve limited “A Woman’s Worth” to a close, limited third person narration that’s aligned with Inara. It works for the story (which is hers), I hope, but Mal kept being pesky and insisting that I deal with his thoughts and feelings. Hence this “outtake” if you will. If you want to know how the heck we got here and what happens next, you’ll have to read “A Woman’s Worth,” which I will most likely cave and post the first part of in my journal very soon despite the fact that I’m convinced that “real fanfic writers” don’t post until they’re many chapters ahead…or something. Also, a shout out to amybnnyc for her attempts to save me from my addiction to em dashes.
ETA: I posted the prologue here.
Mal hadn’t imagined it would happen like this. Hell, he’d never really thought it would happen at all.
Wanting (and loving) her were not things he asked for or wanted-like too many things, they just happened.
There was no running from the way she swarmed his brain, foggin’ things up, but they were never solid or real seemin’-these delusions. No, alone in his bunk, tugging his own cord, head stuffed to the brim with Inara scent-smell-taste, it was never like this. All he’d needed was a sense of her to get him stiffer than hell and feeling like an idiot. And when it was over, he’d lie there and listen to Serenity’s purr, panting in the dark, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.
But now he’s touching her and she’s hot like a fever through the callouses on his fingertips. Her eyes are pleading with him through the haze that’s come by the pretty-painted teacupful of her fancy rice wine. Dark and glittering, gleaming or some other fool word that stupid, lovesick men think about women they shouldn’t-can’t really-be touching, holding, getting lost in.
Anger and betrayal hang heavy on her toffee-sweet skin (at least this time it’s not to do with him). He should feel sorry-and he really, really does-that her world’s gone topsy-turvy and she’s hurting something terrible, but right now her pretty hand is reaching into his pants and he’s groaning and things are short circuiting in his mind.
His pants almost match hers-or Kaylee’s-and it’s making him hot. But he’d want her in a burlap sack, he realizes. Never once pictured Inara dressed in anything but silks and satins but she’s a picture in canvas and cotton-the most beautiful sight he’s ever come across.
She’s rumpled and magnificent without her finery. Still fully clothed but half-unbuttoned, she seems more naked than he’s ever imagined-like he can touch her without getting scalded alive.
She’s still Inara-the most bewildering, irritating, tantalizing woman he’s ever met and Mal’s getting drunk on her even worse than on account of the blasted sake.
Burying his hands and face in her long, dark hair. Grasping. Grappling. She’s shimmying on him now and it’s almost too much. Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, nipples like angry fruit under the pads of his thumbs and every sound she makes tells him more, more, like it’s never enough.
His mouth is trying to memorize her, because surely this will never happen again-isn’t happening now.
If Mal was less intoxicated he might worry that his unrefined love tactics pale in comparison with her past or perhaps be more conscious of the fact that he’s got something to prove. But in this impossible moment in a mostly barren shuttle while the rest of the crew sleeps, the other men don’t matter. And he isn’t jealous of them in the way that you think. The simple part of him-the part without opposable thumbs or a dashing sense of irony and wit-growls because they got to touch her, taste her, feel her…
But he wanted to love her. Gorram fool.
He didn’t want to own her-he wanted to be smothered in her.
And right now-he is. His cock’s inside so deep and her tongue is circling the shell of his ear and there’s nothing else. She’s pushing back and shuddering and doin’ other things that make a fellow proud.
Damn sure he’ll pay for this.
She comes apart in his arms and then solidifies again only to take him so high he almost shouts. She’s snatching her pleasure from him and he wishes there were more he could give to stuff up the gaping hole in her smashed-in world. When he empties himself in her, her name falls out of his mouth-there’s nothing to be done about it.
Then it’s dark and quiet again. They’re both covered in sweat. She kisses his forehead and musses his hair.
“You’re still too gorram good for me,” he says into the valley between her breasts.
“That’s never been true,” he thinks she says real soft-like but he’s not sure.
Mal’s not sure of any of this.
Veronica Mars
Four Christmases that Logan Echolls Never Had, and One He Probably Did by buffyx. This is not your mama's Christmas fic. Unless your mama likes her Logan angst with a liberal dose of dark humor and wistfulness.
An Inexplicable Tendency to Tap Dance I like my L/V sadiekate-flavored. Banter, hotness, the requisite awkwardness and a nice (but not sickening) dose of sweet.
Firefly
Unbalanced by ana_grrl. It's Inara and Jayne. Not Inara/Jayne if that's what you're looking for/trying to avoid. Excellent characterizations and it explores the idea that Inara had self-defense training which is a conclusion that I also came to myself.
And here is a snippet-like outtake from "the Inara fic" aka "A Woman's Worth" (or at least I think that's what I'm going to call it.
A Mal POV Fic-Snippet That's not as Smutty as You Think It Is
Title: “Rice Wine Reality”
Author: femmenerd
Characters/Pairing: Mal POV, Mal/Inara
Rating: Hard R
Word Count: 702
Disclaimer: These pretty, angsty people belong to Joss and Mutant Enemy, not me.
Summary: Sake and sympathy…sort of. Set post-Serenity, in the ‘verse of my as yet unposted Inara-centric fic, “A Woman’s Worth.” This is a snippet really. Vaguely spoilery for the third chapter of that fic although I don’t really think that if a story is labeled NC17 and Mal/Inara, the fact that they have sex is too big of a shock.
Author’s note: I’ve limited “A Woman’s Worth” to a close, limited third person narration that’s aligned with Inara. It works for the story (which is hers), I hope, but Mal kept being pesky and insisting that I deal with his thoughts and feelings. Hence this “outtake” if you will. If you want to know how the heck we got here and what happens next, you’ll have to read “A Woman’s Worth,” which I will most likely cave and post the first part of in my journal very soon despite the fact that I’m convinced that “real fanfic writers” don’t post until they’re many chapters ahead…or something. Also, a shout out to amybnnyc for her attempts to save me from my addiction to em dashes.
ETA: I posted the prologue here.
Mal hadn’t imagined it would happen like this. Hell, he’d never really thought it would happen at all.
Wanting (and loving) her were not things he asked for or wanted-like too many things, they just happened.
There was no running from the way she swarmed his brain, foggin’ things up, but they were never solid or real seemin’-these delusions. No, alone in his bunk, tugging his own cord, head stuffed to the brim with Inara scent-smell-taste, it was never like this. All he’d needed was a sense of her to get him stiffer than hell and feeling like an idiot. And when it was over, he’d lie there and listen to Serenity’s purr, panting in the dark, chest heaving and eyes shut tight.
But now he’s touching her and she’s hot like a fever through the callouses on his fingertips. Her eyes are pleading with him through the haze that’s come by the pretty-painted teacupful of her fancy rice wine. Dark and glittering, gleaming or some other fool word that stupid, lovesick men think about women they shouldn’t-can’t really-be touching, holding, getting lost in.
Anger and betrayal hang heavy on her toffee-sweet skin (at least this time it’s not to do with him). He should feel sorry-and he really, really does-that her world’s gone topsy-turvy and she’s hurting something terrible, but right now her pretty hand is reaching into his pants and he’s groaning and things are short circuiting in his mind.
His pants almost match hers-or Kaylee’s-and it’s making him hot. But he’d want her in a burlap sack, he realizes. Never once pictured Inara dressed in anything but silks and satins but she’s a picture in canvas and cotton-the most beautiful sight he’s ever come across.
She’s rumpled and magnificent without her finery. Still fully clothed but half-unbuttoned, she seems more naked than he’s ever imagined-like he can touch her without getting scalded alive.
She’s still Inara-the most bewildering, irritating, tantalizing woman he’s ever met and Mal’s getting drunk on her even worse than on account of the blasted sake.
Burying his hands and face in her long, dark hair. Grasping. Grappling. She’s shimmying on him now and it’s almost too much. Her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, nipples like angry fruit under the pads of his thumbs and every sound she makes tells him more, more, like it’s never enough.
His mouth is trying to memorize her, because surely this will never happen again-isn’t happening now.
If Mal was less intoxicated he might worry that his unrefined love tactics pale in comparison with her past or perhaps be more conscious of the fact that he’s got something to prove. But in this impossible moment in a mostly barren shuttle while the rest of the crew sleeps, the other men don’t matter. And he isn’t jealous of them in the way that you think. The simple part of him-the part without opposable thumbs or a dashing sense of irony and wit-growls because they got to touch her, taste her, feel her…
But he wanted to love her. Gorram fool.
He didn’t want to own her-he wanted to be smothered in her.
And right now-he is. His cock’s inside so deep and her tongue is circling the shell of his ear and there’s nothing else. She’s pushing back and shuddering and doin’ other things that make a fellow proud.
Damn sure he’ll pay for this.
She comes apart in his arms and then solidifies again only to take him so high he almost shouts. She’s snatching her pleasure from him and he wishes there were more he could give to stuff up the gaping hole in her smashed-in world. When he empties himself in her, her name falls out of his mouth-there’s nothing to be done about it.
Then it’s dark and quiet again. They’re both covered in sweat. She kisses his forehead and musses his hair.
“You’re still too gorram good for me,” he says into the valley between her breasts.
“That’s never been true,” he thinks she says real soft-like but he’s not sure.
Mal’s not sure of any of this.