Fic: Claims
Title: Claims
Summary: Wash has been on Serenity for a year. He runs into an old friend, and discovers Zoe doesn't like others touching what belongs to her.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Zoe & Wash
Timeline: Pre-series
Word count: 1700+
A.N.: I'm in the middle of writing a slightly dark Wash/Zoe piece, and I guess my subconscious needed a break, because the beginning of this fluffy piece came to me in the shower this morning, and then Zoe and Wash ran with it. (Update: that story was Cold, Cold Ground, now finished.) Anyway, written in one afternoon, not beta-ed, hopefully not egregiously cheesy.
~*~
"Wash!”
Putting his coffee mug down on the bar, Wash pivoted on his stool, turning toward a familiar voice.
“Marie! Wow, good to see you! You look great.” And she did. Her thick, waving, dark hair was caught back in a clip, just a few strands framing her face, and her hazel eyes were wide with interest. In him, in him, and that was always the most powerful aphrodisiac. And her full lips were curved in a smile, and her fair complexion pinked with excitement. She flowed toward him, skirt swirling, the bangles on her wrists chiming sweetly. The dockside tavern transfigured itself from a joint where he was simply marking time to a place of enchantment.
“You shaved.” She reached up, fingertips coming to rest on his naked upper lip, and, strangely, a little flush of embarrassment heated him. Strange, 'cause Marie had had her fingertips on parts of him that were lots more private than his face. Lots more, and more than a few times.
Then her fingers dropped to rest on the tab of his flight-suit's zip, and her other hand was on his thigh. And his own hands were coming up to take hers, gently running his thumbs over her knuckles. And that was strange too, because a year ago, before he signed on Serenity, they would have been at her waist, drawing her succulent body toward him.
“You didn't wave,” she scolded, the lift of her brow turning him into a naughty boy.
“No, sorry,” he replied, fingers still wrapped around hers, affectionate, but oddly reluctant to let them loose, to let them light down on any other part of his body. “We're dirtside for just a few hours, I'm waiting here for the rest of my crew to finish their business, then we'll be lifting off, lickety-split.”
She pressed in between his knees, slipping her hands from his to place them on his shoulders, squeezing. “A few hours,” she said speculatively, sweet mischief lighting her eyes. “Sounds like just the right amount of time.”
Another kind of heat was rising in him now, centered in his groin, and he found his hands on her hips. But more pushing her back than pulling her to him, and he was smiling, shaking his head ruefully. “Sorry, luscious. Don't know exactly when they'll be done, but I have to be here, ready to go, when they are.”
A flicker of motion in the corner of his eye turned his head, and there was Zoe, standing a meter away from him.
“Hey!” he said, the sight of her lifting his heart as it always did. “Marie, this is Zoe. Zoe Alleyne, my ship's first mate. Zoe, this is Marie Yu.”
Something very, very peculiar happened then. Marie, staring at Zoe, kinda... shrank. She yanked her hands off Wash's shoulders, slipping away from him. She mumbled something he couldn't catch, then was gone. Blinking, he gaped after her, then looked to Zoe, wondering if she could explain to him what had just happened. But Zoe had already turned, was heading toward the tavern door. Befuddled, he took enough time to grab his coffee mug and chug its contents down, 'cause, gorram, it was real coffee, and no pilot was ever gonna disrespect that. Then, he bolted after Zoe.
He caught sight of her four meters away from the door, turning down an alley which paralleled the quickest route to the docks. He jogged after her, turned into the alley, and found himself spinning, Zoe's fist clenched in the front of his flight-suit as she pushed him up against an alley wall.
“Is that gonna be happening every time I come looking for you dirtside?” she ground out, right up in his face.
“What? What?” He couldn't remember ever feeling so out of his depth.
“Me, finding you with some jian huo's hands all over you.” Her lips had taken a twist he'd never seen on her before, something judgmental, scornful.
His temper flared at the insult. “Marie's not a jian huo,” he snapped hotly. “She's a friend.” He reached up, grabbing her wrist to try to jerk her hand off his chest. She held firm a moment, then took a step back, tugging free of his grip. In the face of his anger, her own seemed to fade away, her expression smoothing. He found himself pinned by the weight of her assessing gaze.
“Suppose you got lots of friends like Marie. All over the 'verse,” she said softly.
He cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Well, not all over.”
“'Course not.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny wry smile as she went on, “Just wherever you been.”
He chuckled. A bit nervously, true, but still relieved to see her sense of humor surfacing. Then, soberly, he said, “Look, Zoe, about Marie, I wasn't gonna... Since we've been, you know, together, I haven't-”
His words caught in his throat, as she slid back toward him with a deadly suppleness. Her fingers twisted in his collar, and as she spoke, soft and clear, her breath ghosted over his lips.
“Guess I just don't care to see another's hands on what's mine.”
His back bumped hard against the wall behind him, as she shoved, pressing one of her thighs between his, as her mouth took avid possession of his. His mind still trying to process her words, his body reacted automatically to hers. A primal lust flared in him, the heat Marie had inspired in him earlier a pallid counterfeit. But... Marie's touching him made Zoe mad? Or was it jealous? Zoe was jealous? Ridiculous, the notion, except here was her ferocious mouth on his, her hands on him fierce and demanding. He met her plundering tongue with his, 'cause, by God, this wasn't gonna be a one-way plunder. He grabbed her hips, twisting his own against her in a grind that went beyond suggestive.
A tiny burst of air escaped through her nose, nearly a whimper, and she shoved back from him, out of his grasp, glaring at him fiercely, her breath quick and shallow. His own heart was racing, and he was more than a little grateful for the wall at his back, not sure his legs were up for the job of supporting him on their own.
“Gotta get back to Serenity,” she bit out, then wheeled away from him, her self-possession falling easily around her again, like a protective cloak.
His own self-possession was a little harder to come by, and he needed to take a number of centering breaths before he could push away from the wall and get his knees working right. He had to trot a bit to catch up to her, to place himself so he could stride along at her side. It was early evening, and the dockside market was at its busiest, and they had to weave their way through the crowded vendors' booths, around pedestrians and transport vehicles, both mechanical and animal powered.
They'd walked in silence for a while, before Zoe shot a sideways glance at him, and said pensively, “Mal ran cattle, back in the days. Figure he might know how to whip up a branding iron.”
“Branding..?” He hated it, he really did, when his voice squeaked.
“Yeah. A nice, clear brand. Cuts way down on the chances of rustling.”
Wondering if he should actually be alarmed, he studied her profile intently, and decided she was joking. Mostly. So he ran with the theme of the joke.
“How 'bout a nice, civilized tattoo instead? 'Property of Zoe Alleyne.' Or better yet, just 'Zoe's.' Tasteful, simple, to the point, lots less with the needle poking.”
“Where at?” she asked curiously.
“I- well-” Oh boy, was she taking this seriously? Meaty, think meaty and not so sensitive, just in case she was and he had to follow through. “Um, my right hip?”
She snorted. “By the time someone was able to read your buttock, Wash, it'd be a little late, don't you think?”
He nodded. “Valid point. Well, how 'bout-” He suddenly felt a little lightheaded, but pressed on, even under the threat of imminent passing out. “How 'bout a wedding ring?”
She stopped dead in her tracks, and he trotted on past her a couple paces, before realizing he'd left her behind, and doubled back. He placed himself in front of her, the busy-ness of the bazaar flowing around them, like a rowdy, rollicking stream around a boulder. He was taken aback to see her surprised, even stunned, expression. But, lao tian ye, he couldn't take it back, make it a joke, because he really, really meant it. Maybe he could smooth it, make it more palatable...
“Candles,” he blurted. “I was planning on candlelight and wine, real wine, not Kaylee's engine brew, and flowers, one flower, really, one of those sterling silver roses, a bud, like we saw in that park on Persephone, if I could find one, and maybe music. Jazz-”
She started walking again, pushing past him, toward the ship. He fell in beside her, anxiously trying to interpret the geometry of her face. Tough, 'cause she was doing that whole sexy stone goddess routine, not letting anything slip out.
“Just to make this clear,” she said after five or six steps. “You're asking me to marry you.”
“Yes,” he replied, enunciating as precisely as he could. “Yes, I am. I am asking you, Zoe, to marry me, Wash.”
She stopped again, and he turned to face her, meeting her eyes, making no effort to hide his desire, his hope, his love. To shape those things into anything sophisticated, mature, or civilized. “Please,” he added, trying for at least polite.
She continued to study him, then said, “Branding would probably be a lot less painful.”
A wave of relief, followed by one of panicky joy, rushed through him. He knew, he knew...
“Yes, well, I've suspected I'm a closet masochist for some time now.” His mouth was just on automatic now, as every nerve in his body burned with happiness.
“What does that make me?”
“Mine. Please, be mine.”
She turned toward Serenity again, the ship's prow lifting above the hurly-burly of the marketplace. She tucked her arm in Wash's, linking their elbows, and they continued toward their home, now at a casual stroll.
“I'd like that.” She turned her head, setting a quick kiss on his temple. “Yes. I will. I'll like that very, very much.”
~ * ~
Chinese translations
jian huo - cheap floozy
Lao tian ye - God
Summary: Wash has been on Serenity for a year. He runs into an old friend, and discovers Zoe doesn't like others touching what belongs to her.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Zoe & Wash
Timeline: Pre-series
Word count: 1700+
A.N.: I'm in the middle of writing a slightly dark Wash/Zoe piece, and I guess my subconscious needed a break, because the beginning of this fluffy piece came to me in the shower this morning, and then Zoe and Wash ran with it. (Update: that story was Cold, Cold Ground, now finished.) Anyway, written in one afternoon, not beta-ed, hopefully not egregiously cheesy.
~*~
"Wash!”
Putting his coffee mug down on the bar, Wash pivoted on his stool, turning toward a familiar voice.
“Marie! Wow, good to see you! You look great.” And she did. Her thick, waving, dark hair was caught back in a clip, just a few strands framing her face, and her hazel eyes were wide with interest. In him, in him, and that was always the most powerful aphrodisiac. And her full lips were curved in a smile, and her fair complexion pinked with excitement. She flowed toward him, skirt swirling, the bangles on her wrists chiming sweetly. The dockside tavern transfigured itself from a joint where he was simply marking time to a place of enchantment.
“You shaved.” She reached up, fingertips coming to rest on his naked upper lip, and, strangely, a little flush of embarrassment heated him. Strange, 'cause Marie had had her fingertips on parts of him that were lots more private than his face. Lots more, and more than a few times.
Then her fingers dropped to rest on the tab of his flight-suit's zip, and her other hand was on his thigh. And his own hands were coming up to take hers, gently running his thumbs over her knuckles. And that was strange too, because a year ago, before he signed on Serenity, they would have been at her waist, drawing her succulent body toward him.
“You didn't wave,” she scolded, the lift of her brow turning him into a naughty boy.
“No, sorry,” he replied, fingers still wrapped around hers, affectionate, but oddly reluctant to let them loose, to let them light down on any other part of his body. “We're dirtside for just a few hours, I'm waiting here for the rest of my crew to finish their business, then we'll be lifting off, lickety-split.”
She pressed in between his knees, slipping her hands from his to place them on his shoulders, squeezing. “A few hours,” she said speculatively, sweet mischief lighting her eyes. “Sounds like just the right amount of time.”
Another kind of heat was rising in him now, centered in his groin, and he found his hands on her hips. But more pushing her back than pulling her to him, and he was smiling, shaking his head ruefully. “Sorry, luscious. Don't know exactly when they'll be done, but I have to be here, ready to go, when they are.”
A flicker of motion in the corner of his eye turned his head, and there was Zoe, standing a meter away from him.
“Hey!” he said, the sight of her lifting his heart as it always did. “Marie, this is Zoe. Zoe Alleyne, my ship's first mate. Zoe, this is Marie Yu.”
Something very, very peculiar happened then. Marie, staring at Zoe, kinda... shrank. She yanked her hands off Wash's shoulders, slipping away from him. She mumbled something he couldn't catch, then was gone. Blinking, he gaped after her, then looked to Zoe, wondering if she could explain to him what had just happened. But Zoe had already turned, was heading toward the tavern door. Befuddled, he took enough time to grab his coffee mug and chug its contents down, 'cause, gorram, it was real coffee, and no pilot was ever gonna disrespect that. Then, he bolted after Zoe.
He caught sight of her four meters away from the door, turning down an alley which paralleled the quickest route to the docks. He jogged after her, turned into the alley, and found himself spinning, Zoe's fist clenched in the front of his flight-suit as she pushed him up against an alley wall.
“Is that gonna be happening every time I come looking for you dirtside?” she ground out, right up in his face.
“What? What?” He couldn't remember ever feeling so out of his depth.
“Me, finding you with some jian huo's hands all over you.” Her lips had taken a twist he'd never seen on her before, something judgmental, scornful.
His temper flared at the insult. “Marie's not a jian huo,” he snapped hotly. “She's a friend.” He reached up, grabbing her wrist to try to jerk her hand off his chest. She held firm a moment, then took a step back, tugging free of his grip. In the face of his anger, her own seemed to fade away, her expression smoothing. He found himself pinned by the weight of her assessing gaze.
“Suppose you got lots of friends like Marie. All over the 'verse,” she said softly.
He cleared his throat, a little uncomfortable under her scrutiny. “Well, not all over.”
“'Course not.” The corner of her mouth lifted in a tiny wry smile as she went on, “Just wherever you been.”
He chuckled. A bit nervously, true, but still relieved to see her sense of humor surfacing. Then, soberly, he said, “Look, Zoe, about Marie, I wasn't gonna... Since we've been, you know, together, I haven't-”
His words caught in his throat, as she slid back toward him with a deadly suppleness. Her fingers twisted in his collar, and as she spoke, soft and clear, her breath ghosted over his lips.
“Guess I just don't care to see another's hands on what's mine.”
His back bumped hard against the wall behind him, as she shoved, pressing one of her thighs between his, as her mouth took avid possession of his. His mind still trying to process her words, his body reacted automatically to hers. A primal lust flared in him, the heat Marie had inspired in him earlier a pallid counterfeit. But... Marie's touching him made Zoe mad? Or was it jealous? Zoe was jealous? Ridiculous, the notion, except here was her ferocious mouth on his, her hands on him fierce and demanding. He met her plundering tongue with his, 'cause, by God, this wasn't gonna be a one-way plunder. He grabbed her hips, twisting his own against her in a grind that went beyond suggestive.
A tiny burst of air escaped through her nose, nearly a whimper, and she shoved back from him, out of his grasp, glaring at him fiercely, her breath quick and shallow. His own heart was racing, and he was more than a little grateful for the wall at his back, not sure his legs were up for the job of supporting him on their own.
“Gotta get back to Serenity,” she bit out, then wheeled away from him, her self-possession falling easily around her again, like a protective cloak.
His own self-possession was a little harder to come by, and he needed to take a number of centering breaths before he could push away from the wall and get his knees working right. He had to trot a bit to catch up to her, to place himself so he could stride along at her side. It was early evening, and the dockside market was at its busiest, and they had to weave their way through the crowded vendors' booths, around pedestrians and transport vehicles, both mechanical and animal powered.
They'd walked in silence for a while, before Zoe shot a sideways glance at him, and said pensively, “Mal ran cattle, back in the days. Figure he might know how to whip up a branding iron.”
“Branding..?” He hated it, he really did, when his voice squeaked.
“Yeah. A nice, clear brand. Cuts way down on the chances of rustling.”
Wondering if he should actually be alarmed, he studied her profile intently, and decided she was joking. Mostly. So he ran with the theme of the joke.
“How 'bout a nice, civilized tattoo instead? 'Property of Zoe Alleyne.' Or better yet, just 'Zoe's.' Tasteful, simple, to the point, lots less with the needle poking.”
“Where at?” she asked curiously.
“I- well-” Oh boy, was she taking this seriously? Meaty, think meaty and not so sensitive, just in case she was and he had to follow through. “Um, my right hip?”
She snorted. “By the time someone was able to read your buttock, Wash, it'd be a little late, don't you think?”
He nodded. “Valid point. Well, how 'bout-” He suddenly felt a little lightheaded, but pressed on, even under the threat of imminent passing out. “How 'bout a wedding ring?”
She stopped dead in her tracks, and he trotted on past her a couple paces, before realizing he'd left her behind, and doubled back. He placed himself in front of her, the busy-ness of the bazaar flowing around them, like a rowdy, rollicking stream around a boulder. He was taken aback to see her surprised, even stunned, expression. But, lao tian ye, he couldn't take it back, make it a joke, because he really, really meant it. Maybe he could smooth it, make it more palatable...
“Candles,” he blurted. “I was planning on candlelight and wine, real wine, not Kaylee's engine brew, and flowers, one flower, really, one of those sterling silver roses, a bud, like we saw in that park on Persephone, if I could find one, and maybe music. Jazz-”
She started walking again, pushing past him, toward the ship. He fell in beside her, anxiously trying to interpret the geometry of her face. Tough, 'cause she was doing that whole sexy stone goddess routine, not letting anything slip out.
“Just to make this clear,” she said after five or six steps. “You're asking me to marry you.”
“Yes,” he replied, enunciating as precisely as he could. “Yes, I am. I am asking you, Zoe, to marry me, Wash.”
She stopped again, and he turned to face her, meeting her eyes, making no effort to hide his desire, his hope, his love. To shape those things into anything sophisticated, mature, or civilized. “Please,” he added, trying for at least polite.
She continued to study him, then said, “Branding would probably be a lot less painful.”
A wave of relief, followed by one of panicky joy, rushed through him. He knew, he knew...
“Yes, well, I've suspected I'm a closet masochist for some time now.” His mouth was just on automatic now, as every nerve in his body burned with happiness.
“What does that make me?”
“Mine. Please, be mine.”
She turned toward Serenity again, the ship's prow lifting above the hurly-burly of the marketplace. She tucked her arm in Wash's, linking their elbows, and they continued toward their home, now at a casual stroll.
“I'd like that.” She turned her head, setting a quick kiss on his temple. “Yes. I will. I'll like that very, very much.”
~ * ~
Chinese translations
jian huo - cheap floozy
Lao tian ye - God