Suddenly, het! Pages of it!
Title: Shave and a Haircut
Summary: Zoe takes matters into her own hands.
Fandom: Firefly
Word Count: 591
Rating/Warnings: PG
Pairing: Wash/Zoe
A/N: I have no recollection of having written this. Apparently it was for rachel2205 at serenity_santa. But really, who doesn't want a lap full of Zoe?
After a substantial hunt, Wash found her in the dining room, carving slices from an apple.
"It has come to my attention," he started, "that you and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot." Zoe barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. "Nevertheless, in order to promote a more peaceful working environment," he continued, pretending not to notice, "I am prepared to make certain," he paused, "concessions."
He answered her uplifted eyebrow by holding up a straight razor and a can of shaving foam.
Her response wasn't quite like he expected; she stood up and walked quite close to him. Surprised, he lost his balance, landing in the chair behind him. "If I'd known it would make you this excited-"
She turned and reached into the kitchen for a large bowl and a dish rag. "I don't have any kind of a use for a man who doesn't keep his word," she warned him, stepping around the counter to the sink. Her basin filled, she thrust it into his hands, pulling up a chair.
Wash suddenly realized the precariousness of his position. "Are you sure you know how to use that thing?" he asked, a bit hoarse.
She wet a corner of her towel, laving his face with it. "Relax," she told him, but he wasn't quite comforted by her tone of voice.
"I imagine you had some hairy relative to practice on," he said, in a vain attempt to comfort himself.
"Nope," she replied, and he decided he didn't really want to know.
Her hands were warm and steady as she slicked his moustache with the shaving cream, but he still screwed his eyes shut when she picked up the razor. "Relax," she chided him again, but he couldn't find a very good reason to.
He felt a tugging at his face, but that was it. Cautiously, he opened one eye, trying in vain to look past his own nose. "This isn't so bad," he opined.
She took his chin in her hand. "It will be if you keep talking."
He shut his eyes tight again.
After some minutes, he felt her lift the water bowl out of his hands. "All done?" he asked hopefully.
She made a snorting noise. "Not hardly."
In one movement, she was on top of him, straddling his thighs. "I didn't know this was a full service salon," he said, to cover his nervousness.
"You want a close shave," she told him, picking up the razor again, "you gotta get close."
Too nervous to keep his eyes open, he could only listen to and feel her calm, steady rhythm- one long stroke of the razor, the little splash when she ran it through the basin, a barely audible scratch as she dried it on the rough towel. If Wash hadn't been too busy noticing the beautiful woman in his lap, he could have almost fallen asleep to it.
All too soon, she was dabbing at his upper lip with the towel, wiping away the last flecks of shaving cream. He blinked his eyes open, watching her.
"This is probably an inappropriate time to ask you-" he broke off, reconsidering. "This is probably a very appropriate time to ask you if I can take you to dinner the next time we're in port."
Her lips curled slightly- he couldn't exactly call it a smile, but it was definitely something, a good something.
"I'll think about it," she told him, standing up gracefully and gathering her supplies.
He never missed the moustache for an instant.
Summary: Zoe takes matters into her own hands.
Fandom: Firefly
Word Count: 591
Rating/Warnings: PG
Pairing: Wash/Zoe
A/N: I have no recollection of having written this. Apparently it was for rachel2205 at serenity_santa. But really, who doesn't want a lap full of Zoe?
After a substantial hunt, Wash found her in the dining room, carving slices from an apple.
"It has come to my attention," he started, "that you and I may have gotten off on the wrong foot." Zoe barely kept herself from rolling her eyes. "Nevertheless, in order to promote a more peaceful working environment," he continued, pretending not to notice, "I am prepared to make certain," he paused, "concessions."
He answered her uplifted eyebrow by holding up a straight razor and a can of shaving foam.
Her response wasn't quite like he expected; she stood up and walked quite close to him. Surprised, he lost his balance, landing in the chair behind him. "If I'd known it would make you this excited-"
She turned and reached into the kitchen for a large bowl and a dish rag. "I don't have any kind of a use for a man who doesn't keep his word," she warned him, stepping around the counter to the sink. Her basin filled, she thrust it into his hands, pulling up a chair.
Wash suddenly realized the precariousness of his position. "Are you sure you know how to use that thing?" he asked, a bit hoarse.
She wet a corner of her towel, laving his face with it. "Relax," she told him, but he wasn't quite comforted by her tone of voice.
"I imagine you had some hairy relative to practice on," he said, in a vain attempt to comfort himself.
"Nope," she replied, and he decided he didn't really want to know.
Her hands were warm and steady as she slicked his moustache with the shaving cream, but he still screwed his eyes shut when she picked up the razor. "Relax," she chided him again, but he couldn't find a very good reason to.
He felt a tugging at his face, but that was it. Cautiously, he opened one eye, trying in vain to look past his own nose. "This isn't so bad," he opined.
She took his chin in her hand. "It will be if you keep talking."
He shut his eyes tight again.
After some minutes, he felt her lift the water bowl out of his hands. "All done?" he asked hopefully.
She made a snorting noise. "Not hardly."
In one movement, she was on top of him, straddling his thighs. "I didn't know this was a full service salon," he said, to cover his nervousness.
"You want a close shave," she told him, picking up the razor again, "you gotta get close."
Too nervous to keep his eyes open, he could only listen to and feel her calm, steady rhythm- one long stroke of the razor, the little splash when she ran it through the basin, a barely audible scratch as she dried it on the rough towel. If Wash hadn't been too busy noticing the beautiful woman in his lap, he could have almost fallen asleep to it.
All too soon, she was dabbing at his upper lip with the towel, wiping away the last flecks of shaving cream. He blinked his eyes open, watching her.
"This is probably an inappropriate time to ask you-" he broke off, reconsidering. "This is probably a very appropriate time to ask you if I can take you to dinner the next time we're in port."
Her lips curled slightly- he couldn't exactly call it a smile, but it was definitely something, a good something.
"I'll think about it," she told him, standing up gracefully and gathering her supplies.
He never missed the moustache for an instant.