Happy Christmas Slashmarks!
Hope you like your fic! And the little bit of media that comes with it...
The girl was a painter.
The crew of Serenity had picked up cargo and passengers on Apple Star Four, the classiest of the Apple Star planets. The ship wasn't quite what the guests expected, but then again most of them were former elite who, because of the planet's hard recession, acted a lot wealthier than they really were. Otherwise they would not have been booking passage on a Firefly class ship.
River watched all the new passengers board the ship from the safety of the piping above the catwalk. Her hair was tied back for once, the one part of her that gave her away when she hid on the ceiling. The people coming on board were boring, people who reminded her of her parents and their tidy way of life. Women in bustles and skirts, with pointed shoes that clacked on the steel grates. Men in bowler hats and jackets with pocket watch chains dangling out the vest posket, glistening like the blade of a knife. It was terrifying and fascinating and utterly dull. River waited, crouched in her position, while the guests were shown their quarters. Some were being brought down to the guest quarters where she and Simon were (she had been forced into Simon's room for the time being), and one family was staying in the second shuttle. A few younger children ran around the cargo bay, thin leather shoes almost soundless. They might do for play, River thought to herself. Littles ones did not think her strange as adults did.
The reader was ready to come down, slip seamlessly into the crowd as though she had been there all along, until she saw her. A young woman, brazen red hair and a long, slender neck, carrying a large canvas, a sleek leather suitcase and a weathered green bag. She dressed in the same clothing as the other women, but somehow she looked more comfortable in them, as though she were born into them. As though the style were made for just her. Eyes wide, River leaned down to get a better look. The woman might have been Simon's age, if that, though her face indicated a great deal of secrecy and wisdom for someone beyond her years. She reminded River of Shepherd Book, the way he spoke softly but his words were heavy. Also the woman's copper hair was curled and crinkled, barely tamed by a leather cord tying it back. She didn't even try to hide it as Book had, so River wasn't suprised by it. She was honest right from the start. Watching the woman move, River thought she saw her glance upward as she passed underneath, spotting River's hiding place. Crouching back, the reader held her breath, but the woman didn't turn to her, simply continued on her way.
Fascinating.
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Simon had told her to leave the guests alone. He was still worried someone would turn them in, worried that despite the eight months that had passed, the Alliance would want River still. The captain had told her to leave the guests alone. They were paying for passage and these types wanted to be left alone, not bothered and prodded by some moonbrain pilot. Kayle had suggested she not disturb the guests, they were probably tired and needed to get used to life in the black. Maybe River could help her with the engine? Jayne had told her to "piss off". Zoe gave her a warning look, but said nothing. The look was more forceful then her words were capable of. She knew she was supposed to stay away. But the painter was in her bedroom.
Ear pressed to the door, breathing slow, River listened. The woman was speaking to herself in French, a rare and beautiful language. A smile broke onto River's lips. The woman was painting, she had to be. She could smell the rich chemical scent of oil paints coming through from beneath the door. Every so often a paintbrush would tap on wood, no doubt drumming on the pallete. Perhaps she was at a block, could not think of what came next in her piece? Or perhaps she had not started at all, as the canvas had been blank when she'd come on board.
"Entrez, cheri," a voice called from inside the room. "Come in my dear. You will be less of an ennui in here." River's eyes were wide, staring at the door as though it were the one talking to her. Wait, was it? No, no of course not. It was the woman inside. Slowly, River slid the door open, peeking her head inside, hair dangling like willow branches. The woman was standing in front of her easel, large canvas mounted. It was still blank, though her brush was poised in her left hand. She did not turn to look at her guest, simply stared at her canvas. "Merde," she said after a moment. "It is not here. There is nothing hiding there. I cannot uncover it. Why do you hide outside my room?"
It took River a moment to realize that last bit was being directed at her. "I smelled the paint," she said shyly, stepping fully into the room and closing the door. "And your voice is rare and clear, like... rain water for the desert."
Finally turning to River, the woman looked her up and down. She had shed several layers of clothing, her hoop skirt and fitted jacket now gone and replaced with denim jeans and the sheerest of men's dress shirts. It looked like something the captain might wear, though he would never wear it this way. He could never look as captivating as this woman looked. "You are a dancer," she noted, her accent thick but perfectly clear. River was startled- was the woman a reader as well? By birth? The woman laughed at River's expression. "It is obvious from the way you stand," she explained. "From the sleekness of your limbs, like a cat. Your slenderness, yet round, made for beauty and grace." With a wink she turned to her canvas once more. "Come, cheri. Tell me what you see here."
Stepping over to her, River looked at the canvas. "I see nothing," she said after a moment. It was not that she didn't understand what the woman meant, because she did. She was looking for the painting that belonged there, that was made for this canvas. But River did not see it either. "It's ready, but you can't find it."
"Yes," the woman agreed, nodding. How pleasing it was to find someone who understood. She had known the moment she'd spotted River in the overhead pipes that the girl was an artiste. She had a dangerous, suffering look about her. "I am Rita," she said after a moment.
"Lovely Rita, meter maid, nothing can come between us." River's eyes were wide, dreamy, remembering a song she had never heard before.
Putting a hand on the girl's waist, Rita drew closer, pressing their hips together. "May I inquire discreetly, when you are free to take some tea with me?" There was a knowing smile on her soft, perfectly bowed lips, a smile that remained until she pressed her mouth against the younger girl's, sealing them with a kiss. River's heart skipped a beat as she pulled away, the emotions washing through her and she could not stop them. She was afraid, nervous, anxious, pleased. She had to leave. But Rita held her tightly, her lithe body pressed to River's, the paintbrush in her hand dropped to the floor. "I see it now," she whispered, leaning close to River, her breath brushing the reader's lips. "I see my art, my piece. I see it in you." She kissed her again, this time more passionately, more fully. River's mind fought this, her hands gripping tight Rita's biceps, fingers curled into the skin. Simon would be furious, would have Rita thrown off the ship. No, no. Don't let him do that.
Melting against the woman, River's own body betrayed her, her grip softening. A deep moan vibrated in her throat, hungry and desperate. She couldn't focus on one sensation long enough before another tossed it aside in favor of a new one. Rita's body was soft, her hands firm on River's back, her arms strong around her, tongue forceful in her mouth. The two of them moved toward the bed, Rita laying the girl down gently, her hands lifting River's shirt. Gasping, River pulled away, looking up at the woman, shocked. Her head was swimming, the room around her hazy. All she could see was Rita's face, her brilliant hair, and the fabric of her shirt as it crossed her vision while it was drawn up over her head and tossed aside. She felt more exposed than just her bare skin. She felt like Rita was tearing her open and seeing the inside madness. "I have to go," she whispered desperately. "Simon, I need-"
"You are my canvas," Rita murmured, her hands running down the smoothness of River's belly, fingers spread. She drank in the sight of the girl beneath her, artists' eyes burning. Moving slowly, the french woman lowered her body down to River's, taking a small breast in her mouth and teasing it with her tongue. Gasping, River arched her back, suprised as to how amazing it felt, how much this fiery sensation shut out the hundreds of throughts in her head. She was soley focused on one thing, and one thing only. For the first time in she couldn't even remember how long, River had but one thought in her head- more. She wanted more. Her fingers buried themselves in Rita's copper hair, tangling in her curls. Her skin felt as though it were on fire. Her body was hot and wet and aching to be touched. "More," she moaned breathily, pulling Rita closer and raising her hips.
The artist pulled slowly on the pilot's flowing skirt, slipping it over her hips, taking her underwear and placing both garments on the floor beside the bed. Now she was naked, completely exposed, laying on the bed like a beautiful goddess. The girl's dark hair was spread out beneath her. "Beau," Rita murmured. "Perfectionnez." She kissed River's lips again, softly. Taking a soft bristle brush from the suitcase at the bottom of the bed and brushing it over River's skin, she smiled as she watched the body move beneath her. The slender girl arch her back into it, her breath deep and light, her eyes closed. This girl had probably never touched her own sexuality, never let mind wade through the murky waters of delicious pleasure.
River focused on the feelings rushing through her. Mostly she tried to deny them, ignore them as they sprang to mind. After all she knew that she couldn't filter them out and make much sense of them. Sometimes, the emotions weren't even hers. But these emotions now, they felt wonderful. She willingly let them overpower her. The softness of the bristles on her skin tickled, but in a sensual way, not a silly way. Lifting her arms over her head, River let the length of her body stretch out for Rita to see, to touch. She wanted it to be touched. Another gasp escaped her lips as she felt the other woman's warm breath on her stomach, then her lips teasing the skin, kissing lightly. "Yes," she whispered, lifting her hips off the bed, pushing Rita's mouth against her. A confident hand gently squeezed her breast, fingers rolling her small nipple to hardness. Light moans kept falling from her lips, each filled with whispering desperation.
Rita's body moved between River's legs and the girl spread them eagerly, panting. A shiver ran through her as she felt Rita's hand on her thigh, slowly moving upward, moving closer to her wetness. Yes, yes, yes, River repeated in her head, body writhing under Rita's touch. The woman's mouth was warm on her stomach, trailing across her skin, pressing soft kisses to her as she slowly, achingly slowly, reached the heat growing between River's thighs. Her tongue was soft, but pressed against River just hard enough. A cry escaped from River as her mouth spread into a grin, her eyes closed and her face flushed. This wasn't just ecstacy- it was relief. Her mind was finally her own, just hers, the emotions and thoughts and wants belonging only to River.
After River had orgasmed, the climax coming on fast and hard and unexpected to the girl, Rita let the child sleep in her bed. The girl's hair was dark and deep, her skin pale and soft like a ballerina doll. She looked finally at peace, her face soft and restful. Her head turned into her arm, other hand tangled in her hair, River slept as though she were a Greek goddess, as though she knew her body was perfectly on display. She looked absolutely perfect. With a small smile, Rita picked up her paintbrush and pallette and stood before her canvas.
The girl was a painter.
The crew of Serenity had picked up cargo and passengers on Apple Star Four, the classiest of the Apple Star planets. The ship wasn't quite what the guests expected, but then again most of them were former elite who, because of the planet's hard recession, acted a lot wealthier than they really were. Otherwise they would not have been booking passage on a Firefly class ship.
River watched all the new passengers board the ship from the safety of the piping above the catwalk. Her hair was tied back for once, the one part of her that gave her away when she hid on the ceiling. The people coming on board were boring, people who reminded her of her parents and their tidy way of life. Women in bustles and skirts, with pointed shoes that clacked on the steel grates. Men in bowler hats and jackets with pocket watch chains dangling out the vest posket, glistening like the blade of a knife. It was terrifying and fascinating and utterly dull. River waited, crouched in her position, while the guests were shown their quarters. Some were being brought down to the guest quarters where she and Simon were (she had been forced into Simon's room for the time being), and one family was staying in the second shuttle. A few younger children ran around the cargo bay, thin leather shoes almost soundless. They might do for play, River thought to herself. Littles ones did not think her strange as adults did.
The reader was ready to come down, slip seamlessly into the crowd as though she had been there all along, until she saw her. A young woman, brazen red hair and a long, slender neck, carrying a large canvas, a sleek leather suitcase and a weathered green bag. She dressed in the same clothing as the other women, but somehow she looked more comfortable in them, as though she were born into them. As though the style were made for just her. Eyes wide, River leaned down to get a better look. The woman might have been Simon's age, if that, though her face indicated a great deal of secrecy and wisdom for someone beyond her years. She reminded River of Shepherd Book, the way he spoke softly but his words were heavy. Also the woman's copper hair was curled and crinkled, barely tamed by a leather cord tying it back. She didn't even try to hide it as Book had, so River wasn't suprised by it. She was honest right from the start. Watching the woman move, River thought she saw her glance upward as she passed underneath, spotting River's hiding place. Crouching back, the reader held her breath, but the woman didn't turn to her, simply continued on her way.
Fascinating.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Simon had told her to leave the guests alone. He was still worried someone would turn them in, worried that despite the eight months that had passed, the Alliance would want River still. The captain had told her to leave the guests alone. They were paying for passage and these types wanted to be left alone, not bothered and prodded by some moonbrain pilot. Kayle had suggested she not disturb the guests, they were probably tired and needed to get used to life in the black. Maybe River could help her with the engine? Jayne had told her to "piss off". Zoe gave her a warning look, but said nothing. The look was more forceful then her words were capable of. She knew she was supposed to stay away. But the painter was in her bedroom.
Ear pressed to the door, breathing slow, River listened. The woman was speaking to herself in French, a rare and beautiful language. A smile broke onto River's lips. The woman was painting, she had to be. She could smell the rich chemical scent of oil paints coming through from beneath the door. Every so often a paintbrush would tap on wood, no doubt drumming on the pallete. Perhaps she was at a block, could not think of what came next in her piece? Or perhaps she had not started at all, as the canvas had been blank when she'd come on board.
"Entrez, cheri," a voice called from inside the room. "Come in my dear. You will be less of an ennui in here." River's eyes were wide, staring at the door as though it were the one talking to her. Wait, was it? No, no of course not. It was the woman inside. Slowly, River slid the door open, peeking her head inside, hair dangling like willow branches. The woman was standing in front of her easel, large canvas mounted. It was still blank, though her brush was poised in her left hand. She did not turn to look at her guest, simply stared at her canvas. "Merde," she said after a moment. "It is not here. There is nothing hiding there. I cannot uncover it. Why do you hide outside my room?"
It took River a moment to realize that last bit was being directed at her. "I smelled the paint," she said shyly, stepping fully into the room and closing the door. "And your voice is rare and clear, like... rain water for the desert."
Finally turning to River, the woman looked her up and down. She had shed several layers of clothing, her hoop skirt and fitted jacket now gone and replaced with denim jeans and the sheerest of men's dress shirts. It looked like something the captain might wear, though he would never wear it this way. He could never look as captivating as this woman looked. "You are a dancer," she noted, her accent thick but perfectly clear. River was startled- was the woman a reader as well? By birth? The woman laughed at River's expression. "It is obvious from the way you stand," she explained. "From the sleekness of your limbs, like a cat. Your slenderness, yet round, made for beauty and grace." With a wink she turned to her canvas once more. "Come, cheri. Tell me what you see here."
Stepping over to her, River looked at the canvas. "I see nothing," she said after a moment. It was not that she didn't understand what the woman meant, because she did. She was looking for the painting that belonged there, that was made for this canvas. But River did not see it either. "It's ready, but you can't find it."
"Yes," the woman agreed, nodding. How pleasing it was to find someone who understood. She had known the moment she'd spotted River in the overhead pipes that the girl was an artiste. She had a dangerous, suffering look about her. "I am Rita," she said after a moment.
"Lovely Rita, meter maid, nothing can come between us." River's eyes were wide, dreamy, remembering a song she had never heard before.
Putting a hand on the girl's waist, Rita drew closer, pressing their hips together. "May I inquire discreetly, when you are free to take some tea with me?" There was a knowing smile on her soft, perfectly bowed lips, a smile that remained until she pressed her mouth against the younger girl's, sealing them with a kiss. River's heart skipped a beat as she pulled away, the emotions washing through her and she could not stop them. She was afraid, nervous, anxious, pleased. She had to leave. But Rita held her tightly, her lithe body pressed to River's, the paintbrush in her hand dropped to the floor. "I see it now," she whispered, leaning close to River, her breath brushing the reader's lips. "I see my art, my piece. I see it in you." She kissed her again, this time more passionately, more fully. River's mind fought this, her hands gripping tight Rita's biceps, fingers curled into the skin. Simon would be furious, would have Rita thrown off the ship. No, no. Don't let him do that.
Melting against the woman, River's own body betrayed her, her grip softening. A deep moan vibrated in her throat, hungry and desperate. She couldn't focus on one sensation long enough before another tossed it aside in favor of a new one. Rita's body was soft, her hands firm on River's back, her arms strong around her, tongue forceful in her mouth. The two of them moved toward the bed, Rita laying the girl down gently, her hands lifting River's shirt. Gasping, River pulled away, looking up at the woman, shocked. Her head was swimming, the room around her hazy. All she could see was Rita's face, her brilliant hair, and the fabric of her shirt as it crossed her vision while it was drawn up over her head and tossed aside. She felt more exposed than just her bare skin. She felt like Rita was tearing her open and seeing the inside madness. "I have to go," she whispered desperately. "Simon, I need-"
"You are my canvas," Rita murmured, her hands running down the smoothness of River's belly, fingers spread. She drank in the sight of the girl beneath her, artists' eyes burning. Moving slowly, the french woman lowered her body down to River's, taking a small breast in her mouth and teasing it with her tongue. Gasping, River arched her back, suprised as to how amazing it felt, how much this fiery sensation shut out the hundreds of throughts in her head. She was soley focused on one thing, and one thing only. For the first time in she couldn't even remember how long, River had but one thought in her head- more. She wanted more. Her fingers buried themselves in Rita's copper hair, tangling in her curls. Her skin felt as though it were on fire. Her body was hot and wet and aching to be touched. "More," she moaned breathily, pulling Rita closer and raising her hips.
The artist pulled slowly on the pilot's flowing skirt, slipping it over her hips, taking her underwear and placing both garments on the floor beside the bed. Now she was naked, completely exposed, laying on the bed like a beautiful goddess. The girl's dark hair was spread out beneath her. "Beau," Rita murmured. "Perfectionnez." She kissed River's lips again, softly. Taking a soft bristle brush from the suitcase at the bottom of the bed and brushing it over River's skin, she smiled as she watched the body move beneath her. The slender girl arch her back into it, her breath deep and light, her eyes closed. This girl had probably never touched her own sexuality, never let mind wade through the murky waters of delicious pleasure.
River focused on the feelings rushing through her. Mostly she tried to deny them, ignore them as they sprang to mind. After all she knew that she couldn't filter them out and make much sense of them. Sometimes, the emotions weren't even hers. But these emotions now, they felt wonderful. She willingly let them overpower her. The softness of the bristles on her skin tickled, but in a sensual way, not a silly way. Lifting her arms over her head, River let the length of her body stretch out for Rita to see, to touch. She wanted it to be touched. Another gasp escaped her lips as she felt the other woman's warm breath on her stomach, then her lips teasing the skin, kissing lightly. "Yes," she whispered, lifting her hips off the bed, pushing Rita's mouth against her. A confident hand gently squeezed her breast, fingers rolling her small nipple to hardness. Light moans kept falling from her lips, each filled with whispering desperation.
Rita's body moved between River's legs and the girl spread them eagerly, panting. A shiver ran through her as she felt Rita's hand on her thigh, slowly moving upward, moving closer to her wetness. Yes, yes, yes, River repeated in her head, body writhing under Rita's touch. The woman's mouth was warm on her stomach, trailing across her skin, pressing soft kisses to her as she slowly, achingly slowly, reached the heat growing between River's thighs. Her tongue was soft, but pressed against River just hard enough. A cry escaped from River as her mouth spread into a grin, her eyes closed and her face flushed. This wasn't just ecstacy- it was relief. Her mind was finally her own, just hers, the emotions and thoughts and wants belonging only to River.
After River had orgasmed, the climax coming on fast and hard and unexpected to the girl, Rita let the child sleep in her bed. The girl's hair was dark and deep, her skin pale and soft like a ballerina doll. She looked finally at peace, her face soft and restful. Her head turned into her arm, other hand tangled in her hair, River slept as though she were a Greek goddess, as though she knew her body was perfectly on display. She looked absolutely perfect. With a small smile, Rita picked up her paintbrush and pallette and stood before her canvas.