"The Start." One Shot. Rated PG-15.
Title: The Start
Character(s)/Pairing: Rayne
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 1208
Prompt: It all started out so innocently.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
-Author Notes: Written as a thank you to helgatwb for doing beta work on "Emperor's" Chapter 3 for me. Hope you enjoy! There'll be a part two (that is FULL of smut), but I don't know quite when I'll have it done.
The Start
It all started out so innocently. They'd been arguing over something (he couldn't even recall what), and things had gotten heated. She'd thrown a punch and he'd grabbed her tiny fist before it could connect. She could have taken him out if she had really wanted to - they both knew that. But she'd just stopped and stared at him and he thought, suddenly, that she was actually the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
That had been the first thing that had changed. He still thought she was crazy, of course, but suddenly she didn't seem so crazy and suddenly it mattered more that she could dance and fight and smile like the sun and wave her hair around like a silken flag and she was actually pretty gorram sexy, wasn't she?
He watched her then, watched her like a big, stealthy cat watches something right before it pounces. It made her nervous, he could tell. And they started fighting more, too - he'd provoke her any way he could, just so she'd retaliate, so she'd light up with something red hot, so maybe she'd touch him, even for a moment, even if it meant she was throwing him to the floor.
He wasn't a masochist, but there was something painfully erotic about a tiny little thing who could throw him to the ground, then straddle him with legs made of steel so he couldn't get up again. With her above him, with her warm, soft-strong body gripping his, he never ever ever wanted to get up again. And he didn't care if she knew, if she could see into every single space of his mind, see her own body contorted around his, see the dark, thrilling things he imagined her doing to him, that he imagined himself doing to her.
She didn't want him and she had no problem telling him so. She avoided him, acted disgusted with his frequent, dirtier, darker fantasies. But whether disgusted or delighted she was at least intrigued - and he could feel it, taste it around her, sense that little spark of something in her that was responding to that same something in him. She wouldn't fight with him anymore, not even verbally. At least not unless he pushed hard enough. And push he did - push, push, push, pressing buttons he didn't even know he knew about until she was screeching like a wet cat and bounding towards him like a bat out of hell.
That was when he'd caught her and kissed her.
She'd punched him - hit him so hard he thought he'd lose consciousness, so hard he thought his eyes might fall out. And then she'd run off, leaving him with a racing heart and his John Thomas at full attention.
So he'd tried again. It had been hard to get her alone - everyone, Mal Simon Inara Kaylee Zoe - had gotten on to him, chastised him, tried to get him to be kinder to their poor, genius assassin. But he kept pushing, kept teasing, kept pulling at her, even once driving her to tears. And finally she lashed out again, fighting him, throwing her fists and her legs like flails.
He'd never been so hot for a woman in all his life.
Once again he'd pulled her to him, crushing her thin body against his chest. And he'd attacked her mouth with his, pressing her against him, pushing his tongue past her lips. She tried to yelp, tried to pull away. He let her slightly, but didn't release her. So she'd punched him again. And he'd only smiled.
He got her twice more - and she'd let him go a little further each time. Her defenses broke just a little more every time, and her punches and her kicks lost just a little bit of their intensity.
She wanted him, too; he just knew it, could tell by the way she'd glare, the way her eyes would gleam with cold fire, the way she suddenly never, ever let herself say his name. But she was fighting that desire as hard as she fought off his advances.
And he certainly didn't make it easy for her. He would goad her at ever opportunity, instigate one of their fights whenever they found themselves alone. And he could tell, he was beginning to wear her down.
"Stop it!" she hissed, quick and low, fury banked behind glassy eyes.
"Stop what?" He grinned at her, leered, gave her promises with his eyes that before he'd have always broken.
She was angry. She was growing quickly angrier. "I do not want to fight you."
"Don't worry, fightin' ain't what I want to do, either."
Her little hands were clenched in fists of obvious rage. She wanted to hit him. She wanted - he hoped, dreamed, prayed - to hurt him so good that he'd scream from the pleasure-pain-pleasure of a boiling river skating past every nerve. He just had to push that little bit harder.
"You are unworthy of my time or attention," she told him bitingly.
"But you're still here givin' it to me." He took a step closer. "You wanna take me down, girl? You wanna hit 'til I can't talk, pound on me 'til I break in half? You wanna make me scream?" He smiled nastily. "'Cause that's what I wanna do to you."
"Stop it!" she said again, pitch rising with her distress. She took a deep breath and let it out, then swallowed nervously. She was going to break, he knew it - he just had to make her mad enough to do it. "No more of this game."
"No more? Ain't even a winner yet, darlin'."
"Do not call me names!"
"Oh sorry." His eyes flashed as he smirked. "Darlin'. Baby doll. Sweet cheeks. Bao bei."
"Stop it!"
"Pretty sexy when you're all angry there, River." Her big, brown eyes narrowed. He grinned, all pearly fangs. "Bet you're even gorram sexier when - "
"Don't." Her body tensed further, coiled tight and ready to strike. "Your words are incendiary and I will not - "
"Will not what?" She hated to be interrupted, he knew. And he didn't know what 'incendiary' meant, but she sounded sexy as all rutting hell saying it, so he didn't really mind.
"Will not tolerate! He is making her very, very angry."
"That's right. He means to. He wants to see 'er mad as hell, screamin' and ragin' - so he can grab her an' get her nekkid and - "
That was enough to set her off completely and she rushed him like a violent storm. And suddenly it wasn't his mouth that found hers; she grabbed his neck and pulled as hard as she could, slamming her lips onto his lips and suddenly all the hostility, all the animosity that had been between them bubbled over into grappling hands and seeking lips and the knowledge that he had to have her right then, right there - or his body might shrivel and shrink and he'd die, die, die if he couldn't get her naked soon.
It might have started innocently, but he would give nearly his whole arsenal to make sure it didn't end that way.
~~~
Feedback always appreciated.
From Start to Finish
Character(s)/Pairing: Rayne
Rating: PG-15
Word Count: 1208
Prompt: It all started out so innocently.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
-Author Notes: Written as a thank you to helgatwb for doing beta work on "Emperor's" Chapter 3 for me. Hope you enjoy! There'll be a part two (that is FULL of smut), but I don't know quite when I'll have it done.
The Start
It all started out so innocently. They'd been arguing over something (he couldn't even recall what), and things had gotten heated. She'd thrown a punch and he'd grabbed her tiny fist before it could connect. She could have taken him out if she had really wanted to - they both knew that. But she'd just stopped and stared at him and he thought, suddenly, that she was actually the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
That had been the first thing that had changed. He still thought she was crazy, of course, but suddenly she didn't seem so crazy and suddenly it mattered more that she could dance and fight and smile like the sun and wave her hair around like a silken flag and she was actually pretty gorram sexy, wasn't she?
He watched her then, watched her like a big, stealthy cat watches something right before it pounces. It made her nervous, he could tell. And they started fighting more, too - he'd provoke her any way he could, just so she'd retaliate, so she'd light up with something red hot, so maybe she'd touch him, even for a moment, even if it meant she was throwing him to the floor.
He wasn't a masochist, but there was something painfully erotic about a tiny little thing who could throw him to the ground, then straddle him with legs made of steel so he couldn't get up again. With her above him, with her warm, soft-strong body gripping his, he never ever ever wanted to get up again. And he didn't care if she knew, if she could see into every single space of his mind, see her own body contorted around his, see the dark, thrilling things he imagined her doing to him, that he imagined himself doing to her.
She didn't want him and she had no problem telling him so. She avoided him, acted disgusted with his frequent, dirtier, darker fantasies. But whether disgusted or delighted she was at least intrigued - and he could feel it, taste it around her, sense that little spark of something in her that was responding to that same something in him. She wouldn't fight with him anymore, not even verbally. At least not unless he pushed hard enough. And push he did - push, push, push, pressing buttons he didn't even know he knew about until she was screeching like a wet cat and bounding towards him like a bat out of hell.
That was when he'd caught her and kissed her.
She'd punched him - hit him so hard he thought he'd lose consciousness, so hard he thought his eyes might fall out. And then she'd run off, leaving him with a racing heart and his John Thomas at full attention.
So he'd tried again. It had been hard to get her alone - everyone, Mal Simon Inara Kaylee Zoe - had gotten on to him, chastised him, tried to get him to be kinder to their poor, genius assassin. But he kept pushing, kept teasing, kept pulling at her, even once driving her to tears. And finally she lashed out again, fighting him, throwing her fists and her legs like flails.
He'd never been so hot for a woman in all his life.
Once again he'd pulled her to him, crushing her thin body against his chest. And he'd attacked her mouth with his, pressing her against him, pushing his tongue past her lips. She tried to yelp, tried to pull away. He let her slightly, but didn't release her. So she'd punched him again. And he'd only smiled.
He got her twice more - and she'd let him go a little further each time. Her defenses broke just a little more every time, and her punches and her kicks lost just a little bit of their intensity.
She wanted him, too; he just knew it, could tell by the way she'd glare, the way her eyes would gleam with cold fire, the way she suddenly never, ever let herself say his name. But she was fighting that desire as hard as she fought off his advances.
And he certainly didn't make it easy for her. He would goad her at ever opportunity, instigate one of their fights whenever they found themselves alone. And he could tell, he was beginning to wear her down.
"Stop it!" she hissed, quick and low, fury banked behind glassy eyes.
"Stop what?" He grinned at her, leered, gave her promises with his eyes that before he'd have always broken.
She was angry. She was growing quickly angrier. "I do not want to fight you."
"Don't worry, fightin' ain't what I want to do, either."
Her little hands were clenched in fists of obvious rage. She wanted to hit him. She wanted - he hoped, dreamed, prayed - to hurt him so good that he'd scream from the pleasure-pain-pleasure of a boiling river skating past every nerve. He just had to push that little bit harder.
"You are unworthy of my time or attention," she told him bitingly.
"But you're still here givin' it to me." He took a step closer. "You wanna take me down, girl? You wanna hit 'til I can't talk, pound on me 'til I break in half? You wanna make me scream?" He smiled nastily. "'Cause that's what I wanna do to you."
"Stop it!" she said again, pitch rising with her distress. She took a deep breath and let it out, then swallowed nervously. She was going to break, he knew it - he just had to make her mad enough to do it. "No more of this game."
"No more? Ain't even a winner yet, darlin'."
"Do not call me names!"
"Oh sorry." His eyes flashed as he smirked. "Darlin'. Baby doll. Sweet cheeks. Bao bei."
"Stop it!"
"Pretty sexy when you're all angry there, River." Her big, brown eyes narrowed. He grinned, all pearly fangs. "Bet you're even gorram sexier when - "
"Don't." Her body tensed further, coiled tight and ready to strike. "Your words are incendiary and I will not - "
"Will not what?" She hated to be interrupted, he knew. And he didn't know what 'incendiary' meant, but she sounded sexy as all rutting hell saying it, so he didn't really mind.
"Will not tolerate! He is making her very, very angry."
"That's right. He means to. He wants to see 'er mad as hell, screamin' and ragin' - so he can grab her an' get her nekkid and - "
That was enough to set her off completely and she rushed him like a violent storm. And suddenly it wasn't his mouth that found hers; she grabbed his neck and pulled as hard as she could, slamming her lips onto his lips and suddenly all the hostility, all the animosity that had been between them bubbled over into grappling hands and seeking lips and the knowledge that he had to have her right then, right there - or his body might shrivel and shrink and he'd die, die, die if he couldn't get her naked soon.
It might have started innocently, but he would give nearly his whole arsenal to make sure it didn't end that way.
~~~
Feedback always appreciated.
From Start to Finish