FIC: Bait (Shock and Awe Remix) (Inara/Saffron, PG-13)
TITLE: Bait (Shock and Awe Remix)
RATING: PG-13
FANDOM: Firefly
PAIRING: Inara/Saffron
SUMMARY: All warfare is based on deception.-Sun Tzu
AUTHOR’S NOTES: For femslash_minis Round 46: Remix. This story is a remix of slartibartfast’s story, You Did What?!
THANKS: Innumerable thanks to world class beta reader myhappyface, who inexplicably continues to put up with me. All the things, baby.
Despite common perception, being a companion has very little to do with sacrifice. Quite the opposite, in fact. You give poise, you give beauty, you give comfort; you must never give yourself.
Giving yourself-to anything, to anyone-is dangerous. It creates profound vulnerability, and if there is anything Inara knows how to do, it is how to guard against weakness. There are rules to follow.
***
Rules are made to be broken. Maybe getting tangled up in Mal’s drama again wasn’t the smartest play, and it’s never a good idea to hit the same mark twice-but come on. What’s life for, if not the living?
Sure, gambling and rule breaking can be a little messy, but Saffron is a take life by the horns kind of girl. Always has been.
***
It bothers Inara that she hadn’t seen the Goodnight Kiss coming. Mal is a lout, a thief, a classless degenerate; she should have expected he would fall for Saffron’s unsubtle charms. Everyone else had suspected. That she-trained in reading people, in knowing exactly what they want even before they themselves know-could not see it, is a problem.
It’s a vulnerability.
Worse still, it’s a vulnerability she does not know how to protect against. She is afraid. And nothing makes you stupid like fear.
***
She underestimated Inara last time. That was a mistake. She hadn’t been stupid, or shortsighted, just cocky, as usual. Confidence was a double-edged sword. Still. She’d take it. And this time, she knew better; she kept her eye out. She knew what Inara was capable of.
Or so she thought. Mistake number two.
***
Inara bathes in the plush, gold serenity of her shuttle. A shower is a luxury, but she prefers this way, her palms and fingers urging the water over her skin. No machine can know her body like her own hands.
She dresses-lacy underthings and a silk gown like a second skin. She brushes her hair until it falls in soft ringlets about her bare shoulders, and darkens her lashes with kohl. She presses perfume-soaked fingertips to her pulse points.
Inara stands before her vanity, scrutinizing her reflection. She is a prize, a vision; she is desire incarnate. Irresistible.
She opens the drawer, pushes past the rouges and lipsticks. Her fingers brush past the cool glass syringes, as fragile and lovely as icicles, to the very back of the drawer.
Inara watches her mirror self. The brush traces the curves of her sumptuous mouth as she spreads the poison over her lips.
***
Part of Saffron’s not underestimating Inara plan is paying closer attention to Inara, which turns out to be an exploitable weakness. Saffron is minding her own business, tricking poor Mal into jumping through her hoops, when the rich scent of rosewood and orange blossom, the whisper of silk rasping over Serenity’s metal walkways, makes her turn her head. Inara is just a flutter in her peripheral vision, but Saffron has a trained eye and the brief image is enough to make her mouth dry.
She leaves Mal to his confusion, and climbs the stairs to Inara’s shuttle.
***
Inara is waiting for her, a smile on her lips and her hand on the doorframe. The curve of her body is an invitation, and Saffron steps in without a word passing between them. For a moment Inara leaves her back to Saffron; Saffron is too distracted to wonder what Inara is doing with the interface by the shuttle door until the door slams shut and the screen blanks.
The wriggling discomfort of dread thrashes in Saffron’s belly.
“What did you just do?”
Inara turns, and smiles sweetly. “I’ve locked us in. Now the door can only be opened from the outside; I imagine someone will come along to do that once we’re planetside.”
The blood drains from Saffron’s face. “I-you can’t-undo it!”
Inara’s laugh is the dulcet note of a silver bell.
“There’s no undoing it,” she says. “I told you. We’re locked in.” Inara’s smile fades, replaced by something darker. “You can’t hurt him.”
Saffron’s eyes narrow. “I can hurt you.”
Inara’s head cocks to the side as she considers. This only accentuates her lovely neck, and causes the silk of her gown to slip a few inches off her shoulder, baring more of her caramel skin. Saffron can practically taste it, and for a moment she is giddy with imagined sensation.
“Of course,” Inara says, “you could try. But I see no reason we shouldn’t pass the time in a more pleasant manner.”
Inara extends a hand, palm up; the pale, soft skin of her wrist bared. Saffron knows this can’t be the smart play, but what is life for if not the living? She takes Inara’s hand, and she folds the silk-smooth body against her own, as she presses her mouth to Inara’s in a kiss.
She feels the Goodnight Kiss dizzy her before she tastes it, and she totters away, the room spinning around her. She sees the smile spread over Inara’s face before she collapses to the floor.
Still. She’ll take it.