Final gift for whatever-we-are
OKAY, LIZ.
I AM THE WORST SANTA EVER.
I KNOW THAT NOW.
But I suspected this might happen ("this" being "school killing me, Christmas finding me more exhausted than ever, and then an even more unexpected trip out of town forcing me away from my writing"), so I gave you a teaser gift. And now I've got a long!fic, which I've been working on forever and hacking and twisting and changing and my Firefly muse, frankly, just hates me now -- and also, a smutlet. It's really the smuttiest of smutlets I've ever written, and I'm not sure if it's good; I blush just posting it. But I post away -- for you.
Because what better way to get people to forgive you than give them hot, hot sex.
Hey, the Armenian Orthodox Christmas is on January 6. So we can consider this ... you know ... four days late for that.
Happy (Belated) New Year (And All Other Holidays), whatever-we-are. You rock my world.
Title: Have to Be Here
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Word Count: 1467
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mal/River, LIKE DUH.
The first time it happened was at Jan Ed.
She’d gone to see her professor about his work-in-progress, a textbook on statistical mechanics of fields and particles. She’d caught a few subscripts that shouldn’t have been there, and she knew it would confuse the other students (especially Anric, bless him, who worked and tried so hard, but couldn’t connect, couldn’t find the heart of the material).
When she mentioned that there might be an error or two, the professor just looked at her -- like he hated her. River could feel the rush of fear and contempt and jealousy rising up inside him, and marveled that a typographical error or two could do this to one of the premier intellects in the Core. Her supposed mentor composed himself, stared back at her; his face grew calm, now, and he even smiled a little.
"You don’t have to be here," he told her, reassuringly.
"Excuse me, Professor?"
His next gaze -- a long, slow one that traveled up her slim legs and lingered on the budding curves beneath her blouse -- made his meaning perfectly clear.
"You’re a fairly promising young woman," he continued, cool and collected. Tenure trumped everything. "You could even be charming. There’s no need for you to be doing this."
Something burned in her stomach. "I want to," she said. "I’ve always wanted to be a theoretical physicist." And a dancer, sat on her tongue, but she thought she’d better not say it, because she could tell already what he would think of that.
"You’re adorable, Miss Tam," he responded. "But I recommend that you switch into a 3-level course. Electromagnetism I, perhaps. That should be enough to stimulate you, on the side. You wouldn’t want to overwork yourself."
No, she thought, imagining Simon’s face when she told him ("that slimy piece of feng le gos se!"). I wouldn’t want that.
*
Mal's first dream hit about a week after Miranda -- before his crew had even finished cleaning out the ship. In a way the suddenness, the unexpected force of it, was better. He could tell himself it was like after the war -- when he shook sometimes, or couldn't hold down a solid thought. It was simply shellshock, the neural scars bullets left behind.
In his dream, she was just as she was in real life: incomprehensible, brilliant beyond measure, agile, quick-witted, ironic -- breathtaking, in a way no one could explain. Kaylee had been the first to pick that up, to recognize the immensity of her beauty -- and wasn't that like Kaylee.
In the dream, she was like Kaylee, too; like Inara, like every woman he'd loved. She leaned over him as he slept, stroking his hair, unquestionably in control and yet soft-hearted and sweet. He felt himself wake up, in the dream, but he kept his eyes closed, and smiled for her so she'd know not to stop moving her fingers across his head. That's how it was, in the dream; he never had to say anything. She just knew.
On the good nights, dream-Mal shifted a little after he smiled -- to get just the smallest bit closer to her. She knew what that meant, too, and leaned down to kiss his lips with a touch both innocent and wild. Mal had smelled saffron, twice, and that's what he thought she tasted like, in his dream; her lips, her tongue, rich and sweet and exotic even to a man who had been to most of the uncharted portions of the galaxy.
Sometimes she sang -- that was part of what convinced him it was a dream, because River in real life would never lean against him this way, humming a tune, and then make up words to it and share them, right there. Those were the best nights.
Shellshock, Mal told himself when he woke up. Just shellshock. Except that his war dreams were more like nightmares -- they woke him up in a feverish sweat.
This dream made him want to go back to sleep.
*
On the bridge, River loved to sit forward, hands playing absently -- but aware -- on the wheel of the Firefly; she watched the stars. Most of the ones they saw already had a story behind them, but River made up new ones anyway. In her head, where no one could get to them.
Hands on her shoulders.
"What's going on out there, little one?"
She flipped her head back, smiling up at him upside-down. It made him grin -- it always did.
"Naming the stars," she admitted.
A vision flashed through both of their heads, something from Mal's dream-world slipping over into gritty reality: he leaned gently over her head, cupped her cheek with his hand, pressed a kiss to her forehead and then her nose and then her mouth. He loved her.
Mal shook his head and sat in his chair, five feet away. River pretended she'd seen nothing -- it was easier. Just easier.
"Reckon we've got about four days back 'till civilization," he said -- very captainy. "We can see about lifting this cargo and maybe get a meal with different colors and textures. It's an idea."
"You're hungry," River said.
Hungry -- they tore at each other, so hard and fast it would have hurt if they had been paying attention. "You want me to stop, you tell me," Mal told her suddenly, holding her at arm's length. She shook her head right away, and laughed a little, and made him put his arms around her again. "Your River," she answered simply.
Mal shook his head again, this time like there were flies crawling in his hair. River just regarded him, eyes glasslike. It was unnerving, but everything about her was -- everything about her always had been.
"And you -- River? You shiny on two rations a day?"
A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. Mal always wondered where she found light enough to give him those little grins, but he didn't wonder too hard. Would take the magic away.
"Food is food," she said. "We do what we have to."
Mal wasn't sure how to say it, but he thought it was important that he did, and it stumbled out: "You don't have to be here," he told her, reassuringly.
Her face went cold, like a memory had snapped up out of the black. You don't have to be here.
She turned away from him, gazing as fiercely into the stars as she could.
"Want to be here," she said softly. "Always wanted to be here."
The word want coming out of her lips gave Mal visions of his dreams again, and before she could see them -- this time -- he stood up from the chair and fled. A gruff "g'night" was all he could muster.
*
In Mal's bunk, several dozen protein bricks later, River traced the outline of a bird on his open palm. Her captain laughed, gently; the mirth reached his eyes and the edges of his face, and his other arm -- around her -- drew her more firmly into his chest.
She had been silent to him for so long that now, when he could and she could, he loved to let her talk. She told him stories in low murmurs about Before and After, but never During, and he understood why.
She told him about the day at Jan Ed with her professor, and even though he didn't remember what he'd said and how it had echoed, he laughed again.
"It's funny?" she asked.
"It's funniest when they try to stop you," he told her, showing his teeth in a grin. He takes away the hollow feeling, River thought, and kissed him because he did it so often now -- smiled. Laughed. Made her smile back.
A few days later he made the link in his head between his words and the words she'd heard Before; she could tell when it happened because he leaned into her ear and whispered, "You have to be here."
"Yes," she replied, and closed her eyes.
She arched under him, all curves and grace. "Mal, Mal," she said, over and over, and he never got tired of it. He had worn out life so much, he'd thought most women wouldn't touch him - and yet here she was, the best of all possible women, closing her eyes and screaming for a shell of a soul like him. It was enough to make a man want to be useful, to save entire worlds. For now, though, he just wanted to kiss her again.
When River opened her eyes, Mal was watching her.
"That wasn't a dream," he said softly. Calloused hands brushed hair away from her eyes, and River was the first to smile now.
"No," she agreed.
Title: Better than Flying
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Word Count: 358
Rating: R
Pairing: Mal/River, yet again!
The girl's dresses came off so easily; it seemed like cheating to Mal, but he was never one to split hairs, to put fei hua where there was none to be had. "Talk to me," she said, curling up in the shirt she'd just removed from him. "Tell me how it feels."
He leaned over, holding still for a moment to look her in the eyes, and slipped his fingers between her legs, making her gasp and part her lips -- just a little, like she was letting him in everywhere. Mal rubbed her softly, feeling her go wet, kissing her mouth when she moaned.
"You feel warm," he told her in a smooth whisper. "Warm and pretty and soft, my best girl." With his other hand he pulled her closer to him, and she came so willingly, rolling out of the shirt and into his body.
"Do I feel good?" she asked, so quietly and quickly he barely heard her. "Am I wet enough?"
"River, you feel better than anything else," he told her, and because he knew she'd understand he added, "better than flying."
"Wo de tian ah," she gasped, barely forming the words. "I love you touching me."
"I love it too, darlin'," he reassured her, and at this she wrapped her long legs around him and squeezed, moving up and down, lightly brushing his lips with hers as she begged for him. Mal grabbed her and pressed her closer -- "my girl, you always feel so good, see what you do to me," he growled, and moved until he was on top of her, his suspenders slapping the edge of the bed as he rocked her.
"Your girl," she murmured obediently, spreading her legs, taking one of his hands so she could kiss the fingers slowly, draw the longest into her mouth, and circle it with her tongue.
"Wa cao, River," he groaned. "You're gonna make me come."
"I want to," she whispered. "I want to be good for you, Mal."
"You are," he told her right away, and kissed her hard but sweet, holding her head in his hands, losing breath when she pushed up into him.
I AM THE WORST SANTA EVER.
I KNOW THAT NOW.
But I suspected this might happen ("this" being "school killing me, Christmas finding me more exhausted than ever, and then an even more unexpected trip out of town forcing me away from my writing"), so I gave you a teaser gift. And now I've got a long!fic, which I've been working on forever and hacking and twisting and changing and my Firefly muse, frankly, just hates me now -- and also, a smutlet. It's really the smuttiest of smutlets I've ever written, and I'm not sure if it's good; I blush just posting it. But I post away -- for you.
Because what better way to get people to forgive you than give them hot, hot sex.
Hey, the Armenian Orthodox Christmas is on January 6. So we can consider this ... you know ... four days late for that.
Happy (Belated) New Year (And All Other Holidays), whatever-we-are. You rock my world.
Title: Have to Be Here
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Word Count: 1467
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Mal/River, LIKE DUH.
The first time it happened was at Jan Ed.
She’d gone to see her professor about his work-in-progress, a textbook on statistical mechanics of fields and particles. She’d caught a few subscripts that shouldn’t have been there, and she knew it would confuse the other students (especially Anric, bless him, who worked and tried so hard, but couldn’t connect, couldn’t find the heart of the material).
When she mentioned that there might be an error or two, the professor just looked at her -- like he hated her. River could feel the rush of fear and contempt and jealousy rising up inside him, and marveled that a typographical error or two could do this to one of the premier intellects in the Core. Her supposed mentor composed himself, stared back at her; his face grew calm, now, and he even smiled a little.
"You don’t have to be here," he told her, reassuringly.
"Excuse me, Professor?"
His next gaze -- a long, slow one that traveled up her slim legs and lingered on the budding curves beneath her blouse -- made his meaning perfectly clear.
"You’re a fairly promising young woman," he continued, cool and collected. Tenure trumped everything. "You could even be charming. There’s no need for you to be doing this."
Something burned in her stomach. "I want to," she said. "I’ve always wanted to be a theoretical physicist." And a dancer, sat on her tongue, but she thought she’d better not say it, because she could tell already what he would think of that.
"You’re adorable, Miss Tam," he responded. "But I recommend that you switch into a 3-level course. Electromagnetism I, perhaps. That should be enough to stimulate you, on the side. You wouldn’t want to overwork yourself."
No, she thought, imagining Simon’s face when she told him ("that slimy piece of feng le gos se!"). I wouldn’t want that.
*
Mal's first dream hit about a week after Miranda -- before his crew had even finished cleaning out the ship. In a way the suddenness, the unexpected force of it, was better. He could tell himself it was like after the war -- when he shook sometimes, or couldn't hold down a solid thought. It was simply shellshock, the neural scars bullets left behind.
In his dream, she was just as she was in real life: incomprehensible, brilliant beyond measure, agile, quick-witted, ironic -- breathtaking, in a way no one could explain. Kaylee had been the first to pick that up, to recognize the immensity of her beauty -- and wasn't that like Kaylee.
In the dream, she was like Kaylee, too; like Inara, like every woman he'd loved. She leaned over him as he slept, stroking his hair, unquestionably in control and yet soft-hearted and sweet. He felt himself wake up, in the dream, but he kept his eyes closed, and smiled for her so she'd know not to stop moving her fingers across his head. That's how it was, in the dream; he never had to say anything. She just knew.
On the good nights, dream-Mal shifted a little after he smiled -- to get just the smallest bit closer to her. She knew what that meant, too, and leaned down to kiss his lips with a touch both innocent and wild. Mal had smelled saffron, twice, and that's what he thought she tasted like, in his dream; her lips, her tongue, rich and sweet and exotic even to a man who had been to most of the uncharted portions of the galaxy.
Sometimes she sang -- that was part of what convinced him it was a dream, because River in real life would never lean against him this way, humming a tune, and then make up words to it and share them, right there. Those were the best nights.
Shellshock, Mal told himself when he woke up. Just shellshock. Except that his war dreams were more like nightmares -- they woke him up in a feverish sweat.
This dream made him want to go back to sleep.
*
On the bridge, River loved to sit forward, hands playing absently -- but aware -- on the wheel of the Firefly; she watched the stars. Most of the ones they saw already had a story behind them, but River made up new ones anyway. In her head, where no one could get to them.
Hands on her shoulders.
"What's going on out there, little one?"
She flipped her head back, smiling up at him upside-down. It made him grin -- it always did.
"Naming the stars," she admitted.
A vision flashed through both of their heads, something from Mal's dream-world slipping over into gritty reality: he leaned gently over her head, cupped her cheek with his hand, pressed a kiss to her forehead and then her nose and then her mouth. He loved her.
Mal shook his head and sat in his chair, five feet away. River pretended she'd seen nothing -- it was easier. Just easier.
"Reckon we've got about four days back 'till civilization," he said -- very captainy. "We can see about lifting this cargo and maybe get a meal with different colors and textures. It's an idea."
"You're hungry," River said.
Hungry -- they tore at each other, so hard and fast it would have hurt if they had been paying attention. "You want me to stop, you tell me," Mal told her suddenly, holding her at arm's length. She shook her head right away, and laughed a little, and made him put his arms around her again. "Your River," she answered simply.
Mal shook his head again, this time like there were flies crawling in his hair. River just regarded him, eyes glasslike. It was unnerving, but everything about her was -- everything about her always had been.
"And you -- River? You shiny on two rations a day?"
A smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. Mal always wondered where she found light enough to give him those little grins, but he didn't wonder too hard. Would take the magic away.
"Food is food," she said. "We do what we have to."
Mal wasn't sure how to say it, but he thought it was important that he did, and it stumbled out: "You don't have to be here," he told her, reassuringly.
Her face went cold, like a memory had snapped up out of the black. You don't have to be here.
She turned away from him, gazing as fiercely into the stars as she could.
"Want to be here," she said softly. "Always wanted to be here."
The word want coming out of her lips gave Mal visions of his dreams again, and before she could see them -- this time -- he stood up from the chair and fled. A gruff "g'night" was all he could muster.
*
In Mal's bunk, several dozen protein bricks later, River traced the outline of a bird on his open palm. Her captain laughed, gently; the mirth reached his eyes and the edges of his face, and his other arm -- around her -- drew her more firmly into his chest.
She had been silent to him for so long that now, when he could and she could, he loved to let her talk. She told him stories in low murmurs about Before and After, but never During, and he understood why.
She told him about the day at Jan Ed with her professor, and even though he didn't remember what he'd said and how it had echoed, he laughed again.
"It's funny?" she asked.
"It's funniest when they try to stop you," he told her, showing his teeth in a grin. He takes away the hollow feeling, River thought, and kissed him because he did it so often now -- smiled. Laughed. Made her smile back.
A few days later he made the link in his head between his words and the words she'd heard Before; she could tell when it happened because he leaned into her ear and whispered, "You have to be here."
"Yes," she replied, and closed her eyes.
She arched under him, all curves and grace. "Mal, Mal," she said, over and over, and he never got tired of it. He had worn out life so much, he'd thought most women wouldn't touch him - and yet here she was, the best of all possible women, closing her eyes and screaming for a shell of a soul like him. It was enough to make a man want to be useful, to save entire worlds. For now, though, he just wanted to kiss her again.
When River opened her eyes, Mal was watching her.
"That wasn't a dream," he said softly. Calloused hands brushed hair away from her eyes, and River was the first to smile now.
"No," she agreed.
Title: Better than Flying
Author: ninamazing, or Nina
Word Count: 358
Rating: R
Pairing: Mal/River, yet again!
The girl's dresses came off so easily; it seemed like cheating to Mal, but he was never one to split hairs, to put fei hua where there was none to be had. "Talk to me," she said, curling up in the shirt she'd just removed from him. "Tell me how it feels."
He leaned over, holding still for a moment to look her in the eyes, and slipped his fingers between her legs, making her gasp and part her lips -- just a little, like she was letting him in everywhere. Mal rubbed her softly, feeling her go wet, kissing her mouth when she moaned.
"You feel warm," he told her in a smooth whisper. "Warm and pretty and soft, my best girl." With his other hand he pulled her closer to him, and she came so willingly, rolling out of the shirt and into his body.
"Do I feel good?" she asked, so quietly and quickly he barely heard her. "Am I wet enough?"
"River, you feel better than anything else," he told her, and because he knew she'd understand he added, "better than flying."
"Wo de tian ah," she gasped, barely forming the words. "I love you touching me."
"I love it too, darlin'," he reassured her, and at this she wrapped her long legs around him and squeezed, moving up and down, lightly brushing his lips with hers as she begged for him. Mal grabbed her and pressed her closer -- "my girl, you always feel so good, see what you do to me," he growled, and moved until he was on top of her, his suspenders slapping the edge of the bed as he rocked her.
"Your girl," she murmured obediently, spreading her legs, taking one of his hands so she could kiss the fingers slowly, draw the longest into her mouth, and circle it with her tongue.
"Wa cao, River," he groaned. "You're gonna make me come."
"I want to," she whispered. "I want to be good for you, Mal."
"You are," he told her right away, and kissed her hard but sweet, holding her head in his hands, losing breath when she pushed up into him.