A/N: A little hiatus writing for in between Sky Song updates. Just to tide you over on my 23rd birthday. :) Cheers.
"The way you doubt your feelings
And look the other way
Well, it's something I relate to
Your gift of nonchalance
Nobody's ever made me fall in love
With this amount of touch..."
- You Belong To The World, The Weeknd
Luo
In his book of rules, he wasn't supposed to have lingered...
It had been an honest mistake. He wasn't a man of many honest errors, but this time, he could attest to the fact. He hadn't meant to disturb her, his intentions had been pure. But his thoughts were wicked and he knew, that in his book of rules, he wasn't supposed to have lingered.
But linger he had, and it only needed to be one second more. In that bubble they'd created, time moved slowly, and the seconds trudged on like hours. He was very much aware of the way his heart beat maddeningly against his ribcage, threatening to make its hasty exit out of his chest cavity. But it wasn't the only part of his body beckoning betrayal.
His eyes focused on hers, but they'd stolen a glance, and although he watched her face, they glazed over with the images of all that warm cinnamon coloured flesh, of the gentle curves of her hips, of the dark curls hiding the sweetness between her thighs. His mind was plagued with the stunning vision of her nudity, so bare and so much better than he'd ever imagined. Standing there in the dim candlelight, she was glowing, enticing his hands to touch, his mouth to taste. Everything about her was temptation and seduction. It was written on her, imprinted into her warm skin, radiating off of her in waves.
He should have left.
He hadn't the right to be there, he knew this. He was undeserving of such a sight, of such a token of beauty that men had to pay to see at all.
He should have turned on his heel, and walked right back out, and under normal circumstances, it was likely what he'd have done. But things between the two of them were far from normal, and he couldn't help himself. His feet wouldn't listen, his body stuck in a stupor, unable to move, not obliging to his commands. A bubble of hope inside of him, welling up and telling him of lies and secret wishes. She hadn't asked him to leave, she hadn't screamed, or even been startled. She merely watched him watching her, with all the grace and elegance that she carried even whilst clothed.
She had no shame in her body, and there wasn't a reason she should have.
She was glorious.
Knocked the air right out of him, she had.
No naughty dreams or wicked thoughts did her any justice.
It angered him to think on the many probing, soiled hands that had the privilege to touch all of that perfect, unmarred skin. They had no right. They hadn't earned it.
But he could suddenly see the appeal. If the only way to bask in her presence was for a price, then maybe it wasn't so crazy to pay it. Still, he was of the mindset there wasn't a price in the 'verse to put on such a lovely creature. It astounded him that she didn't seem to know it, too. Standing here, as the observer, it was plain as day to him.
It was also obvious that she had reserved the right to be angry with him for his sudden and unwelcomed intrusion. However, if his presence in her shuttle had proven to be bothersome, her reaction told him anything but that. She allowed him to look, allowed him to linger, and it was like a silent permission she was granting him, only he was too hesitant to accept.
She dropped the silken kimono to the floor, the last article of clothing that had obscured his view, and it slipped from her fingers like a waterfall of colours, pooling at her bare feet. She turned, faced him, tilted her chin up and allowed him to feast his eyes on all of her, every bit of her.
It was a bold move, and so very unlike her.
He'd been expecting a scolding, an argument, embarrassment even. But the lovely companion displayed none of the emotions typical of her in such a predicament. Instead, she was bold, wanting, daring him. Like a painting coming to life, she moved, bare feet taking nimble steps towards him.
His mind was barely intact, he couldn't maintain control. He'd lost the war with his own body, and he didn't want to leave, even when he knew, somewhere deep in the back of his head, that it was the thing to do.
But she was naked, so very naked.
It rendered him speechless, defenceless. His walls had all crumbled down to the ground, and he couldn't even pretend that he was unfazed. Their little game of cat and mouse had drawn its final curtain, and he was left feeling as exposed as she was.
She'd found his hand, and tugged at it, indicating for him to follow her. At her urgency, his body obeyed, and he found himself right behind her, watching the sway of ebony curls falling down her smooth back in a rippling waterfall. He didn't dare peek lower for fear of his pants growing more constricting and uncomfortable than they already were.
She could have been leading him straight into the arms of death for all he cared; he'd have followed her anywhere if she'd let him. He was barely paying any attention, so entranced by her. He could hear the water running from the tap, could hear her turn the nozzle on, watched her do it even.
And then her hands were on him, on his clothes; vexing garments in the way of her skin and his. She worked quickly to address that problem. He helped her. Buttons, belts, flimsy undershirts and briefs with a hole or two. They removed them all, dropped them to the floor, forgotten. They stood there, so close and yet still far apart.
He breathed her in, and she fixed her gaze on the scars that sullied his complexion. Their bodies swayed, longing for one another, he could feel it. Could he be bold? She was barely a hairsbreadth away from him; he could reach down and kiss her honeyed mouth. He could smell her sweet aroma; vanilla and honeysuckle and incense. She stepped backwards then, away from him, and into the water. He watched on with envy as the rivulets created a path down her breasts, over her hardened nipples, and down the length of her magnificent body. He wanted to move his tongue against it, to taste the water that kissed her skin.
He couldn't wait any longer; he joined her, and let the warm liquid wash down his back, matt down his hair, fall over the bridge of his nose, and twinkle against his lashes. She closed the glass behind them; a foggy secret that no one would come to know. The mist clouded around them, swallowing the heat that radiated off their bodies.
His skin was flushed while hers gleamed and glistened in the steam. She looked up at him with her exotic eyes, and he felt dizzy with anticipation.
He wanted her badly, he ached with it fiercely.
He'd dreamt of her, thought of her like this with him one too many times than was appropriate. Where judging eyes couldn't see, he'd moaned out her name in pleasure and passion. He almost wanted to pinch himself, to realize that she was real and not just another one of his fantasies. But when her hands were on his chest, he knew that he wasn't dreaming this time around. He leaned in to steal a kiss, dying to savor her parted lips. She let him, her lashes fluttering closed when his mouth met hers in a tender embrace. She leaned into him, the buds of her soft breasts brushing against his strong chest.
Her tongue darted nervously to meet his, and he relished in her taste, committing it to memory. His hands found their way to her small waist, and he pulled her in so that she was pressed up against him, slippery wet and deliciously naked. His mouth ravaged hers with a ferocious hunger and an urgent need that caused his manhood to twitch with desire. She moaned into his mouth as his hands explored the small of her back, venturing to the dip, and inching lower. Her smooth, slick belly rubbed against his erection and the sensation sent a jolt up his spine. It gave him a strange satisfaction to know that she enjoyed what he was doing to her. He loved the way her body fit against his, the way she purred into him, and the way her hands searched his skin and his scars tenderly for the stories they told.
His fingers traced a path along her back; one hand remained there while the other gripped her chin. He forced her head back as his mouth attacked her neck, her collarbone, her jaw line. She moaned his name, a soft whisper, but her voice was like velvet caressing all of his body. She arched her back to grant him more access as he travelled down her torso, towards her firm breasts, before crushing his nose against the soft mound and engulfing the pert nipple into his eager mouth. His tongue was warm and wet and cool at the same time against the sensitive skin of her areola. She bucked beneath him, with nothing but the sound of the water to drown out her pleading. Her fingers were in his wet hair, and they caressed his scalp in an effort to urge him on.
His hands were then on the back of her thighs, and he hoisted her up, his erection bobbing between them like a reminder of what they both ultimately wanted. He rushed her against the tiled wall of the shower, and her legs wrapped instinctively around him. He continued to give her breasts attention, teasing, sucking and licking until he nearly bruised the tender flesh. When she'd had enough of his toying with her, she uncoiled herself from him so that she was on her feet again. She turned, and gave him her back, sticking herself out as far as she could so that her backside pressed against his engorged manhood. He slid between her butt cheeks, back and forth, the friction and wetness making him see stars. His hands were on her in seconds, and he groaned against her ear, warm and breathy, tingling her skin, and giving her goose flesh. He used one hand to steady himself against the wall, his fingers resting over hers, while his free hand traveled down the expanse of her flat stomach, towards her belly button, and then further down to her wet core. He slipped a finger inside of her, and then another, causing her to jolt and shudder in response, pressing even harder into his erection with the wet flesh of her butt. The feeling of his finger moving inside of her elicited a series of moans from her, each growing louder and more desperate the faster he worked between her lips.
His name was but a whimper on her tongue as he drove her closer to the edge. She came shortly after, violently, and gasping. Her warm juices trickled down the inside of her thigh as he pulled out his fingers and put them in his mouth, tasting her before the water had the chance to wash her away. Her breathing was laboured, and when she turned back around to face him, her legs nearly gave out from beneath her. He leaned towards her, using his hands against the wall to level himself when he kissed her again, deeply. She was keen on meeting his hunger with a fiery one of her own, and her tongue clashed with his almost as soon as he'd kissed her. Her hands wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer to her as she explored his warm mouth. When they parted, she trailed a series of butterfly kisses down his body, starting at his chin, and moving towards the scars that marred his chest, shoulder, and abdomen. She lingered on them, kissing them tenderly as if she could heal them with her velvety lips.
She kissed and licked at his nipples before working her way down to the trail of small hairs below his navel. She met his eyes as she greedily took him into her mouth, grabbing hold of him by the shaft. He hissed and threw his head back in pleasure at the feeling of her hot mouth around his throbbing cock. She skillfully used her tongue to run the length of him, from the base, all the way to the tip of the head, until he was forced to steady himself by placing a hand on the wall and another against the now fogged glass of the sliding door, leaving behind his handprint as evidence. He breathed harder as he took in the sight of her mouth sucking him off, her beautiful lips enveloping him. Her hand moved with her, to match the rhythm of her mouth, grabbing hold of his shaft and squeezing lightly when she reached the sensitive glans as she pumped him. Mal's eyes felt like they were going to roll back into his skull from the intensity of the stimulation.
Not being able to take anymore of her teasing, he pulled her up to her feet, and heaved her up easily, with his fingers digging into her thighs hard enough to leave white marks. He pushed her up against the wall and penetrated her before she even had a chance to breathe a protest. She gasped against him when he entered her, and her nails dug into the skin of his shoulders as his hardened length started to move inside of her warm, wet cunt. She hummed when he picked up the pace, pumping faster and with more urgency, burying her face into the crane of his neck.
He groaned when he felt her walls tighten around him, squeezing him and drawing him closer to spilling himself inside of her. Her legs were wrapped around his waist, keeping him there, right where she wanted him. She was kissing his neck, his shoulders, moving to bite his ear playfully as he drove into her with all the pent up frustration he'd kept to himself for so long. Her face contorted into one of pain and pleasure, and she mewled helplessly as she came again, bucking her hips against his while she rode the waves upon waves of pleasure. Her juices coated every hardened inch of him, even dripping down to his scrotum. She bit down hard with her teeth and he moaned delightfully at the slight ebb of pain.
She whispered his name into his ear like a mantra, urging him to continue to plunge into her, harder, deeper, and stronger. She kissed the spot she'd bitten tenderly, and her nails raked a path against the wide expanse of his back, leaving red claw marks where they went. He relished in the feeling as he drew closer to release.
His hands were fists, clutching so tightly, his knuckles were white. The muscles of his backside twitched and he spilled every bit of his hot seed inside of her. He moaned aloud, her name dying on his lips as he came, thrusting a final time.
They came apart breathing hard and heavy, both with legs that wouldn't remain steady. He kissed her again, slowly this time. He held her against him, nuzzled his face into her wet curls, reveling in the way she felt when he embraced her.
He needed her to know that he wasn't a client for her to service.
He needed her to know that he'd never pay to have her.
He wanted her like this, always. Natural, raw, pure.
He wanted the woman.
But even now, he couldn't speak, couldn't formulate the words. He didn't have the courage. Instead, he would show her, prove to her that he was different than the rest.
They would have left, once they'd had their money's worth. They'd take her body, and be done with her.
Instead, he chose to linger, and it was the best rule he'd broken yet.
~fin
A/N: I wanted to write a piece with no dialogue. I love the couples that aren't good with words, but whose actions better convey their feelings. I feel that, Mal and Inara are such a pairing. The Chinese word, Luo, means naked, in case anyone is wondering. :) As per usual, feedback is most appreciated.