A/N: Listening to Florence and the Machine's new album has fed some muses. Reap what they sew.
But She Can't Cook
Mal knows Inara is a woman of many talents, but he's hell bent on finding something the companion can't do. A series of snippets where Mal thinks on Inara's endless skill set, and her single flaw. Mal x Inara pure, shameless fluff.
.four. : style
"I don't like it," he'd told his Ma.
He'd wrinkled his nose in disgust, and kicked his little feet from his spot on the bed. He'd hurt her feelings, he knew, but he couldn't bring himself to approve of anything that resembled Alliance culture and society, not after everything they'd done to ruin theirs.
"What's wrong with it, Mal? It ain't the colour, is it?" She held the pink, frilly thing against her form, and examined it in the full length mirror.
"It just ain't you," he'd told her rather flatly.
He had never been too keen on the Alliance's skewed perception of beauty. Give him a woman simple, clean, natural, over a woman who was more painted than a porcelain doll. A woman who weren't afraid to toil through the day, put her hair up, and wasn't afraid to get herself dirty, that was a real woman. Still she would remain beautiful, skin glowing under the light of the setting sun, hair frizzing, cheeks burnt, sweat still slick on her face. It would be a true sort of attraction, something real. No secrets, lies, or deceit.
But then again, that had all been before Inara Serra had come along and changed everything.
Funny how a woman was capable of shaking up a man's ideals, some he'd thought were forever unchanging. But he'd known it the moment he'd laid eyes on her; it was there in the slight dilation of his pupils, of the flutter of his heart, of the clammy palms and sticky, dry tongue. She'd walked on in, the golden skin of her midriff exposed, small waist accentuated, the curve of her hips swaying beneath the light fabric of her long, loose, shimmering skirt. Her sheer veil did little to mask the heavy black kohl that deepened her already dark eyes, and the painted burgundy of her full lips.
"You want me."
Truer words could never have been spoken. He hadn't even realized it, not until she'd said it in such a way, her voice like liquid honey, her mouth looking to be just as sweet to the taste. She'd walked into his life, all glamour and silks, and he'd never thought he'd seen a creature so unearthly. Inara could have made any man forget how to breathe. It didn't matter if she was dressed in the most tantalizing of clothing, if it were lace or satin or chiffon. She would be equally unforgiving in every shade of the rainbow, and he could only imagine the damage she did when she wore nothing at all. Hell, he'd spent more than enough time thinking on that inappropriate thought.
She could steal all of the attention in a room by simply entering it, whether she'd be in elegant, ravishing red or slinky, midnight black. He'd seen almost every aspect of her, from watching her leaving to meet a client, to witnessing her fresh from sleep in the early hours of the day. Her hair could have been in an elaborate up-do, or a mess of free, rich, ebony curls; it never mattered to him.
She would always be able to pull him into her orbit, with no regard to the predicament he was in. He loved her in all the deep reds and dark lip stains. He loved her in her dainty heels that clicked against the metal tiles of Serenity, while she lifted her skirts, still seemingly gliding about the place. He loved her barefoot; small, warm, painted toes stepping delicately into the mess, or moving up the stairs quietly like a cat.
He loved her.
It made him ache, but he was truer for it.
"Well, ain't that somethin'," he could almost hear his Ma say into his ear.
Irony was not a friend of Malcolm Reynolds. Yet, there he was, completely baffled by the very type of woman he'd sworn off. She'd met him in a costume that would have instantly marked her for her trade. She'd even confessed to him that she'd been an enemy of his, and for the life of him, he couldn't bring himself to see her any differently. He could never learn to hate her, try as he did.
Even Kaylee and Zoe had taken note of the companion's expansive wardrobe and shameless good looks. Her eyes were trusting and warm, her touch gentle and kind; she'd won them over instantly.
"I like her," Zoe had confided to the captain upon meeting the other woman, and hearing about her bold statements in regards to the shuttle.
When he'd asked her to explain her decision, she'd shrugged and a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "She's different, that's certain. Can't really explain it, but I think she'll fit in fine, sir."
Feminine wiles.
He'd blamed it on wiles.
But when he was near her, his heart kept doing that funny little thing, no matter how much he'd tried to quiet it down, no matter if she was just sitting and eating or reading a book. Heck, it did it even when he was angry with her, deep in the throes of a heated exchange. His hands ached to hold her by her waist, pull her to him, and crush her mouth with his, smudging all that carefully applied lipstick. He hated himself for it.
"My vote's for 'Nara, capt'n." Kaylee's verdict was also in, and she'd said it with a sweet smile, knowing she'd been the deciding factor.
He'd been outnumbered.
And maybe, that had been a good thing.
He'd found her in her shuttle after the events of Miranda were still fresh. She wore some battle scars, and she looked just as weary as they all did. The clothes on her back were spotted with blood, the delicate fabric torn in some places. Her lipstick was smeared and sweat had dried on the flesh of her temple, thin and salty. She had a purple bruise forming over her lip, and there was still a trail of dried blood around her nostrils. Her fingers were shaking, a few nails broken from digging them into the flesh of the reaver that had attacked her. He had no doubt he'd find blood beneath the tips, too.
Still, he felt that familiar, painful twinge in his chest at the sight of her; aching and longing and love. Even then, she could still affect him in such a way that no other woman in the 'verse ever could.
"I'm going to keep them," she'd told him in a steady voice.
She wouldn't look at him, her eyes glazed over with an infinite amount of unshed tears and heartache. When he reached her, he saw her staring, asphyxiated, at the luggage she'd tucked away and forgotten about before she'd left. The contents lay on the ground, in a tangle of silks and satin, and it became apparent that she'd contemplated tossing them out the airlock.
She looked at him then, searched his eyes deeply for the first time in a long time, and laying bare what was between them.
She took his hand in hers, and stroked the skin of his roughened knuckles with the other. "Don't take it the wrong way, Mal. It's still a part of me, part of who I was, and who I have become. Just as much as Serenity is...just as much as this crew is...," she looked away then before adding softly, "...just as much as you are, now."
Funny how such few words could set the universe spinning about.
Maybe it was the intensity of the situation, or that familiar feeling in his chest, or the ringing in his head, or the way her hands felt so soft against his own. Even when he'd gotten up to walk away, he still wasn't too sure exactly what had driven him to put his foot in his mouth.
"So long as you take to wearin' somethin' less like to catch fire when it's your turn at the kitchen."
Maybe, he was just a gorram fool after all...
A/N: I never thought Mal would make it easy for Inara, not even when she's on the verge of confessing how she actually feels. Which, I imagine, took place after the BDM. I don't think she would ever throw out her fancy clothes, being the sentimental type, and I sort of wanted to write about the clothing Inara wore. It seemed to be something I felt was major in the show; it was always exciting to load up an episode and see what fabulous garment the companion would be wearing next. Not to mention the plethora of concept art. I also played on Inara being the type of woman most wouldn't expect Mal to fall for. It's a dynamic of what makes their relationship so interesting. And yes, bits here were taken from Out of Gas because that episode is golden.
As usual, feedback is welcomed. Thanks for reading. :)