taxonomites | 008: [location: serenity] & [accidental visual]

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008: [location: serenity] & [accidental visual]

Here is Mal, thankfully not smashing things in a rage this time around, but instead absorbed in a much more sedate activity. Said activity involves the kitchen table on board Serenity, and a frankly bizarre array of ingredients spread out across it, with a mixing jug in the middle. He appears to be doing something ungodly involving high protein milk bars, oatmeal, sarsparilla, root beer, chocolate milk and... bourbon. An educated viewer might recognize some of these as the formula for making Mudder's Milk, the local drink of Canton. An uneducated viewer might just think he has malfunctioning taste buds.

In any case, once he's done mixing the suspect concoction, he raises the jug to his mouth and takes a deep glug, before promptly spitting a large quantity of it back out again, and wiping his lips with quite evident revulsion.

"Well, if that ain't just the most disgustin' thing I ever had in my mouth."

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Inara twists her arm just so, sliding his hand until it clasps her own. His hands are completely unlike any other man she's ever touched -- he has gun callouses and rough patches and dirt under his fingernails. They're, well, his description would be 'honest' hands. They're not pampered, smooth and white, capped off with manicured nails. For a moment, she stares, and wonders what those rough hands would feel like on her skin...

And then she looks up to acknowledge his confession.

"We'll have to figure it out among ourselves." She leans in a little closer, affectionate, unconscious of the fact she's doing it -- that, in and of itself is rare. "I don't imagine anyone else knows any better, either, and -- and all the rules are different, aren't they?"

That's the second time in not very many days that they've held hands-- if she isn't careful, he might just get used to it. Though, no, he wouldn't-- he probably wouldn't ever get used to Inara's uncanny ability to fog up his usually so pragmatic mind.

He leans in closer too, a sort of unconscious reciprication, and replies, with a little bit of a smile. "Seems to me that there aren't any."

"What does that even mean for people like us, Mal?" she asks, her eyes searching his for answers that aren't there. "We've lived our lives defined and confined by forces so much bigger than we are. Shaped and moulded by what we obey and what we defy."

Inara's thinking out loud -- she's not done that in as long as she can remember -- and she doesn't expect him to have answers for her any more than she has answers for him. As she leans closer, she releases his hand, the fingertips of both hands tracing the lines of his suspenders, not looking away from his gaze.

"Who are we when we don't have that? Who are we when we're alone and there's no one to see, to judge, to disapprove?"

Inara's thinking out loud makes a great deal of sense-- even if that sense happens to be questions that simply don't have an answer. His eyes don't leave hers as he listens, and he lifts his now-free hand to gently brush a lock of her hair with his fingers.

"Well, I ain't rightly sure, but... I'd venture that we're just ourselves." He answers, quietly. They're so close together at this point that greater volume really isn't necessary-- so close that he'd be nervous if he could think at all. He's full of doubt and confusion about how Inara feels about him, but he's also tired of wasting chances and running away, of regrets. Maybe it's time to take a risk-- and in the spirit of that resolution, he leans in that tiny bit more to close the distance between them, and kisses her softly.

"But who are we without--" Her further questions are silenced by the press of his mouth to her own.

Really, she should have seen that coming. On some level, she did see that coming, but chose to not consciously pay attention to it so to avoid feeling like she ought to get to her feet and put some distance between them.

He scares her sometimes.

He's not interested in the layers, in the masks, the glamor, the pretense. He doesn't look at her and see a lovely way to spend a few hours. Mal's not the sort of man who thinks of her the way he's supposed to, the way her training should urge him to. When he looks at her, Inara thinks that sometimes, he sees into the very core of who she is. That he sees things she's not even sure how to see in herself anymore.

He scares her deeply.

She doesn't pull away. Her hands slide up his chest to cup the back of his neck tenderly and she returns his kiss warmly. This shouldn't be happening, but it is. She's scaring herself by how much she wants it.

Mal isn't even sure it is happening at all. He's had enough dreams that went more or less exactly this way to believe it perfectly feasible that this is just another one. Maybe the mudder's milk knocked him out, and this is all some kind of hallucination? There doesn't seem to be any other logical explanation for why Inara wouldn't have pushed him away by now, or hell-- even slapped him, as opposed to kissing him back, like she wants this just as much as he does.

He can't remember exactly when he fell in love with her, but it was a very long time ago. He's scared too, though not for the same reasons. What scares him is the thought that any second he'll wake up and she-- this amazing woman-- will realize she's kissing Malcolm Reynolds and pull away, that she'll regret it, and reject him. He puts his arms around her and draws her closer as if to combat this fear, his heart pumping, it seemed, almost audibly.

She moves closer, perching on the edge of her seat, all but in his lap, and lets the kiss continue far, far beyond the point at which she should have stopped it. Because truly, she's been in love with him, too, for far longer than she has consciously allowed herself to think about it.

Inara moves a little closer yet, cups his face in her hands and deepens the kiss, because, really, she doesn't know if she's brave enough to ever let this happen again and, in case she isn't, she wants to know what he tastes like.

When Inara's lips part to let him in, he kisses her heatedly- passionately, like a lover, where before he'd been soft, careful. In truth, he probably tastes a little bit like the bourbon that was so recently on his tongue, though he's not even remotely close to inebriated- there's no haze of alcohol to dull the experience.

After a long moment he pulls away just a fraction, feeling like he needs to say something, to express somehow his feelings. "Inara--" He begins, breathlessly, though as it turns out he's at a loss for words- or rather he has too many words, and no idea what order to put them in.

"Shhh," Inara urges softly, pressing her fingers to his lips to silence those words, regardless of the order he may or may not ultimately decide to put them in. The look in his eyes, so tender and ardent, makes her panic. He shouldn't --

That is, they -- she -- should have known better than to --

She doesn't have the excuse of the alcohol going to her head. If anything, it's the fact she's missed him and Serenity terribly. Or the confusion and fear she feels in this strange new place. Or--

Or the simple, dangerous fact of her feelings for him.

"Shhh," she urges, pressing another sweet, brief kiss to his lips. (He has a beautiful mouth.) "You don't need to say a word."

Mal has never been one for complications. He'd told Wash as much-- on-ship relationships cause complications, and those can never lead to any good. What just happened with Inara definitely counts as a complication... there are so many questions to be asked; difficult questions like 'what does this mean?' and 'what do we do now?', amongst infinite others.

In spite of all of this, he can't feel anything other than glad. To know that, in some measure, she feels for him- and to have her here with him after losing her twice, after so much longing... well, there's no regret to be found in that at all, complications or no.

"Well, that's a kindness." He says, the hint of a smile crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looks at her (she has a beautiful everything), and lifts a hand to gently brush his thumb along the soft line of her jaw. "Because I'm fairly certain anythin' I say right now would be fèihuà*, anyhow."

*[nonsense]

Inara has the urge, cruel though it might be, to simply rise from her seat, thank him for the drink and slink off back to her shuttle to figure out what in the seven hells possessed her to kiss him back.

But then he smiles, and touches her, and she's lost again.

"I don't know what either of us could say that wouldn't be." She lets her eyes fall shut again at his touch. Her heart is just pounding -- she feels deeply ambivalent, torn between gladness and fear.

When Inara closes her eyes, he hesitates just a moment, then presses another brief, soft kiss to her lips. He knows her well enough to know that this must be scary for her-- after all, the last time they got anywhere near this close, she told him she was leaving Serenity. Fleeing isn't an option here in Taxon of course, but he knows that the urge to run away from... what, he's not exactly sure, maybe from somehow compromising herself? From being vulnerable? Allowing her feelings to pierce through the code she's lived by for so long, the rules, the restraint? He knows that urge must be there, and doesn't want to pressure her, so he draws back a little, reluctantly.

"Seein' as how we're not real conversational at the minute, maybe you'd like me to... leave you some time alone?"

"Have I frightened you?" Inara asks, opening her eyes slowly to look at him. She tilts her head a little to the side, considering this option... and realises that he's being kind. And that -- that is quite a relief. To not have to pretend, to run.

"Who are you and what have you done with Malcolm Reynolds?" she whispers, huffing the softest not-quite laugh.

"You're many things, Inara-- scary happens to not be one of 'em," he smiles at her fondly, then lets out a tension-relieving sigh. Her question provokes some amused head-shaking, as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He'd have to make more of an effort to hide his 'actually quite a decent man' interior behind more layers of gruff and dour in future.

"I honestly don't know, but if you see him, could you point him in my direction?"

He'd better not make more of an effort to hide his 'actually quite a decent man' interior behind more layers of gruff and dour. Those are his least appealing traits.

Inara offers him her hand, reaching for his own, palm-down. "I will surely do that," she promises.

Well, true, but he can't have everyone thinking he's nice and fluffy, can he? Something might implode.

Mal takes her hand, squeezes it softly, with affection. "I'm grateful." He means that in the context of their joke, though it carries a deeper significance too.

"That wasn't a very conclusive yes or no." He adds, after a little pause, with reference to his offer of 'time alone'.

"Truly, right now, I don't know what I need. As I said -- this place. It's confusing. I don't know the rules or... or anything, really."

Inara runs her thumb over his knuckles lightly -- she's visibly wrestling with something, trying to force herself to form words. "One thing I do know, however, is that I don't want to be alone yet." She's afraid to be.

If things were in any way different, he'd offer to answer all Inara's questions for her, put everything in neat, tidy boxes and tell her how it all works. The sad fact is, however, that most questions regarding Taxon simply don't have answers, and he's no more the wiser than she is. Still, the not being alone, that he can help with, at the very least.

"Well then, I'll be glad to keep you company."

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008: [location: serenity] & [accidental visual]

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