Firefly Fic

[serafina20]

Here it is. Me writing a het sex scene. Even if you haven't read the story up until now, you might want to check it out, just for a laugh.

Or, you know, to stroke my ego and remind me that I can write. And that I write better than LKH.



For the first time in weeks, dinner was a family affair, save for Simon, of course. And the boy.

The boy. Mal had no right to be jealous of him and he knew it. No cause at all, and yet… it were a bit hard not to be. It weren't just that the boy was beautiful and brilliant and funny--Camille was all that, too, and more, and Mal actually *liked* her. It weren't that he wanted the boy, or even Simon.

It was just that... Once upon a time, Mal had been the one who would have been able to make that look appear on Simon's face. The hopeful, dreamy, *happy* look.

And he was so pretty when he was happy.

But Mal had passed up that chance. He'd cared for Simon, even wanted him. But he hadn't known how to say yes. It wasn't that he wasn't satisfied with the way things turned out. If he'd been with Simon, he couldn't have Camille, after all.

Maybe it was simply because Simon had chosen to be happy with that boy. If it'd been anyone else…

"How much room would you say that boy takes up?" Mal asked Camille. He had one arm over the back of her chair and was leaning in real close, so as not to disturb anyone else

She turned her head, mouth mere inches from his. Before she could answer, he was kissing her.

He'd managed to take her by surprise, judging by the noise she made in her throat. Her head titled back, mouth opened. She tasted like the tea Inara was serving and too much sugar and a hint of salt. Mal couldn't get enough. He gripped her chin in one hand, thumb scraping over soft, soft skin.

Camille's feet twined around Mal's chair; she tugged herself closer to him. Her fingers tugged at his hair, and she was sighing in soft, almost desperate moans as she kissed Mal hard.

"I'll be in my bunk," Jayne announced. There was the sound of a chair scrapping the floor and then slamming back into the table.

Embarrassed, Mal broke the kiss. In his arms, Camille was flushed and hot. Her eyes were glazed.

"Two perfectly good bunks between the two of you, and you choose the kitchen," Zoe said.

"Again," Wash added. "Don’t forget about their quickie the other day."

"Will you shut up about that?" Mal snapped, face burning. "It never happened." He didn't like the looks everyone was giving him. "Stop it!"

"It's just so good to see you happy, Captain!" Kaylee gushed. "And in love. You've never been so in love that you just, you know. Go for it."

He shot a look at Inara.

Inara, damn her, looked 'bout as complacent and all that you could be, considering their history. In fact, she looked down right pleased, all smirky and twinkly eyed at him above her tea cup.

"Do I have to remind anyone here who's captain?" he asked.

"No," everyone said. They all looked at Camille. She laughed.

"Do you all want to sabotage me?" she asked, slipping her hand into Mal's and squeezing. "You know how important it is for him to think… I mean for him to be in charge."

"Why thank you, darlin', for that show of support," he said dryly.

"Any time." She leaned over and kissed his cheek, then turned back to her meal. "Oh, and Prophet definitely takes up much to much room."

"Meaning, if I took him on, I'd have to get a bigger ship?"

"No. I mean that you'd have to get a bigger galaxy."

Mal sighed. "Wonderful."

"He'd be an asset," Camille said. "Prophet can do wonders with a computer. He and Mr. Universe used to run around the Cortext, chancing each other, trying to figure out who'd hacked into places the other wanted to go or who was diverting stuff well. Prophet used to get all incensed at what he perceived as the biggest threat to his supremacy in cyberspace until he stumbled across Mr. Universe's signal. Now they're partners in crime a lot of the time."

"I thought Prophet reminded me of someone," Wash said with a snap of his fingers. "He's got that same kind of manic genius as Mr. Universe."

"And the irony is, Prophet finds Mr. Universe annoying."

Mal groaned and rubbed his eyes. Mr. Universe could be right helpful at times, but damn if he didn't dance all over Mal's nerves. Living with his prettier and psychic counterpart would send him to an early grave.

Camille put her cheek on his shoulder. "I'll be here, don't forget."

"Oh, I'm counting you into the annoyance factor."

"Gee, thanks."

"Ain't he just the sweet talker?" Kaylee asked. "When he ain't making girls cry, he's coating 'em with honey and... Huh. That might actually be kinda fun, Captain."

A jolt of horror went through him. "Kaylee!"

"Actually, she's right," Wash said. "You just pour a little in the right place, and..."

"Can we *not* discuss this at the dinner table?" he asked.

"They're talking about food," Inara pointed out unhelpfully.

"Doesn't it get sticky?" River asked, eyes as big as her head.

"Simon's gonna kill y'all," Mal said. "Now can you stop..."

"Well, sex isn't exactly stick free, River," said Inara. "It's messy."

River wrinkled her nose.

"No, sweetie." Mal would never understand how someone who sounded as sweet and innocent as Kaylee could have such a dirty and knowledgeable mind. "It's sweaty and sticky and messy, but it's wonderful. And the honey thing was just a joke."

"You liked the idea. So did Wash and Inara. Even Zoe."

"River, dear, it's not nice to read people's mind at the dinner table," Zoe said mildly. She met Mal's eyes, then looked at Camille.

Or, rather, Camille's empty seat.

River tugged her hair. "Loud thought. Sorry." Her brow furrowed. "Sex shuts off the adult desire for cleanliness? There's no rational reason to want to be sticky."

"Desire isn't rational," Inara said as Mal quietly rose and excused himself from the table. The conversation was disturbing on too many levels as it was; at least now he had an excuse to leave.

Camille was in her room, sitting on her bed. Her head was handing at the level of her chest, hair falling in her face. One arm was behind her head and she was sliding a hypodermic needle out from her neck.

She sat up and tossed her hair out of her face.

"You okay?" Mal asked. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.

"I'm fine. Just needed a quick adjustment." Carefully, she undid the hypo and placed it into an open book next to her. "Sorry to drag you away."

"No, really, don't worry about it. Those sweet little girls are talking about kinky sex, being taught by a professional." He went to the bed and took Camille's hands. "I should be thanking you."

Camille gave him a lopsided smile. "You got something against kinky sex, Malcolm?" She tugged gently.

Mal allowed himself to fall on her, catching himself on the mattress so he didn't blanket her. "Not exactly," he admitted. "It's just a bit disturbing to hear people you think of as little sisters talking like that." He kissed her.

"Mmmm." Camille stretched and put her hands on his back. "Didn't you first meet Kaylee while she was having sex in the engine room?"

"It's different. Back then, she weren't anything more but some genius mechanic. Now, she's like this little ball of sunshine that floats through all the bad stuff that goes on. And that sort of stuff shouldn't be ... kinky."

"Little ball of sunshine. Why, Captain Reynolds, I do believe you are just the most poetical man I ever did meet."

He laughed and bent down to nuzzle just under her jaw. "You're so beautiful." He nipped her neck softly.

"Glad you finally noticed." She sounded breathless, one hand moving from his back to his head and back again.

"Oh, I noticed right away. Believe me." He kissed her, long and deep. "But there are still... things."

Camille was breathing heavily, cheeks flushed, lips swollen and red. "Yes, and if you don't do something with that thing soon...."

"I don't know anything about you."

"Wo zai qian shi yi ding re dao shen me re le ba," Camille said, eyes rolling. She squirmed from underneath him and crawled to the head of the bed. "What don't you know about me?"

He climbed onto the bed and leaned against the wall. "Well, for starters, I don't know what color your hair is. Ain't never seen it without the red, and while I like the red, I still don't know."

"It's blonde. Kinda like yours. Darkish, but when I'm in the sun, it lightens right up."

Mal nodded, one hand on her leg. "When's your birthday?"

She faltered, eyes going down and to the right. She twisted the blanket in her fingers. "April seventeenth," she finally said.

Space travel was a bitch on dates, but what with the terraforming and rigid Alliance control over everything, at least dates stayed the same no matter where you went. Still, it took Mal a few seconds to figure out what day it was and when April was.

"So you're turning twenty-one soon."

She closed her eyes. A muscle in her jaw twitched.

"Shen me?" he said, figuring that the weren't going to like what she was going to say.

"Not exactly," she finally said. She opened her eyes, but didn’t look at him.

"How can you not exactly turn twenty-one."

She shrugged. "I guess when you turn a different age. Like, one that isn't twenty-one."

"And what age would that be?" He had a feeling it wasn't older. Mal just hoped it wasn't too much younger.

"Something like twenty," Camille said softly.

"Twenty," he repeated. "You said you was twenty."

Her lips twitched. "Well, Captain, I have this reputation for being something of a storyteller."

"You mean a liar."

This time she did look up at him. "Captain, one cannot be a successful chameleon without the ability to roleplay."

"What was the point of ageing yourself up a year?" he asked.

She shrugged. "Don’t know. Just seemed like the thing to do." She fixed him with a penetrating look. "It matters to you. Why?"

Mal rubbed his head, the ach returning. "I don't know," he admitted. He moved closer to her and pulled her into his lap.

Camille came easily, climbing on him and resting her head on his shoulder. So trusting with him. Loving.

Young.

"Just makes me feel old, I guess. Not as old as … as him," he stumbled over the name, finding he couldn't say it, "but still old." He ran a thumb down her cheek. "Maybe too old."

"Why do you get to decide that?"

"Huh?"

"Why is how old is too old for me something that's left up to other people? Why can't I ever be the one to decide?"

"Now I guess that's the question," Mal said thoughtfully. He considered it. The only thing he came up with was, "Guilt."

She rolled her eyes. "Find something else to be guilty about. I'm sure in your life you can find something that you deserve to feel guilt over." She grimaced. "I have."

Mal rubbed her back and kissed her gently. "Ain't nothing you did that was your fault."

"I agreed to be experimented on. They talked circles round me, but I agreed."

"And you was, what? Fifteen when that happened? A kid."

"I should have been smart enough not to volunteer for the Independents, so some people tell me."

"It's not the same." She toyed with the buttons on his shirt. "That was for something you believed in."

Mal slipped his hand underneath her shirt and stroked her back. "Well, why'd you agree to let them do what they did to you?"

"I didn't know they'd cut into my brain," Camille admitted. "They just said all this stuff about me being great and leading folk and the like. I thought, well, I thought I'd be doing something good. Like fighting the Reavers."

"Sounds like you were just doing something you believed in, too."

"Oh, sure," she groused. "Be logical." She pressed her face into his chest as she undid the first three buttons of his shirt. Her hand slipped inside and she explored his skin with her fingers. "Being worried about my age is stupid, Mal. I've seen and done things that make me older than however many years I've been alive." She tilted her head back. "And you're just looking for reasons to protest."

"Maybe so." He ran his thumb over her jaw. "Weren't never wise enough to woo peacefully."

Her face lit up all pretty. "Ah, honey. You're all educated and the like." She kissed him. "You can quote Shakespeare."

"Don't tell. You'll ruin my reputation, but I have read a poem or two in my life." He nipped her lower lip. "And my momma liked plays. Used to sit round the fire and read 'em with the hands--those that could read--nights. Specially the cold ones."

"You grew up on Shadow."

He nodded. "You grew up on." Mal frowned, stumbling over yet another gap in his knowledge of her. "Where did you grow up."

"Right in the center of it all: Londinium," she answered. "I am a bona fide, Core-bred princess."

"Whose Daddy moved you off-world to a ranch and joined up with the Independents," Mal said thoughtfully. "Why?"

"I guess even rich men have their principals sometimes." She touched his cheek. "You miss it?"

He nodded. "With every breath." His eyes focused on hers. "You?"

"Not so much. I don't remember it well. I remember more of Greenleaf, where we moved."

"Not exactly on the frontier, Greenleaf."

She shrugged. "Daddy was rich and he had a well-bred wife and a little girl to think of. A little girl who was prone to wandering off on her own and getting herself into enough trouble where it was safe. He knew that war was on the horizon, knew that he'd want a hand in it. Still, he wanted us safe."

"I'm glad. I'm glad he didn't move you to Shadow," Mal said, thinking of what would have happened had she been there during the bombing. Been there, probably huddling in the cellar, surrounded by the hands, much like his Momma musta been, while the Alliance pelted their fury on the planet.

"Not much consolation, but I wouldn't have been there by the time they..." She trailed off. "I think we've effectively killed the mood."

He laughed a gallows laugh and kissed her forehead. "I think you're right. Why don't we have a drink? I have a nice bottle of whiskey down in my..." He hesitated, but didn't seem like the time to go changing words around at all. "Bunk."

Camille climbed off and took his hands. "I could use a drink. Plus, I've always wanted to see where the Great Captain Reynolds bunks down."

"Oh, believe me, I've noticed." Holding her hand in his, Mal led her out of her room. A quick glance into the dining room revealed that it was empty, which was something of a mixed blessing. He knew that everyone on the ship knew his and Camille's business--it was, after all, a small ship. Still, nothing killed the mood faster than a bunch of knowing smirks thrown in his direction and a crowd outside the door.

"Where'd they go, you think?" Mal asked Camille softly.

"Why? You afraid they're all going to be down there, waiting for us?"

"No, I…" But her eyes were laughing knowingly at him. "Why do you ask me if you know the answer already?"

"It's not as fun. Anyway, Zoe and Wash went to their bunk and the girls are in Inara's shuttle."

He frowned and glanced up at it. "Any idea why?"

"Mal, a girl's gotta learn about sex somewhere. Might as well be from the experts, right?"

Oh. Right.

Mal opened the door to his bunk and gestured for Camille to proceed him. Once they were both inside, he asked, "So, how sex-fiendy is River gonna get, anyway?"

"I wouldn't worry about it. Your virtue is safe." She shrugged on shoulder and ran her eyes slowly over him. "At least from her."

A fire lit in his belly, and there was an answering spark in her eyes. He was very aware of her--the way she smelled of dried sweat and tears with that slight aseptic sting of a hospital; the variations of color in her eyes; the faint trace of freckles across her nose, almost faded as pale as her skin, but visible when he looked close. Her hair. Her lips. The curves of her body.

Before he did anything, Mal went to the shelf where he was keeping the liquor she'd bought him forever ago. "Don't have any fancy glasses," he said. He took up a couple of mugs and turned back to her, handing her one.

"I can be fancy as any Companion on any Core world you chose to go to, but that's not really who I am. Can't play rough if you're busy worrying about tearing your skirt." She took the mug.

"You even drink?" Mal asked as he poured. "I mean, is it safe? I remember you didn't have anything back on Dyton."

"One won't hurt."

He nodded and poured for himself. "So. What do we toast to?"

"Family?" she suggested.

"Old and new." He clinked mugs with hers. Eyes locked on one another's, the both drank.

Camille coughed, nose wrinkling. "Strong."

"Good." It burned own his throat, feeding the already burning flame inside. He stepped to her and ran his knuckles over her cheek. "You are so beautiful," he breathed. "What would you want with an old, broken man like me?"

"I might ask the same thing." She took the mug from his hand and set it and hers on a nearby table. "I hardly know who I am. Even with my medicine, there are days I'm not exactly sane. I can't play anything without it getting rough." Camille slid her hands over his stomach and rest on the small of his back. "And you're hardly broke, Mal. A bit battered, maybe run down. Not broke." She stood on her toes and kissed him softly. "And you're brave and loyal and handsome and funny. You're the type that you want when around when things go south. And, believe me," she added wryly, "in my life, they tend to."

He lifted her into his arms. "Funny, it's happened a time or two in my life as well." Mal laid her onto his bed. "But don't tell; I try to keep it from the crew."

Camille laughed, hands back at his buttons, undoing them slowly. "I'll never tell." Her fingers slipped under his suspenders and she tugged them over his shoulders and down his arms.

"This ain't gonna cause any problems with Gar... anyone is it?" He shrugged out of his shirt, dropping it to the floor.

"Rules, Malcolm. Never mention the lover's ex while the lover is undressing you."

"Duly noted." He kissed her, tongue stroking at the crease in her lips.

She opened, her back arching. Her tongue met his, stroking, tasting, twisting around his until it was less of a kiss and more of a preview of what their bodies would soon be doing. Mal's head spun as the kiss deepened. Camille kneaded his neck. Her body writhed underneath his and her breathless moans teased his ear, flaming the fire hotter.

Time seemed to slow. Thoughts turned into sensations and images: her skin against his; her eyes, dark, her pupils dilated; the wet heat of her mouth around him; the way she tasted.

For a long time, there was nothing but their bodies moving in tandem. They fit together better than anyone he'd been with before, moving as one, no awkwardness, no discomfort. He might have tugged her hair on accident, and she might have elbowed him or dug her heel into a sensitive spot, and once or twice, teeth might have grazed where they oughtn, but that was okay. The pleasure far outweighed any discomfort, and the complete immersion in one another quickly overrode any missteps.

Sweat dripped from the ends of his hair and made Camille's bangs stick up from her face, spiky and dark. He found himself whispering into her neck as she rocked against him, arms locked around his neck.

"What did you say?" she whispered, lips grazing his temple.

"Poetry. I think. It goes something like, 'with my body, I worship you,' or something." He sucked a spot on her neck, feeling more than hearing her laugh. "What?"

She clenched her hand in his hair, pulling his hair back. "It's not poetry, Mal. It's from a version of wedding vows."

He blinked sweat from his eyes. "Wedding vows?"

Camille smiled and rocked against him faster. "With this ring, I thee wed. With my body, I thee worship, and with all my worldly possessions I endow."

Somehow, Mal didn't think that wedding vows were supposed to sound like that, all breathy and edged with a whining keen that just bought pushed him over the edge.

"Pretty." He tightened his grip on her and shifted position so she was flat on the bed, him propped over her.

Her legs were wrapped around him, but her arms fell away. She gripped the sheets and cried out with each thrust.

"Those ain't what we said usually on Shadow," Mal said, slowing.

Glazed blue eyes opened and met his.

"I went to my fair share of weddings back home. Mostly what was said was, 'I take you, Camille Kathleen O'Malley, to be my partner in life and my one true love.' "

Camille shuddered and let out a startled-sounding cry. Her eyes rolled back then squeezed shut.

Mal bent down and kissed her, picking up his pace once more. Camille's kiss was languid now, satisfied. Her body though...

It didn't take long for him to follow. For a long moment, he stayed as he was, propped on his forearms. He gazed down at her face, so young--probably too young for him--and so beautiful, although, he couldn't rightly say if he was objective at all on that score.

"You okay?" he asked. He kissed her softly before he rolled off.

"Yeah." She sounded distant. Sleepy. Without opening her eyes, she curled into him, pressing her warm, slick body into his. Camille kissed his chest, mouth just grazing a long faded scar. "So. Lot's of people on Shadow had my name?"

Mal laughed. He rested his hand on her lower back, just above the swell of her bottom, and kissed her forehead. "Ain't no one I know has your name, Katie."

Camille's eyes opened. "Katie?" One pale eyebrow arched.

"Anyone ever call you Katie before?"

"No. And Camille hardly shortens to Katie."

"Kathleen does, though. I figure, Camille is his name."

"Malcolm."

"Not even after?"

"You want to talk about him while in bed with me? Jeeze, Mal, I think you bedded the wrong one."

He bit her ear. "Be nice. It looked like you just had fun there. If you want more fun on me, don't go saying things like that."

She smirked. "Dui bu qi." The words were followed by a soft kiss. "I chose the name Camille. I didn't feel like Kathleen anymore. She'd been taken away." Her fingers tugged at his ear.

"I lost myself at Serenity Valley. I know how hard it is to get anywhere near normal again."

Camille shivered and reached behind her, tugging a sheet over her body.

Mal reached and snagged the comforter off the floor, placing it over both. "You got a huge part of your life taken, I know that. Maybe you never got a chance to find out who Kathleen was. I get that." He shrugged and slipped his arm around her waist, tugging her close. "I found myself again here, on Serenity. I love my ship and my crew is my family. Maybe you could find yourself here, too."

"Maybe." She worried her lower lip. "Just you, though. No one else. I'm not ready to stop being Camille. I am her. But maybe, with you, I can be Katie, too."

Small victory, and he'd take it. He rather liked having something more of her to himself. Something beyond the physical and this mind thing. Something intimate, like a name.

"I can do that, darlin' Katie," he whispered. He kissed her again, then gathered her into his arms. "I love you."

She sighed. "I love you, Malcolm Reynolds." Then she bit him. "Now can I get some sleep?"

Mal laughed and squeezed her. "Yeah. I guess so."


(Wo zai qian shi yi ding re dao shen me re le ba: I surely annoyed someone or other in a past life, didn't I . .
Shen me: What
Dui bu qi: I'm sorry