BY THE TIME I GET TO PHOENIX (Simon/Atherton Wing; NC-17)
Backup story written for woodsong_1978, who wanted Simon/Atherton Wing, delayed gratification, and toys
Tuesday, 4 pm
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Mal said, taking a thousandth look at the Wanted Dead or Alive poster that made it a very bad idea for him to step foot on Persephone.
"Sure," Jayne said, picking his teeth with Beulah Mae. "What's not to like? I get to go to a fancy party, drink two hundred plat a bottle rotgut, and dance with fine women. Heard tell there's lots that goes on in the shrubbery during them things, too."
"You better had a time machine," Mal said. "'Cause there's no way in this reality that you're goin'."
"Then who? You can't send Wash 'cause we have to run away with our tail between our legs, oh, nine times outta ten. Maybe the Shepherd, but is he gonna want to carry water for Badger?"
"Yeah, well, you forgot the one person 'round here who actually went to all them fancy soirees and such."
"Oh, the guy that every time he opens his mouth, Saint Francis kicks his ass into the horse-trough? That guy? Yeah, that'll work. Plus, he's got as many more warrants than you than my dick's bigger'n his."
"And you would know this, how?"
"Law of nature," Jayne said smugly. "Big warrants, little whanger." By and large, local law enforcement decided that as long as they had seen the back of Jayne, it was pointless to issue any APBs that might result in his extradition.
Wednesday, 5:30 pm
When they returned to the ship, Inara and Kaylee seemed tense, their usual friendliness strained, but Mal was glad to see that the garment bag Kaylee carried was only about big enough to carry a dead body. If she'd bought that pink birthday cake thing, the bag would have had to be big enough to carry a dead horse.
Saturday, 6:00 pm
"You look lovely, Inara," Mal said, admiring the way her pale satin gown set off her dark curls.
Then Kaylee came down the steps, wearing a simple midnight-blue strapless silk, the bias-cut skirt full-and stopping just above her trim ankles-so she could dance. Her bare shoulders were wrapped in a discreetly paisleyed shawl of airy cashmere. Her only jewelry was one strand of Inara's pearls around her neck, one in her chignon, and she wore long white kid gloves.
Following Wash's lead, everyone broke into applause, and Kaylee ducked her head and blushed.
Simon wore white kid gloves, too-short ones, rented along with his tailcoat, stiff shirt and white tie; the trousers, and the brocade waistcoat matching Kaylee's dress, were his own.
It wouldn't have looked right to arrive by mule, so Wash flew them over in Inara's shuttle.
Saturday, 9:29 pm
Things began well. Simon and Kaylee danced the first few numbers together, and were mutually relieved as the local young men clamored for dances with the beautiful newcomer.
Inara was touched to see that Atherton's evening dress was in the archaic style of India-that-Was, reflecting her sympathy for that culture. "Half the men in this room wish you were on their arm tonight," he whispered. Inara gave him a smile of genuine warmth, which coagulated to mere professionalism as he continued, "And all of them wish you were in their bed." From someone else, this might have been a charming compliment, but Atherton's smirk suggested it was not.
A distinguished-looking older man tapped Inara on the shoulder and asked for the honor of a dance. Inara, relieved, began to turn toward him as Atherton tightened his grip on her shoulders.
"She's with me," Atherton said. "If you knew what I paid for this weekend…"
Inara had been trained that, if you had to ask what a Companion would cost, you couldn't afford one. "Atherton, it's only polite for me to dance when I'm asked."
"Fine!" he said, and sulked off. "I'll be in our room, when you remember elementary professionalism."
After the controversial dance, Inara looked for Simon, and found him at one of the small gilt tables, lost in ecstasy, eating a chocolate éclair with a knife and fork. "Have you found Sir Warwick?" he whispered.
"No…in retrospect, I should have expected there to be more than one portly gentleman with a red sash in an enormous ballroom," Inara said. "I'll keep looking. Meanwhile…well, Atherton's in room 1629. Keep him busy until I get back."
"How long is that going to take…and where's Kaylee?"
"For the first part of the question, I don't know, as long as it takes…and for the second part, she's taking a moonlight stroll with a very nice young man from a good family. And he was carrying a buffet plate the size of a hatch cover."
"Let's just take a few minutes to work through the implications and risk potential here…"
"Simon, all I need is for you to provide a few minutes' distraction," Inara said. "Atherton Wing is a privileged brat who knows that, because of his appearance and his wealth and his social position, he can force anyone to grovel to him. {{And that's just the way you were heading, my friend}} Inara thought. "Three hundred and sixty three days a year, that's just what he does. One weekend a year he hires me…" Inara grinned. "Luckily for us, this year is Leap Year."
"Uhhh, I'm flattered, I think, but won't Atherton, well, accept no substitutions?"
"My client is young, handsome, submissive, and annoying. How many ways can we put together the words "gift horse" and "mouth" without descending to unbecoming vulgarity?"
Saturday, 9:32 pm
"What the hell are you doing in my room?" Atherton said, a blush of rage showing over the collar of the dressing gown (black, embroidered with a crimson dragon outlined in gold thread). It was all he wore, other than brocaded slippers with turned-up toes and a Cartier tank watch. Because modern technology made it possible to produce scientifically accurate watches the thickness of a sheet of paper, Fashion now decreed watches made out of about a pound of platinum.
Atherton put down the Hourly News of the Rialto (the stock prices stopped jumping around as he laid down the paper). "Get out of here before I challenge you."
Simon held up the light bulb that keyed him in to the room. "Madame Serra gave me this," he said.
"What for? She's mine for the whole weekend. Now get the hell out of here before she comes back…" Atherton said.
Simon put down the bulb, tugged at the middle finger of his left glove, then pulled the glove off entirely. "Challenge?" he said, and cracked Atherton across the face with the glove. "Do you know why I'm here?" Simon prayed fervently to think up something, and, by the time his voice shaped the question mark, he said, "Because Madame Serra told me what you want. And…she gave me the combination to her case of equipment. And told me your safe word."
"Oh!" he said, and in half a second looking at the beautiful and imperious man at his side, Atherton decided. "I see. Is this going to cost me extra?"
"Not a penny," Simon promised. He put the glove back on, a reverse strip-tease. Then he snapped his fingers to turn off the room lights. His white gloves caught the much softer light from the bedside lamp.
He turned his attention to Inara's ostrich-skin case with silver clasps and cornerpieces. And, despite his previous improvisation, Inara hadn't remembered to tell him the combination, and he hadn't thought to ask. The lock on the front had three numbered wheels, so he thought that it would probably be set to a date. Simon knew that Mal's birthday was September 20th (he didn't know Inara's birthday and, he suspected, she could tell him but then she'd have to kill him), so he flicked the three dials: 9-2-0. Nothing happened, and he could hear Atherton clearing his throat.
Simon remembered that Sihnon probably used the other convention, so he tried 2-0-9. The case opened. {{Dear GOD}} Simon thought. {{I don't even know what half of this stuff DOES…}}
Saturday, 10:12 pm
Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, Kaylee's chignon was still in place and her lipstick still glazed when she and Daniel Kueh-Tsing-Anstice re-entered the hall.
Banning Miller shooed away her entourage and set her hoopskirt swinging toward Daniel. The Kueh-Tsing-Anstices were horribly rich, and every big, throbbing trust fund could be manipulated into throwing off buckets of rich, fructifying commissions for investment bankers like Banning's Daddy.
"Why, look what the cat dragged in," she giggled. "Hey…who's the cat? Isn't there supposed to be a cat door near the Weapons Check to keep out the riff-raff?"
"Banning, will you just shut it? Or at least take your empty-headed prattle someplace else," Daniel said. "I'm having an intelligent conversation, with someone who's been interesting places and done something with her life. We're refitting our transport fleet, and I bet Kaylee's good sense has saved us millions of credits already." He turned his back on Banning and looked at Kaylee. "Now, about the Jespersen Kestrel 1390T?"
"Well, it's delicate," Kaylee said. "Best fuel economy you'll meet-in fact, it's 'bout the only thing you can run in Lilac, 'cause their CAFÉ requirement's so tough. But don't run it out on the Rim, 'cause if it don't get regular tune-ups, and you don't keep replacin' lots of tiny parts that cost a lot and are hard to find, might as well stick your cargo in a slingshot for all it'll get where it's goin'."
Saturday, 10:14 pm
The gigantic bed had bedposts (of course) but there was nothing in the center that would…Simon breathed a sigh of relief when he found something that looked like a large padded c-clamp in Inara's case. He secured it to the top of the headboard, and played out a few feet of cable.
Because it offered the best combination of a good time for Atherton (if that's what he wanted) and risk reduction for Simon (if it wasn't), Simon began by buckling the padded leather cuffs onto Atherton's wrists, hooking the cuffs together, and attaching them to the cable. Simon pushed Atherton face-down on the bed, cuffed his ankles, and slipped the hook of one cuff into the eye-bolt of the other. Simon took the spreader bar out of the case, walked to the head of the bed to show it to Atherton, and put it down on the bed. "For future reference," he said.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" Atherton spluttered.
"Of course. I know exactly who you are. What I'm enjoying is that you haven't got the slightest idea who I am." Simon put one hand under Atherton's left shoulder, the other over his right shoulder, and spun him around. The dressing gown crumpled and flew here and there. Atherton thrashed furiously to try to cover the erection that rampaged between his tightly-bound legs.
Simon leaned forward, and wrapped his fingers tight around Atherton's hard-on and squeezed down one slow stroke. He opened his fingers again, and started all over. Atherton groaned at the heat of Simon's hand through the cool, smooth leather of the glove. By the fifth repetition, Atherton said, "Goddamn it, just finish me off. Let me come."
Simon stepped back from the bed. "Oh, I don't think so. Not yet. Because that would be so uncivilized, wouldn't it? So..spontaneous. Tied down, helpless, lying half-exposed. And if I gave you just one more stroke, then you'd lose all control. So messy. Splashing, spurting all over my hand."
"All right, you bastard," Atherton managed to get out. "I can wait. I can outlast you…" Simon thought about gagging Atherton, but he'd worked enough night ER shifts to be aware of various hideous things that could go wrong.
Simon's cock was so hard that his ears felt crispy, and he yearned to opt for the simple solution and just prop Atherton up on his knees and demand some head. But Simon had no way of knowing when Inara was going to return, much less whether there would be a need for precipitate escape. And that, Simon mused, was pretty much the story of life Chez Reynolds. A bad day was one where someone's life was placed in grave danger. A good day was one where the worst thing that happened was having to flee in the middle of a blowjob to prevent your life from being placed in grave danger.
Simon returned to the case, now open on the credenza. The best he could figure out was that the aquamarine-chrome item was a vibrating, lube-dispensing plug.
With a remote control.
Shiny.
He filled it up (he noted that Inara liked the Vanilla-Mint, whereas he himself preferred the Mesquite Musk), shoved Atherton face-down again. telescoped the spreader bar out about half-way, clipped the ankle cuffs to it, and slid in the plug. Then Simon wandered the room, trying the various settings, as Atherton threatened and plead and begged but, mostly, threatened.
"Where the hell is Inara?" Atherton demanded. {{I've been wondering that myself}} Simon thought. "When she gets back I'm going to…"
"No," Simon said. "When she gets back, I'm going to make her watch while I make use of your body, and you can do nothing to stop me." Simon knew that he wouldn't make Inara do anything, even if he could, and that if Atherton really wanted to be unharnessed, Simon would release him (and run like hell) but he wasn't expecting any rational discussion. "Well, I'll just have a…a cigarette break," Simon said.
He stood outside the door of the hotel room for a few minutes, then took the elevator down to the ballroom. He saw that Kaylee seemed to be enjoying herself, doing the polka in the arms of a chubby young man in a scarlet dress uniform. He spotted Inara across the floor, but she shook her head so he didn't try to fight his way through the crowd toward her.
Saturday, 10:19 pm
Inara wondered if this was an anxious dream, spinning around from person to person who wanted to greet her, or gossip with her, or dance with her, or book an appointment, but none of them, none of them was Sir Warwick Harrow, and she felt like the waves of elegantly perfumed humanity in formal clothes would never part for her…
Saturday, 10:27 pm
"It's me," Inara said, and Simon opened the door. He had a nearly empty brandy balloon in one hand. Inara pulled the folded contract out of her cleavage, and Simon put it in the inside pocket of his tailcoat.
Inara glanced at the scene, and Simon's obvious arousal, and stage-whispered, "Have you had him yet? Have you taken him while he moans like a cheap slut of a kitchenmaid?"
"No," Simon said. "I was waiting for you."
Inara went to the bed, twisted out the plug, and said, "Carry on, boys." Then she fixed herself a white-wine spritzer, sat down on the chaise-longue, and opened one of the fashion magazines on the coffee table.
Saturday-Sunday, 12:17 am
Kaylee waltzed through the door (calling Simon a meanie-toes for dragging her home so early, nobody'd notice how late they got back), and then stood stock-still where the Shepherd opened the cargo bay door. The entire crew, except for Zoe (who was already asleep) was in the cargo bay, waiting up for her.
Mal faced off with Simon, nearly standing on his patent-leather shoes. "I told you to have Kaylee back here by midnight! What kinda time you call this?"
"Twelve-seventeen, Captain. I'm sorry I'm late, Kaylee was too warm in her shawl, she checked it when she was dancing, and the coat and weapon check was very crowded. Well, here's the contract. Inara found Sir Warwick at last, it seems he wants a cargo of cattle…live cattle…transported to Jiangyin. All the details are there."
Mal grabbed the contract and skimmed it, then turned to the last page. "Hey, how come it's got my signature on it already?"
Jayne shoulder-surfed and whistled softly. "Girl's a damn fine forger. I couldn't do much better myself."
Sunday, 11 am
"That other Companion you worked with?" Atherton said, failing at false casualness. He soaked up the last of the egg yolk with a toast triangle. "Perhaps I'll wave your House Priestess-or his, if he's of another House-and see if we can't synchronize our schedules. Lying there…entirely in the power of that steely beauty…I didn't know if he was going to flog me or fuck me or cut my throat…that was the hottest thing I've ever felt in my life."
{{What am I, chopped liver?}} "Oh, that wasn't a Companion," Inara said, signaling the bellhop to push the cart filled with her luggage out of Room 1629. "That was a wanted criminal, with a massive price on his head."
{{Really}} she thought. {{Maybe Mal does have the right idea about how to treat annoying rich people.}}
Tuesday, 4 pm
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" Mal said, taking a thousandth look at the Wanted Dead or Alive poster that made it a very bad idea for him to step foot on Persephone.
"Sure," Jayne said, picking his teeth with Beulah Mae. "What's not to like? I get to go to a fancy party, drink two hundred plat a bottle rotgut, and dance with fine women. Heard tell there's lots that goes on in the shrubbery during them things, too."
"You better had a time machine," Mal said. "'Cause there's no way in this reality that you're goin'."
"Then who? You can't send Wash 'cause we have to run away with our tail between our legs, oh, nine times outta ten. Maybe the Shepherd, but is he gonna want to carry water for Badger?"
"Yeah, well, you forgot the one person 'round here who actually went to all them fancy soirees and such."
"Oh, the guy that every time he opens his mouth, Saint Francis kicks his ass into the horse-trough? That guy? Yeah, that'll work. Plus, he's got as many more warrants than you than my dick's bigger'n his."
"And you would know this, how?"
"Law of nature," Jayne said smugly. "Big warrants, little whanger." By and large, local law enforcement decided that as long as they had seen the back of Jayne, it was pointless to issue any APBs that might result in his extradition.
Wednesday, 5:30 pm
When they returned to the ship, Inara and Kaylee seemed tense, their usual friendliness strained, but Mal was glad to see that the garment bag Kaylee carried was only about big enough to carry a dead body. If she'd bought that pink birthday cake thing, the bag would have had to be big enough to carry a dead horse.
Saturday, 6:00 pm
"You look lovely, Inara," Mal said, admiring the way her pale satin gown set off her dark curls.
Then Kaylee came down the steps, wearing a simple midnight-blue strapless silk, the bias-cut skirt full-and stopping just above her trim ankles-so she could dance. Her bare shoulders were wrapped in a discreetly paisleyed shawl of airy cashmere. Her only jewelry was one strand of Inara's pearls around her neck, one in her chignon, and she wore long white kid gloves.
Following Wash's lead, everyone broke into applause, and Kaylee ducked her head and blushed.
Simon wore white kid gloves, too-short ones, rented along with his tailcoat, stiff shirt and white tie; the trousers, and the brocade waistcoat matching Kaylee's dress, were his own.
It wouldn't have looked right to arrive by mule, so Wash flew them over in Inara's shuttle.
Saturday, 9:29 pm
Things began well. Simon and Kaylee danced the first few numbers together, and were mutually relieved as the local young men clamored for dances with the beautiful newcomer.
Inara was touched to see that Atherton's evening dress was in the archaic style of India-that-Was, reflecting her sympathy for that culture. "Half the men in this room wish you were on their arm tonight," he whispered. Inara gave him a smile of genuine warmth, which coagulated to mere professionalism as he continued, "And all of them wish you were in their bed." From someone else, this might have been a charming compliment, but Atherton's smirk suggested it was not.
A distinguished-looking older man tapped Inara on the shoulder and asked for the honor of a dance. Inara, relieved, began to turn toward him as Atherton tightened his grip on her shoulders.
"She's with me," Atherton said. "If you knew what I paid for this weekend…"
Inara had been trained that, if you had to ask what a Companion would cost, you couldn't afford one. "Atherton, it's only polite for me to dance when I'm asked."
"Fine!" he said, and sulked off. "I'll be in our room, when you remember elementary professionalism."
After the controversial dance, Inara looked for Simon, and found him at one of the small gilt tables, lost in ecstasy, eating a chocolate éclair with a knife and fork. "Have you found Sir Warwick?" he whispered.
"No…in retrospect, I should have expected there to be more than one portly gentleman with a red sash in an enormous ballroom," Inara said. "I'll keep looking. Meanwhile…well, Atherton's in room 1629. Keep him busy until I get back."
"How long is that going to take…and where's Kaylee?"
"For the first part of the question, I don't know, as long as it takes…and for the second part, she's taking a moonlight stroll with a very nice young man from a good family. And he was carrying a buffet plate the size of a hatch cover."
"Let's just take a few minutes to work through the implications and risk potential here…"
"Simon, all I need is for you to provide a few minutes' distraction," Inara said. "Atherton Wing is a privileged brat who knows that, because of his appearance and his wealth and his social position, he can force anyone to grovel to him. {{And that's just the way you were heading, my friend}} Inara thought. "Three hundred and sixty three days a year, that's just what he does. One weekend a year he hires me…" Inara grinned. "Luckily for us, this year is Leap Year."
"Uhhh, I'm flattered, I think, but won't Atherton, well, accept no substitutions?"
"My client is young, handsome, submissive, and annoying. How many ways can we put together the words "gift horse" and "mouth" without descending to unbecoming vulgarity?"
Saturday, 9:32 pm
"What the hell are you doing in my room?" Atherton said, a blush of rage showing over the collar of the dressing gown (black, embroidered with a crimson dragon outlined in gold thread). It was all he wore, other than brocaded slippers with turned-up toes and a Cartier tank watch. Because modern technology made it possible to produce scientifically accurate watches the thickness of a sheet of paper, Fashion now decreed watches made out of about a pound of platinum.
Atherton put down the Hourly News of the Rialto (the stock prices stopped jumping around as he laid down the paper). "Get out of here before I challenge you."
Simon held up the light bulb that keyed him in to the room. "Madame Serra gave me this," he said.
"What for? She's mine for the whole weekend. Now get the hell out of here before she comes back…" Atherton said.
Simon put down the bulb, tugged at the middle finger of his left glove, then pulled the glove off entirely. "Challenge?" he said, and cracked Atherton across the face with the glove. "Do you know why I'm here?" Simon prayed fervently to think up something, and, by the time his voice shaped the question mark, he said, "Because Madame Serra told me what you want. And…she gave me the combination to her case of equipment. And told me your safe word."
"Oh!" he said, and in half a second looking at the beautiful and imperious man at his side, Atherton decided. "I see. Is this going to cost me extra?"
"Not a penny," Simon promised. He put the glove back on, a reverse strip-tease. Then he snapped his fingers to turn off the room lights. His white gloves caught the much softer light from the bedside lamp.
He turned his attention to Inara's ostrich-skin case with silver clasps and cornerpieces. And, despite his previous improvisation, Inara hadn't remembered to tell him the combination, and he hadn't thought to ask. The lock on the front had three numbered wheels, so he thought that it would probably be set to a date. Simon knew that Mal's birthday was September 20th (he didn't know Inara's birthday and, he suspected, she could tell him but then she'd have to kill him), so he flicked the three dials: 9-2-0. Nothing happened, and he could hear Atherton clearing his throat.
Simon remembered that Sihnon probably used the other convention, so he tried 2-0-9. The case opened. {{Dear GOD}} Simon thought. {{I don't even know what half of this stuff DOES…}}
Saturday, 10:12 pm
Thanks to the wonders of modern technology, Kaylee's chignon was still in place and her lipstick still glazed when she and Daniel Kueh-Tsing-Anstice re-entered the hall.
Banning Miller shooed away her entourage and set her hoopskirt swinging toward Daniel. The Kueh-Tsing-Anstices were horribly rich, and every big, throbbing trust fund could be manipulated into throwing off buckets of rich, fructifying commissions for investment bankers like Banning's Daddy.
"Why, look what the cat dragged in," she giggled. "Hey…who's the cat? Isn't there supposed to be a cat door near the Weapons Check to keep out the riff-raff?"
"Banning, will you just shut it? Or at least take your empty-headed prattle someplace else," Daniel said. "I'm having an intelligent conversation, with someone who's been interesting places and done something with her life. We're refitting our transport fleet, and I bet Kaylee's good sense has saved us millions of credits already." He turned his back on Banning and looked at Kaylee. "Now, about the Jespersen Kestrel 1390T?"
"Well, it's delicate," Kaylee said. "Best fuel economy you'll meet-in fact, it's 'bout the only thing you can run in Lilac, 'cause their CAFÉ requirement's so tough. But don't run it out on the Rim, 'cause if it don't get regular tune-ups, and you don't keep replacin' lots of tiny parts that cost a lot and are hard to find, might as well stick your cargo in a slingshot for all it'll get where it's goin'."
Saturday, 10:14 pm
The gigantic bed had bedposts (of course) but there was nothing in the center that would…Simon breathed a sigh of relief when he found something that looked like a large padded c-clamp in Inara's case. He secured it to the top of the headboard, and played out a few feet of cable.
Because it offered the best combination of a good time for Atherton (if that's what he wanted) and risk reduction for Simon (if it wasn't), Simon began by buckling the padded leather cuffs onto Atherton's wrists, hooking the cuffs together, and attaching them to the cable. Simon pushed Atherton face-down on the bed, cuffed his ankles, and slipped the hook of one cuff into the eye-bolt of the other. Simon took the spreader bar out of the case, walked to the head of the bed to show it to Atherton, and put it down on the bed. "For future reference," he said.
"Do you have any idea who I am?" Atherton spluttered.
"Of course. I know exactly who you are. What I'm enjoying is that you haven't got the slightest idea who I am." Simon put one hand under Atherton's left shoulder, the other over his right shoulder, and spun him around. The dressing gown crumpled and flew here and there. Atherton thrashed furiously to try to cover the erection that rampaged between his tightly-bound legs.
Simon leaned forward, and wrapped his fingers tight around Atherton's hard-on and squeezed down one slow stroke. He opened his fingers again, and started all over. Atherton groaned at the heat of Simon's hand through the cool, smooth leather of the glove. By the fifth repetition, Atherton said, "Goddamn it, just finish me off. Let me come."
Simon stepped back from the bed. "Oh, I don't think so. Not yet. Because that would be so uncivilized, wouldn't it? So..spontaneous. Tied down, helpless, lying half-exposed. And if I gave you just one more stroke, then you'd lose all control. So messy. Splashing, spurting all over my hand."
"All right, you bastard," Atherton managed to get out. "I can wait. I can outlast you…" Simon thought about gagging Atherton, but he'd worked enough night ER shifts to be aware of various hideous things that could go wrong.
Simon's cock was so hard that his ears felt crispy, and he yearned to opt for the simple solution and just prop Atherton up on his knees and demand some head. But Simon had no way of knowing when Inara was going to return, much less whether there would be a need for precipitate escape. And that, Simon mused, was pretty much the story of life Chez Reynolds. A bad day was one where someone's life was placed in grave danger. A good day was one where the worst thing that happened was having to flee in the middle of a blowjob to prevent your life from being placed in grave danger.
Simon returned to the case, now open on the credenza. The best he could figure out was that the aquamarine-chrome item was a vibrating, lube-dispensing plug.
With a remote control.
Shiny.
He filled it up (he noted that Inara liked the Vanilla-Mint, whereas he himself preferred the Mesquite Musk), shoved Atherton face-down again. telescoped the spreader bar out about half-way, clipped the ankle cuffs to it, and slid in the plug. Then Simon wandered the room, trying the various settings, as Atherton threatened and plead and begged but, mostly, threatened.
"Where the hell is Inara?" Atherton demanded. {{I've been wondering that myself}} Simon thought. "When she gets back I'm going to…"
"No," Simon said. "When she gets back, I'm going to make her watch while I make use of your body, and you can do nothing to stop me." Simon knew that he wouldn't make Inara do anything, even if he could, and that if Atherton really wanted to be unharnessed, Simon would release him (and run like hell) but he wasn't expecting any rational discussion. "Well, I'll just have a…a cigarette break," Simon said.
He stood outside the door of the hotel room for a few minutes, then took the elevator down to the ballroom. He saw that Kaylee seemed to be enjoying herself, doing the polka in the arms of a chubby young man in a scarlet dress uniform. He spotted Inara across the floor, but she shook her head so he didn't try to fight his way through the crowd toward her.
Saturday, 10:19 pm
Inara wondered if this was an anxious dream, spinning around from person to person who wanted to greet her, or gossip with her, or dance with her, or book an appointment, but none of them, none of them was Sir Warwick Harrow, and she felt like the waves of elegantly perfumed humanity in formal clothes would never part for her…
Saturday, 10:27 pm
"It's me," Inara said, and Simon opened the door. He had a nearly empty brandy balloon in one hand. Inara pulled the folded contract out of her cleavage, and Simon put it in the inside pocket of his tailcoat.
Inara glanced at the scene, and Simon's obvious arousal, and stage-whispered, "Have you had him yet? Have you taken him while he moans like a cheap slut of a kitchenmaid?"
"No," Simon said. "I was waiting for you."
Inara went to the bed, twisted out the plug, and said, "Carry on, boys." Then she fixed herself a white-wine spritzer, sat down on the chaise-longue, and opened one of the fashion magazines on the coffee table.
Saturday-Sunday, 12:17 am
Kaylee waltzed through the door (calling Simon a meanie-toes for dragging her home so early, nobody'd notice how late they got back), and then stood stock-still where the Shepherd opened the cargo bay door. The entire crew, except for Zoe (who was already asleep) was in the cargo bay, waiting up for her.
Mal faced off with Simon, nearly standing on his patent-leather shoes. "I told you to have Kaylee back here by midnight! What kinda time you call this?"
"Twelve-seventeen, Captain. I'm sorry I'm late, Kaylee was too warm in her shawl, she checked it when she was dancing, and the coat and weapon check was very crowded. Well, here's the contract. Inara found Sir Warwick at last, it seems he wants a cargo of cattle…live cattle…transported to Jiangyin. All the details are there."
Mal grabbed the contract and skimmed it, then turned to the last page. "Hey, how come it's got my signature on it already?"
Jayne shoulder-surfed and whistled softly. "Girl's a damn fine forger. I couldn't do much better myself."
Sunday, 11 am
"That other Companion you worked with?" Atherton said, failing at false casualness. He soaked up the last of the egg yolk with a toast triangle. "Perhaps I'll wave your House Priestess-or his, if he's of another House-and see if we can't synchronize our schedules. Lying there…entirely in the power of that steely beauty…I didn't know if he was going to flog me or fuck me or cut my throat…that was the hottest thing I've ever felt in my life."
{{What am I, chopped liver?}} "Oh, that wasn't a Companion," Inara said, signaling the bellhop to push the cart filled with her luggage out of Room 1629. "That was a wanted criminal, with a massive price on his head."
{{Really}} she thought. {{Maybe Mal does have the right idea about how to treat annoying rich people.}}