Fic: No Power in the 'Verse, Part 10/18 (Firefly, River/Mal, PG-13)
Title: No Power in the 'Verse: X. Dancing in Her Thinnest Dress
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~900
Pairing: River/Mal, mentions of Mal/Inara and Kaylee/Simon
Notes: Chapter title and cut text from Rockpools by Martha Tilston
X. Dancing in Her Thinnest Dress
While the slow burn of the whiskey allows River the blessing of sleep, gives her permission to forget, it is not a lasting gift. She awakens in the darkness, knowing without sight that the red sun is just beginning its dawn over their deserted patch of moon.
In memory, the night blends, a whirl of heat and smoke, flares of exhilaration and shame. Lying silent in the darkness, she remembers the heat, remembers his touch, and she smiles, because more important than either are the thoughts she glimpsed. In the haze of the whiskey, out in the firelight, she had felt his thoughts only as a spark against hers, but now, with time to turn fragments into a whole, she knows. A brief window into possibility only, but she knows for that second he had wanted in turn, had nearly accepted.
In the following shadow of his rejection, however softened, it is not much. But it is what she has, so she holds it firmly in her mind and plays on it, determined to nurture it, until it trails echoes of heat within her.
Finding herself suddenly full of movement, she pulls on an old dress, slips on silent feet through the ship to the bay doors, and ventures out into the blooming sunrise.
***
Mal's spent a restless night in his bunk, is not a happy Captain. River's actions and the desire in her face this past night brought up too much he doesn't care to think on; thoughts of Book and the special hell war with the memory of his hand on her waist, her eyes on his lips. A tiny thought forms - hell, would it be so bad? - before being struck down as he imagines Simon's reaction, Zoë's cold disapproval, Jayne's sniggering. And, though he doesn't care to dwell on it, there's a lingering memory of Inara in there too.
He admits, thinking on the last few months, that he might have seen this coming. Girl's a reader, but that don't make her completely unreadable herself, and every one of the increasing minutes she's spent in his company is its own tell. Even Jayne saw it, of all people, he thinks, before comforting himself with the knowledge that if any of them would have an eye out for lust, it'd be Jayne.
Giving up on sleep and rising from his rumpled bed, he can only hope the fragile pact to ignore that they made last night will hold.
He's smart enough to know that ain't likely to happen.
Heading for the galley and a bite of breakfast, he's taken by a sudden shift in the air, something that tells him Serenity isn't sealed up proper like she should be.
He reaches the open cargo bay doors with what he thinks of as an admirable amount of stealth, and looks out on the sun rising over the tall grass, swaying in the slight breeze.
Mal finds he's not taking in much of this though. All he sees is River, because she is dancing.
He knows full well she's graceful, knows the weightless way she can move, her lightning turns and precise gestures. But he's never seen them put together like this - a display of beauty and release of feeling so intense he feels like a spy, drawing back into the shadows of the ship.
Just then, the light rises above the horizon and flares, catches River in its grasp, holds her in a cradle of flame.
Mal knows he ought to leave, that he's intruding on something not meant for sharing. Her dress is pale, thin, the rising light leaving no illusions. Her every motion, her very exuberance says she feels safe, secure, unobserved. She's given no indication she knows he's there, hasn't faltered or paused once.
But something holds him there, watching her, and he lets himself be taken by her; by the line of her body, the motion of her. And in watching her, he forgets; forgets that he shouldn't be here, that he's got no right to this. Forgets that she's part of his crew, a damaged girl at heart, and sees only River, and what she's creating in front of him, in this space carved out of a sunrise.
Finally, her dance winds down, the sun's no longer a growing thing, and she stands silent and still a moment, watching the emptiness of the world.
By the time she turns, he's gone.
It's not til some hours later, after he's lifted the ship up into orbit and she's come to the bridge to take over flight, that he sees her again.
Even then, he's startled as she's simply appeared, in her unsettling way, behind him, bending over his shoulder so he feels the tickle of her hair against his neck.
“Mal,” she whispers in his ear, not touching him apart from that delicate brush of hair. “Meant it to be shared. Danced for you.”
She's over in her own seat before he can react, expression so placid he's beginning to wonder if he's the one hearing things that ain't there.
Thing is, he's starting to hope he isn't.
Part 9 - Master Post - Part 11
Rating: PG-13
Words: ~900
Pairing: River/Mal, mentions of Mal/Inara and Kaylee/Simon
Notes: Chapter title and cut text from Rockpools by Martha Tilston
X. Dancing in Her Thinnest Dress
While the slow burn of the whiskey allows River the blessing of sleep, gives her permission to forget, it is not a lasting gift. She awakens in the darkness, knowing without sight that the red sun is just beginning its dawn over their deserted patch of moon.
In memory, the night blends, a whirl of heat and smoke, flares of exhilaration and shame. Lying silent in the darkness, she remembers the heat, remembers his touch, and she smiles, because more important than either are the thoughts she glimpsed. In the haze of the whiskey, out in the firelight, she had felt his thoughts only as a spark against hers, but now, with time to turn fragments into a whole, she knows. A brief window into possibility only, but she knows for that second he had wanted in turn, had nearly accepted.
In the following shadow of his rejection, however softened, it is not much. But it is what she has, so she holds it firmly in her mind and plays on it, determined to nurture it, until it trails echoes of heat within her.
Finding herself suddenly full of movement, she pulls on an old dress, slips on silent feet through the ship to the bay doors, and ventures out into the blooming sunrise.
***
Mal's spent a restless night in his bunk, is not a happy Captain. River's actions and the desire in her face this past night brought up too much he doesn't care to think on; thoughts of Book and the special hell war with the memory of his hand on her waist, her eyes on his lips. A tiny thought forms - hell, would it be so bad? - before being struck down as he imagines Simon's reaction, Zoë's cold disapproval, Jayne's sniggering. And, though he doesn't care to dwell on it, there's a lingering memory of Inara in there too.
He admits, thinking on the last few months, that he might have seen this coming. Girl's a reader, but that don't make her completely unreadable herself, and every one of the increasing minutes she's spent in his company is its own tell. Even Jayne saw it, of all people, he thinks, before comforting himself with the knowledge that if any of them would have an eye out for lust, it'd be Jayne.
Giving up on sleep and rising from his rumpled bed, he can only hope the fragile pact to ignore that they made last night will hold.
He's smart enough to know that ain't likely to happen.
Heading for the galley and a bite of breakfast, he's taken by a sudden shift in the air, something that tells him Serenity isn't sealed up proper like she should be.
He reaches the open cargo bay doors with what he thinks of as an admirable amount of stealth, and looks out on the sun rising over the tall grass, swaying in the slight breeze.
Mal finds he's not taking in much of this though. All he sees is River, because she is dancing.
He knows full well she's graceful, knows the weightless way she can move, her lightning turns and precise gestures. But he's never seen them put together like this - a display of beauty and release of feeling so intense he feels like a spy, drawing back into the shadows of the ship.
Just then, the light rises above the horizon and flares, catches River in its grasp, holds her in a cradle of flame.
Mal knows he ought to leave, that he's intruding on something not meant for sharing. Her dress is pale, thin, the rising light leaving no illusions. Her every motion, her very exuberance says she feels safe, secure, unobserved. She's given no indication she knows he's there, hasn't faltered or paused once.
But something holds him there, watching her, and he lets himself be taken by her; by the line of her body, the motion of her. And in watching her, he forgets; forgets that he shouldn't be here, that he's got no right to this. Forgets that she's part of his crew, a damaged girl at heart, and sees only River, and what she's creating in front of him, in this space carved out of a sunrise.
Finally, her dance winds down, the sun's no longer a growing thing, and she stands silent and still a moment, watching the emptiness of the world.
By the time she turns, he's gone.
It's not til some hours later, after he's lifted the ship up into orbit and she's come to the bridge to take over flight, that he sees her again.
Even then, he's startled as she's simply appeared, in her unsettling way, behind him, bending over his shoulder so he feels the tickle of her hair against his neck.
“Mal,” she whispers in his ear, not touching him apart from that delicate brush of hair. “Meant it to be shared. Danced for you.”
She's over in her own seat before he can react, expression so placid he's beginning to wonder if he's the one hearing things that ain't there.
Thing is, he's starting to hope he isn't.
Part 9 - Master Post - Part 11