l a s t . d a n c e

Last Dance
[by victoria p.]

Rating: PG

Summary: Inara's leaving Serenity. Mal's not happy about it.

Notes: Written for madkrazyghetto, requested by obssessivemuch. No movie spoilers.

Date: July 8, 2005

Inara's gown is made of some flimsy white material and it hangs against the dark red velvet of her curtains when Mal enters the shuttle, reminding him of their one dance before he went and got himself involved in a duel.

He's healed now, and they did make money on the job, even if they nearly lost Simon and River and Book in the process, so he can look back on it with some fondness, even if it does still make his blood boil to think of that chùsheng xai-jiao de xiang huo putting his hands on Inara, calling her a whore.

His skin itches uncomfortably when he remembers how often he's said the same thing, though he knows he doesn't mean it quite the same way.

"The color might work for you," Inara says, breaking into his reverie, "but I don't think it's your size."

"What? Oh." He gives a half-smile that feels false, because the shuttle is in disarray, so different from the way she usually has it. "I see you're packing."

"I am leaving in a week, Mal. I don't like to leave things for the last minute."

"I see."

"Do you?"

He doesn't, really, but he nods anyway. He thinks again that he shouldn't have slept with Nandi, that he should have been able to save her, that something, anything, would be better than this false politeness Inara treats him with now.

She's afraid of needing him and he doesn't want to be needed, except he knows it's a lie, that for her he would rise to the occasion. Except he didn't, and her friend is dead and now she's leaving Serenity. Leaving him.

She looks up at him, her face composed, as if she's not upset at all to be leaving, and that hurts way more than it should.

He takes a step toward her, breathes in the light scent of jasmine and rice powder that wafts off her, and before he can stop himself, make himself play it safe, he slides his arm around her waist, his palm flat against the small of her back.

"Wo nén qin ni tiào wu ma...?" He doesn't give her time to answer, dips his head to taste her mouth, dark as ripe plums and twice as sweet. She opens, yields to him, her body molding perfectly to his, soft curves to hard planes, and her tongue slides against his rich and shivery, like fine velvet against his skin.

She disengages first, pulling back, her eyes wide though she shows no other sign of emotion. She's not even breathing hard. But he knows he felt her soften, knows she wants him too.

It's way too late for that to be enough.

"Thank you," he whispers, pulling his hand away oh-so-slowly, so he can memorize the feel of her body under his palm. "Zài-jiàn."

He turns and walks away, hoping so intensely it's almost prayer that she'll call him back. She doesn't, and he pretends what he's feeling is relief.

end

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chùsheng xai-jiao de xiang huo = animal fucking bastard
Wo nén qin ni tiào wu ma...? = Would you dance with me?
Zài-jiàn = goodbye

The Mandarin is from here

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Disclaimer: All Firefly characters belong to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, etc. I do not own them and do not intend any infringement on any copyrights.