(no subject)
Jan. 1st, 2006 03:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
elohveepolished to shine.
Firefly. Simon/Inara. PG-13. Pre-film, timeline vaguely AU.
On the surface, she’s all shine and polish. She fascinates him, but not because of her beauty or status. Simon has known Companions before; there was a girl back home he’d visited often before River started writing him nonsense and he’d begun to worry. No, the luster that comes with Inara’s profession is nothing new. Civilization was bred into him as he grew, and it accustomed him to this.
Below the top layers, there’s something else. Something that her clients miss but that he picked up on in his time aboard Serenity. He doubts anyone else has ever seen her in two different lights this way. Maybe Mal, but he’d like to think that even their Captain would be more open toward Inara if he’d noticed it.
The first time she kisses him, Simon senses what he’s always known was there. A real person, buried in too much perfection. After all, nothing is perfect.
It was supposed to be just tea, a chat about home and a joke of civilized. It’s like a secret they share in small smiles whenever somebody does something rude at the table or says something so limited… It’s their touchstone, the one true thing they have in common. A whisper of cities and old money about their speech and their clothes.
It was supposed to be just tea, but there’s something in that room, something about how much warmer it is down there and the way Inara has perfumed it with smoke and decorated with mirrors. It skews perspective, changes all the rules. He forgets…
It’s difficult to say who makes the first move, but Simon loses himself in that kiss for a moment before he remembers where he is and why, and then he snaps away.
Inara, because she is who she is, tries to convince him to stay.
Simon, because he is still a gentleman, leaves her shuttle as fast as he can.
The second time, it’s his birthday. His second upon aboard Serenity, and she’s been throwing him quick looks all week, so fleeting that he can never be sure they were ever aimed at him, and filled with a enough promise to make him wonder whether his dignity is worth hoping that they were.
She slips a note into his hand when she hands him a plate with a slice of cake on it, and on it, she’s written one word in a cultured, elegant hand: After. She doesn’t look at him for the rest of the night, but smiles to herself when they all rise from the table.
He might develop a real love/hate relationship with her shuttle, Simon decides once River is sound asleep and he lowers himself into the ornately decorated room. In here, he could almost forget that he’s on a smuggler’s ship, that he’s on the run, that there’s a whole world beyond that door.
She’s lit incense, and there’s soft music coming from somewhere. He can’t see an instrument, and it almost seems to come from Inara herself. If he had ever considered business as a profession, which he never did, Simon would have to take a moment to admire Companions’ methods. They certainly know how to sell.
For one brief moment, he hesitates when Inara leans into him. He pulls away almost imperceptibly, but she stops.
“Once,” he whispers, almost pleading. “Just once.” And she smiles tenderly.
“Once,” she agrees, honey and smoke, and then reaches to unbutton his shirt, runs gentle fingertips over his chest.
Nobody is flawless. Nothing is perfect. Simon knows this.
But then, later, Inara arches her back and they both go still, she kisses him once more, and everything he knows falls away.
She is, he amends. This is.
Firefly. Simon/Inara. PG-13. Pre-film, timeline vaguely AU.
On the surface, she’s all shine and polish. She fascinates him, but not because of her beauty or status. Simon has known Companions before; there was a girl back home he’d visited often before River started writing him nonsense and he’d begun to worry. No, the luster that comes with Inara’s profession is nothing new. Civilization was bred into him as he grew, and it accustomed him to this.
Below the top layers, there’s something else. Something that her clients miss but that he picked up on in his time aboard Serenity. He doubts anyone else has ever seen her in two different lights this way. Maybe Mal, but he’d like to think that even their Captain would be more open toward Inara if he’d noticed it.
The first time she kisses him, Simon senses what he’s always known was there. A real person, buried in too much perfection. After all, nothing is perfect.
It was supposed to be just tea, a chat about home and a joke of civilized. It’s like a secret they share in small smiles whenever somebody does something rude at the table or says something so limited… It’s their touchstone, the one true thing they have in common. A whisper of cities and old money about their speech and their clothes.
It was supposed to be just tea, but there’s something in that room, something about how much warmer it is down there and the way Inara has perfumed it with smoke and decorated with mirrors. It skews perspective, changes all the rules. He forgets…
It’s difficult to say who makes the first move, but Simon loses himself in that kiss for a moment before he remembers where he is and why, and then he snaps away.
Inara, because she is who she is, tries to convince him to stay.
Simon, because he is still a gentleman, leaves her shuttle as fast as he can.
The second time, it’s his birthday. His second upon aboard Serenity, and she’s been throwing him quick looks all week, so fleeting that he can never be sure they were ever aimed at him, and filled with a enough promise to make him wonder whether his dignity is worth hoping that they were.
She slips a note into his hand when she hands him a plate with a slice of cake on it, and on it, she’s written one word in a cultured, elegant hand: After. She doesn’t look at him for the rest of the night, but smiles to herself when they all rise from the table.
He might develop a real love/hate relationship with her shuttle, Simon decides once River is sound asleep and he lowers himself into the ornately decorated room. In here, he could almost forget that he’s on a smuggler’s ship, that he’s on the run, that there’s a whole world beyond that door.
She’s lit incense, and there’s soft music coming from somewhere. He can’t see an instrument, and it almost seems to come from Inara herself. If he had ever considered business as a profession, which he never did, Simon would have to take a moment to admire Companions’ methods. They certainly know how to sell.
For one brief moment, he hesitates when Inara leans into him. He pulls away almost imperceptibly, but she stops.
“Once,” he whispers, almost pleading. “Just once.” And she smiles tenderly.
“Once,” she agrees, honey and smoke, and then reaches to unbutton his shirt, runs gentle fingertips over his chest.
Nobody is flawless. Nothing is perfect. Simon knows this.
But then, later, Inara arches her back and they both go still, she kisses him once more, and everything he knows falls away.
She is, he amends. This is.
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(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-08 07:59 am (UTC)The initial description of Inara made me think of onions - in the good, metaphor for layers way. This vignette is a very good onion, if you see what I mean.
(no subject)
Date: 2006-12-09 06:17 am (UTC)