fic: Stories from the Bar
Jan. 15th, 2010 03:51 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
exeterlindenTitle: Stories from the Bar
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing/Characters: Jayne/Inara
Rating: PG-13
Summary: So. It happened the only way it could happen: with Mal out of the picture - busted up in sick bay from another heroic and dumb act - and Jayne and Inara getting themselves drunk enough to move from the melancholy to the morose, and into the straight out maudlin.
Author's notes: First of all, thank you to foxrafer for being my first reader over at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ficfinishing . And thank you to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
octoberxsong for betaing the final product. This story was written for my roommate luciusb , as part of a scheme to make her write me Mal/Zoe/Wash *nudge, nudge*
Stories from the Bar
So. It happened the only way it could happen: with Mal out of the picture - busted up in sick bay from another heroic and dumb act - and Jayne and Inara getting themselves drunk enough to move from the melancholy to the morose, and into the straight out maudlin.
Mal had gotten himself poisoned on an undercover gig, and had staggered back to Serenity only to collapse into a coma that Simon wasn't sure he'd pull out from. Everyone on the ship was walking around in circles being worried, and man, Jayne wasn't up for that, no way, no sir.
He went down to the galley, fully planning to deal with it the mature way, and found one of those gasoline cans full of his own homebrew. It was strong enough to knock over an ox, good stuff that made his eyes water as he unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. He found a cup, discoloured from Inara's constant tea-brewing, and poured himself a healthy dose.
He was rolling the first sip around in his mouth, numbing his taste buds to the sharp, chemical sting when he heard the whoosh of the electrical doors opening and closing behind him, and Inara slid soundlessly into his peripheral vision. Her make-up was faultless, but Jayne could still see the haggard look on her face, the lines of worry in the set of her mouth. She hugged herself, her shawl wrapped tightly around her body.
"Are you sharing that?"
"Sure, go ahead." He pushed the metal canister to the middle of the table, then leaned back in his chair and put his legs up.
She brought over a mug and poured herself half a cup. He was surprised when she didn't even grimace at the first sip, but drank it all down with grim determination. Jayne could appreciate that. Kaylee had been sobbing her little heart out - even Zoe had been watering up - but Inara looked angry more than anything.
Inara poured herself another one. "Simon's saying he may not pull through this time, nothing to do but wait out the night, see how much damage the poison managed to do before we were able to give him the antidote." She pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.
Jayne huffed. When did these people learn that there was no use in speculating? God dammit, Jayne had learned that lesson a long time ago: either your old man broke the fever and survived the gunshot to his belly, or he didn't. Either your partner in crime returned to the designated spot with the goods or he didn't - and there was no reason in spending your time worrying about it. The only reasonable thing to do was to get piss blinding drunk and wake up the next day and take it from there. Find a way to keep your mind off it through the waiting.
He explained this theory to Inara, half way through the first drink, and she looked like she was torn between being outraged and amused. In the end she just held up her mug and said "Cheers to that, then."
...
Jayne held out his cup after the first refill, "Here's to this goddamn stinking planet, nothing but cowards and backstabbers, let's hope it sees a meteor shower soon." He could already feel a buzz coming on.
Inara held out her cup, "Here's to this vile planet, all of my propositions from pig smugglers and hillbillies, may they realize the insult in even asking me and go back to their pigs." Her shawl slipped down her shoulder as she clinked her metal cup against his.
...
Third drink.
Jayne looked into the bottom of his mug at the unclear liquid of homebrewed baiju, "You know, I almost got married once." Inara looked up quickly. It was a gorram rotten thing, how strong liquor made him honest.
"Then I thought better of it." He shrugged brusquely and downed the contents of his mug. Inara was contemplating him thoughtfully. No hint of a smile, and yet somehow Jayne still got the impression that she was laughing at him, a little. He put the cup back on the table. "How about you?"
"No, never." Inara reached back and carefully pulled a couple of pins from her hair. "I had sweethearts, sure, but I didn't want that kind of settled life." She placed the pins neatly at the edge of the table, one by the other.
"Nah, me neither." ... Except for that one time, when he was seventeen and a numbnut from the country - and Zurie was fresh and sweet and wholesome. And too smart to marry someone like him, which she figured out just in time.
Jayne told Inara as much, after a fourth shot of baiju that settled warm and heavy in his stomach, mellowing him out. She leaned forward, chin in hand. Her features had softened a little with the first couple of drinks, and she was looking at him like she was trying to figure out something.
...
Five drinks in, and Inara was up and pacing. "I don't even know why I'm here. I could be in a suite on one of the core planets, having women and men eating grapes off my body and drinking fruit wine from my navel, and be paid properly for it, too."
Don't go putting images like that into a guy's head when he hasn't had shore leave for three weeks was what Jayne wanted to say, but what he did say was "Why aren't you?"
She finally came back to sit down, thankfully, because just watching her walking in circles was making him dizzy.
"Long story," she said, pushing her cup towards him. He was surprised to see that she'd drunk it all. If it hadn't been for the slight shine to her eyes, the softening of her consonants, he wouldn't have guessed. When he poured her drink he spilled a little, his hand unsteady.
She smiled at him, raising the cup to her lips and looking at him above the rim, "- and I'm not going to tell it."
...
"What is it with you men anyway? Why all the damn heroism, all this macho squabbling and fighting and trying to kill each other?" Inara frowned at him, like she was really waiting for an explanation.
Jayne snorted, tipped his cup to catch the last drops of his sixth drink.
"Well, I suppose you companions'd just as soon solve everything with a good fu -" he swallowed that last word at the withering look she sent him.
"Be better than this wouldn't it?" She asked sarcastically, and hell, he couldn't even say no to that.
She put down her cup and pushed away from the table. She blinked once, slowly, before walking steadily to the door at the opposite end of the galley.
Jayne was momentarily distracted by how soft the underside of her feet looked - like she'd never worn shoes, like she'd walked on carpets all her life.
The door locked with a soft click. He didn't quite manage to lift his gaze from where it had travelled up to her ass, covered by the flimsy silky material of her dress, before she turned back around.
Inara met his gaze, arching an eyebrow, but she didn't say anything. And that was when Jayne could finally pin down this feeling he'd been having, it was a sense of something building between them - a door of opportunity opening, if he played his cards right.
...
"Why are you here?" Inara asked.
"Mal's the best captain I've flown with." Jayne kicked his feet off the table to lean forward and pour them both a seventh drink. "Not the best money, but I can sleep with both my eyes closed without worrying about who's going to try and knife me during the night." He shrugged, going for nonchalant. "It's clean and the food is good, and shit, I must be getting old, wanting those kinds of thing."
"No, you're right, it's good, Mal's really... " She stopped. Her artfully manicured fingers were turning her cup around and around, her gaze firmly fixed on it for a long time. Finally she raised her eyes from the cup to look at him. She smiled a little.
He was smart enough to steer away from the subject of Mal, then, sensing that it was quickly killing that little spark of something happening between them. Besides he was set on not getting worried, and just because he was surrounded by softies, didn't mean he was gonna start, too. Even if the liquor was working on him, making him maudlin.
Inara's shawl came undone and slid softly to the floor. Her hair was thick and glossy, like a horse's mane, like that pony he had as a boy back at the farm. Jayne struggled to come up with a better comparison, one that Inara would actually find flattering, but it was a lost cause after ten shots of baiju.
He couldn't stop noticing her slender toes, pale and carefully manicured, sliding casually against the leg of the table. His gaze travelled up the long line of her legs, to her graceful hands, which were putting the two cups and the gasoline can on the side of the table, next to her hair pins. When he finally made it all the way to her face, she was looking straight at him.
"Hey, Jayne, would you do me a favour?"
...
"What?!"
Inara shrugged slightly at his outburst. "Come on, Jayne, don't tell me you haven't thought about it."
"Yeah, but -" He had been preparing for a couple of teary-eyed stories, sharing childhood memories, a bit more baiju, helping her to her room, laying her down on that big, soft bed --
"I just want to think about something else for five minutes, don't you?"
Jayne didn't know which insinuation to address first, so he started with, "I'm not thinking about it. I'm not -- " Thinking about Mal with tubes in his arm, Simon working frantically, Kaylee's soft, girly sobs... He shook himself . "And hey, five minutes? Give me some credit, here."
Inara smiled and pushed herself onto the table. Apparently, somewhere in there, she'd heard a yes.
Jayne swallowed hard.
Her bare feet dangled gracefully underneath the feather trimming of her coat, arched and soft. The silk of her dress billowed between her knees, creasing softly where her thighs met her torso.
Jayne's fingers twitched reflexively. He'd never had something fine like that for himself. Most luck he got was a friendly fist at the end of a drunken night, or the kind of tricks you paid for.
"You don't even like me most days," he said.
"Don't be a girl, now. That's exactly why this will work." Her face was mock serious, wryly amused. And screw it, a long life had taught Jayne to grasp his opportunities where he stumbled upon them. He wasn't stupid. He was-- He...
He found himself fixed in place.
"Jayne, don't worry."
He snorted. Fuck that, he didn't worry, he was an opportunistic kind of guy, grab and go, have your cake and eat it too, but -- "What about the others?"
She leaned back a little, falling back on her elbows and, man, if she didn't look a little amused. "I've locked the doors."
Huh. Suddenly it all fell into place: The doors, the hair pins placed neatly along the edge of the table, her silk shawl in a careless puddle on the floor. Whaddayouknow? He grinned, impressed in spite of himself.
He regarded her with new respect where she lay reclining on the table, relaxed and waiting, soft and slender underneath her wine red dress.
She lifted an eyebrow. "So?"
Maybe she had a point, maybe drinking wasn't the only way of keeping your mind off of it.
...
It was by far the finest dining he'd ever done.
Jayne'd seen her kind walk across the streets on his home planet, carefully lifting up the hem of their skirts so as not to get them dirtied, when he himself had been covered in muck. He'd been aware, back then, of the levels of class separating them from him.
He'd never really shaken that feeling, and he couldn't help but feel a little awed.
Inara had soft hands and scented skin. Her lipstick smeared stickily onto his lips and chin as they kissed. Her small, sharp heels were at the small of his back, egging him on like it was some kind of competition.
He tried to match up with her, wanted desperately to do good by her, 'cause some men only got to eat caviar once in their life, but Inara could have whatever she wanted any old day. And damn if he didn't want to exceed her expectations.
...
It ended as the way it had to end, which wasn't a bad thing.
Mal came back from the coma, fit as a fucking fiddle, and everyone was happy - and nothing was ever mentioned in words between Inara and himself.
Sometimes, he'd catch the scent of her perfume or see her in that wine red dress and immediately have to retreat to his bunk. And, sometimes, Inara would catch him staring and give him a private smile over the heads of the others, but except for that, nothing really changed at all.
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing/Characters: Jayne/Inara
Rating: PG-13
Summary: So. It happened the only way it could happen: with Mal out of the picture - busted up in sick bay from another heroic and dumb act - and Jayne and Inara getting themselves drunk enough to move from the melancholy to the morose, and into the straight out maudlin.
Author's notes: First of all, thank you to foxrafer for being my first reader over at
ficfinishing . And thank you to octoberxsong for betaing the final product. This story was written for my roommate luciusb , as part of a scheme to make her write me Mal/Zoe/Wash *nudge, nudge*Stories from the Bar
So. It happened the only way it could happen: with Mal out of the picture - busted up in sick bay from another heroic and dumb act - and Jayne and Inara getting themselves drunk enough to move from the melancholy to the morose, and into the straight out maudlin.
Mal had gotten himself poisoned on an undercover gig, and had staggered back to Serenity only to collapse into a coma that Simon wasn't sure he'd pull out from. Everyone on the ship was walking around in circles being worried, and man, Jayne wasn't up for that, no way, no sir.
He went down to the galley, fully planning to deal with it the mature way, and found one of those gasoline cans full of his own homebrew. It was strong enough to knock over an ox, good stuff that made his eyes water as he unscrewed the lid and took a whiff. He found a cup, discoloured from Inara's constant tea-brewing, and poured himself a healthy dose.
He was rolling the first sip around in his mouth, numbing his taste buds to the sharp, chemical sting when he heard the whoosh of the electrical doors opening and closing behind him, and Inara slid soundlessly into his peripheral vision. Her make-up was faultless, but Jayne could still see the haggard look on her face, the lines of worry in the set of her mouth. She hugged herself, her shawl wrapped tightly around her body.
"Are you sharing that?"
"Sure, go ahead." He pushed the metal canister to the middle of the table, then leaned back in his chair and put his legs up.
She brought over a mug and poured herself half a cup. He was surprised when she didn't even grimace at the first sip, but drank it all down with grim determination. Jayne could appreciate that. Kaylee had been sobbing her little heart out - even Zoe had been watering up - but Inara looked angry more than anything.
Inara poured herself another one. "Simon's saying he may not pull through this time, nothing to do but wait out the night, see how much damage the poison managed to do before we were able to give him the antidote." She pulled out a chair and sat down next to him.
Jayne huffed. When did these people learn that there was no use in speculating? God dammit, Jayne had learned that lesson a long time ago: either your old man broke the fever and survived the gunshot to his belly, or he didn't. Either your partner in crime returned to the designated spot with the goods or he didn't - and there was no reason in spending your time worrying about it. The only reasonable thing to do was to get piss blinding drunk and wake up the next day and take it from there. Find a way to keep your mind off it through the waiting.
He explained this theory to Inara, half way through the first drink, and she looked like she was torn between being outraged and amused. In the end she just held up her mug and said "Cheers to that, then."
...
Jayne held out his cup after the first refill, "Here's to this goddamn stinking planet, nothing but cowards and backstabbers, let's hope it sees a meteor shower soon." He could already feel a buzz coming on.
Inara held out her cup, "Here's to this vile planet, all of my propositions from pig smugglers and hillbillies, may they realize the insult in even asking me and go back to their pigs." Her shawl slipped down her shoulder as she clinked her metal cup against his.
...
Third drink.
Jayne looked into the bottom of his mug at the unclear liquid of homebrewed baiju, "You know, I almost got married once." Inara looked up quickly. It was a gorram rotten thing, how strong liquor made him honest.
"Then I thought better of it." He shrugged brusquely and downed the contents of his mug. Inara was contemplating him thoughtfully. No hint of a smile, and yet somehow Jayne still got the impression that she was laughing at him, a little. He put the cup back on the table. "How about you?"
"No, never." Inara reached back and carefully pulled a couple of pins from her hair. "I had sweethearts, sure, but I didn't want that kind of settled life." She placed the pins neatly at the edge of the table, one by the other.
"Nah, me neither." ... Except for that one time, when he was seventeen and a numbnut from the country - and Zurie was fresh and sweet and wholesome. And too smart to marry someone like him, which she figured out just in time.
Jayne told Inara as much, after a fourth shot of baiju that settled warm and heavy in his stomach, mellowing him out. She leaned forward, chin in hand. Her features had softened a little with the first couple of drinks, and she was looking at him like she was trying to figure out something.
...
Five drinks in, and Inara was up and pacing. "I don't even know why I'm here. I could be in a suite on one of the core planets, having women and men eating grapes off my body and drinking fruit wine from my navel, and be paid properly for it, too."
Don't go putting images like that into a guy's head when he hasn't had shore leave for three weeks was what Jayne wanted to say, but what he did say was "Why aren't you?"
She finally came back to sit down, thankfully, because just watching her walking in circles was making him dizzy.
"Long story," she said, pushing her cup towards him. He was surprised to see that she'd drunk it all. If it hadn't been for the slight shine to her eyes, the softening of her consonants, he wouldn't have guessed. When he poured her drink he spilled a little, his hand unsteady.
She smiled at him, raising the cup to her lips and looking at him above the rim, "- and I'm not going to tell it."
...
"What is it with you men anyway? Why all the damn heroism, all this macho squabbling and fighting and trying to kill each other?" Inara frowned at him, like she was really waiting for an explanation.
Jayne snorted, tipped his cup to catch the last drops of his sixth drink.
"Well, I suppose you companions'd just as soon solve everything with a good fu -" he swallowed that last word at the withering look she sent him.
"Be better than this wouldn't it?" She asked sarcastically, and hell, he couldn't even say no to that.
She put down her cup and pushed away from the table. She blinked once, slowly, before walking steadily to the door at the opposite end of the galley.
Jayne was momentarily distracted by how soft the underside of her feet looked - like she'd never worn shoes, like she'd walked on carpets all her life.
The door locked with a soft click. He didn't quite manage to lift his gaze from where it had travelled up to her ass, covered by the flimsy silky material of her dress, before she turned back around.
Inara met his gaze, arching an eyebrow, but she didn't say anything. And that was when Jayne could finally pin down this feeling he'd been having, it was a sense of something building between them - a door of opportunity opening, if he played his cards right.
...
"Why are you here?" Inara asked.
"Mal's the best captain I've flown with." Jayne kicked his feet off the table to lean forward and pour them both a seventh drink. "Not the best money, but I can sleep with both my eyes closed without worrying about who's going to try and knife me during the night." He shrugged, going for nonchalant. "It's clean and the food is good, and shit, I must be getting old, wanting those kinds of thing."
"No, you're right, it's good, Mal's really... " She stopped. Her artfully manicured fingers were turning her cup around and around, her gaze firmly fixed on it for a long time. Finally she raised her eyes from the cup to look at him. She smiled a little.
He was smart enough to steer away from the subject of Mal, then, sensing that it was quickly killing that little spark of something happening between them. Besides he was set on not getting worried, and just because he was surrounded by softies, didn't mean he was gonna start, too. Even if the liquor was working on him, making him maudlin.
Inara's shawl came undone and slid softly to the floor. Her hair was thick and glossy, like a horse's mane, like that pony he had as a boy back at the farm. Jayne struggled to come up with a better comparison, one that Inara would actually find flattering, but it was a lost cause after ten shots of baiju.
He couldn't stop noticing her slender toes, pale and carefully manicured, sliding casually against the leg of the table. His gaze travelled up the long line of her legs, to her graceful hands, which were putting the two cups and the gasoline can on the side of the table, next to her hair pins. When he finally made it all the way to her face, she was looking straight at him.
"Hey, Jayne, would you do me a favour?"
...
"What?!"
Inara shrugged slightly at his outburst. "Come on, Jayne, don't tell me you haven't thought about it."
"Yeah, but -" He had been preparing for a couple of teary-eyed stories, sharing childhood memories, a bit more baiju, helping her to her room, laying her down on that big, soft bed --
"I just want to think about something else for five minutes, don't you?"
Jayne didn't know which insinuation to address first, so he started with, "I'm not thinking about it. I'm not -- " Thinking about Mal with tubes in his arm, Simon working frantically, Kaylee's soft, girly sobs... He shook himself . "And hey, five minutes? Give me some credit, here."
Inara smiled and pushed herself onto the table. Apparently, somewhere in there, she'd heard a yes.
Jayne swallowed hard.
Her bare feet dangled gracefully underneath the feather trimming of her coat, arched and soft. The silk of her dress billowed between her knees, creasing softly where her thighs met her torso.
Jayne's fingers twitched reflexively. He'd never had something fine like that for himself. Most luck he got was a friendly fist at the end of a drunken night, or the kind of tricks you paid for.
"You don't even like me most days," he said.
"Don't be a girl, now. That's exactly why this will work." Her face was mock serious, wryly amused. And screw it, a long life had taught Jayne to grasp his opportunities where he stumbled upon them. He wasn't stupid. He was-- He...
He found himself fixed in place.
"Jayne, don't worry."
He snorted. Fuck that, he didn't worry, he was an opportunistic kind of guy, grab and go, have your cake and eat it too, but -- "What about the others?"
She leaned back a little, falling back on her elbows and, man, if she didn't look a little amused. "I've locked the doors."
Huh. Suddenly it all fell into place: The doors, the hair pins placed neatly along the edge of the table, her silk shawl in a careless puddle on the floor. Whaddayouknow? He grinned, impressed in spite of himself.
He regarded her with new respect where she lay reclining on the table, relaxed and waiting, soft and slender underneath her wine red dress.
She lifted an eyebrow. "So?"
Maybe she had a point, maybe drinking wasn't the only way of keeping your mind off of it.
...
It was by far the finest dining he'd ever done.
Jayne'd seen her kind walk across the streets on his home planet, carefully lifting up the hem of their skirts so as not to get them dirtied, when he himself had been covered in muck. He'd been aware, back then, of the levels of class separating them from him.
He'd never really shaken that feeling, and he couldn't help but feel a little awed.
Inara had soft hands and scented skin. Her lipstick smeared stickily onto his lips and chin as they kissed. Her small, sharp heels were at the small of his back, egging him on like it was some kind of competition.
He tried to match up with her, wanted desperately to do good by her, 'cause some men only got to eat caviar once in their life, but Inara could have whatever she wanted any old day. And damn if he didn't want to exceed her expectations.
...
It ended as the way it had to end, which wasn't a bad thing.
Mal came back from the coma, fit as a fucking fiddle, and everyone was happy - and nothing was ever mentioned in words between Inara and himself.
Sometimes, he'd catch the scent of her perfume or see her in that wine red dress and immediately have to retreat to his bunk. And, sometimes, Inara would catch him staring and give him a private smile over the heads of the others, but except for that, nothing really changed at all.