MR Femslash. :-)

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Polly/Mal MR femslash. Whee! :-)


Waiting for You

I slip my coat off, noiselessly in the dark, and toss it casually over our packs.
“Mal?”
“Pol—” I’m surprised. “It’s gone three in the morning, what are you doing still up?”
“Couldn’t sleep,” she answers.
I sit down on our pallet to pull my boots off.
“Something on your mind?”
She smiles, curled under the blankets.
“I was waiting for you,” she informs me. I shift, to pull my other boot off, and I hear her sit up. A moment later, her arms creep around me, and I see that they are bare.
“Ah,” I say, brushing her fingers with my own. “Waiting for me to get off?”
One of her hands slides over my thigh, making me shiver.
“Was rather hoping to help you with that, actually,” she murmurs, her breath warm against my ear. My own breath is quickening as her hands move on my body.
“You’re very, very convincing,” I whisper, as she unbuttons my shirt.
“I was counting on it,” she murmurs, soft against my skin, her lips laying claim to my flesh. She slips her hand inside my shirt, brushing my skin with her fingers.
“Oh…” Her teeth graze my skin and I tilt my head to let her closer.
How does she know? Even from our first night she knew how to touch me, where to touch me, what to do to make me shiver and tremble and whimper with desire. I’ll be damned if she learned that from a boy, but she says I was the first to touch her like that.
She eases me back, her arm under my head, and her mouth, her mouth, is everywhere.
I pull her closer, wrapping my arms around her, kissing her hungrily, tasting her mouth, her skin, breathing her breath and her scent. Her fingers are busy with my trouser buttons and her mouth is moving down, down, and I am breathing her name, gasping for breath. The way she teases my nipples with her tongue, sucking them softly then tugging them with her teeth— I have to pull her back to me, to thank her with my kisses even as she’s peeling off my trousers, slipping her fingers over my quivering flesh, making me whimper despite the fact that the walls are made of cloth and anyone could overhear. It’s funny how a trust like this can make you fearless, can make you plead for release and not mind that you’re begging, not mind what you’re promising in return because you know you’d be glad to do it anyway.
Her touch is quick and light between my legs, my thighs twitching, my hips arching against her, as her mouth moves on my flesh, kissing my throat, deep and hungry, making my heart race, my breath come panting and shallow.
“Kiss me,” I whisper, and she finds my mouth with her own, my lips parting under hers, tasting her again as waves of pleasure begin to mount and break and carry me away.
I wrap my arms around her, as my breath slows once more, kissing her mouth, her cheeks.
“Your turn,” I murmur, running my fingers through her hair.
She smiles at me, her fingers playing over my slick thighs, making me twitch with aftershocks. She kisses me then, long and slow, until I feel my own desires stirring again.
When she pulls away, playfully nipping my lower lip, she grins wickedly, lifting her brows.
“What makes you think I’m finished?”


*****

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand, if you liked that, feel free to check out the Saga: A collection of my MR fic, on the Against the Trumpets website (Yay, Hyel!), all of which follows the same story arc (from Mal's childhood to her death a few centuries later). There's smut, angst, and fluff a-plenty, and maybe occasional spurts of decent writing. ;-)
Enjoy! :-)