Disclaimer: Joss Whedon created these characters. Love him.

PG-13, I think.

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CHECKMATE: Red queen to black rook.

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Inara is beginning to show. There's an undeniable curve to her belly and a ripe heaviness to her breasts. Given her line of work, some men might question their part in such a development. But Mal doesn't. Not even for a second. He knows this child is his.

For some reason she's wearing a pair of Kaylee's old overalls this morning and there's not a scrap of makeup on her perfect face. To Mal she's never been more beautiful. Her hair falls forward as she leans over the sink, sunlight picking out strands of copper and red. In the distance he can hear birdsong.

He comes up behind her, sliding both hands round her waist and then forwards and down over her hip bones. A thrill goes through him as she gives a little gasp of anticipation. Her whole body seems to melt under his hands and for a moment he allows himself to delight in the intensity of her response to his touch. He always dreams it will be like this.

She leans back against him, letting his shoulder cushion her head. The weight on his collar bone has an overwhelming rightness to it. With one hand he gently pushes her head forward, lifting the hair from her neck so that he can feather the nape with light kisses and as he fans out the fingers of his other hand to push her hard up against him, he feels the flesh beneath his hand tighten as deeper muscles flutter and contract. Inara's breathing quickens and her pelvis tilts up to meet his fingers.

“Oh God, Inara,” he moans, hard and aching for her. “I want....”

She twists round in his arms so that they are face to face. There's no Guild-trained artifice in the look she gives him. Only need, desire and love. She reaches up to twist his hair around her fingers and pulls him down into a long hungry kiss that instead of satisfying leaves them even more ravenous for each other.

“I want you to bed me, Mal,” she says, her voice ragged with passion.