Part Two: In Which Our Heroes Have Sex and Meaningful Discussion with a Healthy Dollop of Snark

~*~

When they finally come to their senses, lying in relatively the same position on a slightly damper, messier bed, Inara can only groan her consternation.

"Drugs," she finally says crossly, not even trying to sound unruffled. "Someone sent us drugs and you made us drink it." Blearily reaching up and wiping the fatigue from her eyes, Inara props herself up one elbow, staring down at Mal.

"I didn't know it was drugs," Mal says into his pillow, his voice muffled. "It said it was hot cider 'specially shipped from Eros. It looked like cider, smelled like cider, tasted like cider. How was I to know it was crazy-makin' sex drugs?"

"Eros? Eros? Oh, that's just wonderful." Inara rolls her eyes and throws up her hands in exasperation. Or at least, she tries to. Mal takes ahold of her hand mid-gesticulation, reaching up and snatching her wrist, then gently entwining his fingers through hers. His palm is warm and slightly damp, but his grip is strong and the pads of his thumbs rub circles gently against her skin. He just looks at her, his blue eyes bright and his lips quirked in a slight smile. A hot lick of flame zips down Inara's back and she gasps, steels herself.

Who ever knew that the sight of Mal Reynolds not talking back to her would be one of the sexier things in this universe?

No, she says sternly. No more. Her body obeys and cools down (for the moment at least) because what is Inara, if not disciplined?

She takes a deep breath and attempts to ignore the pulse beating faintly against her own, wrist to wrist. Back on track, she reminds herself. Back to safer territory.

"So let me get this straight. You get a package from a planet widely acknowledged to be hedonistic in their practices, and it's not suspicious to you? In fact, it's so not suspicious that you drink whatever's been sent? What's more, you share?"

Yelling at Mal, it is, th