Title: The Fever Of Battle
Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
Pairing: Mal/Zoe
Rating: R for sex and language
Het/Slash/Both: Het

Warnings: Spoilers for FIREFLY series & SERENITY movie

Timeline: Takes place shortly after SERENITY takes off after her repairs post-movie

A/N: Done for Medie's Porn Battle (prompt: remembrance), and will not be the only fic I write for this little foofooraw. Unbeta'd, so all mistakes and general suckiness are mine alone.

For rogueapprentice, my fellow Browncoat and kismetic soulmate o' love and awesome, and lollobrigida for pointing me at this goddamn thing, and also because THE FIREFLY IS ALL YOUR FAULT YOU EVIL CRACK DEALER. WHEE!!!



* * * * *

Zoe was a beautiful woman, a fact Mal had always noticed...it made it easy to feel the thrill of her when she came into his bunk silently, dark eyes shining with tears she would not shed. She wasted no time in joining him, full lips brushing over his throat as her hands wandered over his body, long legs settling comfortably on either side of his hips, squeezing just enough to entice.

She never kissed him, and he didn’t try to kiss her. He knew why.

He knew it was his body under her hands as they undressed each other, knew she felt his hands caressing her breasts, running over the dark satin of her endless legs. Zoe wasn’t one for false comforts, and Mal wasn’t one to offer them. No doubt another man was in bed with them, but he wasn’t the one she was welcoming onto her skin, into her body.

Her touch was gentle as her fingers traced his scars, and the look on her face told the tale...even though he’d earned many at her side, this was as close as she’d ever come to feeling the pain they’d gifted him with, pain she soothed away with the touch of her mouth and tongue...warm, caressing, comforting. Her own scars surprised Mal, though he knew they were there...the shrapnel wound on her back, the knife scar on the left side of her ribcage. He’d been there when she got them, but only now did he allow himself to soothe those forgotten wounds, learning them with fingers and lips.

Her body welcomed him, warm and soft and perfectly tight around him. They found a rhythm without even trying, knowing each other in movement and temperament and need, realizing that the fever of battle and the fever of passion weren’t all that different. It was fitting that they feel this heat now, that they complete the circle in this manner as the warm white heat of pleasure consumed them both in soft sighs and moans that barely rose above a breath.

Mal held her after, spooned against her back with his chin on her shoulder, one hand trailing lazily over her bare arm, gleaming with sweat. “Why now, Zoe?”

For a moment, there was no answer. “I ain’t been well, sir, as you know...not since it happened.”

“So?”

“I talked to the doc today...he says I’m pregnant.” She paused, then surprised Mal by rolling on her back to look up at him. She was smiling. “I was just keeping a promise to my husband.”

It took him a moment before he finished processing the fact that Wash had left her with a child, *and* Zoe seem pleased with it, before he remembered Niska’s torture chamber. Grinning, he raised an eyebrow. “Well? Think he’d be satisfied?”

“Yes, sir.” She paused, then suddenly shifted and stood to start gathering her clothes. “And he had absolutely *nothing* to worry about.”

“Well that’s...way!”