Time and Place.

“Men,” Fred says at the doorstep, her voice drawling the vowel as if she held a grudge against it. She probably does.

Inara doesn’t ask, she never asks. It’s always about Angel, or Gunn, or Wesley, about foolishness and blindness and words and arguments. She just moves to the side, letting Fred in, as she’s already taking off her coat, reaching to remove her hairpin, cascade of curls surrounding her, like a halo in the candlelight.

“Tea?” Inara asks softly, and Fred shakes her head.

“Tea is calming,” she offers, reaching to touch Inara’s cheek, gentle caress, fingers skimming down the collarbone, edging the lace of Inara’s dress’ neckline. “Which is good, yes,” she continues a bit breathlessly, “but not now. Now, I need energy, I need... sparks,” she says laughingly, and Inara nods again.

“Hot chocolate,” she decides, and leads Fred to the kitchenette, taking out the cups, heating up water.

Fred watches her with a smile, her legs stretched out, short skirt and leather boots, and pale skin in between. “Thank you,” she accepts the cup gracefully, and drinks it all up, then moans contentedly.

“Rough day,” Inara says, and it’s not even a question.

“You can say that,” Fred fakes a laugh, then sighs. “You sure you don’t want to work with us? We could use you, not to mention, you’d help my sanity.”

Inara shakes her head softly, brushing Fred’s hair off her face in a simple caress. “You know I can’t.”

Fred knows. It’s not the first time she asked, and she knows she’s not the only one who did. But as long as they were working for Wolfram and Hart... “I know,” she mutters, leaning into the caress, letting the warmth and comfort wash over her.

After minutes, maybe hours, she reaches up, slowly pulling Inara closer, their lips meeting tentatively. The first kiss of the day is always hesitant, as if it was the first ever, not one of the numerous.

Inara’s lips follow the familiar path, tracing kisses down Fred’s neck, tugging at her shirt to reveal more skin, slowly working on undoing the buttons. “Shall we retire to the bedroom?” she asks pleasantly, her mouth millimeters from Fred’s skin.

“I’m good here,” Fred mutters, arching into the touch, parting her legs slightly as Inara’s fingers travel up her thigh. “Very good,” she adds, shifting closer, to the edge of the chair, just as Inara moves hers closer.

“I’m glad,” Inara says laughingly, and Fred’s fingers tangle in her dark hair, messing up the intricate arrangement, but neither of them minds.

Their lips meet again, and this time it is as far from hesitant as possible, and Fred moans into Inara’s mouth, as their bodies move closer together in a familiar rhythm.

Fred tugs at Inara’s blouse, pulling it down her shoulders, kissing the skin as it’s being revealed.

“No, really, bedroom,” Inara mutters breathlessly, and Fred pulls back reluctantly.

“Oh, fine,” she says petulantly, and makes a show of marching off to the bedroom, stomping her boots as she goes. Inara follows, laughing.