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inara serra (the ambassador) ([personal profile] strumpet) wrote2025-03-10 02:58 pm
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» 𝐎𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐓


[ OPEN POST: TEXTS / STARTERS / PSLS ]
interroga: (pic#17949238)

[personal profile] interroga 2025-08-26 03:04 am (UTC)(link)
Ever since Bix left, he’d been subsisting on anonymous trysts where real names weren’t even exchanged — it was simpler, he always told himself that it was simpler to not get involved with anyone within the rebellion cells, where their loyalties might wind up divided — but there was something comforting in drifting to bed with a friend after all. Inara knew him. She’d be moaning his name by the end of the night, and vice versa, and not a pseudonym. There was trust in this: baring herself literally and figuratively for him, both of them letting their armour fall away, allowing themselves this indulgence.

Cassian was still fully-dressed but clearly didn’t seem to mind the disparity, with an appreciative hum against her breast, his stubble scraping against her skin as he mouthed and licked at her. His hands drifted lower, settling on the curve of her ass, and gave a warm squeeze; exploring her curves, the shape of her, grinding her into his lap. Positioned as she is, she could feel the hard ridge of his erection beneath her, already hopelessly turned-on.

It had been a while since he’d let this guard down with anyone. Sex was a personal distraction from the job, the responsibility, the missions, the war, but—

maybe they could let themselves have something nice, once in a while.
interroga: (009.)

[personal profile] interroga 2026-04-07 04:16 am (UTC)(link)
Cassian detached from her breast with a wet pop, her fingers curling into his hair and pulling him back up to her face, drifting back up to where he could look at her expression, his own dark eyes thoughtful.

Inara’s work was her work, just as his work was his — their bodies were both used for a purpose — but this particular angle wasn’t one he’d ever stopped to consider before. That certain elements of sex might have become too calculated and artificial for her: that Inara was always in such rigid control over what happened. Her evenings literally contracted, negotiated, planned out, scheduled.

So maybe she could do with a bit of impulsive spontaneity tonight. Less work, more play.

“Okay,” Cassian said, voice murmured against her jaw before another lingering kiss. He was going to be feeling it out both literally and figuratively, getting a sense for what she liked. (He had never, of course, seen a copy of Inara’s actual companion contract. Wouldn’t have been able to afford it.)

“Just tell me to stop if there’s anything you don’t like.”

And then— he stood up, arms under her thighs and bracing her lower back, fully picking her up to pivot them around onto that massive bed. He had no idea how much it must’ve cost; probably something like a year’s salary on Ferrix. It was really comfortable, though, and spacious enough that he could lay her out on that luxurious mattress, his hands against the edges of the unzipped dress which was already half-falling off her, tugging it loose the rest of the way. His mouth followed the path: past her clavicle this time, past her breasts and the arch of her ribs, pausing to mouth at her navel, then onwards. Lower.