Her Toes, By Any Other Name...
Don't own these characters, Joss Whedon does, down to the last digit.
"Wash."
"Mmm."
"Wash, what're you doin'?"
The man, kneeling on the end of her bed, looked up from her left foot, which he had cradled reverently in his hands. His hair, wild with the spikes she'd mussed into it earlier on the bridge, glowed gold in the light from the candles he'd lit. It also glinted in the fair fuzz hazing over his bare chest. Blinking rapidly, he gazed at her in puzzlement.
"Um, is that a trick question?" He smiled, bending his head, watching her carefully from under his brows, making sure she was paying attention. "I'm kissing your toes." And he demonstrated, laying his lips tenderly upon said digits.
"Why?"
He giggled happily. "I can't help myself." He gently set her left foot down, and picked up her right, to give those toes their fair share.
Zoe lifted her head from her pillow, propping herself up on her elbows, to peer suspiciously down her naked body at the man crouched at her feet. They'd only been doin' this bunk bouncin' stuff a few weeks now, and were still in the getting-to-know-you stage. Up to this point, she'd had absolutely no complaints 'bout what she'd discovered 'bout the pilot, his capabilities, and his enthusiasms. But, toe-kissin'..? Definitely made her a bit wary. Narrowing her eyes, she asked, "You don't have a fetish, do you?"
"Fetish." He gazed upward in thought, lingering over the word as though tasting it. "Fetissshh." Then he looked back down at her, grinning wickedly. "Yeah. Maybe I do. Yeah. A Zoe fetish." His expression became exaggeratedly serious. "You don't mind, do you? We all have our little kinks, y' know. And I'll show you mine, if you'll show me yours." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
She shook her head, though she couldn't help but smile. "But my toes, Wash?"
"I really, really can't help it," he replied earnestly. "They're so cute."
"Cute," she repeated, tone flat.
"I mean... strong," he corrected himself rapidly, alarm widening his blue eyes. "Yes. Strong and, and, and commanding. You have very, very commanding toes."
"You said 'cute,' Washburne."
"Well, they are, Zoe, honest. Like, like, like little lambs," he stammered. "Sweet and adorable and cute."
His protestations, his expression, were so sincere, so serious, that she broke down into a fit of giggles. A wide, goofy grin spread across his face, and with one final peck on her pinky toe, he crawled up her body to snuggle beside her. She turned toward him, onto her right side, sliding one leg between his, grabbing his hip to pull him in closer.
"So," she drawled, "any other part of me y' find 'cute'?"
"Mmm." He reached up, pushing her hair back from her face, then running tender, calloused fingertips along her jaw. "Your right earlobe."
"My right-" She snorted a little laugh. "Well, what about the left? Ain't they sorta a matched set?"
"Oh, no," he breathed, propping himself up on a elbow, so he could bend and nuzzle the spot under her left ear. "Nothin' cute 'bout the left. It exudes pure, raw, animal magnetism." He took that lobe between his teeth, biting gently, flicking it with his tongue.
"Ai ya," she moaned, pulling him tighter against her, amazed at the force of the lust suddenly surging through her. Her left earlobe. Who coulda guessed?
------------------
Next morning, at breakfast, Mal came down the steps into the galley to hear his first mate demand, "Just what're you starin' at, pilot?"
The captain sighed, wishin' Zoe'd just get over this irrational dislike of Wash. Guy'd even got rid of that gorram lip-ferret, most like on her account. As they were off in the kitchen, he couldn't quite make out the man's reply, a soft, placating mumble.
"'Cuz it better not be my left earlobe."
Mal stopped in his tracks, blinking, shaking his head a bit. Say what?
"Oh, no, Zoe," he heard Wash protest earnestly. "It was- it was the right."
"You just keep your eyes – and your mind – off my earlobes. Both of 'em."
Maybe he needed to go get his ears checked. Couldn't possibly have heard the last bit right, 'cuz he coulda sworn the pilot giggled, then murmured, "Whatever you say, Lambie-toes."