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Time is quite the tricky substance, easy to fill and easy to lose. So unlike all the other elements.
Time is not an element.
You are not quite so old nor as wise as you like to give yourself credit for being.
I am as wise as I need to be… would you have me be otherwise?
I made you, I can unmake you.
Inara was still very new to being a Companion, not-yet free from the call of her instructors, but allowed a client or two that were familiar enough with her world to ease her into her new profession, when Jasmine walked through the door and claimed her as her own.
It was rare, but not unusual in these days, for a woman of affluence like Jasmine to claim a young Companion in this way. Generally, Companions were much more in control of their own destinies, choosing their own clients and setting boundaries with their own, gentle hands and words. Generally. There are always exceptions – men and women who search the Houses for the perfect neck, the right tone of voice, the exact sway of the hips – and those who are on a search of this kind tend to have the financial backing to be a bit more demanding.
The first thing Jasmine did was slice their arms with a long, thin knife and press their bleeding wounds together. Afterwards, Jasmine asked Inara what she saw.
Inara raised her thin fingers up to softly touch her thick, curling hair.
Humanity.
Sometimes, in those early days when Jasmine was much more jealous of Inara’s time and Inara was fresh and young enough to not have anything more pressing to distract her, they went on silly adventures through the city. Balls and salons and teas and dinners, with Inara’s arm about Jasmin’s waist protectively and a smile etched on her face too sardonic and knowing for her young, inexperienced face.
And every time, Inara was shocked again at the way her patron could command a room.
You are a goddess to them, Inara pressed a kiss against Jasmine’s throat.
I have a lot of money.
Inara hummed from behind her in the dim glow of candlelight that Jasmine preferred when they were alone, dragging a dripping sponge across Jasmine’s submerged form.
You are a goddess to me.
Jasmine picked up a handful of bubbles in her palm and turned to blow them playfully in Inara’s face, causing the younger girl to giggle and jump away from the porcelain tub momentarily.
I am just a girl as you are a girl.
You were a girl as I am a girl, you are a woman as I may someday hope to be a woman.
You shall outshine me in no time. Men will forget my name but they will always remember the way you make them feel.
How do I make them feel, she whispered in Jasmine’s ear, her hand free of the sponge and dipping lower across the firm planes of Jasmine’s abdomen, teasing rather than relieving.
You make them feel as though they are the only person in the room – in the world. As if you were created just to listen to them speak of their silly hobbies and interests. As if you were created to prove their words are gems to be cherished.
Inara leaned lower from her perch behind her patron, her thumb rubbing a pattern on soft flesh.
And how do you make them feel?
At peace. A part of the crowd. A- Jasmine’s voice caught low in her throat and her head leaned back against Inara’s shoulder just as she angled her hips up towards Inara’s hand in a wordless plea. A single piece in a grand design. A reason to stop seeking and fighting.
And that bothers you?
Nothing bothers me.
Over the years, they developed a certain rhythm. When Inara left the Companion House to become a free agent, Jasmine remained a loyal client – sometimes staying for weeks at a time in Inara’s private chambers and other times hauling her off to some grand locale for an extended holiday.
They were easy with each other, Inara growing and stretching into herself and Jasmine’s hand always there to follow where ever that growth would lead.
I cannot imagine a world without you.
What a horrid thing to say, monster.
Someday the universe will lose you.
Well hopefully not tonight, as I have tickets to the opera with Philippe and you know how I adore the opera. I may be able to borrow his box for tomorrow evening if you’d like to put on clothes at some point and join me.
What did you think of me in the first moment that you saw me?
Monster love of mine, do you always have such serious conversations with my fingers inside of you? Are you this way with all the girls?
There are no other girls.
Men then. Do you ride them and quote philosophy as they groan and beg you to be more gentle?
When have you ever known me to be gentle.
Only when you are at your most terrifying.
Answer the question little one.
I was afraid. Inara leaned down and kissed her collarbone in just the right spot as her hand slowed. You were my first client and I was shaking with fear that you would walk away, you were so full of fierceness and power, I knew I could not keep you interested.
Jasmine hummed low in her throat as Inara ducked down, her tongue and lips replacing her fingers, stroking long and slow, teasing Jasmine’s aroused body.
You needn’t have been afraid of losing my interest.
Inara bit playfully at Jasmine’s thigh before looking up, her face a mask of good humor covering exasperation and confusion. Shouldn’t I have? she said as she lay her head down on Jasmine’s stomach, her fingers dancing lightly over the body lying beneath her with practiced precision.
I knew the minute I saw you how wrong I had been. I should have figured it out before, but you – so young and so alive – reminded me.
Reminded you of what?
Of what mankind wants.
Inara shook her head, pressing her face to Jasmine’s stomach and blowing a raspberry upon her smooth flesh. I’m taking a bath, will you join me?
Months, weeks, years later, Inara would ask thoughtfully over a glass of wine, What is it that mankind wants, my monster love?
Something to fight for. Jasmine picked up Inara’s hand and kissed her knuckles thoughtfully. How much you have grown.
And yet you are still the same.
Will you ever ask. Sometimes Jasmine spoke questions in statements, as if afraid of the implications of her not knowing Inara’s every inner thought and desire.
Inara nodded to the crowd around her, You give them peace you said once.
Jasmine took a sip of the dark red wine in her glass, her hand gliding up Inara’s thigh under the table, I give them nirvana, an end, a reason to stop. You give them a reason to begin, to fight, to continue.
Isn’t man always in search of peace>
Man needs peace. He also needs war. Epics are written about battles, not about the peace that follows.
Do you think I could cause a war?
Helen of Troy asked her mother that very same question.
Men’s folly caused the Trojan War, not the beautiful face poet’s placed blame upon.
You are a very young girl.
And you are becoming a very cynical old woman.
Jasmine smiled brightly, Yes. Yes I suppose I am.
I’m going to go dance with the host as promised, if you wish to continue being a bore, I can see myself home.
But I do so love to watch you dance.
Inara stood up and pressed a firm kiss to Jasmine’s mouth, her fingers lingering on the other woman’s throat possessively. I’d much rather dance with you.
Jasmine watched her walk across the room with an amused expression.
Oh what stories the poets will make of you. And what tragic tales they have said of me.