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Not in the Plan

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"I'd rather not, thank you."

Mal's smile was, for lack of a better word, extremely vampirish. Polly noticed that Mal's smile only seemed to get so when this particular topic was involved. She scowled.

Mal cheerfully ignored the scowl. "If you resist, I'll only make it worse. This will hurt you far more than it will hurt me."

Polly rapidly began surveying the room for exits, though it was an exercise in futility—Mal's reflexes were too bloo—too darn fast for her.

"Really, Mal. This is not the proper—"

"My dear. Your most coincidentally timed interest in proper behavior arouses my curiosity," interrupted Mal sardonically, crowding Polly against the wall, her arm raised and a mad gleam in her eye.

"Well, you see, now that I have responsibilities to consider, I really ought," Polly swallowed, "ought to, you know, er, do things properly." The amount of oxygen she inhaled lessened in direct proportion to how close Mal got.

Mal's fingers were around her jaw before she could squeak out any more excuses. "The time has come, Polly. I won't let this go on another moment longer."

Polly closed her eyes, swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in her throat.

"Fine," she said, resigned, and let Mal open her mouth.

She grimaced as it happened, even worse than she'd been imagining all these months. But now that she and Mal were, well, close, she really had no choice—

She'd rather have let Mal suck her blood.

Scalding down her throat to the backdrop of Mal's triumphant laughter, this coffee stuff tasted positively horrible.