[Next entry: "Firefly Fic: Happenstance. Thing. Occurrence. That's all (Jayne/Simon, PG-13)"]
08/03/2007: "Firefly Fic: Lie Down (Jayne/Simon, NC-17)"
Title: Lie Down
Pairing: Jayne/Simon
Rating: NC-17
Words: 2141
Summary: Simon knows what he wants. He always does.
Disclaimer: Clearly I claim no ownership to the Firefly 'verse or its characters; nor am I making money from this fic writing thing.
The first time Simon gets down on his knees in front of another man, it's a little bit sleazy, and more than a little dirty.
He goes to a club, not quite in a blackout zone, but close enough that his parents would be scandalized. It's rough around the edges, worn, and it's just what Simon thought he would find. He pays his entrance fee, and stands, waits, while the mandatory blood test checks him for disease. People who pass get a small green pin, and are allowed into the club. People who fail get a diagnosis and directions to the nearest clinic.
Simon passes. Of course.
Inside, he looks around him until he finds someone who has trouble looking directly at others, and approaches him. He isn't ugly, nor is he one of the posturing, predatory men that make up more than half of the crowd. He simply is, and that's what Simon is looking for. They move to a private alcove, and there aren't many preliminaries, just some touching, a mutual tentative fumbling of hands, until Simon says what he wants.
He takes it all in. The tastes, the press of flesh to his mouth, the jerky rhythm of someone who doesn't quite think he should be here. After, while it's his turn, he leans his head back, takes in the brush of short hair against his thighs, the scrape of clumsy teeth on his cock.
After, as he heads out the door, dropping his green pin into the recycling basket, he pulls his jacket up around his ears, against the cold. His lips feel somehow hypersensitive, and he's aware of small things he usually wouldn't notice, like the press of his tongue to his teeth, the ridges of his palate.
His body is sated, and so is his curiosity.
~ ~ ~
The next time, he has the foresight to contract with a Companion, Alexander Maeng. He's expensive, but Simon has a generous living allowance while he's at medical school. His father sees that he has all he wants.
"A medical doctor?" Alexander hands him the tea, and Simon smiles politely.
"In training. I plan to be a trauma surgeon."
This gets him a smile, guileless. "You must have excellent fine motor skills."
It's different than the first time, more sensual, and more drawn out. Alexander encourages and makes suggestions, and Simon has always been a fast learner. After, the taste in his mouth a mix of tea and semen, he lies back against the low couch, and learns a little more through experience.
Alexander is very good, and amusing. Simon arranges for regular appointments. He can't afford them too frequently, but it's enough. Enough to give him a break from constant studying, from thinking about medical texts and case histories. Enough to distract him from a vague, but growing concern for River.
Simon appreciates the arrangement, and it's all he has time for, these days.
The Companion House, where Alexander keeps his rooms, is elegant and quiet, the atmosphere one of sensuality and grace. It's nothing like the sex club he went to, just the one time. Somehow though, it's oddly similar. Their encounters are hardly emotional, although Alexander is far too good to allow clinical or detached tones to enter the arrangement.
Still, in many ways, Simon knows he could get the same kind of distraction by returning to the sex club. He suspects that Alexander knows this, because he always looks momentarily surprised each time Simon arrives for their next appointment.
But Simon always knew what he wanted.
~ ~ ~
He knows what he wants now. The problem is articulating it in a way that won't get him punched, or ignored. There is a social etiquette on Serenity that he's still getting used to – different from what he knows, but just as circuitous and treacherous. Perhaps more physically dangerous, given all the guns and knives on board.
Finally, he settles on the direct route. Direct, with small words.
Jayne would never be his first choice, not if he were still in the world. But there's no hope of a Companion contract, and the kinds of bars the crew frequent are hardly good ideas for finding anonymous sex.
It's a quiet night. Most of the crew are sleeping, including River, and it's Mal's turn on watch. When Simon wanders into the kitchen, in search of something to do, Jayne's already there, and it seems like as good a time as any.
It probably doesn't hurt that Jayne appears to have had a few drinks.
"I have a proposition."
Jayne looks vaguely interested, but mostly bored. Maybe proposition was too long a word to chose. "Yeah?"
"Have you ever –" and words fail him. Foolishly. He's left gesturing between them, his hand moving slowly. Not that he expects Jayne to pick up on the cue.
"What?"
Simon sighs, scrubs his hand across his eyes. "Do you have sex with men?"
If he's expecting Jayne to look horrified, or surprised, it doesn't happen. Jayne just holds his gaze, and snorts. "Yeah. Who don't?"
Indeed. Well, Simon could name a few, but now isn't the time. "Are you busy right now?"
"Why?"
Moron. The man must be a moron. "Because I'm asking if you're free to have sex." It sounds so formal, and Simon searches for a way to say it that Jayne will understand. "A good thrust. With me. Now."
Jayne frowns, his brow wrinkled in the way it does when he doesn't understand a plan, or basic conversation. "You serious?"
He can't help the sarcasm that comes, partially because the situation itself is faintly ridiculous. "Well, of course. I am known for my devious practical jokes."
And Jayne shrugs, turns and starts to walk away. Simon sighs. Sometimes it's like talking to a brick wall. At least Mal understands what Simon says, even if he does just ignore it. Not that Simon would ever try having this kind of conversation with Mal. "I'm serious, Jayne."
"I know. But we ain't gonna do it here, right?"
Oh. Right.
It's a relief that Jayne leads them to his bunk, rather than Simon's room. The crew quarters are more private than the guest quarters, and it's somehow fitting that he's climbing down into a hole for this. Looking around, it reminds him a bit of the sex club. No gaudy lights, no music, or posturing. But Jayne is giving him predatory looks, and everything has a cheap, rough edge to it.
"You wanna do this naked?"
The question startles Simon out of his reverie. "What?"
"Naked? Or you want something fast?"
If he'd wanted something fast, he might have just tried rubbing himself off against Jayne in the kitchen. At least Jayne would have figured out what was going on a little more quickly. He doesn't bother answering, just unbuttons the cuff of his shirt, moves to the next cuff. Jayne gets the picture, and pulls off his shirt.
He's seen Jayne shirtless before, and it's one of the reasons he came up with this idea. But still, he can't help but pause briefly, look. Jayne smirks at him, and gets to work on his boots.
They're both naked in no time, and there's nothing showy about the process. Jayne just strips off his clothes and tosses them aside, kicks his boots into a corner. He doesn't take his eyes off Simon, and the intensity of Jayne's stare ratchets everything up a notch for Simon.
It's been a long time.
He hasn't had time for this, hasn't had time to think about his own interests, his own preferences, for so long. He says as much.
Jayne shrugs. "There stuff you don't do?"
The question startles him slightly. It shouldn't, but it does. "Um. Not really."
"Good." Jayne gestures at the bed. "Then let's get on it."
He feels awkward. It's always the way, the first time with someone new, when his body knows what it wants, but isn't quite sure how to get it. How to move to the other person, how to best brush skin against skin. So, he lets Jayne take the lead. Lets him grab his shoulders, shove him against the wall. Jayne leans down, bites at his neck, and Simon was half-hard already, from the idea of it all, but that does it even more.
His awkwardness fades. Not just because of the contact, but because of the scents. He'd forgotten the scent of this, of another body so close to his. Jayne is warm, and around them, already, is the smell of hot, clean skin, and desire. He reaches out, pulls Jayne closer, grunting as his cock presses up against Jayne's leg.
It gets a little frantic. Jayne grabs Simon's hips, thrusts, his mouth still working Simon's neck, gradually moving down to his shoulder. Part of Simon wants to just tilt his head back, let Jayne direct everything, but that's not quite enough. He reaches up, takes Jayne's head in his hands, and kisses him.
He's missed kissing, the brush of lips, the sting of teeth. Jayne huffs a little, but he goes with it, opens his mouth wide, and lets Simon just lick up inside, map out the curve of his palate, the edges of his teeth. It's slick, and hot, tainted with the left over taste of liquor, and Simon can't get enough. Jayne doesn't object at all, giving as good as Simon, occasionally pulling back a little, enough so that he can lick at the sides of Simon's mouth, or suck on his lip.
Curving one hand behind Jayne's head, Simon lets the other slide down, across Jayne's chest, along his hip, until he's got Jayne's cock in his hand, warm and heavy, tip leaking. He knows the strokes of his hand are jumpy and stuttered. It's been too damn long since he's had this, and he can't be bothered with care and technique. Not that Jayne would probably appreciate that anyway. Jayne most likely just wants whatever he can get, and that's good enough for Simon.
Somehow, Jayne walks backwards, bringing Simon with him, until he hits the side of the bed. They slide down, awkwardly, and Simon finds himself half on his side, one leg shoved between Jayne's.
It's messy. Jayne's hand is on his back, keeping him close, encouraging the press of Simon's hips against him. Simon's hand is back to stroking Jayne a little too fast, a little bit too rough, because he can't quite control his movements, can't quite pay attention to it all. Jayne doesn't complain, just grunts into Simon's mouth, wraps his arm over Simon's shoulder. It's nothing like Alexander's controlled movements, his elegant ways. And it's hardly like that one anonymous time, tentative and shy.
Jayne just takes what he wants from Simon, with his mouth, with his hands, and Simon's not surprised when he breathes out a harsh, "Yeah," and comes in Simon's hand, head tilting back, eyes closed. Simon sees it all, even with his eyes barely focused, and just grinds himself down, hitting Jayne's hipbone, and oh hell, yes. He's coming all over Jayne's side, panting into his neck.
It's fantastic.
He lies there for a few moments, trying to catch his breath. It's an awkward position, though, especially given that Jayne's no longer holding on to him. So, he pushes himself up, away, moving to sit at the end of the bed, one knee loosely drawn up. He's using an edge of bed sheet to wipe at his hand, his stomach, when Jayne cranes his head up a little.
"We finished?" His eyes are lidded, his face flushed.
"Um."
Jayne's head falls back down. "You wanna go again?"
Yes. Because Simon's got ideas, things he wants that he didn't get. "In a bit." Even right now, his body still humming, he's looking down at Jayne, picturing himself straddling those hips.
Jayne mutters, "Shiny," and gradually, his breathing evens out to a slow deep rhythm. Simon leans back against the wall, feeling the hollow space behind him where Jayne's guns hang, and closes his eyes.
Eventually, Jayne shifts, wakes up. He pulls himself off the bed, rummages through piles on the floor until he comes up with a bottle. Taking a long drink, he watches Simon. He's grinning by the time he hands the bottle over. It's harsh, rather foul, and Simon drinks it down without complaint. "Lie down."
Jayne does, smirking the entire time. And Simon, he settles himself above Jayne, and starts again.
After, the taste in his mouth is hardly the more familiar mixture of bodily fluids and refined tea. It's rougher, the harsh taste of cheap whiskey and Jayne's skin, his come, coating Simon's tongue, his teeth. He lies there, half under Jayne, and doesn't think about it. He doesn't think about anything at all.
End
