08/08/2007: "Firefly Fic: Not Some Romantical Encounter (Jayne/Simon, Jayne/Inara; NC-17)"

Title: Not Some Romantical Encounter
Pairing: Jayne/Simon, Jayne/Inara
Rating: NC-17
Words: About 2800
Summary: Jayne's shoulder hurts, and his pants are too tight.
Notes: This is for svmadelyn's Kink/Cliche Challenge. My prompt: weapons kink. Many, many thanks to reve_lucide for the beta and encouragement, and lunabee34 for assuring me it works. Also, thank you to ozsaur for her initial suggestions about how to approach this challenge!

For a long time after Wash goes and gets himself killed, things are real quiet around the dinner table. Even after the ship's fixed up and they're back in the air and back in business, it's still quiet.

Jayne don't mind so much – dinner table's for eating, not for chattering. Still, it's eerie sometimes, eerie and quiet, enough that there are days he don't feel like eating with the rest of them. He does it anyway, though he ain't quite sure why that is.

He gets used to the silence, so much so that it don't quite register when Simon starts talking one night. Jayne just keeps eating, working his way through his bowl of mush, until he hears, "—weapons training."

That makes him look up. "What?"

Simon looks over at him and says, "I just think – given what we've all – I need some real training and practice time. I think it would make me more useful. In case, in the future –"

He stops talking, and Jayne's glad. No reason to spell it out.

"I would ask River, but her expertise seems to be more intuitive."

Meaning she's a freak who don't got to practice. Hell, even if she did practice, Jayne wouldn't take lessons from her. Maybe she's a little less crazy these days, but she'd still be liable to forget that it was training and not the real thing.

No one says anything for a few moments, until Inara looks up from her bowl and says, "I could train you with the crossbow. It isn't the most manoeuvrable of weapons, but it has a certain elegance to it. Also, I have a spare."

There was a time, ain't so long ago, when Jayne would've started laughing at the idea of Inara teaching anything to do with fighting. Except now he's seen her shoot Reavers down, calm as you please.

Simon smiles. It's weak, empty. It's the same smile they've all got, these days. "Thank you." He turns, looking expectantly at Jayne.

Jayne shrugs. "Whatever." It ain't like he's got much to do anyway, what with Mal taking pansy-ass jobs.

Zoe don't offer up any of her time, but Jayne figures no one expects her to, not yet. And Mal still ain't exactly jumping to spend time with Simon, even if they have called some kind of truce.

Him and Inara, teaching Simon rutting Tam how to handle weapons. There's gotta be joke in there somewhere, and if Jayne cared enough, he'd think on it.

Thing is, he don't.

*

They set up a schedule. Jayne ain't surprised – Simon likes things just so, and Inara makes noises about work and predictability and reliability. All them things that Jayne ain't ever so bothered with, except when it comes to getting his pay.

It's the day before Simon's first lesson with Jayne when it happens – Jayne gets himself shot in the right shoulder, his shooting shoulder, on a job that was supposed to be a dull as the last five.

"I suppose this means our lessons are on hold," Simon says, as he stitches Jayne up. They're neat, tidy little stitches, meaning that Jayne's going to have one more neat, tidy scar. Not that he's complaining. They're a hell of a lot better than some of the thick, ragged-edged marks he's got from before Simon came along.

"Guess so," he says, shrugging and then wincing.

"Stop moving." Simon works quickly, carefully. "I'll train with Inara until you're healed."

Jayne shrugs again, just because he can. It ain't like he cares one way or another what Simon does during his free time.

*

Still, he ends up watching them train, mostly because he ain't got nothing else to do.

He ain't ever handled boredom well. Boredom means picking fights, usually with Mal. Or it means bugging on Wash until he snaps. But starting something with Mal ain't so healthy right now, and Wash snapped in a final kind of way.

So he watches Inara and Simon, from way up on the walkway above the cargo bay. Good view, and it lowers the chance that Simon might accidentally shoot him.

"No," Inara says. "You're aiming to the left again."

Simon sighs, nods, corrects himself, and fires at the target. He misses. Badly. Jayne can't help smirking a little.

"Your stance is off. Spread your legs slightly. Bend your knees."

There's something in Inara's tone. Something a little hard, a little bossy, and it's real interesting. Also, if he moves just a little, Jayne figures he'll be able to see right down her bitty top.

"Watch me," Inara says, centring her body, raising the crossbow, and holding it steady. "Think of the crossbow as an extension of your arm. As part of you."

Even from so high, he can see how her breathing is real steady. She's focussed, and Jayne would bet good money that even if he started throwing things at them, or if Simon reached out and groped her, she'd just ignore it all until she'd fired.

He's got to admire that kind of concentration, especially on a woman so gorram sexy.

The arrow hits the target, dead centre, and she turns her head, smiling. "Did you see what I did?" She lowers the crossbow, her free hand briefly stroking along the shaft.

Hell, Jayne saw it, and he liked it a whole lot. He shifts again, reaching down and adjusting his crotch. Ain't surprising he's getting a little worked up from watching. He can't remember exactly when he last got sweaty with a woman, especially one who knew how to hold a mighty fine weapon. He wonders about the weight of the crossbow in her hand, what the mix of metal and wood feels like against her fingertips.

Crossbows. There's something about them, something a little classy, even though Jayne's seen what them classy little arrows can do to a body.

Simon's nodding, his bow dangling in his hand. "Yes. I understand the principles. It was an excellent idea to take the crossbow apart first."

Jayne's breath catches a little as he imagines them pulling the pieces free of each other, checking the weapon for scratches, or flaws, or bitty things that might leave it unbalanced. He imagines Inara oiling up the metal pieces, and then later, using a sweeter, lighter oil to polish the wood. Rubbing along the grain, getting everything shining and ready for his hand, ready for a job.

Classy, elegant fingers stroking along a fancy-ass weapon.

"And my hands are steady."

"I can see that." Inara reaches out, touching Simon's shoulder lightly, briefly. "Yet hitting the target remains elusive."

Simon's grin is a little mocking. "I've noticed."

There's a small pause. Inara is stroking the bow again, absently, like she don't even know she's doing it. "Perhaps it's the nature of your work. When you operate, you're trained to focus on one area that's within a close visual range." She steps closer to him, pulling his arm up. "You need to think in terms of a wider field of vision."

"Maybe what I need is to stick to surgery and leave the weapons to the rest of you." But he raises the bow again.

It glints in the light, like it's asking for someone who can handle it to come and get it. Someone with skill. Someone who deserves it.

Jayne's shoulder hurts, and his pants are too tight.

He gets up and heads to his bunk.

*

Next day, he doesn't mean to hang around and watch, but he ends up there anyhow. Up on the walkway, legs hanging down, he watches as Inara hits the target, and as Simon misses it. It ain't long before he's got his hand between his legs, thumb stroking idly. He strokes a little faster when Inara starts giving instructions in a sharper and less patient tone of voice.

He wonders if Mal gets off on that voice, if she tells him what to do, and if he likes it. Maybe every time they fight – in the kitchen, or in the halls, or even in Inara's shuttle – maybe it's Mal working her up so she works him up right back.

The thought makes him grin, but it's a little disturbing too. Some things just don't bear thinking about. Better to watch the show happening below him.

Simon's shoulders tense up a little more with each missed shot, and Jayne smirks, because getting tense ain't going to help Simon none.

Every now and then, Inara twists her body a little, as she prepares to fire, chattering something about another technique, and Jayne gets a good look down her shirt. He's looking – real perky breasts, and he'd bet her nipples are real nice too – when she fires her next shot. He doesn't see it hit the target, but the sound of it – a hard, solid thunk, a sound that ain't to be messed with – mixed with the great view is almost enough to set him off. Even though he ain't touching himself all that much.

And ain't that interesting. Inara, crossbows, skill with weapons – ain't weird any of that would get him revved up. But sounds? Seems kind of pathetic.

Then again, who cares? He gets out of the cargo bay as fast as he can.

"What the hell are you up to?" Mal asks, as Jayne strides down the hall, heading for his bunk.

Jayne shrugs. "Nothin'." He's just glad he can jerk off as good with his left hand as he can with his right.

*

Day after day, he keeps coming back. No one seems to notice what Jayne's doing with his free time, but then again, people ain't exactly being real social these days.

He watches them, hand rubbing his cock, fingers twitching to get inside his pants, though he don't let it happen. Watches Inara shoot, watches her and Simon polish and inspect the crossbows for damage and wear. He watches Simon miss the target, over and over, until he figures there ain't no hope for Simon at all. Course, he don't really care about that part of it.

And then one day, Simon makes the shot. Jayne sits up a little straighter, interested despite himself. It's about gorram time the doctor started getting it right.

Simon makes the next shot, too.

When he reloads, he does it quickly and efficiently, fingers sliding over the crossbow's mechanisms like it's second nature.

Jayne's hand tightens, and suddenly it really ain't enough to be idly stroking himself through his pants. He wants skin contact, wants to pop open the buttons of his pants and get his hand inside, jerk off up here instead of in his own bunk.

Below him, Inara says something, and Simon laughs, real low, maybe a little smug.

Jayne barely makes it to his own bunk, and this time, hand on his cock, he ain't thinking about Inara and her little bitty tops that he can see right down into. He's thinking about Simon's fingers, taking the crossbow apart, putting it back together, and then making shot after shot. He's thinking about Simon, leaning back on a bed, naked, crossbow across his lap, smug written all over his face.

He comes all over his hand. It ain't nothing new, except for the naked thoughts of Simon that go with it.

Ah, hell.

*

It ain't like it bothers him none, not really. Adds something to jerking off in his bunk, anyway – there ain't much new eye candy around these days. Jayne'll take what he can get.

And he takes it – whatever he can. Alone in his bunk, he thinks about taking the gorram bow right out of Simon's hand, and shoving him back against the wall. He imagines Simon's pretty mouth tensed up, asking questions.

Once, them questions might have been weak, pansy-assed. Maybe Simon would've gone running to Mal, or to little sister. Might have hid behind the Shepherd's skirts. And maybe that would've been real fun to play with, an old-fashioned way to kill some time between runs.

Wouldn't be like that now, though. Simon, he's learned to push back some.

They'd be right there, out in the open, and maybe Inara'd be there too. She'd watch Jayne grab Simon, watch him toss the crossbow aside, and she wouldn't say a single word.

Jayne can almost hear it – clatter of the crossbow as it hits the floor, Inara's gasp, Simon's grunt as Jayne shoves him hard.

"Jayne –"

"Shut it," he'd say. "Ain't here for conversation."

He can picture it just right – the way Simon's mouth would twitch a little, curving up at one corner just long enough to tell Jayne that he ain't going to fight it. Long enough that Jayne would know Simon's been waiting for this, expecting it.

Jayne wouldn't bother with taking off his clothes. Ain't no point – wouldn't be some romantical encounter. He ain't Kaylee, wanting something pretty and meaningful. He just wants to get off, right in the gorram cargo bay, with Simon thrusting against him.

With Inara watching, crossbow still caught up in her perfect fingers.

Yeah, it'd be gorram hot, pressed up against Simon, holding him still, and listening to his bitching. Maybe it'd be fun to shove his hand inside Simon's pants, but Jayne figures it'd be even more fun to wait to see if Simon breaks first, squirming a little and muttering, "Son of a bitch, just do it," while Jayne smirks at him.

Maybe it wouldn't matter how they got there at all, wouldn't matter if Simon begged for a it a little, or if Jayne just got it while the getting was good. All that'd matter is Jayne getting some.

Except he imagines it like this –

Simon, fingers scrabbling at Jayne's arms, saying, "Harder," so Jayne holds Simon's hips – pale and sturdy, and they're going to be bruised up in the morning – harder, and goes at it harder, his cock thrusting against Simon's skin, against Simon's cock, just right.

He gets into a good rhythm, hard and fast, and he ain't here to play around or tease. It's a warm-up, this kind of thing, it ain't the main show, but Jayne's been waiting around too long to hold off. "Later," he grunts out, "gonna fuck you in my bunk," and Simon twitches under him, one hand working between them and then pushing Jayne away a little.

Jayne would bitch about it, but quick as you please, Simon's got his hand around Jayne's cock, fingers almost gripping too tight. Jayne ain't complaining – maybe Simon's fingers are real careful on the crossbow, but Jayne never did go for careful himself. And then Simon's hand is moving, slow and awkward, and Jayne wants slick, something to make it even better.

But it's been a real long time since he came with a hand that weren't his own on his cock, so he keeps his mouth shut. Letting go of Simon's hip, he braces himself against the wall with one hand, and looks down between them – looks at Simon's hand, wrapped around Jayne's cock, and moving in little jerks that leave Jayne gasping. He can see Simon's own cock, hard and wet at the tip, clearly aching for attention. And maybe Simon figures he's had enough of doing all the work for none of the pleasure, because he lets go, just briefly, long enough to line himself up with Jayne, and then he grasps them both together.

Gorram, that's hot – Simon's hand around both of them, his thumb sweeping across the head of Jayne's cock, and his own, and rutting hell, Jayne ain't sure he'll last, it's been so damn long, and he's been wanting it –

He comes, hard, all over his own rutting hand, imagining still that it's Simon who's covered in Jayne's leavings; Simon - gasping out Jayne's name, hips jerking, and then coming himself.

He imagines Simon slumping back against the wall, eyes closed, lower lip a little red and swollen from where he bit himself. It's a gorram great look for Simon, one he should be wearing more often. He imagines glancing to the side, seeing Inara sitting on the floor, skirt pushed up her thighs. Her hand is between her legs, lips slick, eyes lidded.

When he opens his eyes, he's alone in his bunk, no one watching him. Simon ain't there, ain't licking Jayne's come off his own hand.

It's a little disappointing, but there ain't no point in dwelling on it. He falls asleep to the image of Simon and that rutting crossbow.

*

Next day, he figures his the bullet wound is healed up good enough. So he corners Simon in the infirmary, shoulders right into his space, and asks, "Ain't there supposed to be some kind of follow-up?"

Simon looks up at him, cheeks maybe a little flushed. Maybe not, though. "Normally, yes."

Jayne stoops back, pulls his shirt up over his head. Shoulder don't hurt more than a twinge when he does it. "Then follow it gorram up."

Simon does, poking and prodding for a space before he says Jayne's healed up. "Are you ready to start our lessons?"

His fingers are hot against Jayne's skin. Real hot, and stronger than Jayne's ever noticed before. Jayne shakes them off. "Yeah."

Hell yeah, he's ready.

End.




	Home Archives August 2007 Firefly Fic: Not Some Romantical Encounter (Jayne/Simon, Jayne/Inara; NC-17) [Previous entry: "Firefly Fic: Interval (Jayne/Simon, PG)"] [Next entry: "Firefly Fic: Unexpected (Jayne/Wash, NC-17)"] 08/08/2007: "Firefly Fic: Not Some Romantical Encounter (Jayne/Simon, Jayne/Inara; NC-17)" Title: Not Some Romantical Encounter Pairing: Jayne/Simon, Jayne/Inara Rating: NC-17 Words: About 2800 Summary: Jayne's shoulder hurts, and his pants are too tight. Notes: This is for svmadelyn's Kink/Cliche Challenge. My prompt: weapons kink. Many, many thanks to reve_lucide for the beta and encouragement, and lunabee34 for assuring me it works. Also, thank you to ozsaur for her initial suggestions about how to approach this challenge! For a long time after Wash goes and gets himself killed, things are real quiet around the dinner table. Even after the ship's fixed up and they're back in the air and back in business, it's still quiet. Jayne don't mind so much – dinner table's for eating, not for chattering. Still, it's eerie sometimes, eerie and quiet, enough that there are days he don't feel like eating with the rest of them. He does it anyway, though he ain't quite sure why that is. He gets used to the silence, so much so that it don't quite register when Simon starts talking one night. Jayne just keeps eating, working his way through his bowl of mush, until he hears, "—weapons training." That makes him look up. "What?" Simon looks over at him and says, "I just think – given what we've all – I need some real training and practice time. I think it would make me more useful. In case, in the future –" He stops talking, and Jayne's glad. No reason to spell it out. "I would ask River, but her expertise seems to be more intuitive." Meaning she's a freak who don't got to practice. Hell, even if she did practice, Jayne wouldn't take lessons from her. Maybe she's a little less crazy these days, but she'd still be liable to forget that it was training and not the real thing. No one says anything for a few moments, until Inara looks up from her bowl and says, "I could train you with the crossbow. It isn't the most manoeuvrable of weapons, but it has a certain elegance to it. Also, I have a spare." There was a time, ain't so long ago, when Jayne would've started laughing at the idea of Inara teaching anything to do with fighting. Except now he's seen her shoot Reavers down, calm as you please. Simon smiles. It's weak, empty. It's the same smile they've all got, these days. "Thank you." He turns, looking expectantly at Jayne. Jayne shrugs. "Whatever." It ain't like he's got much to do anyway, what with Mal taking pansy-ass jobs. Zoe don't offer up any of her time, but Jayne figures no one expects her to, not yet. And Mal still ain't exactly jumping to spend time with Simon, even if they have called some kind of truce. Him and Inara, teaching Simon rutting Tam how to handle weapons. There's gotta be joke in there somewhere, and if Jayne cared enough, he'd think on it. Thing is, he don't. * They set up a schedule. Jayne ain't surprised – Simon likes things just so, and Inara makes noises about work and predictability and reliability. All them things that Jayne ain't ever so bothered with, except when it comes to getting his pay. It's the day before Simon's first lesson with Jayne when it happens – Jayne gets himself shot in the right shoulder, his shooting shoulder, on a job that was supposed to be a dull as the last five. "I suppose this means our lessons are on hold," Simon says, as he stitches Jayne up. They're neat, tidy little stitches, meaning that Jayne's going to have one more neat, tidy scar. Not that he's complaining. They're a hell of a lot better than some of the thick, ragged-edged marks he's got from before Simon came along. "Guess so," he says, shrugging and then wincing. "Stop moving." Simon works quickly, carefully. "I'll train with Inara until you're healed." Jayne shrugs again, just because he can. It ain't like he cares one way or another what Simon does during his free time. * Still, he ends up watching them train, mostly because he ain't got nothing else to do. He ain't ever handled boredom well. Boredom means picking fights, usually with Mal. Or it means bugging on Wash until he snaps. But starting something with Mal ain't so healthy right now, and Wash snapped in a final kind of way. So he watches Inara and Simon, from way up on the walkway above the cargo bay. Good view, and it lowers the chance that Simon might accidentally shoot him. "No," Inara says. "You're aiming to the left again." Simon sighs, nods, corrects himself, and fires at the target. He misses. Badly. Jayne can't help smirking a little. "Your stance is off. Spread your legs slightly. Bend your knees." There's something in Inara's tone. Something a little hard, a little bossy, and it's real interesting. Also, if he moves just a little, Jayne figures he'll be able to see right down her bitty top. "Watch me," Inara says, centring her body, raising the crossbow, and holding it steady. "Think of the crossbow as an extension of your arm. As part of you." Even from so high, he can see how her breathing is real steady. She's focussed, and Jayne would bet good money that even if he started throwing things at them, or if Simon reached out and groped her, she'd just ignore it all until she'd fired. He's got to admire that kind of concentration, especially on a woman so gorram sexy. The arrow hits the target, dead centre, and she turns her head, smiling. "Did you see what I did?" She lowers the crossbow, her free hand briefly stroking along the shaft. Hell, Jayne saw it, and he liked it a whole lot. He shifts again, reaching down and adjusting his crotch. Ain't surprising he's getting a little worked up from watching. He can't remember exactly when he last got sweaty with a woman, especially one who knew how to hold a mighty fine weapon. He wonders about the weight of the crossbow in her hand, what the mix of metal and wood feels like against her fingertips. Crossbows. There's something about them, something a little classy, even though Jayne's seen what them classy little arrows can do to a body. Simon's nodding, his bow dangling in his hand. "Yes. I understand the principles. It was an excellent idea to take the crossbow apart first." Jayne's breath catches a little as he imagines them pulling the pieces free of each other, checking the weapon for scratches, or flaws, or bitty things that might leave it unbalanced. He imagines Inara oiling up the metal pieces, and then later, using a sweeter, lighter oil to polish the wood. Rubbing along the grain, getting everything shining and ready for his hand, ready for a job. Classy, elegant fingers stroking along a fancy-ass weapon. "And my hands are steady." "I can see that." Inara reaches out, touching Simon's shoulder lightly, briefly. "Yet hitting the target remains elusive." Simon's grin is a little mocking. "I've noticed." There's a small pause. Inara is stroking the bow again, absently, like she don't even know she's doing it. "Perhaps it's the nature of your work. When you operate, you're trained to focus on one area that's within a close visual range." She steps closer to him, pulling his arm up. "You need to think in terms of a wider field of vision." "Maybe what I need is to stick to surgery and leave the weapons to the rest of you." But he raises the bow again. It glints in the light, like it's asking for someone who can handle it to come and get it. Someone with skill. Someone who deserves it. Jayne's shoulder hurts, and his pants are too tight. He gets up and heads to his bunk. * Next day, he doesn't mean to hang around and watch, but he ends up there anyhow. Up on the walkway, legs hanging down, he watches as Inara hits the target, and as Simon misses it. It ain't long before he's got his hand between his legs, thumb stroking idly. He strokes a little faster when Inara starts giving instructions in a sharper and less patient tone of voice. He wonders if Mal gets off on that voice, if she tells him what to do, and if he likes it. Maybe every time they fight – in the kitchen, or in the halls, or even in Inara's shuttle – maybe it's Mal working her up so she works him up right back. The thought makes him grin, but it's a little disturbing too. Some things just don't bear thinking about. Better to watch the show happening below him. Simon's shoulders tense up a little more with each missed shot, and Jayne smirks, because getting tense ain't going to help Simon none. Every now and then, Inara twists her body a little, as she prepares to fire, chattering something about another technique, and Jayne gets a good look down her shirt. He's looking – real perky breasts, and he'd bet her nipples are real nice too – when she fires her next shot. He doesn't see it hit the target, but the sound of it – a hard, solid thunk, a sound that ain't to be messed with – mixed with the great view is almost enough to set him off. Even though he ain't touching himself all that much. And ain't that interesting. Inara, crossbows, skill with weapons – ain't weird any of that would get him revved up. But sounds? Seems kind of pathetic. Then again, who cares? He gets out of the cargo bay as fast as he can. "What the hell are you up to?" Mal asks, as Jayne strides down the hall, heading for his bunk. Jayne shrugs. "Nothin'." He's just glad he can jerk off as good with his left hand as he can with his right. * Day after day, he keeps coming back. No one seems to notice what Jayne's doing with his free time, but then again, people ain't exactly being real social these days. He watches them, hand rubbing his cock, fingers twitching to get inside his pants, though he don't let it happen. Watches Inara shoot, watches her and Simon polish and inspect the crossbows for damage and wear. He watches Simon miss the target, over and over, until he figures there ain't no hope for Simon at all. Course, he don't really care about that part of it. And then one day, Simon makes the shot. Jayne sits up a little straighter, interested despite himself. It's about gorram time the doctor started getting it right. Simon makes the next shot, too. When he reloads, he does it quickly and efficiently, fingers sliding over the crossbow's mechanisms like it's second nature. Jayne's hand tightens, and suddenly it really ain't enough to be idly stroking himself through his pants. He wants skin contact, wants to pop open the buttons of his pants and get his hand inside, jerk off up here instead of in his own bunk. Below him, Inara says something, and Simon laughs, real low, maybe a little smug. Jayne barely makes it to his own bunk, and this time, hand on his cock, he ain't thinking about Inara and her little bitty tops that he can see right down into. He's thinking about Simon's fingers, taking the crossbow apart, putting it back together, and then making shot after shot. He's thinking about Simon, leaning back on a bed, naked, crossbow across his lap, smug written all over his face. He comes all over his hand. It ain't nothing new, except for the naked thoughts of Simon that go with it. Ah, hell. * It ain't like it bothers him none, not really. Adds something to jerking off in his bunk, anyway – there ain't much new eye candy around these days. Jayne'll take what he can get. And he takes it – whatever he can. Alone in his bunk, he thinks about taking the gorram bow right out of Simon's hand, and shoving him back against the wall. He imagines Simon's pretty mouth tensed up, asking questions. Once, them questions might have been weak, pansy-assed. Maybe Simon would've gone running to Mal, or to little sister. Might have hid behind the Shepherd's skirts. And maybe that would've been real fun to play with, an old-fashioned way to kill some time between runs. Wouldn't be like that now, though. Simon, he's learned to push back some. They'd be right there, out in the open, and maybe Inara'd be there too. She'd watch Jayne grab Simon, watch him toss the crossbow aside, and she wouldn't say a single word. Jayne can almost hear it – clatter of the crossbow as it hits the floor, Inara's gasp, Simon's grunt as Jayne shoves him hard. "Jayne –" "Shut it," he'd say. "Ain't here for conversation." He can picture it just right – the way Simon's mouth would twitch a little, curving up at one corner just long enough to tell Jayne that he ain't going to fight it. Long enough that Jayne would know Simon's been waiting for this, expecting it. Jayne wouldn't bother with taking off his clothes. Ain't no point – wouldn't be some romantical encounter. He ain't Kaylee, wanting something pretty and meaningful. He just wants to get off, right in the gorram cargo bay, with Simon thrusting against him. With Inara watching, crossbow still caught up in her perfect fingers. Yeah, it'd be gorram hot, pressed up against Simon, holding him still, and listening to his bitching. Maybe it'd be fun to shove his hand inside Simon's pants, but Jayne figures it'd be even more fun to wait to see if Simon breaks first, squirming a little and muttering, "Son of a bitch, just do it," while Jayne smirks at him. Maybe it wouldn't matter how they got there at all, wouldn't matter if Simon begged for a it a little, or if Jayne just got it while the getting was good. All that'd matter is Jayne getting some. Except he imagines it like this – Simon, fingers scrabbling at Jayne's arms, saying, "Harder," so Jayne holds Simon's hips – pale and sturdy, and they're going to be bruised up in the morning – harder, and goes at it harder, his cock thrusting against Simon's skin, against Simon's cock, just right. He gets into a good rhythm, hard and fast, and he ain't here to play around or tease. It's a warm-up, this kind of thing, it ain't the main show, but Jayne's been waiting around too long to hold off. "Later," he grunts out, "gonna fuck you in my bunk," and Simon twitches under him, one hand working between them and then pushing Jayne away a little. Jayne would bitch about it, but quick as you please, Simon's got his hand around Jayne's cock, fingers almost gripping too tight. Jayne ain't complaining – maybe Simon's fingers are real careful on the crossbow, but Jayne never did go for careful himself. And then Simon's hand is moving, slow and awkward, and Jayne wants slick, something to make it even better. But it's been a real long time since he came with a hand that weren't his own on his cock, so he keeps his mouth shut. Letting go of Simon's hip, he braces himself against the wall with one hand, and looks down between them – looks at Simon's hand, wrapped around Jayne's cock, and moving in little jerks that leave Jayne gasping. He can see Simon's own cock, hard and wet at the tip, clearly aching for attention. And maybe Simon figures he's had enough of doing all the work for none of the pleasure, because he lets go, just briefly, long enough to line himself up with Jayne, and then he grasps them both together. Gorram, that's hot – Simon's hand around both of them, his thumb sweeping across the head of Jayne's cock, and his own, and rutting hell, Jayne ain't sure he'll last, it's been so damn long, and he's been wanting it – He comes, hard, all over his own rutting hand, imagining still that it's Simon who's covered in Jayne's leavings; Simon - gasping out Jayne's name, hips jerking, and then coming himself. He imagines Simon slumping back against the wall, eyes closed, lower lip a little red and swollen from where he bit himself. It's a gorram great look for Simon, one he should be wearing more often. He imagines glancing to the side, seeing Inara sitting on the floor, skirt pushed up her thighs. Her hand is between her legs, lips slick, eyes lidded. When he opens his eyes, he's alone in his bunk, no one watching him. Simon ain't there, ain't licking Jayne's come off his own hand. It's a little disappointing, but there ain't no point in dwelling on it. He falls asleep to the image of Simon and that rutting crossbow. * Next day, he figures his the bullet wound is healed up good enough. So he corners Simon in the infirmary, shoulders right into his space, and asks, "Ain't there supposed to be some kind of follow-up?" Simon looks up at him, cheeks maybe a little flushed. Maybe not, though. "Normally, yes." Jayne stoops back, pulls his shirt up over his head. Shoulder don't hurt more than a twinge when he does it. "Then follow it gorram up." Simon does, poking and prodding for a space before he says Jayne's healed up. "Are you ready to start our lessons?" His fingers are hot against Jayne's skin. Real hot, and stronger than Jayne's ever noticed before. Jayne shakes them off. "Yeah." Hell yeah, he's ready. End.