08/26/2007: "Firefly Fic: Flushed (Simon/Atherton Wing, Inara, PG-13)"

Title: Flushed
Pairing/Characters: Simon/Atherton Wing, Inara
Rating: PG-13
Summary: He doesn't say that he once knew Atherton Wing.
Notes: I found this while looking in my unfinished fic folder, and cleaned up and finished it. Spanking. I think the idea might have come out of a chat with valiant. EDIT: Yes, it totally did come out of a chat with valiant.

After, when Mal finally lets Simon look at the sword wound, Simon asks, "So, who exactly was it that you managed to alienate today?"

Mal's mouth quirks – really, the man is far too smug for his own good, some days – and says, "You'll like this one. Almost has a poetical ring to his name. Atherton Wing."

Simon manages not to twitch with surprise, he manages to keep his hands steady, to make a neat, tiny stitch. He pretends to listen as Mal goes on about how maybe making nice with Badger makes up for the cut in his side.

He doesn't say that he once knew Atherton Wing.

*

Days later – en route to a planet that is ridiculously far away – Simon walks through corridors redolent with cow. He's almost getting used to the smell, which is perhaps more disconcerting than the scent itself. He finds himself drawn to Inara's shuttle, knocking on the door.

"Hello, Simon," she says, smiling.

"I thought perhaps I could visit. And also, that your shuttle might smell better than the rest of the ship."

Her laugh is light, pretty, and she draws Simon inside.

Over tea – fragrant, hot, and elegant – he eventually says what he came to say. "I believe Atherton Wing has been removed from the Companion Registry, correct?"

Her expression barely changes, and Simon is – once again – impressed by her control. "Yes, he has been," she says as she pours herself another cup of tea.

"Therefore, you are allowed to talk about him?"

This time, Inara just looks disgusted. "If I had anything to say, perhaps."

"Hmm." He's not quite sure how to start, but direct seems to work out here, even with someone like Inara. "I knew him, you know. Once."

"Really?"

"Yes. We went to the same MedAcad."

Now she laughs. "MedAcad. Atherton Wing."

"Well, he didn't make it past the first year." He really had been an appalling student. "I doubt he advertises his brief attempt at being a useful member of society." He leans closer, because part of him just has to know, and part of him wants to share something from his past, something about who he once was, and how he once spent his free time. It's puerile, but he can't help himself. And he certainly can't tell Mal, no matter how much Mal might be amused. "Tell me. Did you find that he was still so attached to spanking?"

Inara looks momentarily shocked, and Simon almost congratulates himself.

*

Simon remembers Atherton Wing well. He remembers Atherton's charm, the way he lured friends and enemies alike. He remembers Atherton's terrible performance in classes, and his endless insistence that he still be the one asked to demonstrate, to answer, to prove.

Between classes, he'd demonstrate swordplay, garnering awe from boys who had never even seen a sword. "It's necessary on Persephone," he would say, painting a picture of a rough border world, a world that required men far tougher than could ever be found on Osiris.

Like the rest of them, Simon had been drawn to Atherton, to his bright, sharp smiles and his tales of life on a planet that was practically the Rim. And it seemed natural that someone from a backwater like Persephone would enjoy actions that were never discussed in polite Osiris society. Simon doesn't quite remember how it began. He just remembers their sessions together, snatched between classes or after meals.

"Harder," Atherton would grate out, his bare ass already faintly red. And Simon would oblige, spanking harder, listening to the slap of his hand against flesh. After, he'd rearrange Atherton's limp, relaxed body. He'd position himself between toned, strong legs, and he'd fuck Atherton, listening to him grunt out, "Harder," this time in a different, more desperate tone of voice.

All in all, it had been a good distraction from the rigours of the curriculum, even if Atherton had eventually become increasingly demanding of his time and attention. He'd always wanted more than Simon had been will to give - more of Simon's time, more of Simon's attention.

In the end, Simon hadn't felt much of a loss when Atherton had been expelled from the Academy. It hadn't been a surprise – it had been coming for months.

Still, when things at the MedAcad started to get tougher, when there was endless work and exams and patients and nurses and late nights, maybe then he missed Atherton, missed the stress relief, the familiar feel of hot, flushed skin under his hand.

He'd sometimes entertained the idea of going to a Companion, seeking out someone who would be able to see what Simon wanted, and be willing to acquiesce.

But the thought had ultimately been unappealing. Paying for it – negotiating for it – wouldn't have been the same thing.

*

It only takes Inara a few moments to compose herself, to cover her shock with a mask of professionalism. Simon wonders what she thinks in those silent moments, if she's as shocked by the image of Simon's raised hand as she is by the thought of Atherton's unspoken wants.

Eventually, she says, "Atherton never expressed a desire for such pursuits. I must say, I would have been surprised if he had. He did not strike me as someone to hand over control."

Simon smiles, nostalgic and slightly bitter. He sets his teacup down and stands slowly, shaking the heaviness out of his limbs. "Perhaps he just needed the right hand."

End.




	Home Archives August 2007 Firefly Fic: Flushed (Simon/Atherton Wing, Inara, PG-13) [Previous entry: "Firefly Fic: Miles From Where You Are (Inara, Mal, Crew, PG-13)"] [Next entry: "Firefly Fic: Servants of Voyagers (R)"] 08/26/2007: "Firefly Fic: Flushed (Simon/Atherton Wing, Inara, PG-13)" Title: Flushed Pairing/Characters: Simon/Atherton Wing, Inara Rating: PG-13 Summary: He doesn't say that he once knew Atherton Wing. Notes: I found this while looking in my unfinished fic folder, and cleaned up and finished it. Spanking. I think the idea might have come out of a chat with valiant. EDIT: Yes, it totally did come out of a chat with valiant. After, when Mal finally lets Simon look at the sword wound, Simon asks, "So, who exactly was it that you managed to alienate today?" Mal's mouth quirks – really, the man is far too smug for his own good, some days – and says, "You'll like this one. Almost has a poetical ring to his name. Atherton Wing." Simon manages not to twitch with surprise, he manages to keep his hands steady, to make a neat, tiny stitch. He pretends to listen as Mal goes on about how maybe making nice with Badger makes up for the cut in his side. He doesn't say that he once knew Atherton Wing. * Days later – en route to a planet that is ridiculously far away – Simon walks through corridors redolent with cow. He's almost getting used to the smell, which is perhaps more disconcerting than the scent itself. He finds himself drawn to Inara's shuttle, knocking on the door. "Hello, Simon," she says, smiling. "I thought perhaps I could visit. And also, that your shuttle might smell better than the rest of the ship." Her laugh is light, pretty, and she draws Simon inside. Over tea – fragrant, hot, and elegant – he eventually says what he came to say. "I believe Atherton Wing has been removed from the Companion Registry, correct?" Her expression barely changes, and Simon is – once again – impressed by her control. "Yes, he has been," she says as she pours herself another cup of tea. "Therefore, you are allowed to talk about him?" This time, Inara just looks disgusted. "If I had anything to say, perhaps." "Hmm." He's not quite sure how to start, but direct seems to work out here, even with someone like Inara. "I knew him, you know. Once." "Really?" "Yes. We went to the same MedAcad." Now she laughs. "MedAcad. Atherton Wing." "Well, he didn't make it past the first year." He really had been an appalling student. "I doubt he advertises his brief attempt at being a useful member of society." He leans closer, because part of him just has to know, and part of him wants to share something from his past, something about who he once was, and how he once spent his free time. It's puerile, but he can't help himself. And he certainly can't tell Mal, no matter how much Mal might be amused. "Tell me. Did you find that he was still so attached to spanking?" Inara looks momentarily shocked, and Simon almost congratulates himself. * Simon remembers Atherton Wing well. He remembers Atherton's charm, the way he lured friends and enemies alike. He remembers Atherton's terrible performance in classes, and his endless insistence that he still be the one asked to demonstrate, to answer, to prove. Between classes, he'd demonstrate swordplay, garnering awe from boys who had never even seen a sword. "It's necessary on Persephone," he would say, painting a picture of a rough border world, a world that required men far tougher than could ever be found on Osiris. Like the rest of them, Simon had been drawn to Atherton, to his bright, sharp smiles and his tales of life on a planet that was practically the Rim. And it seemed natural that someone from a backwater like Persephone would enjoy actions that were never discussed in polite Osiris society. Simon doesn't quite remember how it began. He just remembers their sessions together, snatched between classes or after meals. "Harder," Atherton would grate out, his bare ass already faintly red. And Simon would oblige, spanking harder, listening to the slap of his hand against flesh. After, he'd rearrange Atherton's limp, relaxed body. He'd position himself between toned, strong legs, and he'd fuck Atherton, listening to him grunt out, "Harder," this time in a different, more desperate tone of voice. All in all, it had been a good distraction from the rigours of the curriculum, even if Atherton had eventually become increasingly demanding of his time and attention. He'd always wanted more than Simon had been will to give - more of Simon's time, more of Simon's attention. In the end, Simon hadn't felt much of a loss when Atherton had been expelled from the Academy. It hadn't been a surprise – it had been coming for months. Still, when things at the MedAcad started to get tougher, when there was endless work and exams and patients and nurses and late nights, maybe then he missed Atherton, missed the stress relief, the familiar feel of hot, flushed skin under his hand. He'd sometimes entertained the idea of going to a Companion, seeking out someone who would be able to see what Simon wanted, and be willing to acquiesce. But the thought had ultimately been unappealing. Paying for it – negotiating for it – wouldn't have been the same thing. * It only takes Inara a few moments to compose herself, to cover her shock with a mask of professionalism. Simon wonders what she thinks in those silent moments, if she's as shocked by the image of Simon's raised hand as she is by the thought of Atherton's unspoken wants. Eventually, she says, "Atherton never expressed a desire for such pursuits. I must say, I would have been surprised if he had. He did not strike me as someone to hand over control." Simon smiles, nostalgic and slightly bitter. He sets his teacup down and stands slowly, shaking the heaviness out of his limbs. "Perhaps he just needed the right hand." End.