Written for comment_fic on Livejournal, a multi-fandom prompt community called "Comment_fic: Bite Sized bits of Fic," where you can request fic from any fandom.
Prompt was Mal/Eliot, Eliot escaped from an Academy-like place
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They all have their guns pulled as Mal slowly opens the box. The box that was supposed to be an easy delivery.
And it was easy. Until the box started knocking from the inside.
A man falls out. He's naked and shivering and face down on the floor as Jayne and Zoe step forward, aiming their guns at his head just in case.
But then the man looks up, lifting his head full of blond hair just a couple of inches. And though he is all muscle, Mal can tell just this motion is a torture to him.
And Mal sees his eyes. Bright blue, moist, desperate. The eyes of someone trying to appear brave even when he's been broken ten times over.
Mal knows that look.
He ignores Zoe's concerned "Sir," and kneels down in front of the man, who has found the strength to make the clearly agonizing move of rolling over. He tries to get up onto one elbow, but it is too much for him. Mal tries to help him but then those eyes again. Telling Mal to let him sit up on his own, not because of fear or hostility, but because this is what he needs to do. Mal could see: the man's soul _needed_ to claim its body back. He wasn't just trying to sit up. He was fighting the Alliance for his body.
But as Mal already knew, sometimes the Alliance just wins. The blond man had gotten onto an elbow, had rolled up onto his side. He body looked almost leisurely, tan and muscled and strong-seeming as he stretched out in front of a still-kneeling Mal. But when the man tried to push with his arms and feet against the floor, tried to go right from lying to standing, he almost looked like he was about to will a miracle before he just collapsed with a groan.
Mal caught him. He was heavy for a man his height, and was once sturdy, Mal could tell. His arms held tight around the man's waist, Mal's shoulder holding up the man's upper body. Mal tried not to notice the feel of the man's skin on him, the closeness of his naked body, or the gentle brush of the man's long hair across Mal's neck.
But once, again, he couldn't help but notice the eyes. They told Mal what the man's voice could not.
And Mal knew how to answer. "I'm not going to give you back to them," he told the man, "You will never have to go back to them, I promise you."
And there was recognition in the man's eyes. Belief replacing doubt. And Mal felt the weight of his body rest just a little heavier on him, and he realized that the man was finally willing to let Mal carry him.