Afterglow

Mal had expected their night in the hotel to be relegated to the category of 'brief fairy tale moments lighting the history of his and Simon's relationship', but he'd hoped for a little more afterglow. They weren't more than two minutes on board Serenity before it came out that Inara had been beaten senseless by an ex-client. The Guild was handling the legal side of things, but it came to Simon to minister to Inara's injuries 24/7. Mal's blood boiled, ready to find the hun dan who did it and shoot him between the eyes, but both Inara and Simon begged him off. It wasn't until River explained to him exactly what "the Guild looks after their own" meant that Mal was convinced the yu ben de ex-client had worse enemies than him. It also made Mal glad that he had never truly crossed Inara because a black mark from the Guild was apparently much more sinister than citations on a commercial license.

Their job went relatively well, until the release of a very fast (but not too bright) long horn bull. Both Jayne and Mal got scraped up a bit from that, and getting stitched was pretty much the last contact Mal had had with Simon all week. Five minutes after take-off, their employer changed the drop location, and in order to make the drop before the goods spoiled, they had to pass through twelve different Alliance checkpoints. That meant the fake ledgers needed to be reconciled to their current inventory, and at some point, certain inventory needed to be manufactured. Sleep was rare, but whenever he passed out working, he tended to wake up with a blanket over his shoulders and the scent of Simon's cologne in the room. Meals consisted of whatever snack Simon handed him as he darted through the galley on his way somewhere else.

Life was hectic and more so than normal, so Mal couldn't helped being surprised when he ran through the galley one night and saw the entire crew sitting around the table eating together. It had been awhile since they'd done that. Too long. And if that sight hadn't hooked him, then the smell of what they were eating would've. It was not only deliciously captivating, but it struck a pleasant chord in his memory as well. Mal backtracked to the table, coming to stand behind Simon, placing his hands on his shoulders. He was surprised at the tension rippling just under the surface of Simon's silky blue vest.

"Something smells fine," Mal moaned, leaning down to eat the spoon full of goulash that Simon held out for him. Simon had a way of making Mal forget anyone else was watching them. The food hit his tongue and Mal nearly wept at the savory pleasure. If he hadn't stocked the food cabinets himself, he would've sworn there were fresh vegetables in it.

"Simon found one of the Shepherd's old recipes," Kaylee explained cheerfully. "Are you joining us?"

"Not 'til we pass the next checkpoint," Mal answered, squeezing Simon's shoulders. "Save me a plate."

Simon snapped his fingers, dabbing his napkin at his mouth to cover the fact that he was choking down a mouthful of bread. "No. You. Sit. Now," he said sternly. "Don't make me pull rank."

"What rank?" Jayne carped.

"Doctor trumps Captain in medical situations," Zoë answered swiftly. Mal's mind was elsewhere already, locking onto his first mate, seeing only that she wasn't busy.

"Zoë, let's get to the cargo bay and fabricate ourselves an inventory."

"Can't, sir." Zoë calmly focused on her food.

"Can't?"

Zoë looked at him squarely. "Doctor's orders."

Mal's jaw flapped a little, looking from Zoë to Simon. Simon had that look of infinite patience, and when he spoke, it was with the gentleness of a lover, not the strictness of a doctor. "Would it kill you to stop for ten minutes and eat with us?"

Again Mal surveyed the group. River and Kaylee had turned on their pleading puppy eyes, and Jayne watched with more interest than seemed right. On Zoë's face, he could read their entire debate, as well as the final advice – give them this.

"Suppose ten minutes …" Mal mumbled, pulling up a seat next to Simon as River prepared a plate for him.

Jayne chortled, "Hoo, boy, somebody's whipped."

Mal rose threateningly from his chair, surprised when Simon didn't even try to hold him back. It was Kaylee who gripped Mal's arm and waved dismissively at Jayne.

"Don't pay him no mind, Captain," she said, looking sternly at Jayne. "Ain't like it's news."

River snickered against her knuckles, and others joined her.

"And you wonder why I don't eat with you."

His mouth already watering, Mal picked up his spoon and ravenously dug into the goulash. The conversation resumed and Mal listened, letting the familiar banter soothe his mind. Simon was picking half-heartedly at the food, shifting it to the edge of his plate so it would look like he was eating. He was listening as well, laughing at all the right cues, throwing back his retorts, but not engaging. Mal switched his spoon to his left hand, then reached under the table with his right and placed his hand on Simon's thigh, waiting. He wondered if he was crazy or if Simon really did flinch at his touch. Simon took Mal's hand, giving it a firm squeeze, then letting their fingers lace. His hands were cold and clammy.

Blaring sirens sounded in Mal's heart, and he stole a glance at Simon who flashed him a tight-lipped smile. Flying on love, Mal lifted their joint hands to his lips, kissed each one of Simon's finger tips, then set their hands down right on the tabletop between their plates for everyone to see. It was one of those public display milestones for Mal, and it managed to melt the fake smile off Simon's face so that a real one could get through.

I love you, Simon mouthed, squeezing Mal's hand appreciatively. Ten minutes turned into forty-five, and Mal started to remember why he'd always insisted on sit-down meals with his makeshift family. It was River who finally stood up and broke the fairy-tale aura.

"Thirty minutes to the checkpoint," she informed, standing and clearing the dishes from the table.

"Get to the bridge and slow our approach," Mal ordered, breaking into Captain mode. He turned to Simon. The fact that half of River's medicines were not Alliance approved for human use had turned up troublesome and costly at their last inspection. "The medical inventory?"

"Audit safe," Simon answered. "The new ledger is right by the door. Just don't swallow anything marked 'cold medicine.'"

"Zo –"

"Time to make cargo out of spare parts," she finished, standing.

Simon stood to leave, but Mal tugged his hand.

"Hey," Mal whispered softly, knowing only that he did not want to let go. The warning in his heart had silenced, but he yearned for connection.

"I need check on Inara."

"Be sure to bring her a plate of this," Mal said, tipping his head toward the table. "It's good food, Simon."

"Thanks."

Mal waited, but couldn't out-wait Simon.

"Mind if I kiss the chef?"

Simon considered Mal a fraction of a moment longer, then his whole body relaxed and he leaned in to plant a kiss on Mal's lips. Come to think of it, Mal was pretty sure the crew had never seen him and Simon kiss before – at least not intentionally in front of the whole lot of them. It was just a quick kiss, slightly longer than a peck, but not much more complicated. Still, it held all the peace and contentment that connected Mal to Simon and made their world unique. When he pulled back, Simon held Mal's hand just a little longer, and their eyes locked in a world filled only with their love. Again, the tension drained from Simon's body and he smiled whole-heartedly at Mal.

Simon went to his work and Mal stood to follow Zoë to the cargo bay.

"You're doin' dishes," he heard Jayne tell Kaylee as he walked out.

"No way!" Kaylee cried. "A bet's a bet. You saw them kiss."

"There was no tongue!" Jayne retorted.

Mal laughed and ignored them.

#

Two nights later, Mal was making his final rounds of the ship when he heard Simon cry out. The sound was muffled and ambiguous, but Simon had been so tense of late that it made him worry. He wondered why Simon was even up at this hour, but was secretly grateful for the excuse to drop by. His heart twisted at the whimpered moans leaking through Simon's door, and he knocked with gentle urgency. The cries silenced, but then there was nothing. He knocked again.

"Just a minute," came Simon's strained reply.

"Simon, it's me," Mal answered. Before he even finished the words, the door flew open and Simon leapt into his arms. The force nearly toppled Mal and he stumbled backwards, one hand holding Simon, the other reaching back to stabilize himself against the wall. Simon's body plastered to him, his arms wrapped tightly around Mal's neck, his face buried in his shoulder, his legs around Mal's waist. His skin was coated with sweat and his cock hard as steel pressed against Mal's stomach. He wore only loose gray sweat pants that provided little traction as Mal tried to hold him up. It was almost surreal how small and light he felt, trembling in Mal's arms, seeming for all the worlds like he was trying to dissolve right through Mal's skin and take shelter inside of him.

"Hey, Simon, hey," Mal soothed as soon as he had breath enough to speak.

"Please," Simon hissed, his muscles quivering with tension.

Mal carried Simon back into the room, but the place was a wreck. The bed was tipped sideways, the mattress askew. All of the trinkets on the bureau were rattled and a few looked broken and shattered. There were two spent needles by the far wall and a smeared, bloody handprint next to a broken clock. Mal pulled back to look at Simon's face, but Simon had hooked his chin around Mal's shoulder and so he couldn't see more than an ear. Simon's cock throbbed against him, and Mal wondered if he was in pain.

"Talk to me, Simon," Mal pleaded softly, but Simon didn't. Mal rocked on his feet, unsure of what to do next, knowing Simon was revealing a part of himself he'd much rather keep hidden. Leaving the room in disarray, Mal carried Simon to the Infirmary, and tried setting him on the bed there, but Simon held tight.

"Simon, let go," Mal urged gently.

An anguished cry surged through Simon's body, filling the air with the heart-wrenching shriek of suffering, and Simon's bones turned to jelly. A few seconds later, Mal felt a warm, damp stain growing on the front of his shirt and Simon's cock softened, though his arms and legs constricted around Mal.

"Not what I meant," Mal joked softly. He reached behind his shoulder, feeling for Simon's hand. It was trembling and slick blood.

Simon hissed. "It's just a scratch," he said, his voice muffled by Mal's skin.

"Can I see?"

Simon shook his head.

"The needles?"

"Sedative."

"Don't seem to be working."

Simon gripped him more tightly, and Mal felt a tear splash against his neck. "I just want to sleep."

"Come on," Mal grunted, lifting Simon again, this time feeling more of his weight. He carried Simon to the couch in the common area and sat down, reclining as best he could with Simon wrapped around him. After a few minutes of shifting, he finally sat sideways on the couch, using a pillow to cushion his back so he didn't crush Simon's feet as the leaned against the armrest.

The wet stain on Mal's shirt became cool and uncomfortable, but it was a small price to pay for the privilege of holding Simon through this moment. If it had been anyone else at the door, Simon would have taken that minute, found his composure, and buried the hurt again. Mal felt his collar dampen with Simon's tears, and his heart quivered and dissolved into pain. For nearly an hour, they sat without moving, Mal holding Simon, neither man talking nor wanting to talk. Then Simon closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Finally able to move, Mal carefully disentangled himself, and examined the cut on Simon's hand. It was deeper than a scratch, jagged across the palm, but nothing that would scar. He went into the Infirmary, got some supplies to clean and bandage the cut, and ministered gently to the wound. Next he went to Simon's room, ignored the mess, and found a fresh pair of pajamas for him. He looked at the two needles on the floor and found the wrapper clearly marking them as sedatives, but Simon's warning about mislabeled 'cold medicines' rang in his mind. Simon wouldn't try anyth – he'd ask for help, right? His heart quickening, Mal returned to Simon, but Simon slept numbly, the drugs having temporarily freed him from nightmares.

After redressing Simon and covering him with a blanket, Mal finished his work around the ship, then returned to his bunk and changed into loose gray pants and an old t-shirt. When he returned to the lounge, Simon no longer looked sedated. His body was tense, perspiring, and trapped in nightmare. Mal knelt quickly by his face, whispering soothes that medicines could not give, stroking Simon's hair, brushing his lips against Simon's skin. With a jerk, Simon awoke, his blue eyes screaming, though his voice was a whisper.

"Mal."

"I'm here," Mal assured, finding Simon's hand and holding it.

A dozen emotions played across Simon's face, mixing in such a way that Mal couldn't read any. Finally, Simon rolled on his side and lifted the blanket. Mal nestled under, trying to figure out how to lie down without rolling off the side of the couch. Simon pressed him flat on his back and levered himself so he was lying on top of Mal. His cheek rested on Mal's chest, and Mal could feel the tickle of his eyelashes when he blinked and the twist of his mouth as he thought.

Shifting and settling into the old, worn couch, Mal pulled the blanket over them both, then left his fingers to gently stroke Simon's smooth skin. Simon's breathing settled, and his fingers tapped unconsciously on Mal's chest.

"Are you comfortable?" Simon murmured tiredly after several minutes.

"I'm fine. Go to sleep, Simon."

"I am asleep."

"Me too."

#

Morning found Mal cramped and aching from sleeping on the small couch. His spine protested the lack of support, and he was pretty sure that was a gun jutting from under the cushion. Small caliber. Probably one of River's hide-and-seek games as she was so fond of starting with Jayne. Mal sighed. At least she'd stopped hiding things in the trash jettison.

Simon's body was molded pleasantly to Mal's, his musk a welcome morning fragrance. As he slept, he radiated peace, and his lips curved into a gentle smile. Mal shivered at the memory of the blood-curdling, guttural cry that had escaped Simon's lips last night. It was a tortured sound he hadn't heard since Serenity Valley. So many questions he had for Simon. So much, he wasn't sure –

"Hey, didn't I get in trouble for this kind of public display," Kaylee teased, skipping lightly down the stairs. Mal craned his neck to look at her, noting by the smudges on her face that she'd probably been up for hours already. Simon stayed molded to him, pliable as a blanket, fast asleep.

"Morning, Kaylee."

"I'm detecting a double-standard here." She folded her arms in a mock scold, but then bent over the couch and kissed his cheek lightly.

"It's not a double-standard. Simon here cut his hand and I nearly had to amputate." Mal held up Simon's injured hand to illustrate.

Kaylee knelt on the floor next to them, stroking Simon's face endearingly. It felt weird watching her be so tender with Simon, and there was a small twinge of jealousy tugging at Mal's mind. But Simon's burdens were too much for one man to carry, or even two men, so another part of him was relieved he wasn't the only one around who loved Simon dearly.

"Them nightmares coming back?"

Mal looked between Kaylee and Simon and shrugged. "We haven't shared a bed often enough for me to know. I'm hoping he'll talk."

"He gets so riled," Kaylee reflected. "I imagine it's all the fighting he wanted to do then and couldn't."

"Did he tell you what happened?"

Kaylee shook her head, her face scrunching with sadness. "Never a word. I found out it was a man, though. I didn't even suspect him sly before that, but after … a lot of things started making sense. He said he swore off menfolk. And then we broke up and I figured he swore off women too because it just brings it all back."

Mal nodded, his lips twitching.

"I'm really glad you two got together," Kaylee continued in a whisper, looking at Mal, the glisten of an unshed tear in her eye.

"He's hurt deep," Mal acknowledged.

"But healing nice," Kaylee said quickly, wiping her eyes and sniffling. "Look at him smiling on you. He never slept so peaceful next to me. I'm jealous of that."

Mal reached out and caught Kaylee's hand as she brushed Simon's lips. "He treated you good, though, right?"

"Never did anything deliberately hurtful," Kaylee answered, leaning back. "But remember that black eye I got and Jayne teased us merciless for a month about rough sex…"

"Mei mei," Mal breathed, horror flashing across his eyes. "He hit you?"

"No, he was just throwing things." Kaylee chuckled, then her face went wistful again. Mal looked sternly at her, not believing.

"It's true," she insisted. "I took an alarm clock right to the face."

Mal nodded slowly. "He does like the small appliances for throwing."

They sat together in sad, reflective silence, both of them watching as Simon slept peacefully, his head rising and falling to the rhythm of Mal's breathing.

"Were you looking for me?" Mal asked Kaylee.

"Simon actually." She held up her calf which was red and burned. "I kinda need a doctor."

"Good luck with that," Mal remarked, shifting slightly. "We haven't woken him up yet –"

With a devious smile, Kaylee stuck a finger in her mouth, then wriggled it in Simon's ear. Simon jerked awake, swatting, and laughing Kaylee's name before even opening his eyes. Both Mal and Kaylee smiled broadly, glad to see him wake in such high spirits. The demons of the night before had vanished. Simon gave Mal a quick kiss, and then rolled off the couch to treat Kaylee. Mal watched him briefly through the window, laughing and talking like he wasn't hurting at all.

#

They spent the day dirtside, and Mal made sure part of the take went to buying some fresh food for supper. Their employer gave a generous bonus on account of their Alliance troubles and even had another job waiting, since Serenity now had a reputation for speed. When he was picking up supplies, Mal had also bought a few cheap clocks, seeing as Simon seemed fond of breaking them. He wasn't quite sure if he should tell Simon about the stash and give the lot to him as a joke, or just store them up for when he needed them. Serenity was off the ground again by sunset and Jayne surprised them all at dinner with a dish he called "Drunken Apple Pork Chops."

Mal spent the evening in the cargo bay, sorting and storing their new payload, and all the fresh supplies he'd bought. Inara was doing better – steady on her feet at least; though she was so pale and drawn, she looked like a ghost of herself. Simon stood next to her on the catwalk, and their voices drifted pleasantly into the cargo bay as Mal worked. After a few hours, Simon bid Inara goodnight and came down the stairs to help Mal, who by that point was shifting and reorganizing more than anything else. Simon peeked into the box of items meant to be taken to the upstairs supply closet and noticed the stash of clocks immediately. Mals' heart sank, disappointed that he'd lost the element of surprise, but as the blood drained from Simon's face, he feared he'd made a much worse mistake than he realized.

"What is this?"

"Since you like breaking 'em," Mal answered lamely. "Thought I should…"

Simon sank slowly on the last stair and stared, moon-eyed into the box. He picked up one of the clocks and turned it over in his hand.

"I didn't mean…" Mal began, reaching out to take the clock from Simon. Suddenly, Simon's face screwed up and with a pained bellow, he hurled the clock at the wall. Then he picked up the next, and the next. When he'd chucked them all, he darted across the room to where they fell and pitched them all again, at the ground and at the bulkheads. He found a pair of heavy-duty lock cutters hanging on the wall and began pounding mercilessly at the clocks, one after the other until they shattered. Mal watched, horrified. He'd meant them as a joke, not as therapy … or torture.

The last clock proved unnaturally durable and when it did not crack, Simon fell next to it, his body writhing. His wrists were clasped over his hands in imaginary bonds, his bulging eyes mere inches from the offending clock.

"Mal," he sobbed, his voice pleading and vexed.

Mal fell to his knees beside Simon, pushing the clock aside. He pulled Simon's wrists apart, freeing him from the confining memory. Simon lurched toward him knocking him flat backward, and then climbed onto his body clinging to his torso like a drowning man to a life raft. Mal closed his eyes to his own guilt and held on too. When Simon's breathing calmed, Mal wriggled sideways and sat up again. Simon's head rested on his lap, and he inhaled raggedy breaths. Mal bent his body protectively over Simon's, murmuring in his ear, repeating the same words over and over like an incantation.

"I love you, Simon. I love you. I do. I love you, Simon. I love you. I do."

After a long mixture of shudders and sighs, Simon's breathing steadied and his finger traced circles over Mal's knees. Mal glided his hand soothingly through Simon's hair.

"It was all part of it, you know." Simon's words were matter-of-fact and bitter – the way Mal often spoke of the Alliance. "The belt on my hands. The clock by my face, counting every minute of it."

Mal inhaled sharply, not even wanting the vague details.

"Every second," Simon continued, his anger and bitterness slicing the air.

Cries for vengeance screamed through Mal's mind. Would Simon ever give him a name, or would he just have to kill everyone? He looked at Simon's face, but Simon's eyes were shifting thoughtfully.

"This was a bad idea. Us. Sleeping together."

Mal bit back his pleas for Simon to reconsider. It was often a bad idea to try and influence one of Simon's thought trains. Always better to wait things out.

"Every night, the memory floods back and I wake up …" Simon shuddered; "hurting… I've tried… nothing works! I'm better alone."

Angry tears fell from Simon's eye as he fisted Mal's clothes and clawed fruitlessly at his own frustration. Mal tried to listen, but he could only think of what Kaylee had told him that morning – she was jealous of how peacefully Simon slept next to him. In all of the eight times Mal remembered waking up next to Simon, it had never been otherwise. When morning came, Simon hovered in sleep, radiating peace.

"Simon, maybe the mistake isn't us sleeping together. Maybe the mistake is … not."

Simon lifted his head and looked at Mal, perplexed.

"I know we've been going at this whole physical relationship slow as snails, but I love waking up with you spread over me like a blanket. It's only ever a picture of peace when you do."

Simon looked desperately hopeful for a moment, but then his face twisted into a grimace, like he resented being dependent on Mal for anything.

"I remember the hurt," Simon whimpered softly. "But I barely remember what it felt like – with you."

Mal smiled sympathetically. "How about we clean this mess up and then maybe I can jog your memory? What do you say? Will you stay the night with me?"

Simon nodded slowly, then rolled on his back and laid his head on Mal's lap again. Mal looked up too, like they were star gazing, but all he noticed was a loose panel near the ceiling.

"I'll come tonight," Simon said softly. "I want to come." Mal did not miss his meaning. Giving one last glance to the mess in the bay, he decided it could wait, and flashed a smile at Simon, his toes already wriggling excitedly in his boots.

"My bunk?"

#

Simon was battle weary, and when they got to Mal's bunk, they just stood at the base of the ladder for several minutes and embraced each other.

"Been a long week," Mal commented. "I feel like I've hardly seen you."

Simon nodded against his chest.

"I worried about you, though. I saw you hurting and didn't know if I could help."

Simon squeezed him gently. Mal shifted uncertainly.

"Can I help?" Mal asked, pulling back to look at Simon.

"Kiss me."

Mal smiled and kissed Simon softly. Simon's lips parted, his tongue gently brushing against Mal's skin. It was the afterglow of the fairy tale. Simon's hands cradled his chin, then melted down the front of his body, dragging across the fabric of his shirt. Then Simon took Mal's hands and placed them on his face.

"Kiss here," Simon whispered, guiding Mal's fingers across his jaw line to the point of his chin. Mal cradled Simon's face, following the path he'd been directed, alternating between gentle kisses and long sweeps of his tongue. Simon always laughed when Mal dragged his tongue across his skin.

"Kiss here." Simon took Mal's hands and guided them down his neck across his collar bone. When had he unbuttoned his shirt? Mal didn't know and didn't rightly care. He tilted Simon's head in his hands, kissed down one side, then across Simon's collarbone, sliding Simon's shirt and vest off his shoulders as he went. While his lips moved, his feet directed Simon toward the bed. Simon sank down on the mattress, catching himself with his elbows.

"No shoes on the bed," Mal chastised lightly, tugging off Simon's shoes, and then his own. Then without acknowledging the action with words, Mal removed their belts as well, and shoved his alarm clock on his nightstand into a drawer. With a breath of anticipation, he melted over Simon, plundering his mouth, letting their tongues explore and play against each other. Simon bent one leg, rubbing his thigh against Mal's erection and Mal broke the kiss to groan.

"Here," Simon breathed, tracing an 'S' across his chest. Mal painted over the path with his tongue, reveling at the laughter rippling through Simon's arching torso. Mal caught up with Simon's fingers and nipped playfully, waiting for the next order.

"Now rest," Simon sighed, mirthfully. "Rest."

Was Simon asking him to stop? No, couldn't be. Somehow, whilst Mal's tongue was otherwise occupied, Simon had managed to unbutton his shirt and his hands were squeezing and pinching against Mal's nipples. Mal sat back, shivering as Simon flicked the shirt off his shoulders and let it fall to the bed. His stomach fluttered as Simon gazed at him, and his skin tingled where Simon's fingers ghosted across his battle-scarred skin. His body in a twitter, Mal captured Simon's hand and pressed it flat against his heart. Their eyes locked.

"You can touch me, you know."

Simon smiled, and raked his fingers across Mal's skin with only slightly more pressure than before. "You're beautiful. Have I ever told you?"

Mal smiled with pure joy. "Tell me more."

"The way you smile from your heart. It shines in your eyes even if when it doesn't make it to your face."

Mal felt a tug at the waistband of his boxers and realized that Simon had unbuttoned his pants while he spoke. He pumped Mal mercilessly through the fabric until Mal's underwear was damp with pre-cum. Simon's hands cupped Mal with quivering pleasure and pushed the remaining garment to Mal's knees, his fingers putting delightful pressure on Mal's skin. Not one to leave a hard cock wanting, Simon jerked Mal off quickly, pulling Mal's body on top of him so that Mal came all over their stomachs. It was too brief, but still glorious.

Simon used Mal's shirt to mop the semen off their bodies, then shifted to finish undressing Mal. Mal rose to his knees as Simon slid the clothes down, and in losing his pants, he stumbled off of the narrow bed and fell onto the floor. They shared the laugh and Simon flopped on the bed, fingering a bunch of papers Mal had tacked on the wall.

"I've never been in your bunk before."

"You're at an odd angle for critiquing the décor, but I think you got the best view," Mal joked, regaining his feet, and climbing on top of Simon. He liked being naked, even if Simon wasn't looking.

"What is all this?" Simon asked, still gazing at the wall.

Resigning himself to Simon's curiosity, Mal snuggled onto Simon's shoulder and let his lover explore. Simon would no doubt recognize everyone's handwriting. There were a few birthday cards from Kaylee, a letter Inara sent him from the Training House, a petition Wash tried getting the crew to sign demanding higher hot water rations in the shower. He could still hear Wash's voice in heated debate on the issue, trivial as it was. Tacked next to that was a recipe entitled 'Protein Surprise' that Book had written out with the word 'rosemary' thrice underlined. Next to Kaylee's birthday card from last year was a shopping list in Jayne's block letter scrawl – mostly ammo, but at the bottom in Kaylee's curly script were the words 'water balloons.' Kaylee and Simon had planned Mal a party that year, which began with the crew dousing him from the catwalk. It was a huge mess, but worth every hour of clean-up. Tucked in the back were letters from some war friends, including one from Zoë dated just after the war saying she'd put 5% in on a spaceship. There was a limerick River had composed in protest of molded protein and the empty bag of marshmallows he'd saved from his and Simon's first date.

Simon reached up and fingered a poem he'd written for Mal a few months into their courtship entitled 'Road kill makes me think of you: a very bad sonnet'. It was Simon's mockery of a love letter, filled with sarcasm and underhanded insults. He'd written after being awake two days straight caring for River when she was sick. The girl had gotten a strange brain fever that left her delusional, but it took forever to diagnose because Simon was so accustomed to her imaginative games.

"That's my poem," Simon mused and Mal laughed. "My incredibly unromantic…"

"It has your voice," Mal shrugged. "I had all this in a box before but I … Kinda wearing my heart on my sleeve, ain't I?"

"The smell was savory as your morning tongue / though not as pleasant sliding down my throat," Simon read, his eyes crinkling with laughter. "That's… really bad."

"Is it?" Mal challenged, capturing Simon in a kiss, sliding his tongue as deeply down Simon's throat as possible. Simon's arms folded around his neck and he pulled Mal deeper, pressing their bodies together.

"Really good," Simon corrected, moaning and pressing against Mal. "Make me come."

Mal attacked Simon's body with quick little kisses, maneuvering for a better angle. "Requests?"

"Please," Simon begged.

"I will suck you dry."

"Yes," Simon hissed, and Mal started kissing his way down Simon's torso, letting his tongue thrust against Simon's belly button as he worked the buttons of Simon's pants. Simon groaned at the pressure against his swollen parts, and squirmed as Mal kissed across the fabric.

"No," Simon whimpered and Mal stopped immediately. Simon's eyes were pressed shut, and his face was flush.

"Don't go down," Simon gasped and Mal waited again. Finally, a pleasured giggle pulsed down Simon's spine and his hips thrust toward Mal. "Start at my toes and go up."

Mal smiled at the dichotomy that was Simon Tam: on the one hand vulnerable and inexperienced, on the other he knew exactly what he wanted. Simon arched his hips as Mal slowly pulled his trousers down, leaving an imprint of butterfly kisses as his lashes and hot breath tickled the hair of Simon's legs. Once he got to Simon's feet, he discarded the garment, sucked on each of Simon's toes, and used his tongue to paint a line up the inside of the right leg. Simon writhed happily as fire shot through his body, making his cock dance. Mal worked his way up slowly, and paused briefly at Simon's knee, snaking his tongue to tickle the back of it. When he reached the tip of Simon's cock and ran the point of his tongue down the back. He found that sweet spot that made Simon wild and added both hands to his work, one fondling nethers to knees, the other naval to nipples.

"Now," Simon begged, his hands clutching the bed sheets.

Simon, Mal decided, was an intriguing mix of fast and slow sex. The goal of foreplay was not prolonging arousal. For Simon, arousal was quick, frightening, and not to be trifled with. What Simon really wanted, what he longed for, was intimacy. Mal reached up and laced his fingers with Simon's, then took him wholly in his mouth. Simon bucked desperately, but Mal kept pressure on his hips with their joint hands, to keep from being choked. Developing a gentle rhythm, mixing lips, teeth, and tongue, Mal brought Simon to full hardness. The bitter taste of pre-cum coated his tongue and Mal squeezed Simon's hand. Their eyes met briefly and that was all the encouragement Simon needed before he let go.

#

When Mal woke up the next morning, his first resolution was to pull that old double bed out of storage. Zoë had given it to Kaylee, who gave it to Jayne, who slashed it open at some point to hide money in it… or guns. The thing probably had no spring left in it, but it would do until they could afford a new one. Mal's whole left arm was asleep and tingling, and he tried to shift so Simon would mold to his right side instead. Simon could not be convinced to spoon in a bed so small. They'd tried a couple different ways, and eventually Simon felt guilty and stopped protesting, but he was still twitchy as hell. Mal gave in because the whole point of them sharing a bed was to sleep peaceful, and Simon apparently preferred being the 'blanket' to Mal's 'mattress'.

Mal's fingers grazed across Simon's skin as he looked up at the wall with all the papers tacked to it. A hundred memories he treasured for different reasons, and hadn't had the guts to face until Simon. Simon stirred and rolled sideways off of Mal, nearly falling onto the floor but for Mal's arms around him. Moaning contentedly, Simon nestled into the crook of his shoulder.

"Mal," Simon murmured sleepily.

"Mmm?"

"What's the trick?"

"To what?"

"Cock sucking?"

Mal grinned, completely turned on by how dirty, sexy, and yet professionally analytical those words sounded coming out of Simon's mouth. "Put your hands on my hips and hold me down."

Simon lifted his head, looking startled and horrified.

"Come on, Simon. Ain't like it's bondage," Mal laughed easily. "If you don't want to get gagged, you gotta hold me down. If I were having a seizure, you'd hold me down so you could give me a shot."

"That's different."

"What you're giving is good, and if I'm bucking all over and choking you, I miss out. Last night, did you even notice my hands on you?"

"I –"

"Truthful?"

Simon shook his head, then rested against Mal's chest. He'd have to process the information. Mal figured that in a brain as big as his, there was a lot more red tape for thoughts like that to pass through. Simon's fingers pinched lightly against Mal's skin as he pondered, and Mal felt an old, familiar tingling building in his groin. He buried the wants burning through him, knowing Simon wasn't ready.

"Ask me," Simon whispered.

Mal looked down, startled. Simon's innocent, open blue eyes gazed into his, not even knowing what he'd just offered. Mal choked on his own words.

"Well –" he began, then stopped and looked away from Simon.

"It's okay," Simon assured. "Ask me."

Mal took a deep breath, and tried again, avoiding Simon's eyes. "While we're talking so casual about sex, there's something else I want to know if you're open to."

"And that is," Simon prompted.

Mal took another deep breath, but couldn't form the words. So instead, he ran a finger down Simon's spine continuing right between the cheeks of his ass. Simon flinched almost immediately, so Mal pulled his hand away.

"No," Simon stated, his voice low and firm, his eyes downcast.

Squeezing his shoulder lightly, Mal conjured mental buckets of cold water to quench his desire. "Is that a no to bottoming, topping, or a categorical ass embargo against tongue and fingers as well?"

He risked a look, and Simon was just staring at him, scandalized. Not horrified, just appalled, like he'd never heard such words. Mal chuckled and pressed Simon to him, emboldened by the disapproving quirk of his lips.

"Have you ever been on top? 'Cause I'll beg shameless for it if'n…"

Mal trailed off as the disapproval melted from Simon's cheeks and all that was left was uncertainty.

"Simon?"

"I'm not ready."

Pinching his cheek sympathetically, Mal hugged him close. "Didn't ask if you were ready. Just asked if you were open to the idea."

Simon's jaw was tense and shifting, the ideas passing through a hundred checkpoints in his mind. "Well, if you're going to beg," he shrugged sardonically, the strength in his voice clearly forced.

Mal silenced him with a gentle squeeze. "No pressure, Simon. Even if we never – I love you the same."

"I know," Simon nodded, his fingers twitching against Mal's skin. "I… can't … now."

"Alright," Mal agreed, his hand stroking Simon's back. Simon found Mal's hand and held it, then closed his eyes, letting his thoughts churn to the beat of Mal's heart.

"Ask me again … later."

Mal smiled, and squeezed Simon again, tempering hope with patience.

"Did you sleep well?"

"I'm sleeping now."

Mal closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. "Me too."

#

BONUS MATERIAL (a sonnet in authentic Shakespearean form and meter)

Road Kill Makes Me Think of You
a very bad sonnet by Simon Tam
composed just after 3am

I traveled on a road, 'twas lined with dung
A color brown just like your favorite coat
The smell was savory as your morning tongue
Though not as pleasant sliding down my throat

The number one-oh-three bus passed me by
The squish-squish sound of road kill in its wake
Your eyes are like that possum's, blue as sky
Though may your lips, that grimace never make

The possum's gray fur made me think of you
And how I fear you never may grow old
Without you, I'm as flat as road kill too
My eyes are dead, my heart stops and grows cold

Though fraught with dung and road kill, know this true
I'll only travel down this road with you.

#