Jayne
Jayne had been lifting weights for a long time, probably too long without the preacher to spot him, but he needed to let things out, and he needed to let them out now. Gorram girl had saved all their lives, but out of everyone, she hadn't woken him up. Him! Strongest man on the ship, best fighter, most able to take on the bounty hunter, and she'd left him asleep, dealt with it herself, leaving him shamed. 'Had a girl do his fightin', people would say, and 'wasn't aware enough to notice his ship took over, slept through everything'. He was a good merc, he was strong and he noticed things, noticed textures and scents and the way a man's eyes lied when he was about to attack, he could have helped, he could have defended her—them. He admitted it, he felt a little bad about how things happened on Ariel, he almost hadn't called when he'd seen the scans of her poor cut-up brain, when the doc had saved that man's life, when he'd realized how much they'd lost. Almost but not quite, and now he wished he hadn't, Mal had lost all trust in him, something he hadn't even realized he counted on until it was gone. He'd been part of the crew, part of the family and he hadn't even noticed it, hadn't realized how much he appreciated it until he'd lost it. Oh, most of them treated him the same, they didn't know what he'd done, but he knew, and for the first time since leaving home he felt guilt, he wanted to fix things, he didn't know how to apologize for something none of them knew he'd done. Except the girl, who had come direct to him and threatened him. He grinned at the memory, she'd threatened him plain and simple and made sure he knew where his boundaries were, he had to admire a woman who knew how to keep a man in line. She might not be all there, but even in her messed-up head, the parts that had to be were often there now, she knew how to handle him, she knew how to handle knives, what else might she know how to handle… He pushed the weights away from him as though they were his thoughts, and then out of the corner of his eye caught a movement, bright red and white flashing past silently. He sat up, watching River dance.
Crazy as a bedbug, but a pretty thing, even he had to admit she was pretty, and gorram, the way she was dancing as though being seduced by a partner, with her pale skin and dark hair and her long, long legs, legs he could imagine wrapped around him—
"Whatchu doin' girl?" He spoke harshly on purpose, to distract her and stop her oddly sensual dancing, to scare her away, and to remind himself that there was no way he would ever feel her legs around him, he had betrayed her and she had threatened him and they could never be anything more than a girl and a merc on a ship, no connection, nothing.
She stopped as if frozen in place by his words, and stared at him as he put the weights to rest. Those eyes were so impossibly deep, it was as if she saw into his very soul, and he didn't want that, couldn't have it, no girl should know the things he had done, had seen. No girl should know the things he'd thought about her, especially since Ariel, the things he was thinking now as his eyes drifted down the still moving red dress to her legs, those long pale legs… think of something else, anything else, think of the time she cut you, think of the time she said you had a girl's name—
"Jayne's a girl's name. But Jayne ain't a girl." She recited as though it were a poem, with the tiniest of smiles, and he hatedthat she could read his mind like that, but at the same time it was almost a relief, here he didn't have to hide, he didn't have to fight for words, he didn't have to pretend everything was normal. She already knew what he'd done and how bad he felt about it, how much he wanted to make amends. She knew how hurt he was by her leaving him sleeping, and, he thought suddenly, she probably knew other things he didn't even realize. She drifted towards him with that aimless walk of hers, never could be sure where she intended going until she got there, there was always the chance she'd been distracting you from her original goal. He was pretty sure he hadn't done anything specific to make her mad, a man couldn't help what he thought, all men had urges, surely she wouldn't get mad over thinking- and it was flattering thinking, damn if it weren't! He began to look panicked as she drew closer, and then in a hurried, frantic moment he was lost to all thought as she suddenly swung herself up to sit across his lap.
"Um." He swallowed, desperate to form a coherent thought that wouldn't get him killed, almost his entire brain focused on the fact that she was sitting on him, touching him in a way awful close to his imaginings. "You shouldn't be here, girl" he growled, wasn't it enough that there were no other free women on this boat, now he had to be tormented by the one who was off-limits? "Your brother must be lookin' for you." He shifted uncomfortably, he didn't know where to put his hands, the natural place would be around her waist, but Mal'd kill him if he touched her, and he didn't feel too good about it his ownself, he might have thoughts but she was just a little bit of a thing, too young and unworldly for a man like him to sully. He might not be a good man, but he'd never been bad to a woman, professionals only, and even of those, only the ones who had come willingly to the job and to his bed, and he even gussied himself up to impress them. Someday, in the vast empty someday he rarely thought of beyond this job and the next and the next, he might even try to settle down, but even then, he knew he could never hope for such a girl as this one.
River giggled, sounding for a brief moment like a normal girl, "Simon's with Kaylee. They're dancing." Really? They hadn't seemed to be that close recently, both had withdrawn after the Early incident, he honestly couldn't imagine the two of them talking comfortably, let alone picking out some music and spinning around a room in each others' arms.
"Not that kind of dancing silly," and she giggled again, he could feel her body vibrating as she laughed "the other kind. This kind." She shifted again, and wrapped her long legs around his waist and her long arms around his neck, pulling herself so close he forgot to breathe. He flashed fully hard in an instant, his entire being concentrating on the fact that nothing but a few thin layers of fabric separated them, feeling her small breasts press against his chest and her warmth settle down on his hardness. He gasped, unable even to speak, and she giggled again, gently, and told him "Today you're a fish", perhaps in reference to his expression. He remained speechless, his mouth working but no thoughts coming out, as he tried desperately to remember that she was not for him, that this was a bad idea, that he had to push her off. "You're playin' with fire, girl" he warned, as he regained control and put his hands to her waist to lift her off. She responded by tightening her grip and grinding herself hard against him, throwing her head back to look up at him, her expression equal parts defiance and pleading and her eyes filled with passion. She moaned slightly and whispered "Fire is fun."
Well, hell. A man can only take so much, and this was just about it. He made a final effort, warning her "If you keep this up, I can't be held responsible for what happens here", knowing that he was on the edge of cracking, and all it would take was for her to-read his mind and figure that out—crap, as she leaned forward, still moving her hips gently against his, sliding her hands into his hair, and nuzzled and kissed her way along his jawline to just below his ear, nipping his earlobe, damn woman reading his secret weakness, but inside he was glowing, thrilled that she'd actually wanted him enough to look in his head. He'd given her fair warning, and in an instant, he rolled them over, putting her under him on the weight bench, pressing himself more firmly into her even as he rested part of his weight on his elbows to keep from smashing her. His lips found hers, tongues dueling, teeth nibbling, breath mingling, as his hand slid down her thigh to find the hem of her dress. He hadn't been satisfied with dry-humping in years, and special though she was, he was damned if he was going to be now unless she made him. He slid the dress up, higher and higher on her leg, exploring the glorious skin on her legs as he exposed it. "River" he moaned, not aware it was the first time he'd said her name like that, liking the taste of it, of her. She was as soft as he had imagined, skin like silk or velvet, mouth like fire, shaking and moaning and arching beneath him like nothing he'd ever felt before, allowing his hand to rise high enough to discover the nothing she wore beneath her dress, to gently brush her, to be stunned by her readyness—and then she froze, suddenly, painfully, and whispered into his ear, "The cat's come back" before pushing him off her, pushing him cold and alone and needy onto the hard floor. His blurred eyes finally focused enough to see Simon entering the cargo bay just as River leaned over to his ear, saying "The mice will play again soon" before she gently nipped at his earlobe and wandered toward her brother, calling back "Be a good mouse!" He turned to stare up at her as she skipped away, unsure of what exactly had just happened.