Conjugal Rites

They were the oddest couple he'd ever seen.

Disparate in every sense of the word.

He was huge, rugged and weathered. Into his middle years, but as far from soft as could be imagined.

She was slender to the point of under-sized, with purest porcelain skin.

She floated like a feather, moving with unconscious grace. He moved like a tank that would bulldoze anything in its path.

Her deep velvet eyes smiled shyly, like a confiding child. His were a hard, piercing blue; eyes that had seen violence – and caused it.

As one would expect, she was dressed finely for the occasion. Her red silken dress was slightly too large on her, but its quality confirmed what her features and voice proclaimed: she was Core-bred. Unlike her swarthy companion whose "Sunday best" apparently consisted of a plain black t-shirt, vulgar bolero and dusty black Stetson.

He hadn't needed to hear the man's rustic accent and painful vocabulary to confirm these two were - literally -worlds apart.

When the giant told him what he wanted, his first thought was that the girl was underage. Angelina law dictated you had to be at least twenty-one unless you had a guardian present. This girl appeared several years younger.

He'd made an objection on those grounds then been silenced by the birth certificate thrust under his nose. Perfect and pristine. To his dismay, he could see nothing wrong with it.

The savage man had grinned at him. On the surface, a perfectly acceptable gesture, but something about the smile made his fists itch.

He paused before he pronounced them – couldn't help but shoot one last look at the delicate girl, a vision of innocence, about to tie herself for life to the unlettered brute beside her.

"My dear, are you quite sure this is what you want?" He spoke in an urgent undertone, risking the giant's wrath.

Oddly, her companion appeared unconcerned – it was the girl who shot him a death glare, a look so flat, so bristling with unreleased violence, that he'd found himself stepping back in shock.

Perhaps they weren't so badly matched after all.

Upon this thought, the look immediately softened into a smile, and she relaxed before him.

Silently washing his hands of her, he hurriedly finished the ceremony.

The sooner he was done with these two lunatics, the better.

"You sure you're okay 'bout this, Moonling?" Jayne placed his hands on her waist. "'Know you musta wanted the others present – your brother at least."

She shook her head, smiling mischievously; the setting sun had cast a halo round her head. And wasn't that fitting? Part-angel, part-devil. It was that fascinating mix that had caught his eye in the first place. "The mother hen is best off hearing life-changing things after the event; he flaps less that way."

"Ain't that the truth," Jayne agreed. "And Mal's almost as bad when it comes to you. Still though, we're gonna catch all manner of grief for this." He looked at her. "No regrets?"

She shook her head, moving forwards into his embrace. "This ball is very happy to finally join with her chain." There was a layering to her tone that suggested more than one meaning, and made him grin. Might've taken a couple of years to master River-speak (and hadn't that journey been all kinds of interestin'), but he'd been fluent in dirty for years.

He lowered his tone to a throaty growl: "So there's gonna be chains involved? Can't wait."

"Could have done it long ago," she pointed out, with a pout.

He resisted the urge to bite her lower lip. Not that being in public bothered him that much, but kissing River had a habit of gettin' outta hand, even with his carefully imposed restrictions. "This way there's a passing chance Mal won't shoot me out the airlock. He caught us without that ring on your finger? Goodbye Serenity, hello Special Hell."

She spread her left hand, admiring the bullet casing that adorned her third finger. (Taken him days to cut it to size and hammer it to shape; days more of smoothin' to be sure it wouldn't slice her to ribbons.)

He wrapped his arms more fully around her and pulled her flush against him. "Get you somethin' proper shiny when I got the funds," he promised.

The look she gave him made warmth spread through his chest like fine whisky. "She likes the one he gave her just fine; it's nice to include Vera."

His arms tightened in approval. "So, what d'you wanna do now, Mrs. Cobb?" The words sent a thrill snaking through him. (Gorramit, Crazy-Girl was makin' him soft. He made a mental note to beat someone up soon to make up for it.)

You didn't need to be a Reader to decipher the smoky look she sent him in reply – but he pretended he hadn't understood. More fun that way.

Sure enough, the lower lip came out again. "Kiss me, Mr. Cobb," she breathed, arms creeping round his neck.

And so he did.

Repeatedly.

Until the Shepherd came out the church and furiously yelled at them to stop.

Jayne shook his head sadly.

Really, a man of the cloth shouldn't know that kinda language.

fin

A/N Nope - can't explain why having struggled for weeks to write the last one, I wrote this one less than a day later. Receiving eight reviews over night may have helped (you guys rock). But deanandjo4ever1 is definitely partly to blame, too ;) Her prompt was their wedding and their first kiss as Mr. and Mrs. Cobb, and lo a bunny appeared and hopped around in a demanding fashion...

Hope she, and you, enjoyed :)

PS Yep, the pun in the title was deliberate. I'm British. That's how we roll.