Ficlet: Indecent (Jayne/Simon)
Indecent
Rating: R
Words: 821
Summary: Simon should have known.
Notes: This is birthday fic for maggie33. Happy birthday!
Disclaimer: Clearly I claim no ownership to the Firefly 'verse or its characters; nor am I making money from this fic writing thing.
By now, Simon's almost used to finding that the infirmary has been ransacked. Sometimes Jayne is still in there, caught up in the middle of the mess, seeing to one problem or another. Sometimes he's already gone, but Simon knows it's always Jayne who leaves the room looking like a disaster area.
The others always ask for assistance. The only exception is Mal, who persists in his annoying tendency to call wounds 'scratches'; who insists on sometimes seeing to them himself. But Mal knows better than to leave a mess behind. Mostly because it would give away his attempts to be surreptitious. Sneaky.
Simon can only ever tell Mal's been in there from the way small things have been moved or knocked askew; sometimes he doesn't even notice anything until he takes an inventory and finds weaves or other small supplies missing. Jayne though, he always leaves a mess. It's just one of the myriad tiny things that Simon's learning - slowly - to ignore.
But this. This is just beyond the pale. Even though Jayne's standing with his back to the door, even though he's hunched over a little, it's obvious what's going on. The sounds alone - wet and slick; Jayne's grunts - give it away. "Wo de tien a!"
Jayne turns towards him slightly. "What?" The word comes out a little breathy; Jayne's eyes aren't quite focused. And his hand doesn't stop moving. It just keeps working his cock, slow jerks and twists that surprise Simon. Jayne seems like the type to take things hard and fast.
Simon shakes his head quickly. Since when had he starting thinking about Jayne's masturbatory habits? "This is an infirmary!" He waves his hand in the general direction of Jayne's crotch. "You can't - why are you - people bleed here!"
Somehow, Jayne shrugs without breaking his rhythm. He turns completely towards Simon, and Simon has the urge to shut the door behind him. If River came along - or, god forbid, Mal - this would degenerate quickly.
He should just step outside, and shut the door; he should just pretend he didn't see anything. But before he can pull himself together, Jayne says, "Gotta do it somewhere. Can't use the kitchen."
"Wode ma. Use your bunk!"
Grunt. Little gasp. Another twist of his wrist, and Simon is trying not to look at the slide of Jayne's hand over his cock. Slick, flushed, hard. "Bunk's flooded."
The entire situation has taken on an unreal quality. Everything seems tilted to one side. "What?" The word feels forced out of him.
"Pipe burst." Jayne's eyelids droop slightly; he licks his lips. "Can't sleep there." The words follow the rhythm of his hand. "Kaylee set up a bunk in the lounge 'till she can clean it up." He grunts again, and his eyes glaze over.
Simon hasn't heard anything about a flood. For a moment, he resents how he always seems to be the last to know anything on this ship. But the hitch of Jayne's breath grabs his attention, and he refocuses on Jayne's face.
It doesn't take a genius to see how close Jayne is. Simon should be pushing him out of the infirmary, or turning and leaving, but instead - he just stands there, watching, not quite believing that he's still in the room. He sees everything. He sees the flush of Jayne's cheeks; he drops his gaze down to focus in on Jayne's cock, framed by the open fly of his pants.
"Don't -" he's about to say 'don't come all over the examining table'. But it's too late. Jayne's eyes close, and Simon can't look away from how his face twists in pleasure. It seems to take a long time. Too long, and Simon still can't look away, even when it's over.
After a moment, he gestures at the sheet covering the table, and manages to croak out, "You're doing the laundry."
Jayne's already adjusting himself, zipping up. He wipes his hand on the sheet, then gathers it up into a bundle; all in all, he's acting as though nothing has happened. He pulls the sheet close to his chest, and grins. "Always do."
It's pathetic that it takes Simon a minute to piece together the implications. "How often do you - Jayne! This isn't your private," he's at a loss for a moment, and finally continues, "den of iniquity!"
"What?"
Oh, for the love of - "You have a bunk!"
"Told you, it's flooded."
"It's not always flooded, you oaf!"
Jayne grins a little wider and walks towards the door. On his way, he leans in close, so close that Simon can smell sweat and warmth and sex. "Ain't my fault that doctors and clean and medicine get me all worked up." The words almost lick their way into Simon's ear. The humidity of Jayne's breath makes him shiver. It's indecent.
And then Jayne's out the door, sheet in his hands, grin on his face.
Simon doesn't turn to watch.
Rating: R
Words: 821
Summary: Simon should have known.
Notes: This is birthday fic for maggie33. Happy birthday!
Disclaimer: Clearly I claim no ownership to the Firefly 'verse or its characters; nor am I making money from this fic writing thing.
By now, Simon's almost used to finding that the infirmary has been ransacked. Sometimes Jayne is still in there, caught up in the middle of the mess, seeing to one problem or another. Sometimes he's already gone, but Simon knows it's always Jayne who leaves the room looking like a disaster area.
The others always ask for assistance. The only exception is Mal, who persists in his annoying tendency to call wounds 'scratches'; who insists on sometimes seeing to them himself. But Mal knows better than to leave a mess behind. Mostly because it would give away his attempts to be surreptitious. Sneaky.
Simon can only ever tell Mal's been in there from the way small things have been moved or knocked askew; sometimes he doesn't even notice anything until he takes an inventory and finds weaves or other small supplies missing. Jayne though, he always leaves a mess. It's just one of the myriad tiny things that Simon's learning - slowly - to ignore.
But this. This is just beyond the pale. Even though Jayne's standing with his back to the door, even though he's hunched over a little, it's obvious what's going on. The sounds alone - wet and slick; Jayne's grunts - give it away. "Wo de tien a!"
Jayne turns towards him slightly. "What?" The word comes out a little breathy; Jayne's eyes aren't quite focused. And his hand doesn't stop moving. It just keeps working his cock, slow jerks and twists that surprise Simon. Jayne seems like the type to take things hard and fast.
Simon shakes his head quickly. Since when had he starting thinking about Jayne's masturbatory habits? "This is an infirmary!" He waves his hand in the general direction of Jayne's crotch. "You can't - why are you - people bleed here!"
Somehow, Jayne shrugs without breaking his rhythm. He turns completely towards Simon, and Simon has the urge to shut the door behind him. If River came along - or, god forbid, Mal - this would degenerate quickly.
He should just step outside, and shut the door; he should just pretend he didn't see anything. But before he can pull himself together, Jayne says, "Gotta do it somewhere. Can't use the kitchen."
"Wode ma. Use your bunk!"
Grunt. Little gasp. Another twist of his wrist, and Simon is trying not to look at the slide of Jayne's hand over his cock. Slick, flushed, hard. "Bunk's flooded."
The entire situation has taken on an unreal quality. Everything seems tilted to one side. "What?" The word feels forced out of him.
"Pipe burst." Jayne's eyelids droop slightly; he licks his lips. "Can't sleep there." The words follow the rhythm of his hand. "Kaylee set up a bunk in the lounge 'till she can clean it up." He grunts again, and his eyes glaze over.
Simon hasn't heard anything about a flood. For a moment, he resents how he always seems to be the last to know anything on this ship. But the hitch of Jayne's breath grabs his attention, and he refocuses on Jayne's face.
It doesn't take a genius to see how close Jayne is. Simon should be pushing him out of the infirmary, or turning and leaving, but instead - he just stands there, watching, not quite believing that he's still in the room. He sees everything. He sees the flush of Jayne's cheeks; he drops his gaze down to focus in on Jayne's cock, framed by the open fly of his pants.
"Don't -" he's about to say 'don't come all over the examining table'. But it's too late. Jayne's eyes close, and Simon can't look away from how his face twists in pleasure. It seems to take a long time. Too long, and Simon still can't look away, even when it's over.
After a moment, he gestures at the sheet covering the table, and manages to croak out, "You're doing the laundry."
Jayne's already adjusting himself, zipping up. He wipes his hand on the sheet, then gathers it up into a bundle; all in all, he's acting as though nothing has happened. He pulls the sheet close to his chest, and grins. "Always do."
It's pathetic that it takes Simon a minute to piece together the implications. "How often do you - Jayne! This isn't your private," he's at a loss for a moment, and finally continues, "den of iniquity!"
"What?"
Oh, for the love of - "You have a bunk!"
"Told you, it's flooded."
"It's not always flooded, you oaf!"
Jayne grins a little wider and walks towards the door. On his way, he leans in close, so close that Simon can smell sweat and warmth and sex. "Ain't my fault that doctors and clean and medicine get me all worked up." The words almost lick their way into Simon's ear. The humidity of Jayne's breath makes him shiver. It's indecent.
And then Jayne's out the door, sheet in his hands, grin on his face.
Simon doesn't turn to watch.