And yet more Firefly - Wes/Simon
Connections
Simon was naked beneath Wesley, hands relaxed on his thighs where Wesley was straddling his hips. Neither was moving much, just looking longingly at the other, eyes tasting chests, hard nipples, jaws coarse with stubble. Round biceps, pointed hipbones, and open throats were merely the appetizer.
“The captain said, ‘All hands on deck.’ I’m fairly certain he meant us too, Wesley.” Simon didn’t look in any hurry to follow Mal’s orders, in fact he looked more than wistful. “And I doubt he misspoke.” Simon said even as his hand tentatively tightened around Wesley’s “deck.”
Groaning, Wesley tried to clear the haze from his mind as he replied, “Sadly, I’d wager it’s important if he’s hailing all of us.” Wesley leaned forward to plant a kiss on Simon’s mouth which quickly turned things heated again. Wes tore his lips away and himself off of Simon to shrug into a long-sleeve shirt and his cargoes that had gotten tossed in a corner in their frenzy to get to skin. Underwear was an afterthought, and often an annoying barrier to a quick grope in the infirmary. Wesley was lacing his boots when he remembered why he was in Simon’s room before he had gotten distracted.
“Simon?” Wesley looked up to see Simon buttoning up his usual white shirt. He had a flash of memory back to when he used to wear those and underwear on a regular basis.
“Hmm?” Simon was still occupied with his shirt, and looking around for his vest.
“Do you-" Wesley started then thought better. “Should I-" Yet another false start. He would actually have to form a full sentence eventually. “Does it- Angel and I aren’t involved, you know. We never have been. I keep meaning to talk to you about it.”
“Oh. Is that all?” Simon was now working on the buttons of his vest. His voice came out nonchalantly, but his fingers slipped on their next button.
Is that all? “Well, yes. If you were wondering whether we were trying to start something up, the answer is no. Angel and I... We’re not friends. And we’re not lovers. We’re just... connected.”
“I’m not positive that’s really reassuring, Wesley.” Simon pulled on one sock, then the other, not looking at Wesley. “But I also know that I’m not without connection so, uhh, I wouldn’t worry about it for now. We’re even.” Simon finally looked up and smiled at Wes. “We’re a strange crew, aren’t we.” It was phrased like a question, but said as a statement. Wes felt relieved and his guilty conscience placated, but Simon’s words were huddled in the back of his brain waiting for a moment when they could present themselves again without distraction.
Simon was naked beneath Wesley, hands relaxed on his thighs where Wesley was straddling his hips. Neither was moving much, just looking longingly at the other, eyes tasting chests, hard nipples, jaws coarse with stubble. Round biceps, pointed hipbones, and open throats were merely the appetizer.
“The captain said, ‘All hands on deck.’ I’m fairly certain he meant us too, Wesley.” Simon didn’t look in any hurry to follow Mal’s orders, in fact he looked more than wistful. “And I doubt he misspoke.” Simon said even as his hand tentatively tightened around Wesley’s “deck.”
Groaning, Wesley tried to clear the haze from his mind as he replied, “Sadly, I’d wager it’s important if he’s hailing all of us.” Wesley leaned forward to plant a kiss on Simon’s mouth which quickly turned things heated again. Wes tore his lips away and himself off of Simon to shrug into a long-sleeve shirt and his cargoes that had gotten tossed in a corner in their frenzy to get to skin. Underwear was an afterthought, and often an annoying barrier to a quick grope in the infirmary. Wesley was lacing his boots when he remembered why he was in Simon’s room before he had gotten distracted.
“Simon?” Wesley looked up to see Simon buttoning up his usual white shirt. He had a flash of memory back to when he used to wear those and underwear on a regular basis.
“Hmm?” Simon was still occupied with his shirt, and looking around for his vest.
“Do you-" Wesley started then thought better. “Should I-" Yet another false start. He would actually have to form a full sentence eventually. “Does it- Angel and I aren’t involved, you know. We never have been. I keep meaning to talk to you about it.”
“Oh. Is that all?” Simon was now working on the buttons of his vest. His voice came out nonchalantly, but his fingers slipped on their next button.
Is that all? “Well, yes. If you were wondering whether we were trying to start something up, the answer is no. Angel and I... We’re not friends. And we’re not lovers. We’re just... connected.”
“I’m not positive that’s really reassuring, Wesley.” Simon pulled on one sock, then the other, not looking at Wesley. “But I also know that I’m not without connection so, uhh, I wouldn’t worry about it for now. We’re even.” Simon finally looked up and smiled at Wes. “We’re a strange crew, aren’t we.” It was phrased like a question, but said as a statement. Wes felt relieved and his guilty conscience placated, but Simon’s words were huddled in the back of his brain waiting for a moment when they could present themselves again without distraction.