FIC--Firefly Mal/Simon
If he hadn't been looking in Mal's direction at just the right moment, he would never have seen the look Mal gave him. A sweeping glance from his neck down to his pajama bottoms, leaving a trail of heat blossoming under Simon's skin. By the time he had turned toward Mal, the other man's gaze was fixed firmly on Zoe's face, ignoring him.
He almost thought he had misread the captain--until he tried to convince the other man to let him look at his cut in the infirmary. "Don't you think you best be putting on some more clothing before you start with the doctoring?" Mal asked mildly. "Like to catch cold, as you are." Seeing as River went barefoot and in light dresses all the time, and Kaylee was known for walking about in her nightshirt when she couldn't sleep, Simon could hardly believe him.
"I'll be fine--I'm more worried about that cut. It's bleeding heavily; possibly a cut artery. Not to mention the possibility of infection."
"Infection'll hardly set in in the five minutes it'll take you to get dressed," Mal argued, nonetheless allowing Simon to herd him in the direction of the infirmary.
"Let's not chance anything--we're running low on antibiotics as it is." Simon gently pushed the reluctant man towards the gurney and began pulling out his supplies.
Mal shifted uneasily on the crisp sheets. "I'd appreciate the chance to put on some clothing, myself," he grumbled.
Simon rolled his eyes. As though a lack of boots and suspenders, and a mis-buttoned shirt could be enough to intimidate the man who had strolled onto the ship bare naked after the fracas with Saffron and proceeded to pause and admire the view. Though, Simon admitted to himself, it wasn't as though he hadn't admired the view as well. He'd had no idea Mal had a tattoo.
Turning back, he pushed the loaded tray to the side, and caught the man's injured hand, placing it on the towel in his left palm. He poured the wash over the jagged cut, the towel underneath catching the excess. After the bubbling had stopped, he wiped the uninjured skin clean, and examined the revealed wound. It wasn't as deep as he had thought. "I think a weave might be better than stitches," he said, studying the injury. "That is if I can count on you not to do anything with that hand for at least a week," he finished, frowning up at Mal.
The man's mouth twitched, but he looked sober as a judge when he said, "Not my gun hand, and we're due to spend the next eight days traveling anyway."
"Right, good," Simon mumbled absently, already focused on the wound. Taking Mal's hand in his, he squeezed several drops of blood coagulant into the gash, then placing the treated cloth at the top of the gash and pushing the skin together, began to seal the wound. He was intent enough in his work he scarcely noticed the other man's reaction. It wasn't till he'd finished, and was smoothing down the edges of the weave, that he felt the tension in Mal's hand, tension that spread through the rest of his muscles. Continuing to stroke around the seal with his thumb, he looked up to find Mal's eyes on him.
There was a flicker of heat gleaming in the other man's blue eyes, a flame that was instantly extinguished the moment Simon met his gaze. "You about done, Doc?" Mal's tone was the bored tolerance of an adult humoring a child.
Simon flushed, and pulled his hand back. "Yes, I think that should be enough. Just try not to use that hand for a few days." Had he imagined it?
Mal, scarcely waiting for his dismissal, stood and headed for the exit, as Simon moved towards the counter to clean up. The result was a near collision that left them both slightly off-balance. For a brief moment he felt Mal's hand low on his side, thumb brushing against his lower ribs, warm palm curved against his side. Simon bit down on an exclamation as Mal's hand flexed in surprise, his fingertips just barely stroking Simon's skin. Heat washed out from his side under Mal's hand, sending crackles of electricity along his nerve endings. Simon made the mistake of looking up to find the captain, startled, gazing back at him.
And then it was gone. Mal was raising an eyebrow, asking in the sardonic way he had that always drove Simon into a fury, "Well, doc? Seems one of us is going to have to move, we ever want to sleep tonight."
Simon mutely stepped aside, as Mal brushed past him and strode rapidly out of the infirmary.
Once alone, Simon braced his hands on the counter, and breathed deeply. The first two could have been mistakes, an overactive imagination, his reading into the situation what he wanted to find. The captain had never given the slightest hint that he found him attractive, or even that he found men in general attractive--Simon ought to know, he spent enough time watching (stalking) the man. But that last moment.... Mal was as surprised as Simon himself. One touch and he leaves me breathless, shaking, wanting him Simon mused silently.