Fic: Comfort (Jayne)
Title: Comfort
Fandom: Firefly
Characters: Jayne,
Prompt: #036 No Dialogue
Word Count: 518
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jayne goes whorin’ and finds some comfort.
Note: This is my first time posting here. Please tell me if I did something wrong and I will do my best to correct it.
The planet was a patchwork of green, amber, and chocolate brown; fields of grains, all ripening in the sun, blowing in the wind. The planet smelled of damp earth.
Jayne took his leave of the ship to find some tail.
He asked one of the men in the marketplace. The man pointed him towards the only whorehouse in town.
A small, white washed house, laundry on lines in the yard. Filled with women.
Sturdy women, all calluses and curves. Patches of freckles on some of the girls, patches of tan on others, all pale shouldered. All colors, coffee, tea, and cream. Eyes in shades of sky, grass, and dirt, slanted and round. Hair in plaits or loose, straight and wavy and curls, in every tone; tow-heads and redheads and brunettes. Bright smiles at him, beams of light and health.
They were the daughters of merchants and farmers. These girls didn’t have to sell themselves.
He asked if he was in the right place.
The room filled with tittering giggles. He wasn’t sure what that meant yes or no.
One woman told him they were a Comfort House.
His daddy had told him about Comfort Houses. They were a sect, like Shepherds but they used their bodies. Like Companions in the name of the Lord. They only rarely existed on the Rim, and only when bellies were full and souls were righteous and people were giving. They provided comfort, meals and baths and women to weary travelers so they could spread His message or some such.
You were supposed to leave an offering in the basket in the morning, not for the services rendered, but for the Lord.
Jayne smiled.
He ate beef-and-barley soup with a hunk of hot, crusty bread. He chose a girl with hair like spun honey, dove-grey eyes, pale, freckled skin. She laughed and chatted. She sang as she washed his back, the water was as warm as she was cheerful and willing. The soap smelled of cedar and musk. She was supple and warm when she climbed next to him in bed. He had thought she would be blushing and reserved, but she was flushed, willing, and fiery. They talked after, her curls loose and soft on his shoulder, her head resting on his chest, her fingers twined with his. He fell asleep listening to her soft breathing. She was still there when the light filtered through the windows. His clothes looked a shade brighter folded up on the chair next to the bed. He dressed, kissed her.
He left as much as he could spare in the basket.
On his way back to the ship, he found a small note about the Lord tucked in one of his pockets. The girl wrote that she would pray for him on his travels. She signed it with her full name.
He kept it in the ammunition box under his bed, along with all the letters his mother and Mattie write him. The box he pulls out when he’s been in the black too long and he wants to remember that someone somewhere loves him.
.
Fandom: Firefly
Characters: Jayne,
Prompt: #036 No Dialogue
Word Count: 518
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jayne goes whorin’ and finds some comfort.
Note: This is my first time posting here. Please tell me if I did something wrong and I will do my best to correct it.
The planet was a patchwork of green, amber, and chocolate brown; fields of grains, all ripening in the sun, blowing in the wind. The planet smelled of damp earth.
Jayne took his leave of the ship to find some tail.
He asked one of the men in the marketplace. The man pointed him towards the only whorehouse in town.
A small, white washed house, laundry on lines in the yard. Filled with women.
Sturdy women, all calluses and curves. Patches of freckles on some of the girls, patches of tan on others, all pale shouldered. All colors, coffee, tea, and cream. Eyes in shades of sky, grass, and dirt, slanted and round. Hair in plaits or loose, straight and wavy and curls, in every tone; tow-heads and redheads and brunettes. Bright smiles at him, beams of light and health.
They were the daughters of merchants and farmers. These girls didn’t have to sell themselves.
He asked if he was in the right place.
The room filled with tittering giggles. He wasn’t sure what that meant yes or no.
One woman told him they were a Comfort House.
His daddy had told him about Comfort Houses. They were a sect, like Shepherds but they used their bodies. Like Companions in the name of the Lord. They only rarely existed on the Rim, and only when bellies were full and souls were righteous and people were giving. They provided comfort, meals and baths and women to weary travelers so they could spread His message or some such.
You were supposed to leave an offering in the basket in the morning, not for the services rendered, but for the Lord.
Jayne smiled.
He ate beef-and-barley soup with a hunk of hot, crusty bread. He chose a girl with hair like spun honey, dove-grey eyes, pale, freckled skin. She laughed and chatted. She sang as she washed his back, the water was as warm as she was cheerful and willing. The soap smelled of cedar and musk. She was supple and warm when she climbed next to him in bed. He had thought she would be blushing and reserved, but she was flushed, willing, and fiery. They talked after, her curls loose and soft on his shoulder, her head resting on his chest, her fingers twined with his. He fell asleep listening to her soft breathing. She was still there when the light filtered through the windows. His clothes looked a shade brighter folded up on the chair next to the bed. He dressed, kissed her.
He left as much as he could spare in the basket.
On his way back to the ship, he found a small note about the Lord tucked in one of his pockets. The girl wrote that she would pray for him on his travels. She signed it with her full name.
He kept it in the ammunition box under his bed, along with all the letters his mother and Mattie write him. The box he pulls out when he’s been in the black too long and he wants to remember that someone somewhere loves him.
.