FIC: Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie (FF/BUF -- J/X, NC-17)
Title: Letting Sleeping Dogs Lie
Author: inkandchocolate
Pairing: Jayne/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Summary:: Sometimes it's best to let things be the way they are, without poking the reasoning behind it with a pointy stick.
A/N: written for heeroluva. Requests were for kink, weapons and Pilot!Xander. Written for maleslashminis, Firefly Round.
----------------------
The bar is crowded, the vid screens flickering over the heads of two dozen or so utterly uninterested patrons. Now and then a voice rises louder than the others, causing a few heads to lift and perk up like prairie dogs popping out of the ground to check the lay of the land. So far it's resulted in nothing interesting, as far as Jayne's concerned.
At least nothing more interesting than the man currently paying for drinks this time around. There'd have to be bloodshed imminent for Jayne to walk away from a couple free rounds. Or maybe just the chance to pick up any wayward credits somebody might lose track of it they were to find themselves involved in a good bar fight, that'd be almost rewarding enough to stand up and leave his seat right now.
Since that's not looking too likely, he downs the rest of his drink and rubs the back of his hand over his mouth. He watches as Xander grins at him, one side of his mouth tugged up higher than the other. "You got that look again," Jayne says with a frown. "I do somethin' to make you get that monkey-shit grin on?"
Xander shrugs, sips at his own drink and sets it down. "Just how many grinning monkeys have you seen?" he asks, tone serious enough to give Jayne pause. When he catches it, Xander laughs. "You are all the proof I need that the books about man becoming more evolved as time goes on are full of shit."
"Never put much stock in them kinda books," Jayne grunts. He checks out the emptiness of his cup and waves for the waitress to refill him. After a second, he puts up two fingers, deciding things will go smoother later if he's being generous now. Xander's not exactly a pushover when he's got that mood on him. Makes him just a shade too much like Mal when it comes to being smart mouthed about what Jayne likes to do in his private time. He looks over to see a more amenable smile on Xander's face and grins, pleased with himself.
"Do you put stock in books with more pictures than words, or is that drawing the line too close?" Xander asks, slouching back in his chair and rubbing one finger idly beneath the patch on his eye. He watches Jayne track the movement and sees nothing more than idle interest on the man's face. Jayne's got enough scars of his own to not be too opinionated about Xander's, though he's snorted his disbelief more than once when Xander's given his account of how he earned them.
Jayne shrugs in response. "Mostly not. Readin' takes too much time when I got better things to do. Like cleanin' my weapons, or countin' my take on a job, or makin' out how the gorram captain screwed us outta the take on a job." He sniffs some as the girl delivers the drinks, checks out the pretty rounded curves of her ass and breasts in the scant costume she's almost wearing. When he slaps her ass lightly, she arches an eyebrow at him and gives Xander a significant look before walking away, muttering under her breath.
"Why do you do that?" Xander asks, taking his new drink and lining it up neatly beside the first one, the better to be sure Jayne doesn't 'accidentally' manage to mistake it for his own.
"Cause she's got a nice firm ass worth slappin'." Matter of fact, that's Jayne, and he sips his whiskey this time as he watches Xander. "You ain't gonna get all preachy at me now, are you? Because that's downright annoyin'."
Xander snorts. "Considering that you're trying to get me fucked up and I'm letting you? I don't think preachy has a place here."
Jayne looks relieved. "Drink up already, I thought I was gonna have to buy you flowers or somethin' to make my point. We're wastin' bunk time while you're actin' like some virginal piece that ain't never spent no time gettin' himself-"
"Shut up, Jayne," Xander tells him quickly. Then he swallows the remains of the first drink, follows it with the second and stands up. "You're better off not talking."
"Fine by me," Jayne says with a nod and proceeds to part the crowd by shouldering his way to the exit. He never looks back to check and see if Xander if following. Experience has taught him better; checking up just gets him that smirk again and that'll ruin the mood.
More or less.
-----
Xander would be hard pressed to say that he's had anything close to normal in his life since he was 16 years old. And yet life as the Slayer's sidekick couldn't have prepared him for the serious weirdness his world has become.
The last thing he can remember from his old life with any sureness of clarity is that it was sometime in March 2007. He can recall the three baby Slayers and one righteously pissed off demon. There was the usual ass-kicking Slayer moves, a little mojo for the white hats and then a big, glowing blue hole that sucked Xander and assorted loose bits of furniture into it. He remembers the thud of a chair hitting him in the ribs as it whooshed in with him and then there was nothing. The actual portal travel is a blank, something he's sure he's very grateful for. He woke up in some crazy space cowboy world, curled into a naked ball of frozen pain inside a box. A box that Jayne had, not incidentally, claimed as his very own from a salvage mission. It seems to Xander even now that Jayne believes he owns Xander, claimed him as his treasure in a warped, insane, and not unappealing way.
How he first ended up in Jayne's bunk is not even really worth detailing. He blames it on circumstance, whiskey, and dementia brought about by travelling through space and time and waking up like Han Solo defrosted from the carbonite, only without the dignity. He also blames it on the fact that Jayne doesn't understand the concept of 'no thanks' and has a mouth that would make any man lose his grip on heterosexuality.
Not that Xander's ever had such a firm grip in that area. He blames Angel and then Spike (and possible Riley) if pressed but when he's alone with his thoughts, he can admit that there's a lot to be said for just going with the flow when the partner in question is large and attractive and insistent. Jayne seems to fit the mold well.
Of course there's also the bondage fun.
-----
The small room gets very warm very quickly and Jayne's body gleams with a slickness that makes it so much easier for Xander to slide his hands over. The dip and curve of muscle is fascinating to him, the taut skin showing every scar Jayne's ever earned, pale and white and smooth. Jayne likes it when Xander's fingers trace those scars. He likes it even more when Xander's tongue licks over them, wet and slippery.
His hands bound over his head above the bunk, his legs spread wide as he can get them, Jayne lets his back rest on the rack that holds his weapons. He can feel the bite of the metal against his shoulder blades as he flexes and shifts, giving Xander free rein to secure his ankles to the posts of the bed. The sheets are rough against the backs of his thighs, damp under his ass, rubbing slightly on the soft sac when he wriggles despite himself. He frowns as Xander stands up and stares at him, a look in his eye that Jayne equates with Mal.
And that, Jayne thinks to himself, is highly disquieting in a way he wants to forget all about. He frowns and shifts more deliberately this time, tugging at the cords around his wrists hard enough to make the guns on the rack rattle. "Ain't much for knots, are you?" he asks with a slight sneer.
"Seems to be working for you." Xander tugs his shirt up and over his head, bare belly tight when he lifts his arms. Jayne stares at the pale expanse and swallows hard enough to make Xander chuckle. "Thought so."
The whys and wherefores of Jayne's appreciation for being out of his own control are things best left to bigger minds than his own. He doesn't particularly care why he likes what he likes, and some part of him is pretty gorram sure he's better off without a doc crawling into his brain to explain it all to him. First off, he probably won't understand and second, it'll like as not piss him off either way. Best to leave sleeping dogs lie, his mama always said. Whatever the hell that means, Jayne trusts his mama's judgment. "You plannin' to run that pretty mouth of yours all night?" he asks instead, knowing full well it'll get things rolling.
"Not a chance," Xander assures him as he kneels on the bed between Jayne's spread thighs and looks down at him while he opens his pants, tug of button and slip of zipper easily undone. "Wasn't planning for you to either." Xander pulls his cock out, already hard, and presses his hips forward towards Jayne's mouth. "Now you use *your* pretty mouth," he murmurs.
Instruction is part of the game but Jayne doesn't really need it. He's already got his lips parted and the head of Xander's cock slips inside with the lick of a tongue. They groan in unison, and then Xander's voice is solo as Jayne opens wider and sucks him in. The heat of the room increases, though not necessarily according to the ship's climate control, and both bodies now glisten with a sheen of perspiration.
Jayne can feel the rock of Xander's hips, knows him well enough to gauge when to stop before things get too far along. Which isn't to say he won't do his best to draw it out some, make it last. His cock is as hard as the hull of the gorram ship, tight to his belly and sticky wet at the head as he sucks, licks, draws his tongue over the ridge of Xander's dick and presses it to the tip. Salty and bitter, the taste in his mouth is still almost as good as what he knows is going to happen next.
Xander pulls back with a growl, face flushed and eyes dark. Jayne smirks at him, licks at the saliva slick on his own lip and lets his head thump against the rack behind him as Xander stands unsteadily and starts to strip off his pants. Jayne watches Xander's dick jump and bounce as the man removes boots and pants with a hard tug and rough kick of the offending objects, sending them to the corner of the small room. The bunk gives a squeal of metal when Xander climbs back up again and Jayne's thighs flex in anticipation of the freedom he seeks.
"Cut 'em," he says, his voice a little raw with greedy desire.
"You're the toppiest bottom I ever met," Xander says and reaches up to grab one of the larger knives from the rack where Jayne has lovingly organized each and every weapon he owns. Xander draws it down and lets the razor sharp blade play lightly over the soft flesh of Jayne's inner thigh. Jayne holds his breath as there's the slightest tinge of heat when the blade slices his skin, and he looks down to see a thin line of deep red appear.
"Watch your fuckin' aim," he says but it comes out all breathless as he stares at his own blood. "Ain't signed up to let you go cuttin' on me. Especially not so close to my parts."
"Liar," Xander murmurs as he leans over to one side and cuts through the binding to Jayne's ankle without exerting more than a hair's breadth of pressure on the knife. "You're in it for the thrill of me cutting just that close to your parts."
"I ain't," Jayne says and tugs at the other binding, impatient for the other leg to be free. "I'm in it to get to the fuckin'."
Xander chuckles then and the other binding is split, and he has to move fast to get out of the way as Jayne scrambles to get up on his knees. There's an abrupt change of position as Jayne eyes Xander face to face and even with his hands still bound to the wall, arms pulled back to accommodate those long legs, Xander knows the balance of power's shifted.
That's just the way they like it, of course. He offers his fingers up and Jayne obliges by spitting on them. Ritual more than actual usefulness, and they both know it, but there's always a bottle right under the edge of the mattress and Xander finds that easily enough as he turns around and offers himself up. One hand slick with spit, the other with oil, he makes sure there's nothing to slow down the rest of the evening's entertainment. Jayne's breath catches as Xander reaches back and grabs hold, then groans out loud enough to make Xander wince as he impales himself on Jayne's cock.
"Rest of the ship's not invited," Xander says as he presses back, slow and steady, filling himself up and drawing another loud noise from Jayne that he's sure Mal and everyone else is trying their damndest not to hear.
"I don't tell you how to fly, you don't tell me how to fuck, ain't that what we agreed?" Jayne asks him, panting some as he bucks his hips to get things moving along. He watches Xander's head nod and shudders at the way it looks, glossy black hair over the sudden whiteness of Xander's bared neck. Best of both worlds right now, his dick slick and deep inside while his hands are still tugged tight where they bindings hold them to the rack. "Move," he says, and then does it himself before Xander can comply.
Xander's voice is low and muffled as he keeps his mouth shut during the act. He breathes hard, clenches one hand on the bed and the other on his own dick out of Jayne's sight, but the movement of his arm gives him away. Jayne does his best to match stroke for thrust. In no time they're in sync and it's just a matter of control on Xander's part over who's going to come first. The answer to that is Jayne more times than not, but tonight it seems like it's going to be Xander's turn. Even with his own hand controlling the action, Jayne can feel Xander losing it, and he gets caught up in the thrill.
It's damn close and if it wasn't so overwhelming, Jayne might have been able to tell who spilled when. But the truth is when he's all the way there, he doesn't care and he's not counting. He's just coming, head back and hips forward, listening to the rush of blood in his ears and not hearing himself cry out. He doesn't hear Xander's inhalation of pleasure either, too lost in his own body, but he does hear the thump of boot against the door to his room and the all too clear swearing of Mal as he tells them both to shut the hell up and spare the rest of the crew their shenanigans.
Xander eases forward and drops to the bunk for a moment. His legs are still splayed open and Jayne turns his head to get the best view. "Stop staring at my ass," Xander grunts.
"Little late to be playin' prim," Jayne snorts. "Now cut me down 'fore the captain decides to send the preacher man down."
That's enough of a threat to make Xander scramble, knife up and bindings history before Mal can go rouse Book and suggest a little late night fire and brimstone. Once is quite enough of that for Xander's taste.
==end==
Author: inkandchocolate
Pairing: Jayne/Xander
Rating: NC-17
Summary:: Sometimes it's best to let things be the way they are, without poking the reasoning behind it with a pointy stick.
A/N: written for heeroluva. Requests were for kink, weapons and Pilot!Xander. Written for maleslashminis, Firefly Round.
----------------------
The bar is crowded, the vid screens flickering over the heads of two dozen or so utterly uninterested patrons. Now and then a voice rises louder than the others, causing a few heads to lift and perk up like prairie dogs popping out of the ground to check the lay of the land. So far it's resulted in nothing interesting, as far as Jayne's concerned.
At least nothing more interesting than the man currently paying for drinks this time around. There'd have to be bloodshed imminent for Jayne to walk away from a couple free rounds. Or maybe just the chance to pick up any wayward credits somebody might lose track of it they were to find themselves involved in a good bar fight, that'd be almost rewarding enough to stand up and leave his seat right now.
Since that's not looking too likely, he downs the rest of his drink and rubs the back of his hand over his mouth. He watches as Xander grins at him, one side of his mouth tugged up higher than the other. "You got that look again," Jayne says with a frown. "I do somethin' to make you get that monkey-shit grin on?"
Xander shrugs, sips at his own drink and sets it down. "Just how many grinning monkeys have you seen?" he asks, tone serious enough to give Jayne pause. When he catches it, Xander laughs. "You are all the proof I need that the books about man becoming more evolved as time goes on are full of shit."
"Never put much stock in them kinda books," Jayne grunts. He checks out the emptiness of his cup and waves for the waitress to refill him. After a second, he puts up two fingers, deciding things will go smoother later if he's being generous now. Xander's not exactly a pushover when he's got that mood on him. Makes him just a shade too much like Mal when it comes to being smart mouthed about what Jayne likes to do in his private time. He looks over to see a more amenable smile on Xander's face and grins, pleased with himself.
"Do you put stock in books with more pictures than words, or is that drawing the line too close?" Xander asks, slouching back in his chair and rubbing one finger idly beneath the patch on his eye. He watches Jayne track the movement and sees nothing more than idle interest on the man's face. Jayne's got enough scars of his own to not be too opinionated about Xander's, though he's snorted his disbelief more than once when Xander's given his account of how he earned them.
Jayne shrugs in response. "Mostly not. Readin' takes too much time when I got better things to do. Like cleanin' my weapons, or countin' my take on a job, or makin' out how the gorram captain screwed us outta the take on a job." He sniffs some as the girl delivers the drinks, checks out the pretty rounded curves of her ass and breasts in the scant costume she's almost wearing. When he slaps her ass lightly, she arches an eyebrow at him and gives Xander a significant look before walking away, muttering under her breath.
"Why do you do that?" Xander asks, taking his new drink and lining it up neatly beside the first one, the better to be sure Jayne doesn't 'accidentally' manage to mistake it for his own.
"Cause she's got a nice firm ass worth slappin'." Matter of fact, that's Jayne, and he sips his whiskey this time as he watches Xander. "You ain't gonna get all preachy at me now, are you? Because that's downright annoyin'."
Xander snorts. "Considering that you're trying to get me fucked up and I'm letting you? I don't think preachy has a place here."
Jayne looks relieved. "Drink up already, I thought I was gonna have to buy you flowers or somethin' to make my point. We're wastin' bunk time while you're actin' like some virginal piece that ain't never spent no time gettin' himself-"
"Shut up, Jayne," Xander tells him quickly. Then he swallows the remains of the first drink, follows it with the second and stands up. "You're better off not talking."
"Fine by me," Jayne says with a nod and proceeds to part the crowd by shouldering his way to the exit. He never looks back to check and see if Xander if following. Experience has taught him better; checking up just gets him that smirk again and that'll ruin the mood.
More or less.
-----
Xander would be hard pressed to say that he's had anything close to normal in his life since he was 16 years old. And yet life as the Slayer's sidekick couldn't have prepared him for the serious weirdness his world has become.
The last thing he can remember from his old life with any sureness of clarity is that it was sometime in March 2007. He can recall the three baby Slayers and one righteously pissed off demon. There was the usual ass-kicking Slayer moves, a little mojo for the white hats and then a big, glowing blue hole that sucked Xander and assorted loose bits of furniture into it. He remembers the thud of a chair hitting him in the ribs as it whooshed in with him and then there was nothing. The actual portal travel is a blank, something he's sure he's very grateful for. He woke up in some crazy space cowboy world, curled into a naked ball of frozen pain inside a box. A box that Jayne had, not incidentally, claimed as his very own from a salvage mission. It seems to Xander even now that Jayne believes he owns Xander, claimed him as his treasure in a warped, insane, and not unappealing way.
How he first ended up in Jayne's bunk is not even really worth detailing. He blames it on circumstance, whiskey, and dementia brought about by travelling through space and time and waking up like Han Solo defrosted from the carbonite, only without the dignity. He also blames it on the fact that Jayne doesn't understand the concept of 'no thanks' and has a mouth that would make any man lose his grip on heterosexuality.
Not that Xander's ever had such a firm grip in that area. He blames Angel and then Spike (and possible Riley) if pressed but when he's alone with his thoughts, he can admit that there's a lot to be said for just going with the flow when the partner in question is large and attractive and insistent. Jayne seems to fit the mold well.
Of course there's also the bondage fun.
-----
The small room gets very warm very quickly and Jayne's body gleams with a slickness that makes it so much easier for Xander to slide his hands over. The dip and curve of muscle is fascinating to him, the taut skin showing every scar Jayne's ever earned, pale and white and smooth. Jayne likes it when Xander's fingers trace those scars. He likes it even more when Xander's tongue licks over them, wet and slippery.
His hands bound over his head above the bunk, his legs spread wide as he can get them, Jayne lets his back rest on the rack that holds his weapons. He can feel the bite of the metal against his shoulder blades as he flexes and shifts, giving Xander free rein to secure his ankles to the posts of the bed. The sheets are rough against the backs of his thighs, damp under his ass, rubbing slightly on the soft sac when he wriggles despite himself. He frowns as Xander stands up and stares at him, a look in his eye that Jayne equates with Mal.
And that, Jayne thinks to himself, is highly disquieting in a way he wants to forget all about. He frowns and shifts more deliberately this time, tugging at the cords around his wrists hard enough to make the guns on the rack rattle. "Ain't much for knots, are you?" he asks with a slight sneer.
"Seems to be working for you." Xander tugs his shirt up and over his head, bare belly tight when he lifts his arms. Jayne stares at the pale expanse and swallows hard enough to make Xander chuckle. "Thought so."
The whys and wherefores of Jayne's appreciation for being out of his own control are things best left to bigger minds than his own. He doesn't particularly care why he likes what he likes, and some part of him is pretty gorram sure he's better off without a doc crawling into his brain to explain it all to him. First off, he probably won't understand and second, it'll like as not piss him off either way. Best to leave sleeping dogs lie, his mama always said. Whatever the hell that means, Jayne trusts his mama's judgment. "You plannin' to run that pretty mouth of yours all night?" he asks instead, knowing full well it'll get things rolling.
"Not a chance," Xander assures him as he kneels on the bed between Jayne's spread thighs and looks down at him while he opens his pants, tug of button and slip of zipper easily undone. "Wasn't planning for you to either." Xander pulls his cock out, already hard, and presses his hips forward towards Jayne's mouth. "Now you use *your* pretty mouth," he murmurs.
Instruction is part of the game but Jayne doesn't really need it. He's already got his lips parted and the head of Xander's cock slips inside with the lick of a tongue. They groan in unison, and then Xander's voice is solo as Jayne opens wider and sucks him in. The heat of the room increases, though not necessarily according to the ship's climate control, and both bodies now glisten with a sheen of perspiration.
Jayne can feel the rock of Xander's hips, knows him well enough to gauge when to stop before things get too far along. Which isn't to say he won't do his best to draw it out some, make it last. His cock is as hard as the hull of the gorram ship, tight to his belly and sticky wet at the head as he sucks, licks, draws his tongue over the ridge of Xander's dick and presses it to the tip. Salty and bitter, the taste in his mouth is still almost as good as what he knows is going to happen next.
Xander pulls back with a growl, face flushed and eyes dark. Jayne smirks at him, licks at the saliva slick on his own lip and lets his head thump against the rack behind him as Xander stands unsteadily and starts to strip off his pants. Jayne watches Xander's dick jump and bounce as the man removes boots and pants with a hard tug and rough kick of the offending objects, sending them to the corner of the small room. The bunk gives a squeal of metal when Xander climbs back up again and Jayne's thighs flex in anticipation of the freedom he seeks.
"Cut 'em," he says, his voice a little raw with greedy desire.
"You're the toppiest bottom I ever met," Xander says and reaches up to grab one of the larger knives from the rack where Jayne has lovingly organized each and every weapon he owns. Xander draws it down and lets the razor sharp blade play lightly over the soft flesh of Jayne's inner thigh. Jayne holds his breath as there's the slightest tinge of heat when the blade slices his skin, and he looks down to see a thin line of deep red appear.
"Watch your fuckin' aim," he says but it comes out all breathless as he stares at his own blood. "Ain't signed up to let you go cuttin' on me. Especially not so close to my parts."
"Liar," Xander murmurs as he leans over to one side and cuts through the binding to Jayne's ankle without exerting more than a hair's breadth of pressure on the knife. "You're in it for the thrill of me cutting just that close to your parts."
"I ain't," Jayne says and tugs at the other binding, impatient for the other leg to be free. "I'm in it to get to the fuckin'."
Xander chuckles then and the other binding is split, and he has to move fast to get out of the way as Jayne scrambles to get up on his knees. There's an abrupt change of position as Jayne eyes Xander face to face and even with his hands still bound to the wall, arms pulled back to accommodate those long legs, Xander knows the balance of power's shifted.
That's just the way they like it, of course. He offers his fingers up and Jayne obliges by spitting on them. Ritual more than actual usefulness, and they both know it, but there's always a bottle right under the edge of the mattress and Xander finds that easily enough as he turns around and offers himself up. One hand slick with spit, the other with oil, he makes sure there's nothing to slow down the rest of the evening's entertainment. Jayne's breath catches as Xander reaches back and grabs hold, then groans out loud enough to make Xander wince as he impales himself on Jayne's cock.
"Rest of the ship's not invited," Xander says as he presses back, slow and steady, filling himself up and drawing another loud noise from Jayne that he's sure Mal and everyone else is trying their damndest not to hear.
"I don't tell you how to fly, you don't tell me how to fuck, ain't that what we agreed?" Jayne asks him, panting some as he bucks his hips to get things moving along. He watches Xander's head nod and shudders at the way it looks, glossy black hair over the sudden whiteness of Xander's bared neck. Best of both worlds right now, his dick slick and deep inside while his hands are still tugged tight where they bindings hold them to the rack. "Move," he says, and then does it himself before Xander can comply.
Xander's voice is low and muffled as he keeps his mouth shut during the act. He breathes hard, clenches one hand on the bed and the other on his own dick out of Jayne's sight, but the movement of his arm gives him away. Jayne does his best to match stroke for thrust. In no time they're in sync and it's just a matter of control on Xander's part over who's going to come first. The answer to that is Jayne more times than not, but tonight it seems like it's going to be Xander's turn. Even with his own hand controlling the action, Jayne can feel Xander losing it, and he gets caught up in the thrill.
It's damn close and if it wasn't so overwhelming, Jayne might have been able to tell who spilled when. But the truth is when he's all the way there, he doesn't care and he's not counting. He's just coming, head back and hips forward, listening to the rush of blood in his ears and not hearing himself cry out. He doesn't hear Xander's inhalation of pleasure either, too lost in his own body, but he does hear the thump of boot against the door to his room and the all too clear swearing of Mal as he tells them both to shut the hell up and spare the rest of the crew their shenanigans.
Xander eases forward and drops to the bunk for a moment. His legs are still splayed open and Jayne turns his head to get the best view. "Stop staring at my ass," Xander grunts.
"Little late to be playin' prim," Jayne snorts. "Now cut me down 'fore the captain decides to send the preacher man down."
That's enough of a threat to make Xander scramble, knife up and bindings history before Mal can go rouse Book and suggest a little late night fire and brimstone. Once is quite enough of that for Xander's taste.
==end==