Day 11: Stowed Away (Firefly, Simon)
Title: Stowed Away
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Firefly
Character: Simon, (Simon/Mal)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit being made from this.
Summary: Simon only does it once a week. 380 words. For thepouncer, who wanted Mal thinking about Simon.
Simon only allows this for himself once a week. Water rationing was hard to get used to, and eating the same bland protein paste day after day will never be easy, but this, this starvation of body and mind, is only one more lesson he must learn, one more sacrifice to be made in his quest to keep River safe.
She needs him to be available and ready to take care of her, all of the time. Or perhaps it's more truthful to say that he needs himself to be ready for her. Whenever he relaxes, it seems, that's when her fits strike the hardest. He doesn't need to be...occupied if that happens.
Plus, the others are always around. Popping up from nowhere on the tiny ship, with no regard for his privacy at all.
But, he knows it's unhealthy to ignore his needs completely. So. Saturday wash rotation is his special time. He locks the door with extra care. Strips quickly. Strokes himself to hardness as fast as he can, with no finesse and little pleasure. It has to be quick; if anyone notices he spends extra time, they'll comment as loudly and crudely as possible.
He tries his most surefire fantasies. Ones from his youth, full of big-breasted women with dark-painted eyelids and gentle hands. He tries old girlfriends, and the two one-night stands he remembers from the haze of finals weeks long past. He tries fantasies with women he never could get, and once he even tried imagining Kaylee. But that had seemed so wrong, so prurient, that he'd started to go limp instead.
Every time, he tries to avoid the one fantasy that always works. And every time, he returns to it. Mal walking up behind him, bootsteps loud and possessive on Serenity's deck. Simon doesn't turn, but it doesn't matter. A hand lands strong on his hip: not pushing or pulling, but simply owning. And then Mal leans in close, the deep cedar and iron scent of his skin preceding his warmth. Simon can't make out Mal's words, but he doesn't care. Not when they're whispered right in his ear.
After he comes, Simon showers quickly and carelessly, trying to make up the time. Then he dresses and stows away his needs for another week.
Author: tigerlady
Fandom: Firefly
Character: Simon, (Simon/Mal)
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit being made from this.
Summary: Simon only does it once a week. 380 words. For thepouncer, who wanted Mal thinking about Simon.
Simon only allows this for himself once a week. Water rationing was hard to get used to, and eating the same bland protein paste day after day will never be easy, but this, this starvation of body and mind, is only one more lesson he must learn, one more sacrifice to be made in his quest to keep River safe.
She needs him to be available and ready to take care of her, all of the time. Or perhaps it's more truthful to say that he needs himself to be ready for her. Whenever he relaxes, it seems, that's when her fits strike the hardest. He doesn't need to be...occupied if that happens.
Plus, the others are always around. Popping up from nowhere on the tiny ship, with no regard for his privacy at all.
But, he knows it's unhealthy to ignore his needs completely. So. Saturday wash rotation is his special time. He locks the door with extra care. Strips quickly. Strokes himself to hardness as fast as he can, with no finesse and little pleasure. It has to be quick; if anyone notices he spends extra time, they'll comment as loudly and crudely as possible.
He tries his most surefire fantasies. Ones from his youth, full of big-breasted women with dark-painted eyelids and gentle hands. He tries old girlfriends, and the two one-night stands he remembers from the haze of finals weeks long past. He tries fantasies with women he never could get, and once he even tried imagining Kaylee. But that had seemed so wrong, so prurient, that he'd started to go limp instead.
Every time, he tries to avoid the one fantasy that always works. And every time, he returns to it. Mal walking up behind him, bootsteps loud and possessive on Serenity's deck. Simon doesn't turn, but it doesn't matter. A hand lands strong on his hip: not pushing or pulling, but simply owning. And then Mal leans in close, the deep cedar and iron scent of his skin preceding his warmth. Simon can't make out Mal's words, but he doesn't care. Not when they're whispered right in his ear.
After he comes, Simon showers quickly and carelessly, trying to make up the time. Then he dresses and stows away his needs for another week.