For serenity_santa
Ficathon exchange gifts for everysingleway. We have a few icons here - Mal/Simon, and Mal/Inara - along with a couple of short Mal/Simon fics. I've never written Mal/Simon, and it's not a pairing I've really read, either, but it's clearly your absolute favourite pairing ever, so I wanted to give you something of it. The first fic is just a glorified drabble. The second is basically a series of snapshots set during "Serenity" (the episode, not the film). I hope you enjoy them! Merry Christmas!
Teaser:
SLY
01
His hands pin me tightly against the wall, his fingers curled into my shoulders. My hands, swift and sure when holding a scalpel, fumble beneath his shirt. His skin is on fire, and I convulse as he buries his mouth in my throat.
“I ain’t sly,” he says doggedly, lifting his head, staring at me bullishly even as his hand finds my belt.
“Neither am I.”
02
I press him against the wall, breathing hard through my nose, blood pounding in my head. I expect his hands to be cold and sure, but his fingers are warm and so clumsy that it makes my heart swell with a kind of painful sweetness. Hwai lai, the boy’s made me soft. So I set my jaw and stare at him, willing him to stop me.
“I ain’t sly.”
“Neither am I,” he says, with an expression of complete confusion, and then pushes my hand into his pants.
Meeting
“Captain Reynolds.”
Mal sized the young man up. Cut of his suit was expensive - and weren’t the sort of thing you could get on credit, neither. Boy looked like he thought he pissed champagne. What was he doing on Mal’s boat? Fancy fella like him should’ve been on some Alliance cruise liner. Worth keeping an eye on him, Mal thought, and nodded curtly at Simon.
*
At dinner Mal was in a good mood. Couldn’t say he was too glad to have a preacher on board, but the shepherd had brought fresh vegetables, and those better’n any he’d had in a long while. He watched the new passengers as he ate. Dobson - nothing more than a weak bendan of a man. If the shepherd could keep his mouth shut about his preachin’ dong shi, then Mal was happy to have him. But the good doctor… Simon ate his food as neatly and prissily as he spoke. Kaylee was prattling on to him, making herself friendly as Kaylee always did, and then Jayne had to crack a crude remark. Mal gave him a sharp word right off, both because Jayne was being an ass and also because he wanted to make it clear to their passengers that he didn’t tolerate that sort of talk to his crew. Jayne protested:
“You don’t pay me to talk pretty. Just because Kaylee gets lubed up over some big city dandy -”
Anger flared in Mal’s belly and he ordered Jayne out. He looked at Simon anew. Kaylee always did have an eye for a pretty piece of flesh. Was how Mal had met her, after all; he would say thrustin’ the brains out of his mechanic, but the man hadn’t had much in the way of brains to start with. This doctor wasn’t nothing like the mechanic, though. He held himself like a tight spring. Mal found himself wondering what it would be liked if he uncoiled.
Niou-se. Like he cared. Mal pushed back his chair and left the room, feeling Simon’s gaze on his back as he went.
*
Kaylee got shot. Kaylee, who Mal thought of as somethin’ like a little sister, as that hardfaced sonafabitch Simon refused to help her ‘til Mal promised he’d turn the boat around. No one gave him orders on his boat, but Simon stood his ground, and Kaylee was too important to risk.
“This is over, you and me are gonna have a personal chat,” said Mal threateningly. Simon’s response was calm, even bland.
“Won’t that be fun.” He tossed the hypo-gun to Mal. “Dope her.”
Mal found himself respectin’ the boy’s balls… Even if he did sorta want to tear ‘em off at the same time. Then, watching him, he found his admiration grow. The infirmary was a natural home to him, Mal could see; his movements were surer, quicker, and he handled Kaylee with a delicate but expert touch. Mal wondered if Simon would be as gentle with him if he’d been shot. Guay, as if it mattered; Mal’d been mishandled by field docs before an’ it hadn’t hurt him none. All the same, though, he couldn’t stop looking at the way Simon’s long fingers moved.
*
Mal looked at Simon, then at the girl, then back at Simon.
“Huh,” he said, managing to create an archly puzzled tone, when in truth the vein in his temple was pulsing. The hwoon dahn piece of shit. Mal had seen this sorta thing before - trading in girls - an’ it made him sick. What he couldn’t explain, though, was the sour feeling of disappointment in his belly. Disappointment? He didn’t even know the man, so why should he expect anything of him? Why should he want to?
“I need to check her vitals,” said Simon, and Mal could hear emotion straining in his voice, anger and fear rapping against his cool veneer.
“Oh, is that what they call it?” asked Mal, keeping his tone light, but his eyes snapped fire. His hands had bunched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He was tempted to slug Simon again, but this time hard enough to keep him down, and then the girl woke up and screamed.
And screamed and screamed, and then Simon pulled her into his gorram lap and stroked her hair. His expression was one of complete and absolute love, and Mal could tell everyone else in the room could feel it, too. The reverence in the silence from the others made him twitchy.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, expecting Simon to say girlfriend-wife-lover, but instead Simon looked up, curling a protective arm around the girl, and jutted his jaw at Mal.
“She’s my sister.”
Even to himself, Mal couldn’t admit feeling a small flash of relief.
Teaser:
SLY
01
His hands pin me tightly against the wall, his fingers curled into my shoulders. My hands, swift and sure when holding a scalpel, fumble beneath his shirt. His skin is on fire, and I convulse as he buries his mouth in my throat.
“I ain’t sly,” he says doggedly, lifting his head, staring at me bullishly even as his hand finds my belt.
“Neither am I.”
02
I press him against the wall, breathing hard through my nose, blood pounding in my head. I expect his hands to be cold and sure, but his fingers are warm and so clumsy that it makes my heart swell with a kind of painful sweetness. Hwai lai, the boy’s made me soft. So I set my jaw and stare at him, willing him to stop me.
“I ain’t sly.”
“Neither am I,” he says, with an expression of complete confusion, and then pushes my hand into his pants.
Meeting
“Captain Reynolds.”
Mal sized the young man up. Cut of his suit was expensive - and weren’t the sort of thing you could get on credit, neither. Boy looked like he thought he pissed champagne. What was he doing on Mal’s boat? Fancy fella like him should’ve been on some Alliance cruise liner. Worth keeping an eye on him, Mal thought, and nodded curtly at Simon.
*
At dinner Mal was in a good mood. Couldn’t say he was too glad to have a preacher on board, but the shepherd had brought fresh vegetables, and those better’n any he’d had in a long while. He watched the new passengers as he ate. Dobson - nothing more than a weak bendan of a man. If the shepherd could keep his mouth shut about his preachin’ dong shi, then Mal was happy to have him. But the good doctor… Simon ate his food as neatly and prissily as he spoke. Kaylee was prattling on to him, making herself friendly as Kaylee always did, and then Jayne had to crack a crude remark. Mal gave him a sharp word right off, both because Jayne was being an ass and also because he wanted to make it clear to their passengers that he didn’t tolerate that sort of talk to his crew. Jayne protested:
“You don’t pay me to talk pretty. Just because Kaylee gets lubed up over some big city dandy -”
Anger flared in Mal’s belly and he ordered Jayne out. He looked at Simon anew. Kaylee always did have an eye for a pretty piece of flesh. Was how Mal had met her, after all; he would say thrustin’ the brains out of his mechanic, but the man hadn’t had much in the way of brains to start with. This doctor wasn’t nothing like the mechanic, though. He held himself like a tight spring. Mal found himself wondering what it would be liked if he uncoiled.
Niou-se. Like he cared. Mal pushed back his chair and left the room, feeling Simon’s gaze on his back as he went.
*
Kaylee got shot. Kaylee, who Mal thought of as somethin’ like a little sister, as that hardfaced sonafabitch Simon refused to help her ‘til Mal promised he’d turn the boat around. No one gave him orders on his boat, but Simon stood his ground, and Kaylee was too important to risk.
“This is over, you and me are gonna have a personal chat,” said Mal threateningly. Simon’s response was calm, even bland.
“Won’t that be fun.” He tossed the hypo-gun to Mal. “Dope her.”
Mal found himself respectin’ the boy’s balls… Even if he did sorta want to tear ‘em off at the same time. Then, watching him, he found his admiration grow. The infirmary was a natural home to him, Mal could see; his movements were surer, quicker, and he handled Kaylee with a delicate but expert touch. Mal wondered if Simon would be as gentle with him if he’d been shot. Guay, as if it mattered; Mal’d been mishandled by field docs before an’ it hadn’t hurt him none. All the same, though, he couldn’t stop looking at the way Simon’s long fingers moved.
*
Mal looked at Simon, then at the girl, then back at Simon.
“Huh,” he said, managing to create an archly puzzled tone, when in truth the vein in his temple was pulsing. The hwoon dahn piece of shit. Mal had seen this sorta thing before - trading in girls - an’ it made him sick. What he couldn’t explain, though, was the sour feeling of disappointment in his belly. Disappointment? He didn’t even know the man, so why should he expect anything of him? Why should he want to?
“I need to check her vitals,” said Simon, and Mal could hear emotion straining in his voice, anger and fear rapping against his cool veneer.
“Oh, is that what they call it?” asked Mal, keeping his tone light, but his eyes snapped fire. His hands had bunched into fists, his nails biting into his palms. He was tempted to slug Simon again, but this time hard enough to keep him down, and then the girl woke up and screamed.
And screamed and screamed, and then Simon pulled her into his gorram lap and stroked her hair. His expression was one of complete and absolute love, and Mal could tell everyone else in the room could feel it, too. The reverence in the silence from the others made him twitchy.
“What the hell is this?” he asked, expecting Simon to say girlfriend-wife-lover, but instead Simon looked up, curling a protective arm around the girl, and jutted his jaw at Mal.
“She’s my sister.”
Even to himself, Mal couldn’t admit feeling a small flash of relief.