Firefly: "when you were young..."

[redtapestry]

title when you were young (he doesn't look a thing like jesus)
fandom firefly au
rating r
pairing jayne/river
summary slavery is alive and well in the alliance-governed core planets, and to create extra streams of revenue, the pits are open for business. modern-day gladiators fight to the death, and jayne cobb has never fallen beneath a sword. his master, gabriel tam, trains him at his estate where jayne first sees his master's daughter, river. she's the kind of girl a man doesn't lose thought of, ever, even when she goes missing two years later after attending an alliance academy. her brother recruits jayne to find her, which leads them to the crew of serenity and the destinies awaiting them.
warnings violence/minor gore, language (in both english and chinese), explicit sexual content, minor ooc of jayne, minor spartacus: blood and sand references/influences
disclaimer joss whedon holds the purse strings. i'm merely a wannabe puppet master.
word count: ~ 5500

author's note: written for for weebeanie in waltzmatildah's queensland flood auction. Megan bid $15.00 and this is her reward! thanks for bidding and donating to this worthy cause, dear, and i hope you like your fic!



It is the roaring crowd, the scent of blood upon the sand, and the beat of steel against shield in the Pits that drives Jayne to fever. He dreams of the fight, and wakes to the drumming in his ears, summoning a Gladiator to the center stage. He knows no life other than this. Has never known another life, and has no wish to. It's the blood of the fallen that stains his lips and the taste of copper upon his tongue that drives him ever more in his training.

The sword feels right in his grip. His shield weighs heavy upon his arm, but it's a good weight. Harsh and straining against his already strong arm. But it's a welcome strain because it's one of the last barriers between his throat or his body and another's blade. The last line of defense against a Glorious Death.

His opponent's sword flicks off the surface of his shield and he thrusts it away from him, disarming the man with a deft maneuver. The fighter, Varro, stumbles back with a misstep and falls to his back. Jayne levies his blade, glinting in the noonday sun, and goes in for the kill. But Varro isn't going to concede so easily. He rolls and makes a play for the sword long tossed aside. Jayne lets him; this fight has not lasted long, and he wants a challenge. With a cry of excitement, Jayne moves in as Varro rights himself and prepares for the next assault.

"C'mon, you fuckin' ji bai! Get up!" Jayne urges him, spittle flying from his lips in his fervor. Varro ignores his insult and returns to his stance, arm at the ready, extended with his sword. Jayne laughs and leaps forward, a surge of power and energy.

Varro dodges and ducks as Jayne's sword nearly splits his head from his shoulders. But there is little rest between blows. Jayne recovers his footing and whirls about, the blood thumping through his ears as he swings his arm wide, blade glancing off Varro's shoulder. He feels it sink a little into his flesh, but is torn free with a splash of blood and an angered cry from the other man.

"First blood to Jayne!" Somewhere to his right, the Caller makes the announcement and the crowd around the pit roars to life, cheering the spilling of life.

Jayne dodges forward, beneath Varro's sword, and repeats the gesture. He draws an identical line across the other shoulder, a little deeper this time, and the bloodied man hisses with unexpected pain.

"Ni meiyou langun, son of a whore," Jayne mocks him from across the pit's sands, hoping to stir more than a fire in the man's belly. He wants to see that rage bloom in his eyes, wants to hear the swinging whine of sword through air towards his heart, head, neck. And Jayne wants to hear the pound of Varro's lifeless body upon the ground when Jayne removes his life from him with deft sword strokes and roars of victory.

"Shut your fucking mouth, niufen," Varro spits back. His face grows red with anger and his muscles tense, a telltale sign of his impending strike. But Jayne lets him through for a moment, lets the man rush past him in a flurry of practiced grace. However, his sword doesn't fall. Jayne whips around, cutting down just as the man's side extends and thrusts his own sword into empty air. His blade hits home, and with a spurt of blood, slices into Varro's side and through his torso, blocked only by the thick entanglement of internal organs. The look on Varro's face, the realization of it all, is a jolt of adrenaline straight through to Jayne's heart. He tugs his blade free, and with it a steady fountain of blood that splashes over his already heated skin, lighting him on fire. Varro clutches at the wound. It's a fruitless gesture of a man who doesn't realize his time has come and gone. Already, blood and pink tissue falls out of him, stains the ground beneath in dark splotches that practically steam. And just because he's a nice fucking guy, Jayne sweeps his head from his shoulders like it's nothing, to end his suffering.

And if it brings him more glory and praise from the already bloodthirsty crowd, then so be it.

Varro's head rolls across the sand, and Jayne throws his arms up in triumph.

He can see his master, Dominus Gabriel Tam with his wife the Domina, at the Viewing Balcony, twin grins spreading wider than ever. Gabriel is wearing his nicest suit for the Primus match between Jayne and Varro. Domina Regan looks radiant in a vibrant red gown, and everyone around them is staring at her and Gabriel with envy.

"Citizens of Osiris, a feat has occurred this day!" Gabriel, ever the gifted orator, throws his hands up into the air and the roar of the crowd dies down to a whimper. "Ariel's prized champion, Varro, has fallen under a far superior sword! Your champion, Jayne, prevails where others have fallen. He brings glory and honor to this field with the blood of our enemy!" The people react, jumping to their feet, almost leaping over one another to cheer for their champion. Gabriel kisses his wife, hugs his tall son, and shakes the hand of the Ariel lord who provided Varro for the exhibition.

But no one notices (nor do they care) when guards armed with guns instead of swords come for Jayne. They immediately shackle him and drag him back to the cells beneath the pit to be made ready for transport while Gabriel collects the winnings and congratulations.

As he's transported in the back of a shuttle towards the Tam Estate and Auditorium at the edge of the city, Jayne goes over the fight in his head. Varro is the fifty-seventh man to die by Jayne's blade. And he won't be the last.

It's a Tuesday when he sees her for the first time. At least, he thinks it's a Tuesday. He's in the Auditorium, running drills with another Gladiator. He doesn't know his name, he's new, and Jayne just happens to look over.

The day has been cool and crisp thus far, but setting eyes upon her sends a heated flush through Jayne's chest that feels like a sun exploding across his skin. She's petite and small, but lithe and graceful like a dancer. Long brown hair shines in the day's bright light. Jayne can't see what color her eyes are, but he has a feeling they're just as beautiful as she. She's wearing a flowing lavender-colored sundress that constricts around the breasts (which he, as a red-blooded man so long denied the touch of a woman, can't help but notice) and flows downwards in the empire fashion. Her arms and legs are bare, along with her feet.

She carries a single daisy between her slim, deft fingers, and Jayne stops, stares.

He's delivered a cruel, crushing blow to his side for his distraction. Not that he minds.

He looks back, though, and finds himself so disappointed she's disappeared.

Jayne sees her again three weeks later. Days have turned much colder, winter coming hard and fast to Osiris' capital city. The snow is covered in white, but soon the training grounds are reduced to slushy messes from the hurried, rushed drills Gladiators are put through in the Auditorium. He and the rest of his brothers are clad in breeches only, despite the freezing temperatures and precipitation. He doesn't mind; he's kept warm with the mock fights he's been put through with the practice sword.

And, like before, he happens to glance over and sees her, handing out water to the men.

She's bound up, covered nearly head to toe in winter garb, and Jayne discovers with a pleasant heat in the belly that he likes her like this, almost as much as he adores her bare skin, so pale and smooth. A heavy brown coat with fur at the collar betrays her wealth. Thick winter boots should look ridiculous, as should the breeches she probably stole from her brother, but they don't. They add to her allure.

The girl carries a large canteen in her hands. She heaves the thing about, though it must be heavy, without so much as a whimper. Jayne nearly smirks to himself; the girl is strong. His girl is strong. His. It's been a long time, too long, since thinking of something or someone as his. Long before his first memories of the Auditorium and Gladiator training. He briefly recalls a woman he called Mother and the family he must have had. But these images have long been distorted by blood and time. He shakes it free of his mind, not wanting to think of unpleasant half-memories, and turns his thoughts to the girl and the way she so confidently approaches the Instructor.

"Pardon me, Instructor," the girl's voice carries throughout the Auditorium. Jayne is certain their Instructor, a Gladiator of stunning repute himself years ago, will simply brush her away. He doesn't have time for silly slave girls and their companions interfering with his Gladiator training.

"Mistress," the Instructor bows. "How may I serve you?"

So she is a lady of standing. That would explain her confident (not haughty, never haughty) air, fine clothes, and the slave following a step behind at all times.

Though the thought should repulse him, Jayne simply finds himself more intrigued. Most Gladiators by now have dropped their blades to watch the interaction. Jayne joins them, sliding his blade across the broad expanse of his bare shoulders, and refuses to take his eyes off the girl.

"I thought your students may require some hot tea." She says this with such authority that if the Instructor hadn't identified her station, Jayne would have assumed it in time. "It's cold out here, and they've been at it for hours without pause."

"As you wish, my lady. Gladiators! At attention!"

Jayne, along with his brothers in arms, immediately fall into a long line stretching from one end of the Auditorium to the other. They hold themselves straight and proud, like proper Gladiators should. Proud of being part of House Tam. Normally, when ladies visit the Auditorium's training yard or the cells beneath the yard acting as Gladiator chambers, they are afraid. Excited and aroused, in most cases, but inherently afraid of the dangerous men with scars and a thirst for violence. This girl, this highborn lady, shows nothing of fear or apprehension in being in the Gladiators' presence. In fact, she leaves her slave behind her, and approaches the first man with her heavy canteen and a cup produced from her pocket.

"Gladiator," she greets him, broad smile showing a little too much teeth and gum. Her lips are very pink from the cold and her cheeks are rosy. "Would you like some tea? It's white jasmine, my favorite."

"Yes, Mistress," the Gladiator, a man known as Bacchus, answers. She nods, hands him the cup, and pours the tea in a steaming stream. When she lifts the canteen, he drinks deep, regardless of the burning temperature, and smacks his lips appreciatively.

"Good?" Most nobles would ask that simply to stroke their already inflated egos, but Jayne sees she means it. She truly wants to know what he thinks.

"Good, Mistress," Bacchus answers, eyes straight ahead.

"Lovely! What about you, Gladiator?" She makes her way down the line, doling out cups of tea to each man with a thirst. Which, it turns out, is everyone. It's a welcome break from the routine of training.

Finally, she comes to Jayne. She hands him the cup, and he takes it gladly. Their fingers, though coming close, do not touch, and Jayne momentarily mourns the loss. But she's pouring the tea, and watching him hopefully as he drinks.

It's hot, but pleasant. It tastes clean and light, but a little bitter for Jayne's tastes.

"What do you think of the tea?" she asks him, big eyes (brown, he knows now, and as pretty as he suspected) wide and wondering.

Jayne shrugs, hands the cup back. "Could use some sugar."

And, for an instance, he's afraid he's said something wrong. Most nobles he's come across only want their assholes licked and nothing else. To hear they're the most beautiful, talented, wondrous beings in the entire 'verse. For an instance, he's afraid and nearly shattered she's the same way. For all the brief moments he's seen and watched her, he had hoped for someone different.

But she quickly breaks the tension with a laugh as bright and twinkling as she. It's a loud laugh; she throws her head back and her hair goes flying over her shoulders. It's a near-bellow, ringing through the chilled air. A cloud of white puffs out from between her lips and Jayne wants to catch that breath, sound, and hold it within.

She keeps smiling as she settles, and pours him another cup.

"Next time, I'll bring sugar." She scrunches up her brow, thinking. "I was watching you before. Sparring with the other man. You drop your guard after you strike. Keep your shield up next time."

Jayne smiles into his tea, thanks her for the advice (though he doesn't know how she surmised his weakness; it's true, in any case), and watches as she serves the rest of the men to his right.

Soon, she is gone, they resume training, but he can still see her footprints and feel her near him, and he thinks of her the rest of the day.

She comes everyday now, carrying that same canteen. She has sweetened the tea. It's perfect now, as he tells her, and he watches the light come to her face with the remark.

Somewhere, he learns her name is River Tam and she is the daughter of his Dominus and Domina. The thought still doesn't quell his growing thoughts towards her.

The first time he kisses her, it's unexpected. She's been bringing tea to the Auditorium for weeks now, lingering longer and longer in front of him. She asks him questions about his training and the tea and his family; the latter he dodges. She doesn't press the matter further. She doesn't bring up his family, and Jayne doesn't talk about the way her soft, female fingers grace his battle-toughened hands, nor the flames licking the skin at the kisses her fingers bestow upon him.

And, if the glint of mischief in her eyes is any indication, she delights in it as much as he.

It's been about two months since he first saw her, and it's the first time since he's been summoned to the main estate. Guards accompany him to an inner room he's never seen before, and judging by the wall-to-wall books and luscious arm chairs arranged throughout the room, this is the Tam's personal library. Jayne is ever more conscious of the dirt clinging to his boots and the bloodstains spattered across his breeches.

River, as he's come to call her in his mind though he's never been given explicit permission, is standing in the center with a large book in her hand. She appears to be reading, deeply concentrating on the words. She forms them silently with her mouth. Jayne can't help but watch her, watch as her tongue wets her mouth, how it forms syllables with care.

"Leave us," River commands. She looks up from her book, shuts it, and gently places it on the desk before her.

The guards nod and close the door. Jayne and River are alone. For the first time ever.

If only his hands weren't shackled. If only he were a free man. If only's dance through his head like fucking sugarplums, taunting him with their futile hope.

She moves towards him, her dress shifting with every single movement, leaving nothing beneath it to the imagination. Jayne's breath quickens with her steps.

"You've been watching me." It's matter-of-fact, no room for argument.

Jayne doesn't know how to respond, so he doesn't. Turns out, he doesn't need to.

"You've been watching me, and I know what you're thinking." She doesn't take her eyes from his, but he can't tell what she's thinking. "I usually know what men are thinking, and it's usually dirty and wrong." She screws her face up at the reminder, and Jayne inexplicably wants to hurt whomever fills her mind with their filth. Her face relaxes, opens up, and she smiles. "See? Right there? Not like the other men. Nothing dirty and wrong about you." She nudges him in the ribs. "Well, mostly. But a little dirty and wrong never hurt nobody."

The fingers dip down his bare chest and, tongue between her teeth, River digs into the most ticklish spot in Jayne's side.

He ducks away, hisses a, "Gorramit, girl!" and promptly forgets where he is and whom he's with. There's a tiny moment of stillness that settles, but River doesn't let it lie. She squints her eyes, thinks. Then sends her fingers across his stomach and right above his belly button. The muscles jump in response and he barks a laugh.

"You're ticklish!" She matches his laughter. "A big man like you, brought down by such a little touch. By a little girl like me."

And, before he can move or think or speak or do anything to ruin this, she hops up onto her tippy-toes and plants a soft kiss right on his mouth. It's closed lips, just lip on lip contact, but it's enough to make his blood burn like magma and move just as slowly in his veins. Jayne longs to wrap his arms around her slim form, but chains rattle and break whatever tenuous thread of romance they'd strung up between them.

He doesn't taste her when she's touching him, but hours later, back in his cell, he thinks of her lips on his and imagines she'd taste like honeysuckle, or that white jasmine tea she so favors.

Jayne doesn't see her again. That kiss is the last contact he has with her.

She doesn't bring tea anymore.

Two and a half years have passed, and nothing is the same. At least, it isn't for Jayne. He doesn't hold any illusions towards his one-time excursion onto the estates. But he can't help but let River run rampant through his thoughts, an ever present ghost that is all too happy to haunt him.

It's the second time he's been in the estate, and yet it's completely different than the first. For one, instead of River confronting him with a sweet kiss on the lips and a playful tickle along his skin, it's her brother, Simon, with a sour look on his face and a crinkle to his brow. He crosses his arms, straining the seams of his expensive silk shirt to the point of breaking in his agitation. Jayne is shackled, again, just come from his cell. Barely awake, yet completely alert.

"You're Jayne." It isn't a question.

"Yes."

"You're a gladiator my father owns. I remember seeing you fight."

Jayne wants to roll his eyes. He wants to walk out and leave the pompous brat behind to waste his own time. But he can't exactly ditch his master's son.

"Did you enjoy the fight, sir?"

"No. Not quite to my taste." He seems aloof, this youth with too serious a face. He's got longer hair than is the fashion, shaggier than the other lords Jayne sees parading around during house parties. His blue eyes are troubled, and for a moment, Jayne can see the familial resemblance between him and the girl who's captured Jayne's mind. "But I could have use for you."

Jayne knows his place. He doesn't ask questions, he doesn't talk back. But he can't help the curiosity that springs to the forefront of his brain.

Simon, Jayne thinks that's his name, hands over a piece of crumpled and re-folded paper covered in elegant scrawl. The figures and characters roll over the paper, a confused mess of nothing and something all at the same time. But it makes no sense to him.

"Well?" Simon looks at him, expecting something Jayne can't give, impatience coloring his cheeks. "What do you make of that?"

"I don't know, yer lordship," Jayne hisses and thrusts the paper back to his master's son. "I ain't able to read."

"How inconvenient." Simon isn't sorry, doesn't pity him. He snatches back the paper and glances down until he finds the particular passage he wants. "It reads, 'I remember going to the creek with Jayne, fishing and lounging in the sun.' Now, Gladiator, tell me. This is true?"

"It ain't. None of it." Panic springs up in his chest. What's his punishment for cavorting with his master's daughter? Lashes? Death? Execution in the pit? He doesn't get further before Simon's speaking again.

"I didn't think so." Simon reads further. "Nor do I think you and she went shopping in town. The point is none of this is real. None of it happened, and it isn't one of her games, or one of her jokes. This isn't her talking." Simon is pacing now, the letter clutched in his hand, near forgotten. "Something's wrong. Hasn't been right since she went off to school."

Jayne feels a weight lift from his heart, knowing she isn't gone or in trouble. She merely went off to school. But that represents another problem as seeing how she may very well be in trouble, according to her brother. Jayne can't help the feeling of pure concern flourishing in his belly. He steps forward, involuntarily, and startles Simon. But he doesn't care, even as the guards inch towards him, hands on their weapons, simply awaiting Simon's orders.

Simon shakes his head and they move back. Leashed. For now.

"Is she in trouble?"

"Yes," Simon admits, driving it all home. "But we're going to get her back."

"We?" That little bit didn't escape Jayne's notice. Not one bit.

"Yes." Simon slaps a conspiratorial hand on Jayne's shoulder. "We."

They find her in an Alliance holding facility, a place for science and experimentation. Simon plays the military doctor and Jayne his bodyguard. The kid knocks the Alliance doc out while Jayne sweeps River into his arms, both relishing the feel of her in his arms and mourning the loss of the girl she'd been. She's too thin and malnourished, that much is obvious. But he's more frightened by the medical lances driven into her brain, the electrodes strapped to every inch of her body, and the wild look in her eyes that never manage to land on him.

She's not the same River, that much is obvious.

Jayne stays with them. They couldn't break him away from her side, even as the men pull back the lid on the cryo-tank. He looks away when she drops her dress around her feet and steps over it, but helps her into the tank. He maybe peeks a little. She doesn't let him know she's seen him, but she has. He knows she has.

The captain and his crew seem like good folk. But the Alliance were supposed to be good folk, and look what they did to his girl. He's started thinking of River as his girl again (hasn't in a long time). She's his, and Simon's, but in completely different ways. He's had long times to think on it, ever since his master's son took him away from the Estate and the Auditorium. Ever since they became fugitives, where their faces are plastered everywhere. Plastered just for protecting their own; it's something Jayne doesn't quite understand.

That's why they're getting off Persephone. It's got one of the largest docks in the Core. There has to be someone willing to take them to the Outer Planets, far away from the Alliance's mighty reach. And Captain Reynolds may just very well be that someone.

If he can be trusted.

Jayne kills the man that tried to kill River, and feels glad about it. He's killed fifty-eight men, but the last one is the most important because it means River remains unharmed. His girl is fine. Well, as fine as she is ever going to be with her brain in pieces like it is.

They kiss again. He's in his bunk, sharpening what little weaponry he's managed to attain through his relationship with the Captain. He fulfills the muscle quotient of the crew, going with him on jobs to keep the rest of them safe. And he's happy to do it if it means earning his keep and sticking close to River. He spits on the whetstone and doesn't budge when the door to his bunk swings open.

She's still beautiful, but now she's fragile. Like a doll he doesn't want to break. He still feels that pull of desire towards her as she descends the ladder, but it's softer now, slow and warm.

"Warrior without a blade. Without an opponent. Lost without blood."

Jayne eyes her, wary and suspicious.

"Missing pieces. Not complete. Not compatible." She comes to rest beside him on the bed, somehow maneuvering the knives and various guns the Captain has loaned to him for the crew's protection. And hers. She looks at him, all kinds of sideways and wonky.

"What do you mean, girl?" Jayne wants to know. "River?"

It's the first time he's used her name, at least outside his own mind. It's strange to feel the unfamiliar syllables roll off his tongue, but it's a relief, too, to know what it sounds like coming from him. She likes it to, judging by her smile.

"Finally."

And she kisses him. Nothing like the chaste kiss from years before. But a proper one, open and slick, her tongue making the first moves against his. She tastes him and he her. She tastes like the strawberries from supper. He can taste the gun metal and oil from the cleaning rag he'd held in his mouth, but she doesn't balk at the taste. She places her tiny hands on his rough face and he wraps his arms around her waist, tugging her closer. Into his lap.

Where she can feel the effect she has on him.

She pulls away, looking as happy as a clam, and Jayne feels like a right shit taking advantage of her in her...situation.

"Don't be afraid to jump off. I'll catch you." And, for whatever reason, he believes her.

A doctor sees Simon's face, recognizes him from med school on Osiris, and alerts the Feds. They're in a holding cell, being questioned, and Jayne tries to keep River in his sights. Simon is trying to be a hero. Meanwhile, River is muttering about Christmas and the future according to Her.

They get the drop on the guards and Jayne kills the last one with his bare hands, breaking the man's neck. His count has come to fifty-nine, and again, he doesn't care. All that matters is that River's safe. They're free, thanks to the key Jayne swiped from the last guard, and unlocks their wrist cuffs.

But they're not out of the woods. They hear screaming soon enough, coming from above. River's afraid, more afraid that she's ever been, and Jayne can smell it coming off her in waves.

"What the hell's going on up there?" He wonders.

"Two by two, hands of blue...two by two..." And she darts off, searching for any kind of way out. There's only one way to go, though, and that's away from the cries of dying men. Hopefully, there's a way out, or they're screwed.

Jayne and Simon follow her. She seems to know where to go, though Jayne can't figure how.

River finds a door and Jayne tries to shoot it down. Tries and fails because things just aren't made the way they used to.

But it's all for naught because the door swings open, sudden, and the Captain is on the other side with Zoe and the welcome wagon.

Then Wash picks them up in the found ambulance and flies them the hell out of there. Jayne keeps an eye on River the whole time.

That night, while the crew is celebrating the take from the hospital and practically rolling around in medical supplies, Jayne returns to his quarters with a heavy head and a bottle full of booze in his hand. River follows him to his bunk. He lets her.

They both settle on the bed, reminiscent of their last moment alone together. Now, though, it's kind of different. She's safe because he kept her safe. He knows it, and he likes the thought that he saved her. Simon keeps going on and on about how amazing he was, but the thing is, he wasn't that amazing. Jayne was just doing what he thought was right. What he thought was going to keep her safe because River is and always will be the first concern in his mind.

"What're you going to spend your cash on?" She's part of the crew, so River gets a cut of the profits when they start selling the meds.

"Your heart is heavy," River drawls, eyes fixated upon his chest.

"How you figure?"

She reaches out, lays her fingers against his skin. He'd stripped out of his shirt, not worrying about being bared in front of her since she knew him as a Gladiator, barely clothed, if at all. Nudity, even partial, is not something that fazes Jayne.

"You have concerns. Your worries. For me." She takes her other hand and connects it to her own heart, tapping the skin. "You can't hide them well."

"Yeah, well, them's the breaks," Jayne admits, using a term he heard while they were on Persephone. "I never could hide anything. 'Specially from you."

"Always knew what you were thinking."

"Dirty and wrong, right?" He grins a hopefully dirty grin to illustrate his point.

"Dirty and naughty, but never wrong."

It never bothered him, the way she always knows what he's thinking. Not like it bothers most people.

"And you don't mind, seeing as you're the answer."

That causes Jayne pause. "Answer to what?"

"To my puzzle. You always have been."

Something inside Jayne breaks at that point. To think he's been in her thoughts as much as she ever was in his. To think he means as much to her as she to him is a thought that never quite occurred in Jayne's brain.

"And what does....what does that mean? Puzzles and things ain't very plain when you think about it. I'm a man that needs plain here, girl."

"Ai ya, ben tiansheng de yidui rou," River curses, slapping her hands to his cheeks and tugging his face to hers. It's a brutal kiss, none of the kindness he afforded in their earlier encounters. She plunges her tongue into his mouth, between his lips, and pushes up into his lap, straddling him.

She doesn't mind the feeling of him growing hard beneath her; in fact, she revels in it. He doesn't know where she learned any of this, and maybe she's just reading it from his mind as he thinks it, but she rotates her hips, pressing the hotness between her thighs to the hotness between his.

She's naked beneath him, writhing, panting as she threads her fingers through the short, short hair on his head. Her legs are wrapped around his shoulders.

She tastes of strawberries and something primal, something earthy, something utterly without description.

River's tight, so gorram tight around his cock, drawing more and more of him in until they're flush against each other. She throws her head back to his pillow, a guttural moan thrust up through her throat with every thrust of his hips. He mouths her breasts, drawing a peaked nipple into his mouth and chews it light between his teeth.

Her nails draw blood down his back and shoulders, hot stripes flushing in the cool air.

Later, he'll hiss when his shirt rubs raw across his wounds, and smile as to how he got them.

Afterwards, with her still beneath him, her legs still tight around his ass, he mouths burning kisses up and down her neck. She is pressed, all her angles and curves, against his straight lines. Jayne can't help but think they fit together. Perfectly.

"Like a puzzle. Missing pieces no longer. One big picture."

Jayne falls asleep, his heavy arm across her shoulders, keeping her right where he wants her.

He sleeps well that night. The drumbeats and scent of blood fade, replaced by white jasmine and blinking brown eyes and soft skin and the welcome weight of River Tam in his arms.