Fc: Warmth (Mal/Simon, PG)
Title: Warmth
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Rating: PG
Written for: the Simon round at maleslashminis for ruric
Prompt: Uncertainty; memories; hesitancy
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine.
Simon found Mal perched on top of a boulder a few feet away from Serenity. He was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a crumpled up letter in the other. Not long after joining the crew, Simon had learned that Mal took spells like this every once in a while. They were nothing to worry about, Zoë had assured him. They were just fits of ill memories. The rest of the crew had learned to live with it. They would give Mal his space, keep Serenity stocked up with cheap liquor, and wait for the doldrums to pass on by.
But Simon was a healer, not just by trade but by nature. When he saw suffering, he couldn’t abide letting it go on if there was some way he could help. He was better at mending bodies, to be sure. But he figured hearts could be patched back together, too, if someone had enough compassion and patience.
Of course, his attempts to listen or to comfort Mal were usually met with sarcastic barbs, brusque silence or if Mal was particularly stirred up, threats of bodily injury. Still, Simon felt that he had to try.
He walked down the ramp and onto the sandy terrain they were currently using as an impromptu repair station. It was growing dark now, and Simon had to squint to see where he was walking.
As he slipped up beside Mal, Simon felt a gust of night wind sweep a funnel of dust onto his pants and shoes. He grimaced at the mess and resisted the urge to pat himself clean. Pointing at the bottle in Mal’s hand, he said, “Captain, you’ve been at it at a while.”
“And I’ll be at it a while longer.” Mal said, his voice thick with liquor. “You come out here to lecture me, doc?”
“I just wanted to see if you were all right.”
“I am several kinds of not all right,” Mal grumbled as he took a swig of wine.
Taking Mal’s words as encouragement, Simon took a few steps closer. “Well,” he said, “would-”
Mal snapped his head toward Simon. “I’m also inclined to be alone.”
Simon nodded and licked his lips. Swallowing, he asked, “Could I have a drink?”
Mal narrowed his eyes. “You want a drink.”
“I’m a little restless tonight,” Simon said. “I thought it might help me sleep.”
After gazing at him for a several seconds, Mal finally held the bottle out to Simon. “Drink up, doc.”
“I don’t suppose you have a glass.”
Mal shook his head. “You too good to drink out of a bottle? Leave me be.”
Simon reached out and took hold of the bottle before Mal had a chance to pull it away. “This will be fine.” He took a quick sip and pulled a face. “Nice,” he said, clearing his throat.
A bemused look on his face, Mal gestured to an empty space on the boulder. Simon hoisted himself onto the rock and took a deep gulp of wine.
For the better part of an hour, Mal and Simon passed the bottle back and forth between them. Gradually, Simon felt the warmth of the alcohol start to seep into his veins and felt the defenses Mal normally kept erected around himself begin to ease.
As he took a swig of wine and handed the bottle back to Simon, Mal held up the crumpled letter. “You see this, doc? Young fella I knew in the war wrote it.”
Simon raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden burst of information. He waited for a moment for Mal to continue, but when he didn’t say anymore, Simon asked, “So you’ve kept in touch?”
“Nah,” Mal said. “He slipped away during that last battle.” Looking off into the distance, Mal tapped the letter against his leg. “This wasn’t written to me. See, most of us, we wrote letters to our families, just in case we didn’t make it out.”
Simon took a long drink of wine and passed the bottle to Mal. “Did his family see the letter?”
“Oh, they saw it,” Mal said, his jaw squared and his eyes full of blood. “I took it to ‘em personally. Thought they might want to know what happened to their son.” He cleared his throat and slumped his shoulders in what looked to Simon like resignation. “You know what they did? They balled it up and threw it in my face.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. He inched a hand onto Mal’s shoulders and was surprised when it wasn’t violently shaken off. He did feel Mal’s muscles tense under his touch, but he kept his hand firmly in place, determined to provide whatever small comfort he could. “Maybe they were just lost in grief.”
“I expect you’re right,” Mal said. His breath hitched as he slipped the letter into the waistband of his pants. “Guess I was the only person left to blame.”
“You weren’t to blame, though” Simon assured him.
“How do you know?” Mal snapped, taking a swing at the air. “Maybe I screwed up and got him killed.”
“You weren’t to blame,” Simon said, this time in a firm voice. He pressed his fingers into Mal’s shoulder and worked at unraveling some of the knots in the still-rigid muscles.
To Simon’s surprise, Mal leaned into the touch and let out a long breath. “Hey, doc,” he said, his voice hushed. “You know how I said I was inclined to be alone tonight?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s no longer the case.” Mal twisted his body until he was face to face with Simon. “I think I might like some company tonight.”
Simon patted Mal on the arm. “I’ll sit here with you as long as you need,” he said.
Mal laid a hand on Simon’s cheek. “That’s not quite what I meant, doc.”
Simon’s face felt hot from Mal’s touch, and from the sudden realization of what Mal was suggesting. He held up his hands and pulled away from the contact. “You’re drunk,” he said.
Mal smirked. “You’re a little tipsy yourself, doc.”
Standing up to create some distance between them, Simon said, “Captain, I think I should get you to bed.”
“So do I.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Simon said. “Neither of us is thinking clearly right now.”
“You sound as lucid as ever,” Mal said. “And I’m sober enough to know what I’m asking of you.” He stood up, swayed a bit, and grabbed hold of Simon’s shoulders to steady himself. “I’m asking you to spend the night with me in my bed.” He leaned forward and pressed a sloppy kiss onto Simon’s lips.
Simon could taste wine and need and desire in Mal’s kiss. And if he was being honest, some of that need and desire were on his end, as well. He had denied himself any real comfort since he’d rescued River and become a fugitive, and he had to chide himself internally to keep from falling into Mal’s arms right then and there. “I’m flattered, Captain,” he said. “But if you were sober right now, you wouldn’t be asking me to stay with you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, doc,” Mal said. “In fact, I’ve considered being with you a good many times, even when I was stone cold sober.” He grinned. “You’re not exactly unpleasant to look at.”
“Again, I’m flattered,” Simon said, folding his arms across his chest. “Truly. But I still think any intimacy between us right now would be a mistake.”
With unexpected tenderness, Mal took Simon’s face in his hands. “From where I was sitting tonight,” he said. “We’ve already been intimate.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I let you in.”
Simon stared directly into Mal’s eyes. What he saw wasn’t just drunken lust-though there was a hint of that, to be sure. What he saw was clarity and vulnerability, and he understood the kind of chance Mal was taking right now. He wasn’t just asking for a roll in the hay. He was admitting that he was hurting, and he that he had needs Simon could fulfill.
“Look, doc,” Mal said. “I’m asking for a pair of warm arms, and I’m doing it with open eyes. I’m not making any promises. No declarations of love. I’m not even asking for tomorrow.” He ran his thumb along Simon’s bottom lip. “I’m asking for tonight.”
Any shred of resistance slipped away, and Simon took Mal’s calloused hand in his. “I can give you that,” he said. “I can give you that.”
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Rating: PG
Written for: the Simon round at maleslashminis for ruric
Prompt: Uncertainty; memories; hesitancy
Disclaimer: Sadly, they are not mine.
Simon found Mal perched on top of a boulder a few feet away from Serenity. He was holding a bottle of wine in one hand and a crumpled up letter in the other. Not long after joining the crew, Simon had learned that Mal took spells like this every once in a while. They were nothing to worry about, Zoë had assured him. They were just fits of ill memories. The rest of the crew had learned to live with it. They would give Mal his space, keep Serenity stocked up with cheap liquor, and wait for the doldrums to pass on by.
But Simon was a healer, not just by trade but by nature. When he saw suffering, he couldn’t abide letting it go on if there was some way he could help. He was better at mending bodies, to be sure. But he figured hearts could be patched back together, too, if someone had enough compassion and patience.
Of course, his attempts to listen or to comfort Mal were usually met with sarcastic barbs, brusque silence or if Mal was particularly stirred up, threats of bodily injury. Still, Simon felt that he had to try.
He walked down the ramp and onto the sandy terrain they were currently using as an impromptu repair station. It was growing dark now, and Simon had to squint to see where he was walking.
As he slipped up beside Mal, Simon felt a gust of night wind sweep a funnel of dust onto his pants and shoes. He grimaced at the mess and resisted the urge to pat himself clean. Pointing at the bottle in Mal’s hand, he said, “Captain, you’ve been at it at a while.”
“And I’ll be at it a while longer.” Mal said, his voice thick with liquor. “You come out here to lecture me, doc?”
“I just wanted to see if you were all right.”
“I am several kinds of not all right,” Mal grumbled as he took a swig of wine.
Taking Mal’s words as encouragement, Simon took a few steps closer. “Well,” he said, “would-”
Mal snapped his head toward Simon. “I’m also inclined to be alone.”
Simon nodded and licked his lips. Swallowing, he asked, “Could I have a drink?”
Mal narrowed his eyes. “You want a drink.”
“I’m a little restless tonight,” Simon said. “I thought it might help me sleep.”
After gazing at him for a several seconds, Mal finally held the bottle out to Simon. “Drink up, doc.”
“I don’t suppose you have a glass.”
Mal shook his head. “You too good to drink out of a bottle? Leave me be.”
Simon reached out and took hold of the bottle before Mal had a chance to pull it away. “This will be fine.” He took a quick sip and pulled a face. “Nice,” he said, clearing his throat.
A bemused look on his face, Mal gestured to an empty space on the boulder. Simon hoisted himself onto the rock and took a deep gulp of wine.
For the better part of an hour, Mal and Simon passed the bottle back and forth between them. Gradually, Simon felt the warmth of the alcohol start to seep into his veins and felt the defenses Mal normally kept erected around himself begin to ease.
As he took a swig of wine and handed the bottle back to Simon, Mal held up the crumpled letter. “You see this, doc? Young fella I knew in the war wrote it.”
Simon raised an eyebrow, surprised at the sudden burst of information. He waited for a moment for Mal to continue, but when he didn’t say anymore, Simon asked, “So you’ve kept in touch?”
“Nah,” Mal said. “He slipped away during that last battle.” Looking off into the distance, Mal tapped the letter against his leg. “This wasn’t written to me. See, most of us, we wrote letters to our families, just in case we didn’t make it out.”
Simon took a long drink of wine and passed the bottle to Mal. “Did his family see the letter?”
“Oh, they saw it,” Mal said, his jaw squared and his eyes full of blood. “I took it to ‘em personally. Thought they might want to know what happened to their son.” He cleared his throat and slumped his shoulders in what looked to Simon like resignation. “You know what they did? They balled it up and threw it in my face.”
“I’m sorry,” Simon said. He inched a hand onto Mal’s shoulders and was surprised when it wasn’t violently shaken off. He did feel Mal’s muscles tense under his touch, but he kept his hand firmly in place, determined to provide whatever small comfort he could. “Maybe they were just lost in grief.”
“I expect you’re right,” Mal said. His breath hitched as he slipped the letter into the waistband of his pants. “Guess I was the only person left to blame.”
“You weren’t to blame, though” Simon assured him.
“How do you know?” Mal snapped, taking a swing at the air. “Maybe I screwed up and got him killed.”
“You weren’t to blame,” Simon said, this time in a firm voice. He pressed his fingers into Mal’s shoulder and worked at unraveling some of the knots in the still-rigid muscles.
To Simon’s surprise, Mal leaned into the touch and let out a long breath. “Hey, doc,” he said, his voice hushed. “You know how I said I was inclined to be alone tonight?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s no longer the case.” Mal twisted his body until he was face to face with Simon. “I think I might like some company tonight.”
Simon patted Mal on the arm. “I’ll sit here with you as long as you need,” he said.
Mal laid a hand on Simon’s cheek. “That’s not quite what I meant, doc.”
Simon’s face felt hot from Mal’s touch, and from the sudden realization of what Mal was suggesting. He held up his hands and pulled away from the contact. “You’re drunk,” he said.
Mal smirked. “You’re a little tipsy yourself, doc.”
Standing up to create some distance between them, Simon said, “Captain, I think I should get you to bed.”
“So do I.”
“That’s not what I meant,” Simon said. “Neither of us is thinking clearly right now.”
“You sound as lucid as ever,” Mal said. “And I’m sober enough to know what I’m asking of you.” He stood up, swayed a bit, and grabbed hold of Simon’s shoulders to steady himself. “I’m asking you to spend the night with me in my bed.” He leaned forward and pressed a sloppy kiss onto Simon’s lips.
Simon could taste wine and need and desire in Mal’s kiss. And if he was being honest, some of that need and desire were on his end, as well. He had denied himself any real comfort since he’d rescued River and become a fugitive, and he had to chide himself internally to keep from falling into Mal’s arms right then and there. “I’m flattered, Captain,” he said. “But if you were sober right now, you wouldn’t be asking me to stay with you.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure, doc,” Mal said. “In fact, I’ve considered being with you a good many times, even when I was stone cold sober.” He grinned. “You’re not exactly unpleasant to look at.”
“Again, I’m flattered,” Simon said, folding his arms across his chest. “Truly. But I still think any intimacy between us right now would be a mistake.”
With unexpected tenderness, Mal took Simon’s face in his hands. “From where I was sitting tonight,” he said. “We’ve already been intimate.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “I let you in.”
Simon stared directly into Mal’s eyes. What he saw wasn’t just drunken lust-though there was a hint of that, to be sure. What he saw was clarity and vulnerability, and he understood the kind of chance Mal was taking right now. He wasn’t just asking for a roll in the hay. He was admitting that he was hurting, and he that he had needs Simon could fulfill.
“Look, doc,” Mal said. “I’m asking for a pair of warm arms, and I’m doing it with open eyes. I’m not making any promises. No declarations of love. I’m not even asking for tomorrow.” He ran his thumb along Simon’s bottom lip. “I’m asking for tonight.”
Any shred of resistance slipped away, and Simon took Mal’s calloused hand in his. “I can give you that,” he said. “I can give you that.”