F: Spiral
Fandom: Firefly
Main characters: Mal, Simon
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Mal/Simon
Contains: Sexual situation
Rating: PG13
Summary: Mal needs somewhere safe to fall apart.
"Comfortable?"
He isn't, exactly. But that isn't the point. Mal clears his throat a little, feeling the light pressure of the hand against his throat, the long clever fingers, and the breath against the back of his neck. He fights back a shiver -- it's too soon to let go, too hard for him. And he wouldn't want to make it easy. "I'm fine," he says. The hand moves from his neck, and he feels the blindfold tighten as it's knotted properly.
"Can you see?"
"No."
Lips brush the back of his neck. "Okay."
He can't relax yet, but he knows it'll come soon. His shirt is undone, first, and he holds still as that mouth traces a path down -- idle, ignoring his nipples, finding instead his scars, and biting down at some aimless point along his ribs. All the same, his breathing quickens, and he makes a movement with his hands, as if to touch. They're pinned quickly, though, by hands that are always, always steady.
"Captain," the other says, chidingly, but he gets a kiss all the same, which feels new even though it shouldn't be -- the lips soft, barely the tiniest hint of stubble when he lets his mouth slip to kiss the line of the other's jaw. "Mal," he says, again, and Mal smirks, but he draws back obediently. Hands slide into his hair, careful not to disturb the blindfold, and this -- this does make him shiver. He can feel the heat of eyes on him, but he can't focus on anything but the minute movements of those fingers smoothing in his hair, soothing, petting.
"Simon," he says, in a little gasp -- and it has always, always been ridiculous how much this man gets to him, how quickly he can make him spiral apart into anger or desire, or --
"Sshh," Simon says, reaching down now -- Mal does not, he does not whine at the loss of those hands in his hair -- and undoing Mal's pants. "Let me," he says, like Mal hasn't let him a hundred times before. Like he's giving Mal a choice about whether he's gonna fall apart.
"Yeah," Mal says, suddenly hoarse, and lets go, lets Simon take it all, whatever he wants.
This was originally posted here, on Dreamwidth.
Main characters: Mal, Simon
Referenced characters: N/a
Pairings: Mal/Simon
Contains: Sexual situation
Rating: PG13
Summary: Mal needs somewhere safe to fall apart.
"Comfortable?"
He isn't, exactly. But that isn't the point. Mal clears his throat a little, feeling the light pressure of the hand against his throat, the long clever fingers, and the breath against the back of his neck. He fights back a shiver -- it's too soon to let go, too hard for him. And he wouldn't want to make it easy. "I'm fine," he says. The hand moves from his neck, and he feels the blindfold tighten as it's knotted properly.
"Can you see?"
"No."
Lips brush the back of his neck. "Okay."
He can't relax yet, but he knows it'll come soon. His shirt is undone, first, and he holds still as that mouth traces a path down -- idle, ignoring his nipples, finding instead his scars, and biting down at some aimless point along his ribs. All the same, his breathing quickens, and he makes a movement with his hands, as if to touch. They're pinned quickly, though, by hands that are always, always steady.
"Captain," the other says, chidingly, but he gets a kiss all the same, which feels new even though it shouldn't be -- the lips soft, barely the tiniest hint of stubble when he lets his mouth slip to kiss the line of the other's jaw. "Mal," he says, again, and Mal smirks, but he draws back obediently. Hands slide into his hair, careful not to disturb the blindfold, and this -- this does make him shiver. He can feel the heat of eyes on him, but he can't focus on anything but the minute movements of those fingers smoothing in his hair, soothing, petting.
"Simon," he says, in a little gasp -- and it has always, always been ridiculous how much this man gets to him, how quickly he can make him spiral apart into anger or desire, or --
"Sshh," Simon says, reaching down now -- Mal does not, he does not whine at the loss of those hands in his hair -- and undoing Mal's pants. "Let me," he says, like Mal hasn't let him a hundred times before. Like he's giving Mal a choice about whether he's gonna fall apart.
"Yeah," Mal says, suddenly hoarse, and lets go, lets Simon take it all, whatever he wants.
This was originally posted here, on Dreamwidth.