Nyctalopia: Mal/Simon
Title: Nyctalopia.
Fandom: Firefly.
Pairing: Mal/Simon.
Rating: Hard R. (probably NC-17, I am crap at ratings)
Summary: Have you ever been in love?
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never will.
Warning: It has be suggested that this fic might contain "mild kink" ;p
Notes: Written for lunadatura in response to her shinyhearts request. Originally posted h i t h e r but I'm reposting it here as I am anal and I like everything to be in one place. Loosely based on the myth of Eros and Psyche. Much love and thanks to foxxcub for the beta. <3
Nyctalopia
The first time that Simon awoke to the sense that there was another person in his quarters, he sat up in his bed and reached a hand to his face to remove the sleep mask that covered his eyes - made of pure silk and black as the night itself, Simon had worn it since he was a child as sleep would never come unless he shut out the light - but a hand covered his and stopped him before he could. Simon felt rough, calloused fingers wrap around his, drawing his hand away from his eyes and placing it back on the sheets below. Simon opened his mouth to speak but, before he could, a finger placed gently against his lips told him that there would be no words spoken and, although his instincts told him to shout out loud, something made Simon acquiesce. Instead of speaking he simply nodded that he understood and sat silently, waiting and listening for clues from the noises in the dark.
The finger at his mouth moved slowly, tracing the line of his lower lip. Simon let his mouth fall open, a different set of instincts kicking in, and, as the hand that held his let go and rose up to settle on his neck, thumb rubbing small circles on the pulse point there, his eyes slid shut behind the mask and he gave himself up to the feel of it.
The finger on his lips stopped moving, hesitated and then slid between. Simon closed his mouth around it, curled his tongue and began to learn the taste of the unknown man. He reached out blindly, hand seeking solidity to make it seem less like a dream. His right hand found nothing, only air, but his left found cloth and then felt the warmth of a body underneath. He let his fingertips trail across the prize that he found, mapping it out and feeling the way it moved with the rhythm of breath. He brought his right hand in to join his left and flattened his palms, moving them first up to brush against the man’s chest then in until they found a trail of buttons to follow down. The subtle flex in and out that he could fell sped up as his hands dipped lower, then, when they brushed across the buckle of a belt, he heard a sharp intake and felt the pause of a breath held in. Simon drew back his head so the finger fell free from his lips and turned his face upwards and smiled. He knew that he wanted this as much as the man who stood before him did and if under the cover of darkness was the only way then, Simon thought, so be it.
He set his fingers to work on the buckle, slowly pulling the leather free from the loop that held it and letting the pin slip free. The button below it came next, as did the others that followed; each of them unfastened slowly and surely as though a sudden movement would break the spell he found himself under. He heard the rustle of material and then something touched the back of his hand for just a second and he paused, searching the dark for an answer to what it might be. He moved his hands up again and found that they touched against skin, warm beneath his fingers, the muscles below it twitching and jumping as he explored. Simon mapped the marks he found, traced the scars, committing them to memory and forming a picture in his mind. He knew who stood before him now, as he had when this first began, but with this new knowledge that he had discovered he could be sure.
He smiled again, this time to himself, saying a name in his head and then repeating it, matching the rhythm of his words to the rise and fall of the chest beneath his hands. He had hoped this night would come, had done since he first stepped foot on the ship, but he’d thought it a foolish fantasy, something that would play out only in his mind and never become real. But now here it was, his fantasy made flesh and yet, the sight of it, of him was still confined to his imagination and, Simon figured, it would always be that way.
Simon let his hands move down again until their progress was stopped by the waistband he had worked to loosen. He grasped it and pushed down, taking the garments that lay below it away as well. The material sliding downwards slowly at first than gaining speed until he was able to let go as it fell of its own accord. He leant forward; the hand on his neck moving so that fingers twisted into his hair, guiding him in the right direction, lips already parted waiting to open further when he felt a push between.
The first touch of smooth skin against his lips was tentative, fleeting, he felt it for a second and then it was gone. Simon moved one of his hands upwards, smoothing it up a thigh and then around the curve of a hip, pulling slightly, drawing its owner forward. With his other hand he reached up until the back of it brushed against hardness that jerked at his touch, Simon smiled and turned his hand palm up, curling his fingers around and then he let his head dip forward, opened his mouth wide and took the man inside.
Simon felt the grip on his hair tighten almost to the edge of pain and then the hand that cupped his head relaxed and he forgot it was there, concentrating instead on the new taste that was his to learn. There was a weight to this taste, hot and heavy on his tongue, he kept his head still for a moment letting it wash over him, intoxicate his senses and blanket his mind. Then, slowly, he began to move, his head bobbing to an age old rhythm, its tempo set by the push and pull of the hand in his hair. He moved his hand in time too, twisting as he stroked, feeling the edges of his own fingers bump into his lips as he hollowed his cheeks and opened his throat.
Time seemed to pause as he moved forward and back, concentrating on the feel what he was doing. Behind his still closed and shuttered eyes he formed an image of how he looked. His minds eye showing him the slide of the cock in and out of his mouth and the face of the man who stood tall and proud in front of him, hips shifting slightly now, the hand in Simon’s hair driving him with more force, picking up the speed and pushing Simon ever on. Simon felt a tremor in the muscle of the hip he held and then a pulse on his tongue and another new taste was added to his collection. He swallowed all he could, taking in the essence of this man who had come to him in the shadows of the night and then he drew back, feeling a loss as the cock slipped from between his lips.
He listened, searching for a clue as to what to do next. Harsh breathing was all he heard and Simon found himself suddenly unsure. Was that it, would nothing else occur? He let his hands fall to gather in his lap and bowed his head, waiting for the sound of footsteps retreating that he feared would come next, but instead he felt a dip as a body’s weight settled on the bed beside him and an arm snaked around his waist pulling him down so that he lay on his side, his back against his lover’s chest.
Simon felt the touch of lips on his neck and a hand encircling his cock and he had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from crying out. As the hand that held him began to stroke, Simon turned his head to the side, craning his neck, needing to feel the press of a mouth against his. His search was rewarded in an instant as lips crushed against his and he felt the slide of a tongue, urging him to open his mouth and let it in. He couldn’t stop the moan that broke free but it didn’t matter as it was swallowed and returned by the man in whose arms he lay. Heat pooled at the base of his spine, spreading out through his limbs, taking him over until all the could feel was the thrust of the tongue in and out of his mouth and the hand that moved ever faster, tugging at him until it dragged him over the edge, white light exploding behind his eyes as he spilled over the fist that held him and onto the sheets.
As sensations swept over him, Simon lost the strength to keep his head turned and he let it sag down, the cool of the pillow it came to rest on sharpening his world for a brief moment. He felt weak, his limbs heavy and sluggish, and he knew that sleep would soon steal him away. The last thing he felt before darkness claimed him was the brush of lips on his forehead and the dip of the bed as his visitor left.
The man always visited Simon at night, first it was just on occasion but then more frequently, filling Simon’s life with soft touches and gentle caresses and the glide of skin against skin. Simon learned the feel of this man, the taste of him and the scent of him. He knew how it felt to take him deep inside, their bodies joined so closely that it felt like they were one and he knew how it felt to be taken by him, how he could be raised to the heavens by the hard thrust of his cock and the tug of his fist. He knew too how it felt to fall asleep with arms wrapped around him and fingers tracing patterns on his skin and, how it felt to wake up alone when the morning came. On the rare nights when his visitor didn’t come and he was left alone, Simon found himself lying awake, staring into the darkness and wondering if he had done something wrong or, worse still, if some unknown danger had befallen the man with whom Simon shared his bed but who shared nothing else with him.
It was worse when they set down on a planet and the crew left the ship. Simon was always left behind, not possessing the skills needed to be a part of what they did, and he found himself drawn to the cockpit, sitting for hour upon hour listening to static on the comm., waiting to hear that they were returning and that he was ok. Sometimes, when it all became too much and waiting was driving him insane, he visited with Inara, finding calm in her presence and the rich elegance of her shuttle. They would talk of inconsequential matters, exchange memories of worlds they both had seen. Inara would tell him tales of people he had known, or at least thought he did, and he would almost long for his old life so that he could see them again and laugh at what he now knew. Simon never spoke of what made him seek out the peace of Inara’s room, never told of the reason he was so worried that he felt as though a loud noise would make him jump out of his skin and Inara never asked, she just offered her tales and soothed him with them until the crew arrived back on board again.
One day when they sat nestled together on Inara’s bed, laughter shaking them as she told stories of desperate men and the lengths they would go to to convince her to stay, Simon heard himself ask,
"Have you ever been in love?"
Inara paused, smiled faintly and looked away.
"Yes, just once, but it was never to be."
Simon found himself unable to speak; there was pain in her words, an emotion that he understood. He looked away, focusing on the beauty of the silk that draped the room and the rich scent of incense that hung in the air, not wanting to think of his own hopes and fears.
"And you, Simon. Have you ever been in love?"
The answer was a simple one but it stuck in his throat as though speaking it would make it true and in truth happiness is not always found.
"Are you in love now, Simon?"
Simon closed his eyes and let his head bow low, wanting to answer Inara’s question but afraid of what she might say if she knew his mind. He took a deep breath and as her arm reached out to comfort him, drawing him near, he nodded his head and exhaled.
"Yes."
In speaking that single word, Simon found himself drained. He no longer had the energy to hold himself up and so he dropped down to the bed, resting his head on Inara’s lap. He felt her fingers begin to card through his hair, soothing him, calming him and telling him it was ok, but this time Simon couldn’t find the peace he came to this place looking for.
"Tell me."
Inara’s words were both a question and a command and Simon found himself powerless to resist, the words surging from him like a tidal wave. He told her of the first night and the ones that followed, of his hopes and his fears and the reasons why he knew his love shouldn’t be. He spoke of dreams and nightmares and of wishes and desires and all the while she listened, not saying a word, until he could speak no more.
"Are you sure it’s Mal, this visitor you receive?"
Inara spoke softly as one would do to a frightened child and Simon realized that that was how he must seem. He blushed, finding that he was an embarrassment to himself and wishing that he had kept it all in, but yet, at the same time, glad he finally had someone in which to confide.
"I’m sure. There is no one else it could be."
Inara fell silent for a moment and Simon wondered what her next question would be. His answer came in a voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear.
"How can you be so sure? It could be Jayne."
Simon smiled for the first time since his confession had begun; he knew his visitor was Mal beyond all certainty.
"You forget I’m the ships doctor, I know Mal’s body as well as my own, I know what scars mark his skin and the position of them. I know how tall he is, how much he weighs, how the skin on his fingers is rough from heavy work but his palms are still soft in places. And I know his scent, Jayne smells of gun oil and liquor while Mal smells like..."
"Dust."
Simon turned his head to look up at the woman in whose lap he lay. Inara was looking away from him, eyes focused on nothing, a sad look on her face. He felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that the person she meant when she spoke of love was the same as he.
"I was going to say earth, but dust is almost the same. I’m sorry Inara, I’ll go, I shouldn’t have told you any of this."
Inara shook her head and looked down at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes searched his for a moment and when the answer she sought could not be found she spoke again.
"Are you happy?"
Now it was Simon’s turn to shake his head, his smiled a mirror of hers.
"I am in a way, but I want..."
"Well now, ain’t this a sight to see. If you’re not too busy being entertained, Zoe is waiting for you in the sick bay. Nothing major, Ain’t much more than a scratch but I figure she could use a doctor. If there’s one to be had, that is."
Mal’s voice made them both jump and Simon found himself blushing again, guilty that he had let Mal’s secret slip without it ever having been acknowledged between the two of them. He quickly pushed himself upright and jumped from the bed, rushing past Mal, unable to look him in the eye. And. as he hurried towards the safety of his sick bay he heard voices raised in anger behind him and he wished that just once he had stayed in the cockpit, or in his quarters where his secrets and Mal’s would be safe.
That night, when his eyes were once again covered and Mal came to him in silence, Simon felt a difference in the way that Mal touched him. The hands on his hips gripped a little tighter, the blunt push inside him was quicker made, the thrusts that followed harder and faster, all the gentleness gone. At first Simon thought he was being punished, that a point was being made then, as Mal’s body covered his and he felt the sting of teeth as they marked his neck, Simon realized that he was not being punished, he was being claimed. His mind swirled in confusion, thoughts spinning out of control and before he could stop it a single word escaped his lips.
"Mal."
He felt a shudder run through the body draped on top of his then a pulse and a rush of warmth inside him but fear that he had broken the spell stopped him from following Mal over the edge. Simon waited, his body frozen, his limbs as heavy as lead and, as Mal withdrew and Simon felt the weight of his body leave the bed, he feared that his nightmares were about to be come true and Mal would simply walk away.
But instead of hearing the sound of clothes being replaced, Simon felt a hand cup his chin and lift his head. Then, to his surprise, Mal lifted the mask from his face and Simon found himself blinking against the light that flooded his quarters. Mal stood in front of him, his body sheened with sweat, Simon stared up at him and tried to think of something to say, but Mal placed a finger against his lips.
"We’ve a powerful need to talk, you and I. I’ll thank you to let me have my say first and then we’ll get to what you feel needs to be said."
Simon was grateful that Mal was forbidding him to speak as he really had no idea what to say.
"Inara told me what was said between you, now don’t go being angry at her for it, you’re quarrel is with me not her, she’s a smart woman that one and she pointed out some things to me that are broken and needing to be fixed. There’s changes needing to be made if this is to continue."
Mal paused and looked at him with worry in his eyes.
"You are wanting this to continue?"
Simon couldn’t help but smile at Mal’s confusion. He felt himself relax, all the tension draining away, and he moved from the bed to stand in front of Mal, curling a hand around his hip and drawing him in close.
"I am, if you are."
Mal’s face curved into a grin and he leant forward and Simon found himself pulled into a kiss, Mal’s hand threading into his hair and capturing him so that he could not get away. When they broke for air, Mal stepped back and his face grew serious.
"Everything I’ve treasured in the past, the things I’ve believed in, have been taken from me. This ship s’all I have left. This ship and you being in it. I thought that by pretending and keeping my distance it’d keep this thing between us safe. It’s been noted on occasion that my thinking’s not too correct."
Simon couldn’t help but laugh a little at Mal’s words, even though the subject of them was serious.
"I see you’re in agreement with that, figures, you got them booksmarts of yours to help you out n’all. The fact of the matter is, I see this as something worth treasuring and I’d like to know if you see it the same way."
Simon was suddenly gripped by the urge to tease Mal and say that he wanted none of what they had but he stopped himself, there would be time for joking another day.
"I do."
Mal smiled wide and true and Simon found himself being lead back to the bed. He moved to lay himself down but Mal stopped him, walking past him and then sitting himself down on its edge. Mal’s hands settled on his hips and Simon let them pull him forward, his eyes settling on the mask that lay discarded on the pillow. He leant forward and picked it up, turning it over in his hands, studying the thing that had in some way brought them together. Simon looked down at Mal and an idea blossomed in his mind, he held the mask over Mal’s head and looked at him, a question in his eyes. Mal looked up at him and then at the mask, closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded his consent.
"Huh, well I guess it’s only fair."
Simon laughed, then placed the mask carefully so that it covered Mal’s eyes, letting a hand drift down to settle into place on Mal’s neck, sliding his fingers into Mal’s hair to guide him forward. And, as the wet heat of Mal’s mouth enveloped him, Simon knew that his dreams were no longer just fantasies, but, instead, were now real.
Fandom: Firefly.
Pairing: Mal/Simon.
Rating: Hard R. (probably NC-17, I am crap at ratings)
Summary: Have you ever been in love?
Disclaimer: Don't own 'em. Never will.
Warning: It has be suggested that this fic might contain "mild kink" ;p
Notes: Written for lunadatura in response to her shinyhearts request. Originally posted h i t h e r but I'm reposting it here as I am anal and I like everything to be in one place. Loosely based on the myth of Eros and Psyche. Much love and thanks to foxxcub for the beta. <3
Nyctalopia
The first time that Simon awoke to the sense that there was another person in his quarters, he sat up in his bed and reached a hand to his face to remove the sleep mask that covered his eyes - made of pure silk and black as the night itself, Simon had worn it since he was a child as sleep would never come unless he shut out the light - but a hand covered his and stopped him before he could. Simon felt rough, calloused fingers wrap around his, drawing his hand away from his eyes and placing it back on the sheets below. Simon opened his mouth to speak but, before he could, a finger placed gently against his lips told him that there would be no words spoken and, although his instincts told him to shout out loud, something made Simon acquiesce. Instead of speaking he simply nodded that he understood and sat silently, waiting and listening for clues from the noises in the dark.
The finger at his mouth moved slowly, tracing the line of his lower lip. Simon let his mouth fall open, a different set of instincts kicking in, and, as the hand that held his let go and rose up to settle on his neck, thumb rubbing small circles on the pulse point there, his eyes slid shut behind the mask and he gave himself up to the feel of it.
The finger on his lips stopped moving, hesitated and then slid between. Simon closed his mouth around it, curled his tongue and began to learn the taste of the unknown man. He reached out blindly, hand seeking solidity to make it seem less like a dream. His right hand found nothing, only air, but his left found cloth and then felt the warmth of a body underneath. He let his fingertips trail across the prize that he found, mapping it out and feeling the way it moved with the rhythm of breath. He brought his right hand in to join his left and flattened his palms, moving them first up to brush against the man’s chest then in until they found a trail of buttons to follow down. The subtle flex in and out that he could fell sped up as his hands dipped lower, then, when they brushed across the buckle of a belt, he heard a sharp intake and felt the pause of a breath held in. Simon drew back his head so the finger fell free from his lips and turned his face upwards and smiled. He knew that he wanted this as much as the man who stood before him did and if under the cover of darkness was the only way then, Simon thought, so be it.
He set his fingers to work on the buckle, slowly pulling the leather free from the loop that held it and letting the pin slip free. The button below it came next, as did the others that followed; each of them unfastened slowly and surely as though a sudden movement would break the spell he found himself under. He heard the rustle of material and then something touched the back of his hand for just a second and he paused, searching the dark for an answer to what it might be. He moved his hands up again and found that they touched against skin, warm beneath his fingers, the muscles below it twitching and jumping as he explored. Simon mapped the marks he found, traced the scars, committing them to memory and forming a picture in his mind. He knew who stood before him now, as he had when this first began, but with this new knowledge that he had discovered he could be sure.
He smiled again, this time to himself, saying a name in his head and then repeating it, matching the rhythm of his words to the rise and fall of the chest beneath his hands. He had hoped this night would come, had done since he first stepped foot on the ship, but he’d thought it a foolish fantasy, something that would play out only in his mind and never become real. But now here it was, his fantasy made flesh and yet, the sight of it, of him was still confined to his imagination and, Simon figured, it would always be that way.
Simon let his hands move down again until their progress was stopped by the waistband he had worked to loosen. He grasped it and pushed down, taking the garments that lay below it away as well. The material sliding downwards slowly at first than gaining speed until he was able to let go as it fell of its own accord. He leant forward; the hand on his neck moving so that fingers twisted into his hair, guiding him in the right direction, lips already parted waiting to open further when he felt a push between.
The first touch of smooth skin against his lips was tentative, fleeting, he felt it for a second and then it was gone. Simon moved one of his hands upwards, smoothing it up a thigh and then around the curve of a hip, pulling slightly, drawing its owner forward. With his other hand he reached up until the back of it brushed against hardness that jerked at his touch, Simon smiled and turned his hand palm up, curling his fingers around and then he let his head dip forward, opened his mouth wide and took the man inside.
Simon felt the grip on his hair tighten almost to the edge of pain and then the hand that cupped his head relaxed and he forgot it was there, concentrating instead on the new taste that was his to learn. There was a weight to this taste, hot and heavy on his tongue, he kept his head still for a moment letting it wash over him, intoxicate his senses and blanket his mind. Then, slowly, he began to move, his head bobbing to an age old rhythm, its tempo set by the push and pull of the hand in his hair. He moved his hand in time too, twisting as he stroked, feeling the edges of his own fingers bump into his lips as he hollowed his cheeks and opened his throat.
Time seemed to pause as he moved forward and back, concentrating on the feel what he was doing. Behind his still closed and shuttered eyes he formed an image of how he looked. His minds eye showing him the slide of the cock in and out of his mouth and the face of the man who stood tall and proud in front of him, hips shifting slightly now, the hand in Simon’s hair driving him with more force, picking up the speed and pushing Simon ever on. Simon felt a tremor in the muscle of the hip he held and then a pulse on his tongue and another new taste was added to his collection. He swallowed all he could, taking in the essence of this man who had come to him in the shadows of the night and then he drew back, feeling a loss as the cock slipped from between his lips.
He listened, searching for a clue as to what to do next. Harsh breathing was all he heard and Simon found himself suddenly unsure. Was that it, would nothing else occur? He let his hands fall to gather in his lap and bowed his head, waiting for the sound of footsteps retreating that he feared would come next, but instead he felt a dip as a body’s weight settled on the bed beside him and an arm snaked around his waist pulling him down so that he lay on his side, his back against his lover’s chest.
Simon felt the touch of lips on his neck and a hand encircling his cock and he had to bite down on his lip to stop himself from crying out. As the hand that held him began to stroke, Simon turned his head to the side, craning his neck, needing to feel the press of a mouth against his. His search was rewarded in an instant as lips crushed against his and he felt the slide of a tongue, urging him to open his mouth and let it in. He couldn’t stop the moan that broke free but it didn’t matter as it was swallowed and returned by the man in whose arms he lay. Heat pooled at the base of his spine, spreading out through his limbs, taking him over until all the could feel was the thrust of the tongue in and out of his mouth and the hand that moved ever faster, tugging at him until it dragged him over the edge, white light exploding behind his eyes as he spilled over the fist that held him and onto the sheets.
As sensations swept over him, Simon lost the strength to keep his head turned and he let it sag down, the cool of the pillow it came to rest on sharpening his world for a brief moment. He felt weak, his limbs heavy and sluggish, and he knew that sleep would soon steal him away. The last thing he felt before darkness claimed him was the brush of lips on his forehead and the dip of the bed as his visitor left.
The man always visited Simon at night, first it was just on occasion but then more frequently, filling Simon’s life with soft touches and gentle caresses and the glide of skin against skin. Simon learned the feel of this man, the taste of him and the scent of him. He knew how it felt to take him deep inside, their bodies joined so closely that it felt like they were one and he knew how it felt to be taken by him, how he could be raised to the heavens by the hard thrust of his cock and the tug of his fist. He knew too how it felt to fall asleep with arms wrapped around him and fingers tracing patterns on his skin and, how it felt to wake up alone when the morning came. On the rare nights when his visitor didn’t come and he was left alone, Simon found himself lying awake, staring into the darkness and wondering if he had done something wrong or, worse still, if some unknown danger had befallen the man with whom Simon shared his bed but who shared nothing else with him.
It was worse when they set down on a planet and the crew left the ship. Simon was always left behind, not possessing the skills needed to be a part of what they did, and he found himself drawn to the cockpit, sitting for hour upon hour listening to static on the comm., waiting to hear that they were returning and that he was ok. Sometimes, when it all became too much and waiting was driving him insane, he visited with Inara, finding calm in her presence and the rich elegance of her shuttle. They would talk of inconsequential matters, exchange memories of worlds they both had seen. Inara would tell him tales of people he had known, or at least thought he did, and he would almost long for his old life so that he could see them again and laugh at what he now knew. Simon never spoke of what made him seek out the peace of Inara’s room, never told of the reason he was so worried that he felt as though a loud noise would make him jump out of his skin and Inara never asked, she just offered her tales and soothed him with them until the crew arrived back on board again.
One day when they sat nestled together on Inara’s bed, laughter shaking them as she told stories of desperate men and the lengths they would go to to convince her to stay, Simon heard himself ask,
"Have you ever been in love?"
Inara paused, smiled faintly and looked away.
"Yes, just once, but it was never to be."
Simon found himself unable to speak; there was pain in her words, an emotion that he understood. He looked away, focusing on the beauty of the silk that draped the room and the rich scent of incense that hung in the air, not wanting to think of his own hopes and fears.
"And you, Simon. Have you ever been in love?"
The answer was a simple one but it stuck in his throat as though speaking it would make it true and in truth happiness is not always found.
"Are you in love now, Simon?"
Simon closed his eyes and let his head bow low, wanting to answer Inara’s question but afraid of what she might say if she knew his mind. He took a deep breath and as her arm reached out to comfort him, drawing him near, he nodded his head and exhaled.
"Yes."
In speaking that single word, Simon found himself drained. He no longer had the energy to hold himself up and so he dropped down to the bed, resting his head on Inara’s lap. He felt her fingers begin to card through his hair, soothing him, calming him and telling him it was ok, but this time Simon couldn’t find the peace he came to this place looking for.
"Tell me."
Inara’s words were both a question and a command and Simon found himself powerless to resist, the words surging from him like a tidal wave. He told her of the first night and the ones that followed, of his hopes and his fears and the reasons why he knew his love shouldn’t be. He spoke of dreams and nightmares and of wishes and desires and all the while she listened, not saying a word, until he could speak no more.
"Are you sure it’s Mal, this visitor you receive?"
Inara spoke softly as one would do to a frightened child and Simon realized that that was how he must seem. He blushed, finding that he was an embarrassment to himself and wishing that he had kept it all in, but yet, at the same time, glad he finally had someone in which to confide.
"I’m sure. There is no one else it could be."
Inara fell silent for a moment and Simon wondered what her next question would be. His answer came in a voice so quiet that he had to strain to hear.
"How can you be so sure? It could be Jayne."
Simon smiled for the first time since his confession had begun; he knew his visitor was Mal beyond all certainty.
"You forget I’m the ships doctor, I know Mal’s body as well as my own, I know what scars mark his skin and the position of them. I know how tall he is, how much he weighs, how the skin on his fingers is rough from heavy work but his palms are still soft in places. And I know his scent, Jayne smells of gun oil and liquor while Mal smells like..."
"Dust."
Simon turned his head to look up at the woman in whose lap he lay. Inara was looking away from him, eyes focused on nothing, a sad look on her face. He felt a twinge of guilt as he realized that the person she meant when she spoke of love was the same as he.
"I was going to say earth, but dust is almost the same. I’m sorry Inara, I’ll go, I shouldn’t have told you any of this."
Inara shook her head and looked down at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her eyes searched his for a moment and when the answer she sought could not be found she spoke again.
"Are you happy?"
Now it was Simon’s turn to shake his head, his smiled a mirror of hers.
"I am in a way, but I want..."
"Well now, ain’t this a sight to see. If you’re not too busy being entertained, Zoe is waiting for you in the sick bay. Nothing major, Ain’t much more than a scratch but I figure she could use a doctor. If there’s one to be had, that is."
Mal’s voice made them both jump and Simon found himself blushing again, guilty that he had let Mal’s secret slip without it ever having been acknowledged between the two of them. He quickly pushed himself upright and jumped from the bed, rushing past Mal, unable to look him in the eye. And. as he hurried towards the safety of his sick bay he heard voices raised in anger behind him and he wished that just once he had stayed in the cockpit, or in his quarters where his secrets and Mal’s would be safe.
That night, when his eyes were once again covered and Mal came to him in silence, Simon felt a difference in the way that Mal touched him. The hands on his hips gripped a little tighter, the blunt push inside him was quicker made, the thrusts that followed harder and faster, all the gentleness gone. At first Simon thought he was being punished, that a point was being made then, as Mal’s body covered his and he felt the sting of teeth as they marked his neck, Simon realized that he was not being punished, he was being claimed. His mind swirled in confusion, thoughts spinning out of control and before he could stop it a single word escaped his lips.
"Mal."
He felt a shudder run through the body draped on top of his then a pulse and a rush of warmth inside him but fear that he had broken the spell stopped him from following Mal over the edge. Simon waited, his body frozen, his limbs as heavy as lead and, as Mal withdrew and Simon felt the weight of his body leave the bed, he feared that his nightmares were about to be come true and Mal would simply walk away.
But instead of hearing the sound of clothes being replaced, Simon felt a hand cup his chin and lift his head. Then, to his surprise, Mal lifted the mask from his face and Simon found himself blinking against the light that flooded his quarters. Mal stood in front of him, his body sheened with sweat, Simon stared up at him and tried to think of something to say, but Mal placed a finger against his lips.
"We’ve a powerful need to talk, you and I. I’ll thank you to let me have my say first and then we’ll get to what you feel needs to be said."
Simon was grateful that Mal was forbidding him to speak as he really had no idea what to say.
"Inara told me what was said between you, now don’t go being angry at her for it, you’re quarrel is with me not her, she’s a smart woman that one and she pointed out some things to me that are broken and needing to be fixed. There’s changes needing to be made if this is to continue."
Mal paused and looked at him with worry in his eyes.
"You are wanting this to continue?"
Simon couldn’t help but smile at Mal’s confusion. He felt himself relax, all the tension draining away, and he moved from the bed to stand in front of Mal, curling a hand around his hip and drawing him in close.
"I am, if you are."
Mal’s face curved into a grin and he leant forward and Simon found himself pulled into a kiss, Mal’s hand threading into his hair and capturing him so that he could not get away. When they broke for air, Mal stepped back and his face grew serious.
"Everything I’ve treasured in the past, the things I’ve believed in, have been taken from me. This ship s’all I have left. This ship and you being in it. I thought that by pretending and keeping my distance it’d keep this thing between us safe. It’s been noted on occasion that my thinking’s not too correct."
Simon couldn’t help but laugh a little at Mal’s words, even though the subject of them was serious.
"I see you’re in agreement with that, figures, you got them booksmarts of yours to help you out n’all. The fact of the matter is, I see this as something worth treasuring and I’d like to know if you see it the same way."
Simon was suddenly gripped by the urge to tease Mal and say that he wanted none of what they had but he stopped himself, there would be time for joking another day.
"I do."
Mal smiled wide and true and Simon found himself being lead back to the bed. He moved to lay himself down but Mal stopped him, walking past him and then sitting himself down on its edge. Mal’s hands settled on his hips and Simon let them pull him forward, his eyes settling on the mask that lay discarded on the pillow. He leant forward and picked it up, turning it over in his hands, studying the thing that had in some way brought them together. Simon looked down at Mal and an idea blossomed in his mind, he held the mask over Mal’s head and looked at him, a question in his eyes. Mal looked up at him and then at the mask, closed his eyes for a moment and then nodded his consent.
"Huh, well I guess it’s only fair."
Simon laughed, then placed the mask carefully so that it covered Mal’s eyes, letting a hand drift down to settle into place on Mal’s neck, sliding his fingers into Mal’s hair to guide him forward. And, as the wet heat of Mal’s mouth enveloped him, Simon knew that his dreams were no longer just fantasies, but, instead, were now real.