home * fandoms * firefly * bottom WARNING: If you haven't read the warning on the index page, go back and read it. If you don't, and you don't like what you find here, don't come crying to me. Title: Sic Transit Author: Eleanor K. Fandom: Firefly Pairing: Mal/Simon Rating: NC-17 Posted: 12 Jan 2005 Spoilers: minor for War Stories Email: emungere@gmail.com Series: Things That Haunt Us, part 10. Disclaimer: Non nobis, Joss, non nobis; sed nomini tuo da gloriam. Notes: Many thanks, as always, to Cab. She makes the pith helmet of Comma Nazism look good. ..___.. Simon awakes searching for something. His eyes are still sealed with sleep, and dream fragments cloud his mind. He knows there is something missing, and for the moment this is all he knows. He stretches out a hand and bangs his knuckles against a wall that should not be there. The wall is on the other side of his bed. He unsticks one eye. He is not in his bed. He is in Mal's bed, and the something missing is Mal. He stares at the wall, close enough to it to see the pattern of the brushed metal, like wood grain. He can't decide if he wants to turn over. So much has happened in the past two days. Too much. It can't be real. It's more likely that he and Mal had some kind of ill advised liaison last night, and now Mal has fled the scene. Much more likely. Except... He remembers Mal pulling him down to the floor, the hunger in Mal's eyes. For him. He remembers waking up beside Mal yesterday. That recently? Yes. Just yesterday. So much was resolved between them, and even if he can't trust it quite yet, the memories give him enough courage to turn over. Mal is sitting at his desk, bending over something. Simon lets go of some small part of the fear he has been clutching to him since he woke. At least Mal is still here. "Working already? What time is it?" Mal turns and smiles at him. No trace of regret. Simon finds he has to close his eyes for a second as the relief gets the better of him. Stupid to worry after Mal had done so much to convince him to stay, but he has always been unsure of his place here, and he is still more unsure now. "Early. Haven't even been up for coffee yet. You want some?" "God, yes." Mal stands and detours on his way to the ladder. One knee on the bed, he cups Simon's cheek and leans in to kiss him softly. Warm and welcome mesh of lips, unhurried, lingering. He can taste Mal's smile. Mal pulls back and looks at him a moment more, still wearing that smile--sweet and, for once, happy. Then he turns away, and soon all Simon can see of him are his feet as he disappears up the ladder. Simon touches his own mouth, feeling the harshness of tears at the back of his throat, feeling like a fool, but a happy fool. It is the sight of that smile on Mal's face that's affecting him, and the certain knowledge that he put it there. But he is not fifteen, and so he pulls his hand away from his mouth and dresses quickly, determined not to act like a besotted adolescent, even if he feels like one. He is splashing his face with water when Mal returns, bearing coffee. Simon takes the mug he is offered and seats himself at the desk. "So, what were you looking at so early in the morning?" "The stuff Viktor gave me. All the details, he said. Lyin' S.O.B." "Not all the details?" Mal picks up the sheet of digipaper and presses his thumb to the top right corner. It activates, scrolling text down the page. Mal sets it down in front of him. "Take a look." He stares at Mal. A sinking feeling creeps through him. "Is that thing keyed to your DNA?" "Yeah. Why?" "Why? Has it escaped your notice that the last three capital cases tried were convicted because of evidence like this? This is all the feds need to prove intent, and afterwards it's going to be all they need to convict you!" "Whoa, Simon, calm down." Mal is looking at him with a faintly bemused expression. "It's not that big a deal." "It is that big a deal. Why did Viktor give you this? Why not just tell you what you needed to know if he was worried about someone else seeing it? Why link you so irrevocably to this unless he's planning to set you up?" Simon takes a deep breath and struggles for calm. If he loses it, Mal isn't going to pay any attention to what he says. But there is one thing he can think of that will get Mal's attention. It's been on everyone's minds since Viktor made his proposition. "Fifty thousand, Mal. For passenger and cargo transport. Doesn't that seem like a bit much to you?" "So, you're the expert when it comes to smuggling, now?" "I don't have to be an expert. Just open your eyes and look beyond the profit. You're smarter than this." Mal's laugh is short and hard, and Simon is suddenly very glad he took the time to get dressed. "Let's not go talking about intelligence. If I was as smart as all that, I'd never have taken you and your sister on board." Yes. Very glad he took the time to get dressed. He set his mug down too hard, splashing coffee on the digipaper. "I'm sure you know best. I'll see you later, Captain." "Simon--" He ignores Mal and propels himself up the ladder and into the hall. *** Simon stops short outside his own room. Inara is standing in the open doorway, facing away from him. "Inara?" She wheels around, almost stumbling. Her voice is breathless. "Simon. I-- I wasn't expecting you." "I'm glad to see you," he says, feeling cautious. She looks so wild right now. "I wanted to thank you for the vase." She smiles and rests one hand against the doorframe. It is a studied pose, though he does not think she is conscious of assuming it. "Of course. I'm glad River thought of it. I didn't know," she falters briefly. "I didn't know he'd gotten you flowers, or I would have offered. They're lovely." He can just see the roses, almost glowing in the dim light. From this angle, the curled petals are caught against the background of Inara's hair where it hangs loose over her shoulder. In a glance, he looks from their luminous white, to the night of her hair, to her pale face. "Yes," he says simply. "They are." A smile that is closer to a shadow passes across her face, and Inara takes her leave of him with polite phrases that barely register on his conscious mind. The words are less than bird shadows on a lake, supremely unimportant when compared to the pain she cannot quite conceal. Or perhaps she isn't even trying. When she is gone, he walks into his room and sinks onto his bed. The day is going too quickly for him. He knew--who didn't?--that Inara and Mal had some... Something. He hadn't expected Inara to admit it, by word or sign, ever. Least of all to him. Exhaustion pulses through him in a single wave that leaves him feeling drained and unable to cope. He doesn't want Inara's secrets. Any of them. He doesn't want to do what he knows he should do. He should go to her. They are friends, after all. Aren't they? He should let her talk, if she's willing to talk. He knows, almost without thought, that Inara will never talk to Kaylee about this. The only reason she might possibly talk to him is because he already knows. Later. Maybe. He can't face it now. His selfishness only makes him feel worse, but still he does not move. He is still sitting there when River slips in, moving noiselessly, a skill she seems to have picked up during her imprisonment. Simon remembers her announcing her presence as a child with laughter or dramatic tears or the pounding of running feet. She was never silent. She strokes the roses. "They needed water. It's good to give them what they need." On the scale of obscurity that River usually operates on, this hardly even registers. Her meaning is all too clear. "I can't give everyone what they need, River. Not all the time. No one's perfect." She does a pirouette, going en pointe in her steel-toed boots for a bare second. The leather flexes and wrinkles into a lump behind the heel, nearly flat from the toe on up. She comes to sit beside him and puts her arms around his waist. Her head leans trustingly against his shoulder. "Perfect is a relative word," she says. "It has no objective meaning." He smiles against her hair. She's right, as usual. *** After supper, Simon tracks Mal to the cargo bay. He has been over the fight--their first fight, his mind insists on calling it, though it is certainly *not* their first--in his head a dozen times. His fault, he has decided. Not because he was wrong, but because he knows better. Mal will fight if attacked. He will never back down, and he will aim for whatever areas are the most vulnerable. He does not, will never, fight fair. Therefore, no matter how much it pisses Simon off, it is up to him to find a better way to make his point. He moves to stand behind Mal, takes a deep breath, and hopes for the best. "It was a stupid fight." Mal does not turn to face him, but pauses in the act of lifting a crate into a storage locker. "Sure was a fast one. Hardly realized we were having it before we were right in the middle. Then you were gone." "I...didn't want to make things worse. I won't apologize for what I said, but I will apologize for the way I said it. I could have been more tactful." Mal puts the crate down. His back is stiff, and his hand is clenched on the storage locker. Simon wants to leave, suddenly. Wishes he hadn't come at all. He should have given Mal more time. Mal turns halfway, not quite looking at Simon. "How about if you don't apologize at all. Then I won't have to either." He doesn't look happy about making the offer, but he is at least making it. It's a far better deal than Simon was expecting. He wonders if Mal will continue to be this reasonable. Shepherd Book might have a miracle to report next time he makes it back to his abbey. "Deal." Mal lets go of his grip on the storage locker and turns fully. He won't quite meet Simon's eyes, but he reaches for him. Pulls him closer, one hand on his hip, fingers curled inside the waistband of Simon's pants. "Good." A scuffed footfall tells them they are not alone. Simon turns to see Jayne, arms crossed, grinning at them. "Ain't you two cute. And right out here in public, too. If you were looking for an audience, Mal, all you had to do was ask." Simon would have moved away, but Mal holds him where he is. "Take a walk, Jayne." "In a minute. Zoe says to tell you Viktor was right about them two Alliance ships. They're slower than us, but it'll be a hard burn to make Eos first. Wash is getting on that. Good thing you got them two to look after things while you're all distracted and such." A leer accompanies this last remark, but Jayne's face twists before he turns away, the leer turning to a dark scowl. He stomps out of the cargo bay. Simon turns to Mal to gage his response. Mal is watching Jayne's retreating back with a frown. His hand is still at Simon's waist, but clearly only because he has forgotten to remove it. "He doesn't seem happy." Mal look at him as if startled to be reminded of his presence. "He'll get used to it. Everyone will." "But no one's likely to make as much trouble as Jayne will if he doesn't." Mal smiles at him. "Not true, in fact. If Zoe didn't approve, then we'd be in real trouble." "If Zoe didn't approve, you wouldn't have asked me to stay." He hasn't thought about it before, but as he says it, he knows it is true. He could be dispirited by the thought that Mal would choose Zoe's opinion over him, but he is not. He has Zoe's approval, and his time on Serenity has shown him that is no small thing. Apparently, Mal hasn't thought about it either. His face is thoughtful as he answers. "Guess you're right. She did have a few things to say on the subject, at that." Wonders vaguely what those things might have been, but Mal's hand tightening at his waist is far more important at the moment. "My room's close," he says. "I'd rather Jayne didn't interrupt us again." "Lead the way, Doc. I'm right on your tail." "I'll hold you to that." Simon suppresses a smile at Mal's snort of surprised laughter and heads for his room. *** Simon's eyes are closed. Mal is behind him, hands down his pants, cupping his ass. The door is barely closed behind them. Simon knows he should lock it, but he's going to have to hope that Mal will think of that. All he can do himself is lean back against solid warmth and moan. Strong hands knead his ass, a slow, building rhythm. One of Mal's hands shifts to his hips, and he is pulled back hard. Lips graze his ear, his temple. "Want you," Mal says. "I would never have--" He breaks off in a gasp as Mal's fingers rub against his entrance. "G-guessed." "Really, Simon. Want you so bad. You got no idea." Mal is kissing and licking at his neck, driving him to distraction. "I--oh. I think I might have some." Mal pulls his hands out of Simon's pants and runs them up under his shirt. Simon feels himself slipping into the same state he was in last night. Only feeling, all thought lost before Mal's onslaught. "Mal..." "Hmm?" "Mal, wait." "Don't want to wait." Simon's shirt is gone now, his pants pushed down around his hips. With a gasp, he rips himself away from Mal's warmth and turns to face him, breathing hard. The lust in Mal's eyes falls away to be replaced by uncertainty. It's a look that Simon isn't sure he's ever seen on Mal's face before. He smiles quickly and lays a hand on Mal's chest in reassurance. "What--?" "You had your chance last night. Tonight it's my turn." Mal gives him a half smile. "Could have been your turn this morning." Simon steps closer. "Let's not talk about that right now." "You had plenty to say earlier." Simon grabs Mal's suspenders and yanks, hard enough that Mal takes an involuntary step toward him. It puts them chest to chest. Simon holds Mal's gaze and pulls the suspenders off his shoulders slowly, deliberately. Unbuttons his pants. Leans up to steal a kiss. "We're not going to fight right now." His lips brush Mal's as he speaks. "So shut up." Mal makes a vague sound of agreement as he takes Simon's mouth, kissing him hard, near-bruising pressure of lips and invading tongue. Simon gets them turned around somehow, walking Mal backward toward the bed as he fights to keep some semblance of his sanity through this unending kiss. If Mal wasn't so hungry for him... But he wouldn't change that. Not for anything. And so they fall onto the bed, neither of them in control any more. Simon gets Mal's elbow in his side, and judging from Mal's grunt, some sharper part of Simon's anatomy has scored a hit as well. "Sorry," they mumble at the same moment. And look at each other. And smile. When Mal smiles at him like that, Simon can't doubt that he made the right choice. Cradled between Mal's legs, Simon pushes himself up Mal's body to resume their kiss. Mal's hands move through his hair, fingers stroking lightly along the back of his neck, more firmly down his back. Simon hums contentment into Mal's mouth, letting Mal touch him as he will while Simon reaches for the tube in the drawer of his bed side table. He gets hold of it and breaks off the kiss with a messy drag of lips over Mal's chin and down his neck. Down his chest, tasting faint salt and hard muscle just beneath the skin. Down his stomach. Mal's skin tastes good, and the heavier, darker taste of his cock is even better. Mal's hand is in his hair, trying to tug him back up, but Simon won't budge. He licks and sucks up the side of Mal's cock, teasing around the head. He gets the cap off the tube, though his hands seem too warm and boneless for that much coordination. He warms the lube in his hand and coats his fingers with it. The sound Mal makes when he slides one in is worth the slight trouble of the sneak attack. Two fingers, Mal's body stretching easily to take him in, and Mal gasping above him. "Simon, oh-- Oh fuck, don't stop, more--" More is what Simon wants, too, and he's not about to stop. He kneels, catching Mal's legs over his shoulders and bringing them up with him. One last twist, and he withdraws his fingers and slicks his cock. He looks at himself poised at the entrance to Mal's body, looks up to Mal's face, flushed and open. Pushes in. He meant to stop and give Mal time to adjust, but Mal doesn't seem to need it, and that's good, because Simon doesn't think he *can* stop. The slick heat and tight grip and Mal looking at him with parted lips wet from his kisses--it's too good, too perfect. He slides into Mal's body and out again, feeling loss and cold each time he pulls back, wishing there was some way to go deep and then deeper. He pauses inside, twists his hips and watches Mal bite his lip and close his eyes. That's almost enough for him right there. He looks away, closes a hand around Mal's straining cock and pumps him in time with his own thrusts. He holds on, just barely, until Mal is coming in his hand, body stiff and arching toward him. Then he lets go, and sensation takes him over. He sees only white behind his eyes and hears only the rush of his own blood. He opens his eyes slowly. Mal's legs have slid off his shoulders, and he is leaning against Mal's knees, one hand still loose on his cock. He pulls slowly out of Mal's body. Sweat is starting to dry and cool on him, and he shivers. Mal takes his wrist and pulls him down. He lets Mal hold him, stroke his back, kiss his hair. He feels his breathing and heartbeat calm and feels Mal's do the same. Eventually, he will have to get up and get something to clean them both off with. Eventually, he will have to find some way to talk to Mal about this job. Eventually, he will have to talk to Inara. Eventually. Not tonight. He is dozing when Mal rolls him onto his side and slips out of bed. There is the sound of running water, and Simon keeps his eyes shut as a wet cloth cleans him. Mal lifts him enough to pull the covers down and gets them both settled and warm in bed. Simon curls up against Mal's side, half-awake now. He wonders if maybe he shouldn't mention the job again now, while Mal's relaxed, but he can't bring himself to do it. This feels so good. And it won't last long enough. ------- ..end.. home * fandoms * firefly * top