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blue_bells» Title: Shortcut
» Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Mal/Simon
» Summary: Give Mal and Jayne liquor and they'll start a bar brawl. Give Simon liquor and he turns mighty sly.
» A/N: Written here for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
measuringlife in ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
comment_fic.
Mal remembers Simon being a clumsy drunk.
He remembers a loose-limbed, dopey-eyed and laughing Doctor in Jaynestown who fell over himself as he and Kaylee tried to court each other. Sweet things falling over each other sweet, young love.
It’s a different version of the man reclined in the bucket seat of Serenity's mess, a polished heel kicked up on the table where Mal’s dealing the drink and cards. From the dour purse of Simon’s lips, Mal wonders if that love is still flowing so smooth.
Maybe it’s the company that makes the drunk.
Simon’s a better card player than anybody expected, but he’s still had to knock back two tins of Jayne’s brew as punishment through the night. His chest rises and falls in slow breaths, pewter mug resting on his bent knee. His gaze on Mal is lazy, but intent.
“Deal me,” Simon says, thickly, “If I win the next hand, you let me go to bed."
Mal shakes his head with no play at apology, mouth quirked. “You know the rules: can’t leave the table until you’ve got a hand of five under your belt. And an empty cup.”
“Huh.” He doesn’t see Simon blink, processing that, and gently nodding. “That’s easy then.”
Mal hears the long, rolling swallows a moment before Simon’s empty mug hits the table and Mal frowns stupidly at the shadow that’s suddenly thrown over the table. He may be winning, but there’s enough drink in him to delay the realisation that Simon’s stood up against the light.
That Simon’s pulling his shirt over his head, hair mussed loose as he walks around the table.
The proverbial light bulb blinks on when Mal looks up into Simon’s face, finds his attention focused, seeking, just before Simon throws his shirt to the side and slides onto Mal’s lap, hands pushing down on his shoulders.
“Whoa!”
Mal throws his hands up and bucks in shock, but Simon’s wound around him and rides the motion without so much as a blink.
Simon slightly shakes his head, like he’s asking ‘what?’ Like he does this every other night after a job, and he’s hovering so close, breathing the vapour of Jayne’s brew into his mouth, warm hand sliding around Mal’s neck and Mal’s doing his damndest to cope like a gentleman.
Simon is unnervingly unaffected. He blinks through the hair in his eyes, settling his full weight on Mal’s hips and – oh, oh that just ain’t right.
“Now, Doctor, I’m not that kinda man,” Mal tries to reason, and it doesn’t come out sounding near as indignant as it should. It sounds only like Mal is demanding dinner and a rose ‘forehand and it’s nothing like disavowal at all. “You better stop and try to think, look what you’re doin’-“
Simon makes a noise of interest and he doesn’t smile, but Mal sees it when his eyes light up.
“And you better get that hand of five under my belt because I want to quit this game and get to bed,” Simon says, before he tangles his hand in Mal’s and pushes it down.
Mal chokes on surprise, feeling the heat of Simon’s skin, curls and then the hardness of him under his fingers. Simon’s entire body sighs, hips rolling against him when he wraps their fingers around himself and Mal’s brain completely stops working because he doesn’t back away when Simon kisses his mouth open and pushes his tongue inside. The kiss is slow and rolling and Mal thinks he’s getting drunker just on contact, but it’s not gentle.
Mal pulls back, breathing hard and frowns at Simon’s blissed out expression. “You’re goin’ regret this in the morning.”
Simon’s smile is dark as he leans in again. “Trust me; I’m a doctor.”
His kiss is hot, slick and unapologetic and there’s no way Mal can’t lean up into that.
» Fandom: Firefly/Serenity
» Warnings: None
» Pairing(s)/Characters: Mal/Simon
» Summary: Give Mal and Jayne liquor and they'll start a bar brawl. Give Simon liquor and he turns mighty sly.
» A/N: Written here for
measuringlife in comment_fic. Mal remembers Simon being a clumsy drunk.
He remembers a loose-limbed, dopey-eyed and laughing Doctor in Jaynestown who fell over himself as he and Kaylee tried to court each other. Sweet things falling over each other sweet, young love.
It’s a different version of the man reclined in the bucket seat of Serenity's mess, a polished heel kicked up on the table where Mal’s dealing the drink and cards. From the dour purse of Simon’s lips, Mal wonders if that love is still flowing so smooth.
Maybe it’s the company that makes the drunk.
Simon’s a better card player than anybody expected, but he’s still had to knock back two tins of Jayne’s brew as punishment through the night. His chest rises and falls in slow breaths, pewter mug resting on his bent knee. His gaze on Mal is lazy, but intent.
“Deal me,” Simon says, thickly, “If I win the next hand, you let me go to bed."
Mal shakes his head with no play at apology, mouth quirked. “You know the rules: can’t leave the table until you’ve got a hand of five under your belt. And an empty cup.”
“Huh.” He doesn’t see Simon blink, processing that, and gently nodding. “That’s easy then.”
Mal hears the long, rolling swallows a moment before Simon’s empty mug hits the table and Mal frowns stupidly at the shadow that’s suddenly thrown over the table. He may be winning, but there’s enough drink in him to delay the realisation that Simon’s stood up against the light.
That Simon’s pulling his shirt over his head, hair mussed loose as he walks around the table.
The proverbial light bulb blinks on when Mal looks up into Simon’s face, finds his attention focused, seeking, just before Simon throws his shirt to the side and slides onto Mal’s lap, hands pushing down on his shoulders.
“Whoa!”
Mal throws his hands up and bucks in shock, but Simon’s wound around him and rides the motion without so much as a blink.
Simon slightly shakes his head, like he’s asking ‘what?’ Like he does this every other night after a job, and he’s hovering so close, breathing the vapour of Jayne’s brew into his mouth, warm hand sliding around Mal’s neck and Mal’s doing his damndest to cope like a gentleman.
Simon is unnervingly unaffected. He blinks through the hair in his eyes, settling his full weight on Mal’s hips and – oh, oh that just ain’t right.
“Now, Doctor, I’m not that kinda man,” Mal tries to reason, and it doesn’t come out sounding near as indignant as it should. It sounds only like Mal is demanding dinner and a rose ‘forehand and it’s nothing like disavowal at all. “You better stop and try to think, look what you’re doin’-“
Simon makes a noise of interest and he doesn’t smile, but Mal sees it when his eyes light up.
“And you better get that hand of five under my belt because I want to quit this game and get to bed,” Simon says, before he tangles his hand in Mal’s and pushes it down.
Mal chokes on surprise, feeling the heat of Simon’s skin, curls and then the hardness of him under his fingers. Simon’s entire body sighs, hips rolling against him when he wraps their fingers around himself and Mal’s brain completely stops working because he doesn’t back away when Simon kisses his mouth open and pushes his tongue inside. The kiss is slow and rolling and Mal thinks he’s getting drunker just on contact, but it’s not gentle.
Mal pulls back, breathing hard and frowns at Simon’s blissed out expression. “You’re goin’ regret this in the morning.”
Simon’s smile is dark as he leans in again. “Trust me; I’m a doctor.”
His kiss is hot, slick and unapologetic and there’s no way Mal can’t lean up into that.
