GORRAM PIRATES

 

 

It was a barmy balmy day out in the middle of the big blue.  Captain Mal Reynolds strutted around the fuck castle poop hole bridge of his beloved, but somewhat decrepit ship, Serenity, his hands smoothing down the front of his snug britches as he watched cabin boy, Jayne, haul himself up and down the rigging with a knife between his teeth following captain’s orders to the letter.

“May I help you with that?” asked Simon the sawbones, climbing out of the hatch and fluttering his eyelashes flirtatiously in the direction of those tight, tight pants. “You appear to have an irritation downstairs.”

“Below decks, is what you’re trying to say, Doctor Tam,” frowned Captain Mal, somewhat annoyed to be distracted from his daily routine.  “You need to start learning the gorram lingo. Pirate speak is all important, especially today of all gorram days.”

“What’s today?”

“Monday,” explained Mal slowly so as the doctor could understand.  “Sometimes I wonder why we don’t find ourselves a sawbones with a brain.  You’ll never make a decent pirate, boy.”

“I have no desire to be a pirate, Reynolds.  If you remember correctly I paid passage for my sister and I to be taken to visit the parentals in the new golfing resort of Osiris.”

“Cept when we got to the gorram island there was no resort, just a palm tree, hun-erds of empty bottles of rum and one slaughtered pirate.”  Mal looked thoughtful. “Shame he’d had so much grog, he was fair good looking and might have made a comely replacement for you, doctor.”

“The girl was attractive too,” said Simon, hopelessly torn as always.  If only he could make up his mind then one day he might actually lose his maidenhead.

“Girl?” asked Mal. “There was a girl there?  I must have missed her.  That’ll explain all the caterwauling when we set sail then.”

“Oh lord, I can’t find it anywhere,” said a pretty face peering up out of the hatch. “I’ve looked all over.  We’ll never get to burn atmo at this rate, Cap’n.”

Mal shrugged diffidently, mostly because he hadn’t a clue what Kaylee, the new recruit, was on about.  He was a sweet looking young sailor and if Mal hadn’t had a preference for muscles and bulk then he might have been sorely tempted to while away a few hours with him to take his mind off the weather during squally nights.

Simon looked helplessly between Kaylee and the Captain but the decision was made for him when a firm boot up the backside encouraged him through the hatch in a sudden southerly direction.

“Peace at last,” muttered Mal as he leant back against the mast and watched Jayne check all was well from the crow’s nest for the tenth time that morning.  But the peace was short-lived; it never reigned for long on Serenity.

“I’m not entirely sure of your intentions towards that boy,” said Reverend Book who had bought passage to Tortuga to set up a mission to save pirates from the perils of drinking and whoring.  Or so he said.  And why else would a preacher want to visit the biggest den of iniquity known to man?

Boy!  Mal was somewhat aghast. Jayne must be ten years older than him if he was a day, but nicely sculpted and fit with it.  His eyes fixed on those muscular arms as they worked their way up and down the rigging then glazed over as he thought about what they felt like working away on some other task at hand.  His tightpants got a little tighter.

“Captain Reynolds?”  The preacher poked him in the chest with a bible and Mal heaved in a gulp of salty air.

“Jayne? A boy?” he questioned incredulously.

“He’s a simple lad and you’re the one who’s kept him pushed down all these years, Captain.  I’m just looking out for the welfare of the crew.  I don’t want to see any of you going to that special hell.”

Malcolm had again become distracted by the mere mention of Jayne in conjunction with pushing and down but another bash from the preacher man’s bible woke him up a little.

“He’s no run of the mill cabin boy, Rev, he’s cabin boy in charge of big guns and swords,” explained Mal, “and I’m doing my captainly duty keeping him safe from that rough and ready rapscallion crew o’ mine at night.  What more can you ask of me?”

“I could request that you make things legal.”

Mal suddenly felt seasick for the first time in – oh, at least a month and for once he was actually glad of the interruption from River Tam.  Even if she was spouting the usually gorram crazy talk.  He and the Shepherd tried to sneak away down to the mess deck but the girl followed close behind them like a very noisy feng le shadow.

“Captain Reynolds, according to my calculations and based on some data I retrieved last time we were on shore, I estimate that if we adjust the co-ordinates slightly we’ll arrive at the razed port of Persephone which was last known bastion of the infamous English privateer Atherton Wing - a man, recently eviscerated by his servants who were demonstrating their democratic rights to protest against unfair working conditions. 

I have discovered that a vast proportion of his legacy was hidden away in the grounds of the Wing estate and, having taken into consideration the limitations of the average pirate’s brain, I’m positive that the spot will be indicated by the all too obvious letter of mark.”  River Tam smiled, happy at her witticism and vast IQ.

Mal shook his head and looked desperately over at the sawbones and the preacher, but they appeared to be as baffled as he was.

“Doc, by my life I swear that your sister becomes crazier by the hour.  She’ll be barking at the moon next.”

“I apologise,” said Simon. “I wish I could do something to help her but every time I suggest an exploratory operation, she becomes uncontrollable.”

“Wouldn’t you?” growled Jayne who was delicately picking the weevils out of his hard tack with the tip of his dagger and saving them for later.

River echoed Jayne’s growling noise and grabbed handfuls of her hair tearing at it in what almost seemed like frustration as she scampered out of the mess hall.

“She’ll be ‘right,” Mal reassured Simon who got up to follow her.  “Wash is up there playing with his corn dolly horses; he’ll keep a weather eye out for her.

“Not in there either,” muttered Kaylee emerging from the galley and shaking her head, “There’s a gorram engine here, I can feel it in my bones.”

“Has to be,” agreed Mal, staring sympathetically at the flat front panel of the seaman’s britches that Kaylee was wearing.  “Or how else’d we be moving, little Kaylee?” 

The diminutive name seemed apt enough from this angle.  Good thing he was attracted to brawn over brains because it didn’t look as if he’d be getting much satisfaction in the hammock department from the newbie.

“The force of the wind trapped in the canvas sheeting causes forward thrust and forces the hull to move through the water.  It follows the most rudimentary theory of physics,” screamed River from the deck where she was studying the gangplank as if it were a potential respite from the horrors of being abandoned at sea with morons.

Mal looked blank and was beginning to wonder if he was as dumb as his cabana boy.  “I got nothing.  How about you, shipmates?” he said trying to remember how to talk like a gorram pirate.

There was a resounding nay and much shuffling in response and Mal felt oddly satisfied that he wasn’t in fact as stupid as Jayne after all.

Speaking of that big and bulky devil, the cabin boy in charge of guns and swords looked up from his task of weevil hunting.  “When’re we gonna stop sailing in circles and get us some killing and some looting and some sexing?” he asked grouchily.

“I was thinking the same thing as Jayne, which is in itself rather worrying,” said Inara tightening her bodice, plumping up her breasts and fluffing her beautiful dark hair. “We have been in exactly the same location for the past five days and I’m feeling rather dizzy. Are you sure Wash is up to piloting the boat?”

“Ship,” yelled Mal. “Serenity is a ship and you only want to get to port so you can be earning yourself some money from all that high class work that goes on between your lily white thighs.”

“Remember, Captain, my work earns you your reputation,” huffed Inara, slipping the shoulders of her ruched blouse down to display a little more lily white cleavage.

“As madam of the least shipshape floating brothel in the western seas?” asked Zoë the first mate striding through the mess hall and swashing her buckle gallantly as she marched off in search of her favourite new toy, Wash, most likely after a little below decks sport.

“She’s so manly,” swooned Inara leering lustily after the gorgeous six footer.

“All you think about is men,” bickered Captain Mal who was all dressed up as a pot and busy calling the kettle black.

“I do not,” said Inara, dragging Kaylee out from under the table where the girl was busy hunting for an engine and giving her a lingering and very French kiss.

Mal was more confused than ever but at least that explained Little Kaylee’s lack of man parts.

I’ll be in Mal’s bunk,” groaned Jayne who was watching the girl on girl action, his eyes out on stalks.

“You’ll be in Captain Mal’s bunk was what you meant to say,” corrected Mal, then thought a little harder.  “No, what you meant to say was you’ll be in your bunk and– Oh, shiver me timbers and gorramit, I’ll join you there.”

 

~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~

 

Meanwhile in a fandom ship not a million miles away, a similar if slightly more petulant discussion was going on between captain and crew.

Captain Spike was singing in a manic drunken fashion, mostly because he was manic and very very drunk.

“Avast, belay and ahoy you bloody, scurvy, pox-ridden, salty hot dogs,” he yelled. “Get to the top of that rigging and see what you can see, me lad.”

Angel, the cabin boy, glared at his unruly but swanky captain who was dressed to impress in true pirate wear of tight denim britches and a flowing leather coat.  “I was up there not five minutes ago, Captain Spike, and there was nothing but water.”

“Well I’m in charge here and you’re beneath me so you do what I bloody say.  Just coz yer all big butch and burly with a set of new defined abs that look like they’re made out of Playdoh, don’t mean you can go- go- go- swinging yer lead around at me.”

Spike found himself strangely turned on at the mention of swinging and lead.  “Any more back chat and I’ll take you below decks and give you a good seeing to with me flogger.”

“Spoikey, the stars tell me that if we sail t’wards the occident then we’ll find our heart’s desire,” said Drusilla twirling around in her swirly dress, keeping the deadly rays of the sun away from the milky white porcelain skin of her and her dolly as they sheltered beneath a parasol.

“Very pretty words, my ripe and mentally challenged Dru, but for two things. One, it’s the middle of the day so no stars and two, I’m taking the boy down for a spot of discipline so we’ll talk about this later,” said Spike to his slightly insane sister.

Angel and Spike scuttled off to the Captain’s cabin, far too worked up at the idea of the naughty contents of the Captain’s toy sea chest to take any further notice of Drusilla.

“How difficult can it be?  All they have to do is sail due west to find what we’re bloomin’ seeking,” sighed the girl looking at the map pinned to the mizzenmast.

 

~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~

 

“Dammit, Mal, when are we gonna stop scurvying about and go find the treasure that feng le girl’s been on about for weeks?” asked Jayne.

“Wha?  Whoogle?  Oojit?  Glory is Ben? Treasure?” said Mal making more sense than usual.

“Revisions have been drawn up. I’ve have recalculated the factors involved and even with my superior navigational skills, traveling that many nautical miles in a vessel that is less than seaworthy and is listing over to the portside quite dramatically, would mean taking a needless risk when that which we truly seek lies so much closer,” said River, thoughtfully studying her map.

“The whoggle?  Ben is Glory?” asked Mal with a befuddled look on his dim but handsome face.

“The McGuffin we seek lies on a sandy beach on the north tip of the Island of Whedon Isgard,” said River in words of mostly less than four syllables which for her was positively retarded.

“The whoggle?  Darla is Inara? Vera is Buffy?” asked Mal with a more than befuddled look on his dim but handsome face.

“Go east to find the good stuff,” explained Jayne.  “Which could be money, trim, grog or killing far as I’m concerned.”

“Good work, matey,” said Mal still wondering what the heck trim was and how Jayne could spend so much time looking for it in Tortuga. “Now go wait for me in my cabin, boy, and I’ll let you play with my saber.”

Mal strutted across the deck, brown suede coat flapping behind him, hoping that between him and Wash, one of them could figure out the Naughty Elephants compass code and discover which way was east.

 

~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~

 

Captain Spike was drunker, louder and more manic than ever.

“Could you please keep the noise down,” hissed Darla, leaning out of the hatch and holding the stays of her bodice together as she fluffed her beautiful blonde tresses.

“Oh sorry, am I disturbing the onboard ambassador from the town of Dirtyhobitch,” said Spike in his usual petulant tone of voice.

Darla huffed and disappeared back inside the cabin that she rented off Spike as a venue for entertaining her clientele.  A ‘Cruise around my Darla’ was the name of the tour package and she charged eight Pieces of Ten for a week-long sojourn.

“Why is your mad sister driving the boat?” muttered Angel.

“Ship,” yelled Spike, “The Buffy is a Ship and may God bless the many thousands who have set sail in her.”

He and Angel drifted for a moment, lost inside some vivid shared memories of flowing blonde hair and delicate deflowering.  Also vicious beatings combined with amazingly good wall and floor sex.

“Drusilla pet, why are you driving the boat?” said Spike, adjusting his tight pants after that long and erotic reverie.

“Because Percy wouldn’t go where I wanted him to so I sent him off on a long swim?” explained Dru with a vacant look on her face as she swayed and span the wheel quite randomly it seemed.

“Is Percy one of her dolls?” asked Angel.

“No,” sighed Spike “Percy’s what me and Dru called that so called ‘clever fellow’ we picked up in San Edale.  The one we thought spoke good enough English to be a doctor.”

“Oh, Wesley, the useless one, with all the books?”

“That’s him.  Or should I say that was him,” said Spike crossing his hands over his chest in a rather over dramatic way.  “Still, never mind. No point in spilling useless buckets of salt over a wanker like that.  Who’s up for a fuck and a mug of grog?”

 

~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~

 

“Land ho,” yelled Jayne from his precarious position at the top of the mast where he was swinging around like a trained ape with plenty of training.  “Land HO.”

“Belay your blabbering,” hissed Captain Mal in a shouting kind of a way. “`Nara don’t like being called that.  She says if she’s referred to as anything other than a Companion from now on, she’ll leave and share a cabin with Master Bates and Jack the cabin boy on the Black Pig.” 

Jayne looked down at him in despair and Mal thought it may have something to do with being sat with a large thick piece of rope between his legs… mind you, he should be used to that by now.  

“‘pparently there was no Seaman Stains,” he added disconsolately.

“Not so sure about that, Sir,” sniggered first mate Zoë as she strode past carrying Wash under her arm. “There’s plenty of them on your sheets from what I’ve been told by Badger, our sweetly good-natured laundress.”

Mal harrumphed for a while then decided, seeing as he couldn’t spell it and it didn’t sound at all piratical, he’d never do it again.

“Ship.  Land.  Killing.  Trim.  Grog.  Looting,” shouted Jayne, “Ahoy. Ahoy. Ahoy.”

Mal blushed scarlet. A toy!  How dare Jayne yell about their secret toys like that with everyone around.  “Playtime later,” he stage whispered, intent on shutting his buxom yet manly cabin boy up.  No one was supposed to know about the contents of the special semen’s chest he had hidden under his bunk.

“For the sake of a son of a drooling whore and a monkey frigging son of frog fu-hucking arsehole,” Jayne said - in Chinese to get past the censors.  “There’s a ship approaching fast and we’ll crash into it if Wash doesn’t turn the wheel a mighty lot and soon.”

“Sorry, can’t do,” shouted Simon helpfully, “He’s having a siesta with Zoë,”

“Well, how’s about you get your gorram sister up here to pilot the ship seeing as she’s the one who got us here in the first place,” yelled Jayne

“Can’t do that either I’m afraid.  She was talking meta so I sedated her with a hammer,” Simon explained in a loud enough voice to carry to the very tip of the mast.  “It seemed the kindest thing to do for all our sakes.”

“Oh thuffering thuccotash,” whimpered Jayne who’d apparently run out of piratical talk and had a very sore throat from all the yelling.  “I’ll be below on the gun deck priming me ramrod and getting me balls in position.”

“Shiver me timbers and gorrammit,” said Captain Mal who’d been silent for a while concentrating on watching Jayne’s arse as the big man descended the rigging.  “I think I’ll join you.”

“Mightn’t be a bad idea if you stayed up here to prepare the boarding party while I fire off a couple broadsides,” suggested Jayne with a look of constipation, maybe it was desperation, something akin to that anyway.

“Boarding?  Firing?  At whom?” asked Mal.  It was all becoming most complicated.  Right now he was wishing he’d never been kidnapped by pirates and taken away from his mother’s arms when he was a mere slip of a twenty eight year old babe.

“The ship, Mal, the one over there,” hinted Jayne handing him his spyglass and pointing him in the right direction.

“That’s Captain Mal to you, boy,” said Mal looking at Buffy with contempt written all over his face.  “If it ain’t that treacherous bloodthirsty scurvy deck-swabbing jolly-rogering varmint Spike.  That vagabond hasn’t an honourable bone in his body.”

“Gorrammit, he sounds good,” sighed Jayne, somewhat unhappy with his lot in life. “Is he a good looking treacherous bloodthirsty scurvy deck-swabbing jolly rogering varmint by any chance?”

“Pretty as a… pretty as a…  Why?  Why he’s as pretty as an uglified leper in a ball gown and bonnet,” stuttered Captain Mal, unsure how honourable his cabin boy’s intentions were t’wards his arch but most fanciable nemesis.  “Jayne, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you…”

At that second there was an almighty loud booming sound as a cannon ball whizzed through the air, missing them by a mile even though the two ships were now almost within boarding distance.

 

~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~

 

“What’s that bloody scurvy wanker of a tosspot doing in my waters?” tantrummed Captain Spike as he swaggered up and down the length of the deck waving his weapon around.

“Fire at will, gun crew,” he yelled in a skipperly way.

“There’s only Drusilla manning the cannon,” said Angel, “So we may be a little inaccurate and it’ll take a while to reload.” 

Spike looked through the telescope at Serenity, which was labouring towards them at a slow Chihuahua paddle pace.  “One thrust of me boarding hook and I reckon she’ll be visiting that Monkee’s locker room before you can say Davy Jones.”

The whumpf of a cannonball interrupted him, launching in the direction of the Whedonesque shores of the island.

“And why is Drusilla manning me guns?” quizzed Spike petulantly. “She’s not the most responsible member of my crew.”

“She kind of is,” shrugged Angel, “In the way that she’s the only member of your crew left.  Apart from Darla, who only uses Buffy as a knocking shop.”

“Shiver me shagging timbers, why have all the scurvy rats deserted me?” Spike paced the deck, tails of his black coat flying out sexily behind him.

“Because you’re rude, you act first think later, your plans always go wrong and most of all because no one likes you,” simpered Darla sticking her head out the cabin window.

Spike pouted and then sniffed and then pouted some more, feeling as if he’d been locked out of home and abandoned on the doorstep.  Just like had happened to him when he was a mere slip of a thirty-five year old babe in arms.

“Least you didn’t leave me, hey Ange. You still love me, don’t you?”

“Well if you hadn’t clapped me in irons and forgotten about me last time we were in port I might…”

Whether it was the puppy dog look on his captain’s face or that fact that he was so dim he’d completely forgotten what he was talking about, no one would ever know, but Angel’s words drifted away and he slung an comforting arm around Spike’s shoulders as Drusilla fired her cannon and they watched the ball whiz off in the direction of a school of porpoises.

“Prepare to board,” yelled Spike as the two ships neared collision point.

He drew his saber with a flourish and a slightly cut finger which Angel had to kiss better and then he and his cabin boy each grabbed a rope as finally the ships, more by luck than judgment, turned broadsides and smashed into each other.

“’citing innit?” yelped Captain Spike and with a wicked grin and a swing of his rope was gone, closely followed by his number one, Angel.

“Oh lawks,” moaned Drusilla as she peered out of the hatch across the empty deck.  “Abandon ship.”

Launching the rowing boat and then leaping delicately into it, Drusilla and Miss Edith took an oar each and began rowing to the sandy shores of Whedon Isgard.

 

~~~~~~***********~~~~~~~

 

“What now, me hearties?” muttered Captain Mal in a loud whisper at Jayne, who was pouting fiercely since he’d had only managed to get his balls off twice while he was below decks.

“Well, Mal, seeing as they’re right along side maybe we should think about boarding and looting then pillaging us some trim and pussy and ji ba and bai and dick and grog and… YOU TELL ME, ‘CAUSE YOU’RE THE HUN DAN SKIPPER!”

“No need for shouting,” huffed Mal turning round and smiling reassuringly at his crew. “Now listen up swabs and swabettes, who’s ready to part-ay?” All hands waved until they guessed what kind of party it was and vanished quite spectacularly.

“Mebbe they could make ‘emselves useful and man the bilge pumps,” suggested Jayne, listening to the burble of water and looking downwards as the sea grew closer and closer to the deck and Serenity began to list even more than usual.

“Whogle? Wha?  Wash is Xander?” smiled Mal hopefully, watching with pride as his hunky cabin boy took hold of a rope and launched himself across the divide.

“Dammit Mal, you need to swing,” yelled Jayne glaring at his skipper from the deck of Buffy.

“Both ways?” asked the captain as he ended up back on Serenity.

“Just the one would be more helpful at this second,” suggested Jayne then repeated himself, this time taking the cutlass out from between his teeth and brandishing it at… absolutely no one.

Mal looked behind him at his nemesisisisises, squealed then took a leap and boarded Buffy shouting, “Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah, we’ve taken your shi-ip.” 

Spike and Angel waved their swords at him ferociously as they hung on for grim death to the mast of the ship which was now at a forty five degree angle to the water and apparently on the point of joining that Monkee in the locker.

“Wankers,” yelled Spike as Angel took him in his unbelievably bicepped arms and leapt aboard Buffy.

“Seconded,” agreed Simon as Serenity slipped serenely below the waves and the rest of the crew were left swimming for the tranquil beaches of Whedon Isgard with its coconut weave umbrellas and beach bar.

“Avast ye swabby yet shiny looking rogues, listen ye here.  Ye have been taken by me, Captain Mal Reynolds, and my fine crew of men er man, er boy, Jayne.

“Jayne’s a girl’s name,” tittered Angel.

“Wanna see my man parts?” snarled Jayne.

“Well, now you come to mention it…” said Angel looking Jayne up and down and up and down, his eyes coming to rest in the mid section.

“Hey there, ‘nough of the rudeness and crudeness.  In case you hadn’t noticed I was busy proclaiming stuff in gorram pirate lingo,” said Mal.

“Get on with it then, and this time show some smarts and say it in words that make sense.”  Jayne was looking mighty put out or maybe he was just eager to get on with the brawling.

“Ahoy, then, Captain Spike,” proclaimed Mal, “Listen up you trim-loving varmint.”

Angel frowned at Spike and then pouted.

“I don’t love trim.”  Spike patted his cabin boy affectionately on the arm. “It’s all spurious rumour, me lad.  I’ve never loved trim since…  Her!”

He and Angel drifted off into another long daydream all about a tight little quim and dinky little buttocks and tits that were…  were… weren’t anywhere to be seen.  When they woke up from their shared reverie, Mal was standing there tapping his boot and looking most displeased at once again having lost his audience.

“Pay attention you pair of sweaty man boobs.”

“Wha?” said the other three in confusion.

“Whatever,” snapped Mal. “Insert pirate insult of your choice here.  Now shurrup and lemme proclaim stuff.  Right, me hearties.  I hereby declare that me and my crew have henceforth taken your ship as spoils, and you, sirs, shall be locked in the brig ‘til I decide what to do with you.”

“I’m sure I can think of something to do with ‘em, Captain,” said Jayne eyeing Captain Spike and Angel up lecherously.  “Reckon I should chain ‘em up in the bunk for safekeeping.”

Spike coughed, blushed, fluttered his eyelashes then recovered his senses and twirled his weapon around in a sleek and piratical manner. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Reynolds, your ship is no more!  She has ceased to be! 'She’s expired and gone to meet 'er maker! She rests in peace! She be pushing up the seaweed!  She's kicked the bucket, shuffled off ‘er mortal coil, run down the sails and joined the bleedin' choir invisible!!  SHE IS AN EX SHIP!!”

No more Serenity.

Mal stared at the empty space where his beloved girl used to be, then burst into loud deafening tears.  He’d loved every knothole of that ship repeatedly and with much care and attention.  She was gone and he would have vengeance.

VENGEANCE!

Stroking Jayne’s goatee in a villainous manner, Mal composed himself then turned on Spike, wearing the face of a fearsome warrior - one who’d de-pantsed him one dark night in the back streets of Tortuga.

“Serenity might be fishfood but Buffy will be mine, once I’ve tossed you off.”

“I don’t remember that in the rule book,” said Spike swaggering towards the hatch.  “Darla, be a good little whore and hand me my pirate constitution.”

“How can I concentrate on my work with all these interruptions?” bitched the beautiful harlot, tossing her golden tresses and waggling her breasts as she dragged Governor Giles, who was stark naked and polishing his spectacles furiously, onto the deck.  “I’ll finish the service on that island over there, Rupie.  Even with all those bedraggled idiots milling around on the beach, we’ll get more privacy than we do here.” 

Throwing the book in Spike’s general direction, she flounced off towards the governor’s launch, but before the fearsome and most attractive pirate captain was able to grab it, Jayne intercepted, flicking through the pages, tracing the letters with his fingers and sounding out the words silently.

“It don’t say nothing about tossing off but it does say here that in this very situation the two Captains may wrassle nekkid on deck for ownership rights,” he said eventually.

“I don’t remember that bit neither,” muttered Spike jumping up and down as he tried and failed to look over Jayne’s shoulder.

“He’s right,” said Angel who was that little bit taller.  “You two get nekkid.  I’ll get the oil from the cabin and…”

“I’ll line up the grog,” said Jayne with a conspiratorial leer.

Jayne and Angel lounged in deck chairs watching the floor show as the two naked and slippery captains eyed each other’s private parts, comparing length and girth.

“Get on with it then,” growled Jayne.

“Rightly so.  This matter needs deciding,” encouraged Angel, eating the cherries off his cocktail stick.  “Nice Mai Tai,” he added with a nod of thanks.

“You’re welcome,” said Jayne, beginning a slow handclap.

Naked Mal and naked Spike advanced on each other, the oil making it almost impossible to get a good grip.  They slipped over and clung on tight, rubbing and sliding and rolling and rubbing and groaning and skidding and rubbing and moaning…

 

Several hours later...

 

“Shiver my gorram timbers, we’re not getting anywhere,” panted Mal. 

“We need a helping hand,” gasped Spike.

“Thought you’d never ask,” said the cabin boys, clothes flying off them as they leapt eagerly into the fray.

“Something, ain’t, right, here,” gasped Mal as he wrapped his slippery legs around broad shoulders and thrust upwards in time with the punishing strokes of a very familiar cock.  “Jayne, you ain’t s’posed to be coming aboard me, ya gorram idiot.”

And so they swapped and twisted and swapped and turned and licked coconut oil off tanned sweaty bodies until they’d never want another to eat another Bounty Bar in their lives.  Finally they came together in one long drawn out glorious moment of mutual supremacy, just as the sun began to sink over the yardarm.

“Cocktails on the beach?” asked Mal slipping an arm around Spike’s shoulders.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said the blond one.

“Who won the battle then?” asked Simon, ogling the four bronzed hunks of pirate flesh as they appeared on the sunset kissed shores of Whedon Isgard.

“Conclusion I’ve come to is that we’re as good as each other and not too far apart neither,” said Mal with a grin.  “Now about this gorram McGuffin.  How come you can never find one when you’re desperate?”