***SERENITY. BIG SPOILERS. If you haven't seen it yet, run and hide!***
Jayne knew Zoë ain’t been quite right since Wash went and got hisself killed. But that’s normal. Zoë might be able to put a man down without blinking twice, but she’s still a woman, underneath it all.
This…ain’t normal.
“Zoë…?” He can’t remember any of the crew ever coming into his bunk, not for any reason. Shout down at him from the top of the chute, more like, but not inside. On his floor, in his space. Still, if Zoë’d wanted him dead, he reckoned he’d never of woke up at all. He takes his hand off Charlene—a sweet X9-180 he got in swap for a bet on Beaumonde—and sits. “Wuzzup?”
“Jayne—“ Zoë’s arms are wrapped tight ‘round herself and her voice near breaks in half on the sound of his name.
It’s strange enough he grabs Charlene again and goes scrambling out the bunk and over to her. “Zoë, what the hell…?”
Her arms untwine and she grabs him and drags him into her, closer’n he’s ever been to her before. He drops Charlene outta sheer startlement, and he ain’t never dropped a gun, not since he was a little. He’s got about a second to notice she still smells like the cinnamon incense of mourning before she’s on him.
He freezes up a moment, just out of sheer, stupid shock. But Jayne ain’t never been a man to let an opportunity pass him by, and Zoë is a fine figure of a woman. What she ain’t, however, is a whore, so even as her teeth scrape ‘long his jugular, he runs his fingers gentle over skin smoother than he’d ever imagined. Specially for a woman so damn tough.
“No,” Zoë growls, and comes up. Her eyes are only a feral gleam in the sorta-darkness. It’s sorta creepy and sorta hot. “Not nice. Don’t be nice.”
It all makes a bit more sense then, and he digs his fingers hard into that thick springy hair and drags her head back. Uses a bit of his own teeth, show her how it feels.
She must like it just fine, ‘cause she growls again and bites down harder. Her hands snake ‘round to grab his hips and pull him close. She ain’t wearing much of nothing.
Temperature’s been on the fritz since they blew a regulator coil couple days ago; he ain’t wearing much more than his skivvies. Don’t take but a second for her to skin them off him, and then he’s standing there like God made him. He’s half-afraid this is some joke on Zoë’s part, or some obscure payback, but when she takes hold of his pecker, though she’s rough, it ain’t painful. Jayne groans as all the blood leaves his brain for summat else.
He grabs her, hard enough to leave bruises, and tries to swing her towards the bunk. Zoë shakes it off and leg sweeps him instead, so he’s the one that goes sprawling, and she rides him down. They hit with a thump he can feel all the way up his spine and he yelps, ‘cause that deck is damn cold. Above him, Zoë flings her hair back over her shoulder, skins out of her shirt and laughs, a silent, gloating laugh that gives him the wigguns and at the same time sends more blood rushing into his groin making him harder than ever, so hard he thinks he’ll bust before he ever gets it inside her.
Hell with that, he thinks. He’s waited all this time to get a piece of her; damn if he’s gonna shoot like some stripling ‘fore he gets his chance. She’s got the advantage of leverage, but Jayne’s still bigger and stronger; he grabs her shoulders and tugs, like he’s pulling her down to him. She bends, just a bit, and he pushes up, hips and shoulders, slamming into her and taking her over onto her back. She laughs again, her teeth a flash of white. Her thighs, slim and taut with muscle, torque around his waist and scissor shut, cutting off his breath. Short, filed down fingernails dig into his arms, drawing blood. Her hips writhe circles on his belly, just barely touching him.
”Ta ma de!”
“That is the idea,” Zoë whispers in his ear, hoarse and teasing. Those long thighs tighten again, and she does something, and suddenly, he’s the one on his back again. His elbow hits the bulkhead—there really ain’t enough room in here for these sorts of acrobatics—and he curses again.
On the other side of the wall, Mal pounds irritably at the noise. “Jayne, quit messing around and get some sleep!”
Jayne doesn’t say nothing. He can’t, lip caught ‘tween Zoë’s teeth and she’s laughing again. Nuff of this, he thinks. He hooks two fingers in her panties and tugs. Hard. Fabric parts its way from skin in a loud purring rip. Jayne reaches down to take hold of hisself and thrusts with hand and pecker and hips to impale her.
Zoë cuts off to gasp and arch backwards, showing him the long length of that throat. He rears up, nuzzles and then bites. Zoë puts a hand in his hair, gripping; not to push him away, but to bring him toward. He grabs one slim shoulder, pulling her down on him harder, and the other hand finds the sweet curve of breast. He’d known Zoë was well set up—could hardly help but notice in all that form fitting leather—but it was different to heft it in his hand, heavy and soft, broken by the shivering nipple.
He didn’t think he could last long; it’s been a while since they’s had time for this kind of recreating, and he can’t remember the last time he’s had a wildcat like Zoë. Gives him a whole new level of respect for Wash, who’d always seemed a little soft.
So he thought it’d most like be a few thrusts and done with. But like everything else about Zoë, woman’s got a way of surprising him. She rides him hard and thorough, and he finds hisself going along just to keep up, a groin deep pleasure that goes on long and deeper than the punctuation of a little spunk at the end. It ain’t pretty and it ain’t gentle, and it hurts bout as much as it feels good, but he reckons that’s pretty much why she come to him in the first place, so that’s all right.
When it’s over, Jayne finds himself most disinclined to move, thighs and belly shaking and sleep coming up fast like a cosh to the back of his skull. He don’t expect Zoë to linger none, but she surprises him again by curling up against his side like a kitten and dropping almost immediately into sleep. Jayne brushes sweaty curls out of her face and pulls up the cover over them both, and then he’s gone too.
Don’t wake up again til he suddenly opens his eyes and there she is, putting on what’s left of her clothes. He don’t make a sound, or change his breathing none, but she still must know, ‘cause she stills and he can suddenly see the gleam of her eyes. Lazy, he flicks on the small light over his bunk and puts his hands behind his head. “Ain’t got to say it,” he drawls quietlike. “I reckon this is one of those things that just never happened.”
Her relief is palpable, clear as the smell of sex in the air, and something dangerous goes out of her shoulders and back. A slow smile crosses her face and she drawls back, “Why Jayne Cobb, I always knew you couldn’t be dumb as they say.”
He smiles back at her, and like that, everything’s okay ‘tween them again.
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