Going Down

Mal ain’t certain what starts it off. More than likely it’s being locked up in this prison for twenty four hours a day that’s driving him as feng le as River Tam and turning him into an eroticised, under-sexed, over-sexed, bug-crazy, stir-crazy moon-brain. Thirty-two days they’ve been stuck here without so much as one word from Zoë and a month in a jail cell with Jayne Cobb as company is proving to be more trying than Mal ever thought possible.

“Y’reckon we’ll hear from the others soon, Mal?”

Mal can feel his eyes bulge and if it weren’t for the fact that Jayne was so much bigger than him then he’d surely land a fist to the side of that thick head.

“Well, if I’d woken up psychic today I could likely tell you the answer to that gorram question you keep asking me, but, as it turns out…”

His voice dies away as he watches Jayne roll out of his bunk then strip off shorts and tee shirt and wrap a towel around his waist. He ain’t trying to look or nothing, it’s just that Jayne’s there all the time and he apparently don’t give a rut who he shows that big hairy body off to.

The klaxon grates out its call and the cell doors in their block simultaneously slide open with an annoying clanking noise -- everything leans t’ward being annoying in this hole. As soon as the alarm sounds Jayne charges off to the bathroom, but Mal is in no such hurry, lingering behind and waiting for his other block mates to finish up. He ain’t fond of getting undressed in front of everyone. He’s a man who craves privacy and always has done. He needs time for personal things.

Knowing the pattern well enough after a month here in slammer, Mal waits five minutes and then heads for the bathroom to hide away in a stall. Another five and he’s entering the showers which are mostly empty by now. Except for-

He can’t have seen it right. Jayne wouldn’t-

Mal’s been acquainted with the mercenary for a good long time now. Living on a ship the size of Serenity means not a single one of them gets a chance to have secrets. He knows his crew -- the way they function, the way they think, they way they’re gonna react in any given situation. Well, at least he thought he did, but that look on Jayne’s face was a shock to the system. Willing. Submissive. Not words he’d ever have thought applicable.

“I’ll be seeing you, nán péng you,” The other man leaves the showers, fingers of his right hand brushing over Jayne’s skin like he owns him, and that slight gesture makes Mal’s upper lip curl possessively.

“Who was that?” he asks in his most disinterested voice, stripping off and not caring right now who sees him.

“Reynard.”

Mal don’t like that name; it’s too much like his own.

“He’s in the know. Can get hold of things too. Reckoned it might be useful to keep on his good side.”

Mal can only imagine what being on the man’s good side entails. He’s imagining it now as it happens, thoughts shifting like quicksilver through his brain.

“We don’t need a user like him to help us out. Zoë’ll be working up a plan.”

“But what if’n she-”

“She’s working on it, I tell you.” Mal ends the conversation by standing under the cold spray, lathering himself all over with foul-smelling antibacterial soap. He can’t wait to rid himself of the stink of delousing chemicals.

By the time he returns to his cell Jayne is gone. That thought concerns Mal more than it oughta do and he dresses quickly in regulation grey pants and a shirt then clatters downs the steel grid steps out to the recreation yard.

As soon as the guards check him inside the fenced-off enclosure Mal prowls the perimeter, scouting out all the quieter places where men get themselves some coupling time. He finds Jayne and Reynard behind the kitchen block, just talking it seems, but there’s a look that don’t sit right on either of their faces and Mal finds himself studying Jayne closer. He sees things he don’t want to: scuff marks on the knees of them pants and lips that are redder than usual.

“Au revoir,” says Reynard in that thickly accented voice.

Mal feigns indifference, leaning back against wall and watching the man slink off around the corner, and is more than irked to see a twisted smile of satisfaction appear on that sly face the moment before it disappears from view.

“No need for this,” Mal says when everyone else is out of earshot, tightening his lips into a thin line as Jayne examines the reinforced toes of his boots.

That picture alone is telling a story that’s more detailed than words, but then the mercenary raises his gaze and looks directly at him. “It ain’t up to you,” he says carefully as if he’s been considering the matter over.

~~****~~

“D’you have to do that?”

Mal ain’t certain that Jayne spends half of every night jacking his diao, but it sure as hell seems like it.

“Happen I do.”

“You should be bunked up with that Reynard feller.”

“Happen I should.”

If Mal opens his eyes he can see a vague reflection of what Jayne’s doing with his hand in the dull steel splashback panel above the miniature-sized sink.

“’Most done now.”

The voice is as creaky as the old bunk and, however much he doesn’t want to, Mal gets hard as he watches the ghost-like image of Jayne throwing back the thin blanket and bringing himself off with a long drawn out gasp and a shuddering of the rusty springs.

~~****~~

Thirty-eight days and counting and, whether it’s subconscious or not, Mal can’t seem to help bumping into Jayne and his new qing ren. He wouldn’t say he’s okay with it--the thought still gets him worked up--but he’s dealing pretty well. Even the disturbing sight of Jayne bending over and getting his arse fucked raw in the showers doesn’t bring on that vicious red haze of anger. After all, the mercenary ain’t never been shy about his avid need for sexing.

In the end it’s a surprisingly small detail that brings matters to a head. Mal takes longer than ever getting to the bathroom this particular morning, hoping for some private jack off time, but what he sees out the corner of his eye makes his dick soften down to useless. Jayne and Reynard are naked and breathing heavy from the afterglow, not an unusual sight. But what gets Mal’s dander up is the kissing. Jayne has told them all vociferously, many times over, that he don’t kiss on the mouth and yet here he is involved in a lip-lock from the sleazy foreigner.

Slamming into a stall, Mal jams his foot against the unlockable door and rests his butt on the edge of the john. Elbows propped on his knees, he rests his head in his hands and wonders why, for Christ’s sake, he’s feeling this way. Once the low speaking voices become even quieter he emerges from the narrow cubicle and strips down for a quick cold shower, rubbing viciously at himself with the bar of caustic soap as if that’ll scrub the images from his mind. Erase the voice that’s telling him, quite insistently, that Jayne is his.

~~****~~

“Jayne is my crew.” Mal has Reynard up against the steel fencing and his fingers are tightening around the man’s throat. There’s a glint of fear in those mud-brown eyes and Mal snarls low in his throat in disgust. This pathetic little creep don’t have no call to be messing around with his merc. “You end it swift, you hear, or I’ll end you.”

Mal squeezes a little harder until Reynard makes this choking sound. As his eyes begin to bulge, he nods several times in quick succession and is dropped on the ground like a piece of lese. Getting to his feet, the man brushes himself down like a dandy. “Plenty other bitches to rut with,” he sneers then skitters away around the side of the hospital wing before Mal has the opportunity to do him any more damage.

The rest of the day is spent buried deep in a quandary. Mal stays out of the way so he don’t have to see Jayne’s face and find out that the merc has feelings for this piece of scum. It’s unlikely, but then all of this is as unlikely as hell. Tamade! It would have been gorram unthinkable just one month ago. As far as Mal was aware, he hadn’t even made up his mind about Jayne being a fully-fledged crew member, yet now it seems he’s wrestling with ownership issues.

Night inevitably arrives and after an hour spent in Jayne’s company Mal ain’t at all certain that Reynard’s kept his word and kicked him out of his bed. The big man don’t seem perturbed in the slightest and goes to sleep like a baby after submerging himself for an hour in one of those dog-eared porn books that masquerades itself as a dime store detective novel. Mal invariably gets irritated from just watching the way Jayne’s lips move along with the words as he scans the pages to find the sex scenes; a precursor to playing with himself. There’s no jerking off happening tonight though and Mal winds up being twitchy and disgruntled because of it. Then he gets tetchy because of the twitchiness. And on top of all that he can’t get to sleep -- not the way that ignorant hundan beneath him is snoring away like a freight train.

It takes a long time to drift off and Mal spends those restless dark hours ruminating over impossible escape plans involving Zoë swooping down to rescue them from the rec yard. By dawn he’s left with a worrisome feeling that his second has taken the opportunity to make a break for it and steal Serenity away from beneath his nose. Mal wouldn’t put it past her. On second thoughts, yes he would; his trust in Zoë is absolute.

~~****~~

“Y’ain’t humping your boyfriend?” he snarks petulantly when he finds Jayne alone in the shower block.

“Nope,” responds the big man as terse as ever and Mal just about manages to refrain from shaking the truth out of him.

“Y’ reckon we’ll hear from Zo today? ‘Bout getting out I mean,” adds Jayne, like clockwork. “S’been a fair while now.”

Forty days. Forty endless harrowing days.

“I have no clue.” Mal hasn’t even got the energy to yell. He just strips off and washes away the night sweat, trying to think about stuff that isn’t Jayne and throttling Jayne and naked Jayne. Showering don’t take long at all today and, sooner than spitting, he’s dried and dressed and on his way to the communal area.

The upside of penitentiary life is that inmates get to ease the boredom by working and even earn some coin from it. Mal’s new detail is in the prison small-holding and he enjoys it more than his previous job in the laundry. Tending to crops is something he’s familiar with and he likes the feel of dry earth on his hands.

His day’s wage buys him a fresh peach and while to most it isn’t exactly luxury, for a fellow who’s spent years in the black it’s bordering on heavenly to lounge on his bunk, clean from the shower, munching on that fruit and sucking up the juice from his fingers. In fact, Mal could almost say he’s enjoying today until Jayne comes in, water dripping off his forehead, ugly regulation clothes sticking to his damp body.

Pulling a disgruntled face Mal buries his nose in a week old news-sheet -- no cortex here for them to catch up with events. He makes a long point of not looking at Jayne, but when he does he’s startled to see the merc sitting on his bunk holding a flexiscreen, big mouth open wide as he gazes at a scene of naked writhing bodies.

“Where the gorram hell did you get your boostin’ hands on that?” asks Mal incredulously. To think he was ecstatic over a peach! There ain’t no way that kind of stuff is sold in the prison store.

Jayne leers up at him. “Been set to work in the supply depot,” he says. “They got expensive stuff in there, Mal. Reckon there’s some kind of fix going on and if’n we could get us out of here…”

Mal gets to thinking. If he could turn this situation into a positive he’d be wearing a grin a mile wide for a year. “What kind of stuff?”

“Fancy food, jewellery, all kinds of black market gear.”

There goes that dirty leer again and this time it has Mal a-tingling. “Reckon you could get hold of some of it?” he asks.

“Got this, didn’t I?” Jayne extends his arm and Mal can’t help but look at the sexing happening on that wafer-thin screen.

“Do I get a bigger cut? It being my idea and all.”

“Think on this a while. Do I get a bigger cut when I do the planning and you stand there and shoot folk with your brain set to slow?”

Jayne falls silent--probably because every member of the crew knows that Mal is a fair man--and when he does start talking again it’s in a subdued voice. “I’ll see what I can snatch tomorrow.”

Mal nods and tries to bury himself in old news, but it’s gorram hard to ignore the low level sounds of rutting coming off that device below him. He knows Jayne has his hand down his pants and he’s itching to do the self-same thing. Maybe he will--the thrill of scheming has given him an adrenaline rush and made him overly hot--‘cepting that buddy sex ain’t his style. And even if it was, Jayne ain’t his idea of a buddy.

~~****~~

That feverish feeling don’t go and neither does the slow thump and shimmy of the old metal bunk. Mal’s all twisted up inside. He wants it, he wants it so gorram bad, but he can’t bring himself to pull down his pants and set to. Made!

The light from that piece of porn flickers as the shaking of the bunk gets stronger and more rhythmic and in the end Mal thrashes from side to side, pushing anxiously at the material of his sweat pants until the crown of his cock is exposed, pulsing from the feel of the cool air and the dirty thrill of what he’s about to do.

“’Bout rutting time,” says a voice from below as Mal starts up a slow jacking on his prick.

Incensed ain’t the word. Bitter embarrassed anger rushes through him, burning his veins like gasoline.

“Bi zui, you fucker,” he snarls. “Get out of bed and lay on the floor.”

Now Mal ain’t entirely sure of the purpose of this exercise, but he wants Jayne’s attention and he’s learned from experience that ordering the merc around is the best way to get it.

Jayne looks nervously at the doorway, but he complies, spreading himself out on the tiles. His shorts are still at half-mast and his cock rears proud, close on reaching his navel and laying stiff across that pelt of thick dark hair. The porn-screen is forgotten, discarded face down on his blanket.

Mal’s heart thumps painfully in his chest. He ain’t had the chance to do this for almost a year and now that he’s got the big man where he can make use of him it’d be a gorram shame to waste the opportunity. Climbing down from the top bunk, he strips out of his clothes and fumbles under the pillow for the tub of hand cream he knows Jayne keeps there. Nothing stays secret when you live on top of one another. Taking his time, he strides around Jayne who’s looking up at him from the floor, unsure and kinda worried, exactly the way Mal wants him to be. Straddling the mercenary, Mal kneels, opening the pot and greasing up his fingers with the lanolin gloop then, reaching behind, he preps himself quickly, lubing up his arse and probing slippery fingers inside him.

“You been safe?” he asks in a tight voice.

“Always,” answers Jayne. “I got rubbers here ‘though, if’n-”

Mal hasn’t the time. Buzzed with adrenaline and frustration, he slicks up Jayne’s thick piece of meat then, gripping it tight at the base, he shimmies down like a pole dancer, gritting his teeth as he slowly fills with cock. Stopping suddenly, with only half of Jayne embedded inside him, he leans over and gathers up a dollop more cream then begins to jack himself off.

“Fuck me,” he demands, his voice tightening more as he works at his cock, thumb swirling around the wet tip.

Jayne does as he’s told, bucking upwards and grunting from the effort as he begins to rut as fiercely as he can.

It ain’t personal and it ain’t pretty, but that’s exactly what Mal wants. He detaches himself, not caring ‘bout Jayne and his urges, but concentrating on his own needs, angling his body just so while he dictates the play. “More,” he groans. “Give it more now.”

The closer Mal gets to climax, the tighter he grips and the sudden gush of warmth inside angers him intensely. “Did I say you could get off yet?” he says, words hissing out through clenched teeth.

“’M Sorry.”

Ignoring the quiet apology Mal kneels up, clenched fist flying over his cock until he lets out one long moan and jerks his hips, ribbons of spunk shooting out over Jayne’s hairy chest. After he’s done he climbs to his feet with a sigh, cleaning himself up as best he can with the roll of toilet paper he keeps safe in his locker then stuffing a wad of tissue into the back of his shorts.

Next time he’ll make sure they use rubbers.

~~****~~

It goes without saying that Mal’s one of the first into the bathroom next morning. Once he returns to the cell he expects things to be a mite awkward, but then he hasn’t taken into consideration the fact that it’s Jayne he’s been rutting with and grappling, to Jayne, is an everyday event.

“What d’you reckon’d be best to smuggle outta here?” asks the big man as he sits on the bunk and pulls on his socks and boots.

“Small is your friend,” says Mal and then regrets his words as soon as he sees a wide grin erupt onto Jayne’s face. The man is almost good looking when he lights up that way.

“Y’ know what I mean,” he adds with a friendly punch to Jayne’s shoulder. Touching comes easier now. “I’ll boost us some kind of knife from the farm depot and we’ll hide the gear inside one of the mattresses ‘til we can figure a way out of here.”

While Jayne’s tying his bootlaces Mal tries to think up an escape plan, but that goatee’d mouth is so gorram close to his crotch.

“Ha wo deh bang,” he murmurs, reaching out for Jayne’s shoulder again, this time with grabbing fingers rather than a closed fist.

This is a dangerous time to be sexing, what with guards everywhere and none of them too happy about witnessing sly play, but when Mal gets a thought in his head it won’t quit on him.

Jayne looks up, blinking slowly, then allows himself to be drawn in and the eager way he licks his lips as he frees Mal’s cock from his pants heightens the arousal in the room tenfold.

“Wa Cao!” Mal moans, muffling his words with a hand over his mouth as he’s sucked deep down into Jayne’s throat. There’s no time for messing about and it’s truly the hottest experience of Mal’s life to get worked up and off in less than two minutes by a man who knows exactly what he’s doing. Lightheaded and shaking, he hangs onto the top strut of the bank as Jayne licks him clean and puts him away.

There’s a smile of satisfaction slowly developing on the merc’s face and once again Mal is confused by the newly emerging facets of the man’s character. Without shadow of doubt jail is a learning experience. It’s taught Mal to look harder at a person before passing judgment.

“Gotta get to work,” says Jayne, stowing his things in the small locker and tucking away the stolen porno inside one of his well-worn comic books.

“Job seems a sight more interesting now there’s thieving involved eh?” Mal’s own grin is a mile wide at the thought of setting their plan into action.

~~****~~

That evening Mal gets called to the visitation room. He arrives sweaty and dirty, straight from work, wishing he looked more like skipper of a Firefly and less like a farm hand.

“Your wife’s here to see you,” scowls the guard, “and, mark me, there’s no conjugal entitled ‘til you been here another quarter.”

Mal knows who it is. He and Zoë have played this scene a number of times over the years and he’s relieved he doesn’t get any private time with her. He and Zo just ain’t like that. It’d be like rutting with his sister.

His second-in-command is sitting there at the glass screen, beautiful in a flowing dress with her hair tied back by a ribbon and looking every inch the demure wife.

“Bao bei,” she cries dramatically, pressing her hands and face up close to the glass as she mouths, “is this place monitored?”

Mal looks around the visitation unit and focuses on the single slovenly guard who’s obviously more interested in the contents of his nose than the occupants of the room.

“No, darling,” he says with certainty. The penitentiary is a solid fortress of a building, but high on technology it aint.

The important part of the conversation carries on at low volume with loud platitudes thrown in as cover.

“Have you figured out how to break us?”

Zoë looks a little rueful. “There’s always a way out… eventually. How long you in for?”

Mal grimaces. “I ain’t relishing being stuck here for another ten months.”

“Could think of it as vacation.” She shrugs helplessly.

Now Mal’s enjoying the current recuperation program, but he’d rather be doing it in other places. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, honeypie,” he says loudly, enjoying the furious expression that blossoms fleetingly across Zoë’s face. “Jayne and I’ll work something up,” he adds under his breath. “How often can you visit?”

“Weekly now I’ve been approved by the governor,” she answers.

“Make sure you do.”

“I miss you too much not to,” she sobs, dabbing at her eyes with a small lacy handkerchief.

Mal wonders where in gorram hell Zoë’d get her hands on such a dainty thing as that. Thinking about it he reckons it’s probably one of Inara’s belongings.

“Give my love to Jayne,” she says as she gets up to leave, unable to disguise the smirk on her face. “He okay?”

“Dandy,” replies Mal, recalling the blow job that morning that had left his legs shaking. He’d like to reciprocate sometime, but he won’t.

“Driving you feng le?”

“No more’n usual.” Mal don’t want to talk about the mercenary. Things are too complicated between them. “Next week then, darling.”

He has a feeling Zoë’s staring quizzically at him, but it could well be raging paranoia. Pressing his palm against the glass in a lover’s farewell, Mal hopes fervently that the next time he sees the woman they’ll both be on the outside of this place.

~~****~~

Mal’s busy slitting open the ticking of the mattress with a pilfered blade that he’s sharpened and cleaned in the shop. When’s he’s done he stows the makeshift knife away, slipping it between the heel and the sole of his boot, then pulls out clumps of matted grey horsehair from his bed. Looking around for a place to hide the surplus stuffing he catches sight of Jayne who’s rooting around inside his pants. That ain’t exactly unusual, but, this time ‘stead of playing with himself, the man’s pulling out an array of small but pricey goods: tech chips, jewellery, and a stack of platinum, amongst other interesting items.

“Tight skivvies come in mighty useful at times.” Jayne leers as he reaches around to make sure he’s fished out all the contraband.

“Zoë visited today,” says Mal as he appraises the gemstone in a ring with a practiced eye before ramming it safely inside the hollowed out storage hole and repacking the stuffing tightly around the stolen items. It’ll do for now until they acquire more goods.

Jayne lights up. “What she have to say?” he asks.

“Not a whole lot that’s any use.” Mal rests his butt on the edge of Jayne’s bunk. “Reckon it’s up to you and me to save our ownselves.”

“Huh?”

“The building’s too big and solid for her to blow us out and there’s no one on the outside to bribe. No one worth a damn anyhow.”

The big man’s looking more fretful than when he’s being chased by a pack of reavers. “I can’t stay here a year, Mal,” he pleads. “I swear I’ll wind up crazier than crazy girl.”

“Did you see my mouth was flapping back then?” says Mal, standing up and squeezing Jayne reassuringly on his arm. “Said I was gonna think up a way to get us out, didn’t I? Just gotta keep our eyes and ears open.”

“For what?”

“You were the one found out there’s underhand dealings going on here and where there’s corrupted folk, there’s always room for manoeuvers.”

“Even when we’re boosting stuff from them?”

Mal nods. “Especially so, ‘cause then we got the proof of their misdeeds tucked away. We just gotta play it right.”

Realising that he’s still reaching out to Jayne he snaps his hand back then, at that precise moment, an alarm call sounds, startling them both out of the wary eye-lock they’re engaged in.

“Food time,” says Jayne happily, his earlier concerns apparently forgotten as he races for the open cell door. “None too soon neither. My belly ‘bout reckoned my throat’d been cut.”

Mal shakes his head as he follows the big man silently down the corridor to the mess hall, unsure whether Jayne Cobb is way deeper or way denser than he’d originally thought.

~~****~~

That night their rutting begins as soon as the lights go out.

Jayne strips off buck-naked then goes down on his knees, licking and sucking at Mal’s prick and balls like a pro. Mal ain’t certain that’s the way it’s supposed to go--he thinks he should be in charge of matters--but Jayne’s so gorram willing it’s hard to refuse him.

This time when they’re preparing to rut proper, Mal slides a lubed up rubber onto Jayne’s erection causing the big man to groan and thrust as that coil of tight latex pushes on over him. First off they try it doggy style, but, whilst that feels gorram good, it don’t suit Mal to be had this way by his crewman. Nor does it work with Jayne pushing him up against the cell wall.

Mal can't help being as awkward as all gorram hell. He knows from sight that Jayne likes to bottom and, because of this, wants the merc to give rather than take. Mal’s a switch, he likes sexing all ways, but when it comes to having Jayne, he needs to be contrary and still feel like he’s in command at all times. It’s a conundrum for sure.

They end up sat on the edge of Jayne’s bunk with Mal straddling the big man’s lap and gripping tight to his shoulder with his left hand.

It ain’t sensible to consider the future of this strange relationship of theirs, but Mal can’t help thinking over the benefits of keeping the mercenary as his bedmate. As Jayne rams deep into him he reckons that it’d be like having a live sex toy to play with permanently.

Sliding backwards and sideways slightly, Jayne rests one hand behind him as support whilethe other he wraps around Mal’s cock, dragging his fist back and forth over the sensitive skin until Mal’s reeling from the assault on his senses.

“Tamade!” he grunts, leaning back to avoid hitting his head and hanging tight to Jayne’s shoulders.

“Fuck! Oh fuck!” Jayne repeats this over and over like a mantra, becoming more and more breathless as he uses up all his energy on screwing Mal.

It’s something alright to have the man under his thumb like this. It’s something to be able to get pleasure at will with no effort whatsoever. Mal relaxes; letting Jayne pushes him higher and higher and when he comes, it’s so gorram impersonal it’s untrue. It's sex on tap without effort and connection. Mal Reynolds is a happy man right now.

~~****~~

The next visit from Zoë comes and goes with no new information passed between them. It’s more than disappointing and, after that, Mal steps up his efforts to root out who’s running the depot scam. They’ve amassed a fair supply of goods and now they’re left with the obvious problem of how to get it, and themselves, out of jail quick as they can.

“Y’know that business back on Ariel?” says Jayne one evening, looking up from his book.

“Know it all too well,” pants Mal, continuing on with his exercise regime. He’ll be toned up good by the time he gets free of this place.

“Ain’t talking ‘about what I done there.” Jayne glowers, but his eyes shift restlessly around the room showing how discomfited he still is by his behaviour back then.

Mal quits his crunches and lays there looking up at Jayne. He’s glad to see that reaction. It gives him renewed faith in the man’s shift towards trustworthiness. “I remember the job,” he says simply.

“There’s a whole load of meds I found here. They worth taking?”

“Depends,” says Mal, his brain ticking away. “Chances are if they’ve been stashed with the other stuff then, yes, they have value.”

There’s something niggling at the back of Mal’s mind, a seed of an idea forming, and it maybe would continue to form except that there’s lights out happening and after then there’s Jayne and Jayne’s mouth, neither of which are conducive to clear thinking.

Mal gives himself up to slow pleasuring which has him edging close to orgasm five maybe six times. When Jayne finally turns him on his side and pushes into him, making him come so brutally he thinks he’s gonna combust, Mal’s left as wrung out and lifeless as an old rag. The man could get a job as a Companion if he didn’t have the manners of a trench rat and a sewer mouth to go alongside.

~~****~~

Waking up wrapped in the arms of his big ol’ gunman comes as a shock. A shock Mal extricates himself from as quickly as possible and, once again, is bouncing on his toes waiting for the big metal door to slide open.

Over breakfast he thinks some more about the drugs Jayne told him about. One way or another the prison doctor is involved in this. Whether it’s from losing important stockor from re-directing it from his own medvault it’s impossible to tell without getting closer to the infirmary.

Mal, in typical fashion, ain’t waiting around for answers. It’s not in his nature to do that, nor is it in his nature to discuss his reasoning with Jayne Cobb. The best way to find out what’s going on in hospital is to experience it from the inside and the way Mal figures it, the most efficient way to get in there is to cause trouble.

It all goes according to plan… up to a point. Mal chooses Wickham--one of the meanest, ugliest gan ni niangs he’s ever had the pleasure of meeting--then barges into him, knocking him down and insulting him to boot. It works like a dream; Wickham’s on his feet in no time, snorting like a bull, and when one sledgehammer fist flies out, Mal is instantaneously propelled backwards. Lying on the ground and nursing his ribs, he’s just congratulating himself on a job well done when he feels the slick hot wire pain of a blade sliding deep into his flank.

~~****~~

“How are you feeling, Reynolds?”

The white blur above Mal’s head forms into square insulating ceiling tiles and he blinks rapidly in succession.

“You may feel nausea-”

Leaning over and pre-empting the doc’s words, Mal retches into a handy kidney dish beside the bed and the agony that seers through him makes his eyes fill with tears. He has a feeling this plan may have gone south, the way of many. Still, on the bright side, he’s alive and in the infirmary. He retches again. Or maybe this is Hell.

“You have a small knife wound in the left side of your abdomen,” explains the surgeon in that no nonsense way of all medically trained folk. “Nothing major was hit but we’ll keep you in for a few days just to make sure infection doesn’t set in.” The man smiles. “You never can tell what these so called shivs are made from. We no longer have lavatory brushes here for a reason. It’s amazing how sharp bristles can be when they’re melted.”

Mal winces at the idea of being stabbed by such a revolting weapon. “Could do with something to deaden the pain,” he says half-fishing for information, but mostly wanting to get free from the agony he’s encased in.

“No problem. I’ll send the nurse along in a short while.”

Mal watches the man stride away, whistling as happily as if he were practicing medicine in St Lucy’s in Ariel City. Maybe there’s a reason for his happiness?

It has to be said that Mal’s vision of a nurse in a tight fitting white shift dress with a compassionate gaze doesn’t quite match up to the reality. Although the reality turns out to be a little more enlightening.

“Bonjour,” says Reynard as he approaches with a jug and a plastic cup of meds.

Mal can’t help smiling. It’s all beginning to fit into place and as he swallows the pills down with a gulp of water he watches Reynard out of the corner of his eye and enjoys the idea of exacting some revenge on the man. After all, a shiv to the back might hurt, but nothing stings more than being outwitted.

“Nurse huh?”

“Orderly duties,” explains Reynard with his long nose raised snootily. Without giving Mal another look the man turns and strides down the ward into the small office at the end and Mal settles back down in the bed and feigns sleep.

He has a feeling he’ll be doing that a lot in the hope of overhearing some talk between the Reynard and the doctor.

~~****~~

The wound becomes infected to a minor degree and, trying to push aside thoughts of lavatory brush knives, Mal makes best use of his extended hospital stay, keeping his eyes and ears open and ensuring that his own vocal personality remains on the down low. Subtlety is the key.

Conversations between the doctor and the orderly are hard to make out and, even though Mal’s actually seen Reynard pocket some of the meds, he’s still no closer to discovering whether the man is acting alone or not. It isn’t until his last day, when he’s getting washed up in the small bathroom, that he finally overhears talk between the two men.

“Sooner he’s gone the better.”

“Keep your voice down.”

“There’s a shipment going out today after lock down.”

The remainder of the conversation is too muffled for Mal to interpret and, ten minutes after the voices have died away, he returns to his bed, pondering things over as he dresses in his prison clothes, wincing a little as the rough material grates against tender skin.

“Try to stay out of trouble, Reynolds, at least until you’re fully healed.” The doctor looks at him with amused uncaring eyes and Mal nods, his lips drawn into a thin line. There’s nothing about this man that is any manner of appealing and he’s glad to be free of the hospital, especially seeing as he’s leaving armed with some useful information.

Wheels are ready to be set in motion.

~~****~~

To Mal, getting back to his cell feels like coming home, except there’s no big welcome awaiting him. In fact it’s more of the reverse.

“Gorram you,” mutters the big man as he throws his captain an angry glance and blusters off in the direction of the communal area.

Has to be said Mal’s confused by this reaction. Over supper--with Jayne seated as far away from him as possible and staring stubbornly at his plate--Mal wonders what the hell is up with his merc. He ain’t looking forward to sleep time that’s for sure. He had been, but now he rutting ain’t.

After playing a couple of hands of cards with a group of men he knows fairly well from work detail, Mal then saunters back to the cell, acting as casually as he can and wishing it didn’t feel like he was in trouble with the wife.

Ready for sleep and doped up on the low level meds he’s been prescribed, Mal climbs up and glares at the lumpy mattress. Seems as if Jayne’s been continuing to pilfer plenty of stuff while he’s been out of action. Talking of that particular devil there’s a slam and then a thud as the big man throws himself into the bottom bunk and Mal’s left feeling all kinds of uncomfortable as he curls up in the flatter part of his bed trying not to injure his damaged side.

“Gonna tell me what’s eating at you?” he says eventually when the silence gets too deafening.

“Not you, that’s for gorram sure,” comes the muttered response.

“I could be,” Mal says, tentatively swinging himself down to the floor as quietly as possible so the guards don’t hear movement.

Leaning over he presses his palms to the mattress and stares in at the surly occupant of the dark cave. There’s this long uncomfortable pause and then he’s dragged inwards until his mouth smashes against Jayne’s. Teeth clash awkwardly, lips bruise and Mal sucks in breath through his nostrils not wanting this kiss to end just yet.

“You could’ve been dead,” snarls Jayne when it’s over. “Thought you were. Thought I was gonna have to tell everyone that I didn’t do my job right.” There’s more of that angry kissing. “Didn’t keep you safe.”

Mal’s never thought about it like that, but that, in a nutshell, is what the big man’s there for. To keep them all safe.

“Gotta tell me stuff. Mebbe I can help more’n you think.”

Mal laughs out loud at the idea of the mercenary doing anything useful other than killing and forgery. What follows is an explosive huff of anger during which he finds himself rolling and colliding with the hard tile floor. Pain blossoms in his side and he sweeps his fingers over the wound site expecting to feel warm wetness, but thankfully there’s none.

“I didn’t intend to get hurt the way I did. Just needed to visit the infirmary.” Mal gets slowly to his feet and leans into the lion’s den once more.

“If I’d’ve been there-”

“If you’d’ve been there then the other feller would have been in sick bay, dong ma?”

“Most like,” grunts Jayne unhappily, but at least he’s looking at Mal now instead of the slats above his head.

“Reckon I can get us out of here with what I found out. Your qing ren, Reynard’s in as deep as they come.”

“Figured as much.”

It bites at Mal that Jayne don’t dispute the term and, after trying to ignore his bitterness a while, he gives in and bites at Jayne’s mouth instead, pushing his tongue between Jayne’s lips in vicious swipes. Slowly the ferocity tones down a little and the kiss winds up full of those ownership overtones that had been troubling Mal before. He’s not troubled right now, although he’s certain he will be by morning.

~~****~~

“You said we was getting out of here.” Jayne spits on his boots and cleans them with an old crisped up wash cloth in a parody of the way he used to tend lovingly to his weapons every day back home on Serenity. “All the gorram sex making you forgetful?”

“I’m working on it.” Mal frowns because nothing vexes him more than a petulant Jayne and to be stuck at close quarters with the man while he’s in a bad mood is infuriating.

“You also said you was keeping me in on things.”

“I did nothing of the kind.” Mal smirks. “In fact, as I recall, I said you do more harm when you know stuff than when you don’t.”

Jayne spits and misses his boot, the glob of sputum landing close to Mal’s own footwear. “If’n I ain’t in on it then I ain’t getting no more stuff.”

Quicker than he thought possible, Mal drags Jayne to his feet and has him in an arm lock up against the wall. Their breathing comes fast and heavy and they remain crushed together with Mal’s lips close against Jayne’s ear.

“I’m still captain. You do what I say, when I say it and you’ll kiss my pretty white arse while you’re doing it, y’understand?”

Jayne nods curtly and Mal can feel the slight tremble running the length of that big body. Licking his lips, he presses the tip of his tongue against the soft skin just below Jayne’s ear. Fuck, he wants him. He’s painfully excited at having a man, so big and powerful, quivering like a girl in his arms. Wa cao!

“Is there a problem here?”

Mal turns his head quickly toward the doorway and looks at the stern face of the guard. With Jayne’s arm contorted back like this, it must look like a disagreement rather than the foreplay which it’s evolved into, but it’s still a gorram awkward moment.

“No problem, Mr Allen. Just cellmates disagreeing over what belongs to whom, is all.” Mal smiles pleasantly at the man, hoping that the guard’ll go quickly before he has to step away and reveal the solid erection that’s distending the material of his workpants. That wouldn’t be good. No, that wouldn’t be good at all.

“Well, Reynolds, I’d quit the territorial pissing for now because your wife’s waiting for you in the visitor unit and you don’t wanna keep the little lady waiting. She looks a mean one.”

Allen’s one of the better screws, but it doesn’t stop him being a smarmy hundan. Still, Mal knows better than to cause trouble and shifts his eyes downward, kowtowing respectfully. “Yes, Mr Allen.”

As soon as the man leaves, Mal pulls away from Jayne.

“Later,” he says through gritted teeth and, right at this minute, he ain’t sure whether he’s talking about a continuation of the fighting or the sex.

~~****~~

“You keeping okay?”

Zoë’s looking all kinds of concerned and this makes Mal twitchier. He’s got a lot going on in his mind, not least of which is the tricky situation involving him and his hired gun. He needs to keep a clear head to explain things as best he can to his second-in-command. If he doesn’t then worst case scenario is that he and Jayne are gonna end up with their heads shot off.

Doing the dance of the low-level, mid-level talking he begins to put across the information to her and he’s almost done when an alarm call sounds, indicating the end of the session, and the guard gets lethargically to his feet.

“Visits are over. All prisoners to return to the compound.”

Gorramit! Mal hopes he’s said enough. “Soon,” he says, staring intently at Zoë and pressing his hand against the glass.

“I’ll be waiting.”

The longing looks they exchange must be pretty convincing, but it’s freedom Mal’s yearning for rather than the woman in front of him.

Trudging down steps and along corridors, Mal’s shocked to the core when he makes his way out of the door into the rec yard and sees a near riot in progress. Racing away from the escorting guard, Mal pushes his way into the mix, angry as fuck at seeing Jayne on his knees, forehead pressed down into the dirt, with a steady stream of blood running down the side of his neck.

Ignoring the pain in his side, Mal kicks out at the big barrel of a man who’s the main one responsible for holding Jayne down.

“Let go of my crewman,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Reynolds,” says a slimy familiar voice, accent thickening with excitement. “I was expecting you sooner. You usually keep this one on a short leash.”

Reynard jabs his fingers into Mal’s side and he can’t help but cry out from pain.

“Not fit enough to be coming to your thieving bitch’s rescue, that’s for certain. Maybe we should have you as entertainment rather than him?”

Jayne yells out, trying to stand, but he’s thrust back down and Mal is sickened to see Reynard reach around and unfasten Jayne’s heavy work pants. Watching helplessly he sees the big man drift away inside himself.

“On second thoughts maybe we’ll have you both,” says that smarm-laden voice. “You steal from me then you deal with the consequences.”

Fingers grope viciously at his crotch, but Mal doesn’t do this kind of submission. With a roar that sounds like a storm building, he shoves away the hands and, ignoring the pain in his side, tumbles forwards, wrestling one man down and hooking a leg around another, noticing with satisfaction that a hint of life has come back into the mercenary’s disorientated eyes.

“Jayne,” he yells, hating the sight of his ‘gun’ so overcome. A closer look at that face reveals he’s been beaten quite badly. “Jayne!” Mal’s voice is louder this time and it provokes a more obvious reaction in the dazed mercenary. “You gonna do your rutting job for once?”

Mal’s words have the effect he hoped they would as Jayne fights off pain and confusion and hits out blindly at his assailants. It’s a pointless effort, however, because they have no chance of winning against a dozen men. From his position laying supine in the dirt, Mal looks around at the faces of the guards who are standing at the perimeter and watching the fight like it’s some kind of gladiatorial match.

“Mr Allen,” he yells, catching sight of one tiny ray of hope.

The senior guard glances up, unsure of whether to get involved or not.

“We need to see the governor,” croaks Mal, blood running in a river from his split lip.

It’s not the way he was hoping to initiate his plan, but right now they need their arses saving and there’s no one else to do it.

~~****~~

“Y’okay?” asks Mal, looking sideways at Jayne who’s resting his head in his hands as they wait outside the governor’s office.

“Yeah.”

Mal’s none too certain that this is the truth--it seems likely the merc’s taken a severe blow to the back of his skull--but there’s nothing he can do to help right now other than get them the hell away from here.

“Get you fixed up as soon as we’re clear of this place,” he says with a reassuring smile that goes unnoticed.

“I don’t get it,” mutters Jayne. “Why’s he gonna let us go?”

“Because we’re saving him a whole lot of cash and explanations by putting a halt to this thieving racket.”

Jayne looks blank, but thankfully there’s no time for more talk because at that moment the door to the office opens and Governor Regis beckons them both in.

“I hear you have a tale to tell me,” he says coolly, indicating two chairs with his finely manicured hand.

~~****~~

“It worked, Mal.” Jayne’s childlike excitement is engaging as he hides the contraband amongst the items in his kitbag and Mal’s reluctant to put a dampener on the man’s spirits.

They’re not out of the woods yet, that’s for sure.

Sometime, during the depths of the night, they’re escorted out to the governor’s quarters where their wrists are tied and they’re thrown into the trunk of a vehicle, along with their gear.

“Why’re we leaving like this?” asks Jayne, a little more groggily than usual.

“If we were let go out in full daylight then explanations would be a little hard to come by.” Gorramit! Mal’s sick of Jayne’s questions. He’s beginning to wish they’d been gagged as well as bound.

Ignoring any further comments from the mercenary Mal waits for the engine to fire into life. He’s keyed up and twitchy as hell at the thought of finally getting free. The vehicle begins moving, making a swift turn to the left, and he rolls over, ending up pressed close to the big man. It’s comforting to feel that solid warm body against his.

“Jayne,” he begins, wanting to say something in case things go wrong. After all, things always go wrong. Problem is he’s not sure what to say.

“I understand,” says that gruff voice, but Mal ain’t certain the big man gets it at all.

When the car draws to a halt he closes his eyes, praying that everything’s gonna work out, but it’ll be a gorram miracle if it does. The trunk opens and he and Jayne are dragged out by two men -- the exact two men that Mal expected to see, but, from the look on Jayne’s face, it comes as a complete shock to the merc.

“Why are we…?” mutters Jayne, looking around him at the wooded hollow they’re standing in.

“None too bright is he?” The doctor looks disparagingly at Jayne and Reynard laughs.

“Could be said of both of them,” responds the governor, getting out of the car and tugging at the cuffs of his suit as he picks his way over the uneven ground. “You honestly thought I’d let you walk free with information against us and a rather large amount of our goods?”

Mal shakes his head and shrugs. “No, I honestly didn’t.”

“No, he honestly didn’t,” echoes Zoë’s voice and all five of them simultaneously look up to see the remaining crew of Serenity crouched in the trees with guns aimed directly at them.

“’Bout time you showed up,” smirks Mal.

Zoë chokes a little. “Us, Sir? We’ve been hanging around for months waiting for you to get yourselves out of that mess you landed yourselves in.”

“Could’ve taken my boat.”

“Should’ve, Captain. Should’ve is what I think you meant to say.”

“Don’t be too hard on him, honey,” says Wash as he unties their wrists and uses the rope to lash the governor, the doctor and Reynard together. “He has been sharing a bunk with Jayne.”

~~****~~

Their next stop off is at Persephone, a good place for trading the kind of small items they filched from the prison.

Mal hasn’t seen a lot of Jayne since the jail break. After his fractured skull mended the merc’s been busy keeping himself to himself and Mal’s mostly done the same, unable, or maybe unwilling, to sort out what’s gone wrong between them. Best thing is to just let it go, he decides. Let the big man get over his mood and wait for some semblance of normality to resume.

Having negotiated a good price for the gear Mal returns to Serenity, leaving ‘most everyone else to soak up a little atmosphere. It’s then that he discovers Jayne lugging a kitbag around the cargo bay, apparently about to make his way off the ship.

“What you think you’re doing?” Mal asks pleasantly, folding his arms and leaning on the hatch jamb at the top of the ramp.

“Leaving,” says Jayne.

“’Cause of what happened between us?” Mal’s smile widens, but it don’t feel like it. “That ain’t no reason to be walking away.”

Jayne shakes his head. “Nope. Reckon myownself it’s ‘cause of what happened on Ariel.”

Mal’s well and truly baffled. “What now?”

“Ain’t no point in having someone at your back who you don’t trust.” Jayne loads his bag onto the mule. “You can give me a lift to the far end of the docks. This thing weighs heavy.”

“There’s trust,” says Mal simply.

“If’n that was the case then you wouldn’t be so shy of telling me what was going down once in a while.”

Mal’s done listening. Pushing Jayne up against the bulkhead with an arm twisted behind his back, he leans in close.

“Plausible deniability,” he breathes, sinking his teeth into a meaty shoulder.

Jayne does one of those full body trembles, the kind that’s had Mal all at sea since he first felt it ripple through the big man weeks ago.

“Huh?”

“Plausible deniability,” he repeats. “All part of the plan.”

Jayne stops asking questions the minute Mal reaches around and palms his cock. It’s bug crazy to be rutting here in full view of passing traffic along the dockside, but Mal’s past caring. He’s chock full of that painful wanting again and his fingers twitch greedily as he unfastens Jayne’s cargoes.

“Alright with this?” he mutters, licking at the skin of Jayne’s neck until the tip of his tongue burns from the salt.

“Hell yeah.”

Mal can’t get out of his pants fast enough. Wetting himself up with spit, he spreads Jayne’s legs as far as they’ll go and then guides himself in until the tip of his cock is nestled against that tiny indent.

Gulping from the build up of excitement, he thrusts hard until he’s surrounded by heat and tightness and Jayne is tensed up and shaking against him. Mal ain’t even sure if this a good thing until he feels for Jayne’s prick and finds it rearing up slick and urgent, more than ready to meet his fingers.

Neither of them last long. Jayne comes over the metalwork accompanied by shocky gasps of breath then, as soon as the big man’s done and worked down, Mal bites deep into shoulder flesh again, shuddering and letting fly.

Can’t get more trusting than that, he reckons.

DONE