mouseovers for translation
The sex between them begins in time honoured fashion. First off there’s too much whiskey to drink and that’s soon followed by a barfight and an excess of adrenaline. One minute he and Jayne are laughing then something goes awry and he’s tugging down Jayne’s pants, wetting himself up with saliva and mounting the big man. They rut all night, sharing spit and sweat and come, then all too soon it’s morning and Mal’s left with the harsh reality that he’s fucked his mercenary and enjoyed it way more than he should’ve done.
Afterwards he treats Jayne like gou shi buru, putting him down in front of everyone more than usual. More than he deserves. Jayne may not be the smartest man alive, but he sure ain’t the cretin that Mal’s making out he is. It’s pride that’s standing in the way between him and Jayne and an apology that’s sorely needed, but Mal don’t care much. It ain’t his problem. His mamma always said he shoulda been born under the sign of the mule.
When it’s just him and Jayne doing a pick up again, Mal palms Jayne’s cock like it’s property then finds out that stubborn pride has caused him a problem after all. This time it turns out that Jayne ain’t quite so willing to roll over for him.
“If’n you reckon you’re sticking your ji ba up my nethers again you got some fast other thinking to do.” Jayne stands defiant, hand stroking the flank of his sidearm, and the thought that he might actually turn on him makes Mal harder ‘n hell. He’s seen him do it to Marco and in truth there’s nothing gets Mal running hotter than an unpredictable lay. It’s the only reason he’s still sniffing after Inara. She gives out when it suits her and slaps him down when it don’t.
“Been thinking s’about time for me to move on anyhow,” continues Jayne. “Perks ain’t shiny enough ‘round here no more.”
Mal frowns ‘cause this ain’t part of the plan. He needs Jayne to stay signed on with ‘em. A big hunk of muscle with a sure aim is always useful to have around. “Hell, Jayne,” he says after thinking things through for a while, “I’ll let you do me.”
Jayne grins then tips a wink to the bartender who throws him a key to the upstairs room. Kneeing Mal in the rear end, he shoves him toward the stairs with Mal putting up a show of resistance all the way there in order to get them even more fired up.
Sex don’t happen the way he expects. The big man sits in a wheel back chair, his feet up on the table as he sucks on a stogie and all the time he has his gun aimed at dead centre of Mal’s crotch.
“Ain’t fooling me, Jayne,” says Mal. “Y’ain’t likely to use that on me. Y’ll have to try harder ‘n that to get me out of my pants.”
The firearm twitches in Jayne’s hand and a silenced bullet whistles past Mal’s hip, embedding itself in the wall behind him. Heart stuttering in his chest, Mal pats the site of the whisper-near miss like he’s checking for whittled out chips of bone.
“Strip,” says Jayne, staring him down with eyes that are as hard and as cool as glass.
Mal ain’t thinking with his head no more. He slides his suspenders down then unfastens buttons and shucks his shirt off. No point in pretending this ain’t getting him revved up. Not with his cock, thick as a cudgel, on display for Jayne to see.
“The breeches,” says Jayne, pouring himself a glass of the local alcohol that even to Mal’s unrefined palate tastes more like kerosene than liquor.
Mal kicks off his boots and shimmies out of his pants until he’s standing naked in front of the mercenary. “Now what?”
Jayne beckons him closer with the barrel of his gun. “Get me out,” he says with a tiny smile that twists his lips cruelly.
Mal’s mouth is dry and he’s finding it hard to concentrate. He kneels in front of the big man, and unzips his pants, taking hold of that thick prick and breathing in the scent of sex and smoke.
“Suck it,” snaps Jayne, stubbing out his cigar in the ashtray.
Christ! Mal reacts like he’s been cracked with a whip. He bends his head, tongue poking out from between his lips as he licks up the ooze of bittersweet fluid.
“Suck it I said. If’n I wanted a girl to give me head I’d’ve gone for one of them whores downstairs.”
Mal’s own cock is begging for attention by now. His balls are tight and aching and there’s a steady rivulet of fluid dripping off him. He ain’t never been treated this way before. Bending in supplication he takes Jayne’s cock into his mouth, sucking it hard and working the shaft with his hand.
Jayne throws his head back and groans. “S good. Harder now, Cap’n. Just like that, yeah.”
Mal uses every scrap of knowledge he’s accrued over the years, grazing Jayne with his teeth and swallowing him whole until the man’s legs are juddering from the build up of intense pleasure.
“Ride my cock,” Jayne snarls, head thrashing from side to side. The gun is hanging listlessly from his hand, close to the point of dropping to the floor, and Mal knows he could take the mercenary without much effort, but he don’t wanna, leastways not just yet. He’s happy to let his soldier boy lead the play for a while longer.
Straddling Jayne, with his bare feet on the floor, Mal slicks that monster cock with spit and pre-come and then eases himself down, feeling the head slide into position. It’s gonna hurt like a bitch without prep, but that’s the way Mal likes it. Jayne too if last time was anything to go by.
“Gorram rutting hell,” growls Jayne as Mal takes him in, squeezing tight with every muscle as he inches down onto the thick shaft.
The burn is more than good and Mal reaches down to jack himself, but Jayne surprises him again by slapping his hands away. “I said fuck me, not fuck yourself.”
Mal ain’t positive he’s still fond of this game, but his ji ba sure seems to be even if it’s not getting the attention it deserves. Leaning on Jayne’s shoulders he slides up and down on that solid piece of meat, wanting to outperform Jayne’s regular whores -- Mal always suffers from this fervent desire to be best at everything he does. The effort’s tiring him out now and sweat starts to bead and then trickle down his forehead, but it’s worth it to feel the big man buck and writhe under him, to watch him screw his face up with pleasure.
“Yeah fuck, yeeeaaaaaaah,” Jayne yells, gripping Mal’s hipbones tight and holding him in place with them big hands as he reaches his climax. “Hell, Cap’n, that was-"
Jayne stops talking as soon as he feels the gun nestle against his balls. Mal pushes his point across, digging the barrel into delicate skin as he climbs carefully off Jayne’s lap.
“Your turn now, mister. Out of them pants then lay down for me.”
Mal steps back enough to allow Jayne to room to stand up and get naked. He keeps the gun aimed true, breath hitching in his throat as the big man shows off his muscles and then submits, spreading for him like a good li’l bitch.
“I ain’t gonna last long,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
Lifting Jayne’s legs Mal spits, slicks and then thrusts into him, leaning down close and watching the flutter of Jayne’s eyelids as pain turns to pleasure. The merc ain’t gonna come again, but that don’t mean he can’t get a good feeling out of it. Mal fucks that big body, giving it his all. This is why he likes sly sex the best. There’s no limit when it comes to rutting with another man, ‘specially when he’s a big old hundan like Jayne. Shifting position slightly Mal angles his hips and rides into Jayne’s ass, slamming against his sweet spot until the guy is yelling out like a banshee. It’s good, can’t get better than this. Powering in with a volley of hard thrusts Mal groans and then finishes up, filling Jayne’s insides with his spunk.
“Hell,” he says collapsing onto Jayne’s bear like chest and heaving in gasps of air.
Don’t take long for either of them to get recovered enough for another go round.
~~****~~
When they return to Serenity next day, Mal ain’t quite so much of the sumbitch he was last time they fucked. The rest of the crew are relieved that a truce has been called and Mal is gorram thankful that no further explanations are demanded. Has to be said as much as he enjoys having a thrust with Jayne, he ain’t too happy about the idea of it becoming common knowledge.
Most of the time they only get to rutting when they’re ashore. Sometimes though the need overtakes them and they give in to their urges and fuck hard up against Serenity’s bulkheads. And sometimes--just sometimes--Mal rests his lips on the back of Jayne’s neck after he’s come and wants this thing that they have to be different from the way it actually is.
This particular morning Mal’s feeling sexed up and energized. He and Jayne have got a simple med drop to do on an outer rim rock and they’ve been teasing each other incessantly for the past forty eight hours. It ain’t enough for the rest of the crew to notice--even River don’t appear to have picked up on it--but it’s had Mal walking around with a tingle in his balls for two days solid. He enjoys it, loves the jittery feel of that pre-erection which makes him see everything Jayne does with sexed-up eyes. Prepping weaponry for the job is almost impossible with the merc doing his utmost to get him horny. Knife licking should be universally banned.
“Take care of my ship,” he says to Zoë as he and Jayne pack the boxes of medication into the shuttle. “And don’t go running off with her. She ain’t yours ‘til I’m dead and buried, dong ma?”
“Understood, Sir,” she replies. “And you make sure to take care of each other. Things could get hot down there.”
Mal don’t like the deadpan expression on Zoë’s face.
“S just a drop off, Zo. Ain’t nothing can go wrong,” says Jayne and he blinks at the woman in confusion.
Sometimes Mal loves the fact that Jayne was last in line for smarts and was given double helping of muscle to make up for it.
“C’mon, Jayne,” he says, smiling benignly at the exasperated look on Zoë’s face. Just fishing is all she was doing.
“We gotta be more careful,” he says as they approach the dust bowl of a planetoid.
“Then you gotta stop leering at me all funny like when I clean my knives.” Jayne laughs.
“Well you gotta stop licking ‘em then.” Mal laughs back.
They grin at each other because that ain’t never gonna happen--knife play is way too much fun to quit--then Mal’s happy face turns into a frown when he gets this moon-brained notion that it would almost be worth his crew knowing just so’s he can get to play with Jayne a little more often. But maybe the sexing wouldn’t be so much fun if that were the case.
Shiloh Township is the only piece of so called civilisation on this tiny rock. Mal lands the shuttle a little ways out for safety then he and Jayne unstrap themselves from the cockpit seats.
“I wouldn’t say no to a thrust,” says Jayne, rubbing up against Mal as they make their way to the cargo section of the craft.
“Like you ever say no.” Mal’s just as eager for some fun, but he wants to get the deal done first. After then they can rut all night as long as they find somewhere with a comfortable bed. Mal likes having a bed to sex Jayne up on even if they don’t use it most of the time. “Let’s get this drop out of the way,” he adds, “then I can think on what I wanna do to you.”
“I can think on that right now,” says Jayne, falling to a crouched position and undoing Mal’s pants in one fluid move that has him doing head spins. Before he can even consider saying no Jayne is sucking and licking at him hard enough to make him ready to come in seconds.
“I get first go round,” says Jayne, looking up at him with wet glistening lips.
“Keep that up and you can do whatever takes your fancy,” says Mal, arms raised to shoulder height as he grips the metalwork of the shuttle and fucks Jayne’s mouth hard ‘til he climaxes with a yowl.
It’s times like this that Mal’s thankful for that first drunken grapple. There ain’t a single regret, he thinks with more than a small amount of wonderment as he wipes himself clean and fastens back up.
When Jayne gets to his feet wearing a grimace that comes from being not so young and not so small Mal has the sudden urge to kiss him. Jayne has a tempting mouth and sometimes Mal wonders what he tastes like -- smoke and liquor most probably. He likes the feel of that goatee brushing over his privates and thinks it’d feel mighty strange against his face, but a quiet voice tells him that maybe it'd be strange in a good kind of way.
“Don’t forget I have first go tonight.” Jayne grins.
“Whoever said romantic was dead.” Mal grins back.
They heft the carriers of medical supplies outside the shuttle then Mal double checks the co-ords while Jayne arms himself up with his best weapons.
The township is a couple clicks off to the east. Jayne’s on full alert for sentries and Mal too ain’t expecting a friendly welcome. These outer rim flea pits tend to get raided regularly by any scavengers on the prowl and so folks keep security tight. Not so this hole though; in fact there ain’t a single person to be seen as Mal and Jayne make their way into Shiloh.
“This ain’t right,” says Jayne.
“Don’t seem that way, no.” Mal swallows. Nothing chills his blood more than the idea of Reavers; he’s seen evidence of those sick hundan all too often.
“Mal?”
Jayne ain’t fond of them critters either. Mal’ll never forget the sight of the big mercenary turning sickly green from fear.
“We gotta get the hell out of here,” mutters Jayne.
Mal pulls himself together ‘cause there ain’t no proof of anyone being slaughtered or eaten. The streets are clean; in fact the whole place looks as neat as a pin. No reason to get scared off and lose out on the money. Deals are going southerly all too often right now.
“We’ll check the place out first, Jayne. There’s gotta be some simple explanation, town meeting or somesuch. There ain’t no actual sign of anything being wrong.”
“Apart from everyone being not here, you mean?”
Mal gives him a reassuring grin. “Think on some. If this place is empty we’ll have the whole town to do our grappling in... after we’ve boosted everything we can carry first.”
Jayne half-smiles, but Mal can tell that he still ain’t happy.
Footsteps echo on the wooden boards as they make their way over to the mercantile and peer into the glazed frontage. The inside is dark and dusty and all the shelving appears to be empty.
“Looks like someone’s already done the plundering,” says Jayne with a frown. “Who is it we’re supposed to be dealing with?”
“Doctor-” Mal looks down at the details writing on the med carrier. “Doctor Garston.”
“Reckon we’ve found his place of business,” says Jayne, pointing to a plaque on the side of a grey clapboard building that’s butted up next to the store.
The doc’s surgery is cold and quiet and as dead as the rest of the town. This time, though, there’s sign of some more serious events happening. The med-vault is open and the contents are strewn over the floor. There’s been some heavy shooting going on too if the rash of bullet holes decorating the walls are from recent times.
Mal feeling a definite sense of disquiet creep over him -- a sensation which is at odds with the blanket silence that’s smothering this ghost town. “I’m gonna check in with Wash,” he says, turning tail and striding away from the deserted surgery.
“'Kay,” says Jayne, following him out of the building and then walking a little ways up the street to where a track veers off to the left up the hill.
The radio signal is humped and Mal can hardly hear a thing on it. “Lemme speak to Simon,” he says trying to hear Wash’s voice through the crackle. Gorramit! He hates everything about this ass end of the verse. Can’t even talk to your crew when you need to.
“Simon,” he says impatiently. “Need your to pick your doctoring brain some.”
“Go ahead, Captain.”
“’M out of my depth here. Town’s deserted but there ain’t no sign of reavers or bodies. Doc’s nowhere to be found and I have no clue what’s gone down.”
“Wash said you were on a med run. What were you delivering?”
“Mal!” yells Jayne.
Mal shakes his head dismissively at the merc. He ain’t got time for Jayne and his paranoia issues right now. Opening one of the carriers he takes out the two different vials, peering at the letters on each tiny container.
“Mal! It’s okay.”
Mal shakes his head again wishing he had ear plugs. It’s hard enough to hear the com without Jayne adding to the background noise.
“Rifampsone,” he says, annunciating clearly so the word can be heard over the interference. The other drug is something real longwinded. Mycobacterium bovisbacillus or some such, but Mal can’t figure out how he’s supposed to say that.
“How long ago did you make the deal?” asks Simon and there’s this urgency to his voice that creeps Mal out.
He struggles to recall the details of the arrangement he had with Garston. “Took us a while to get the goods and get here. Two months minimum, three tops far as I can figure.” Mal can feel his face twisting up in exasperation the way it always does when he speaks to Simon Tam.
“It’s Tzaraath, Captain. Get out of there now.”
Mal watches Jayne waving and racing toward the little church at the far end of town. Suddenly he can hear distant faint singing and it’s eerie as gorram hell.
“What?” he says over the radio.
“Get out now!”
Simon’s yelling is so out of character that it sends Mal into a tailspin. He watches Jayne race up the steps of the church and throw open the double doors. The man’s been brought up with such an overpowering belief in God that he’s blinded by his faith. There ain’t nothing about a church that makes it a sanctuary as far as Mal’s concerned.
“Captain Reynolds, can you hear me? It’s imperative you get away from there immediately. The whole planet will be infected by now.”
The singing is louder with the doors open wide. Then the hymn stops and Mal is frozen to the core as he watches a horde of cloth-covered creatures swarm out of the building covering the mercenary in this tide of putridity. What in the name of hell is that smell?
“Jayne.” Mal’s running forward now, hand closing over the butt of his pistol.
“Mal,” yells Jayne in this terrified voice and he’s trying to get to his weapons, but in doing that he drops the med-carrier. It spills open, its contents rolling around on the planks then trickling down off the steps like one of them mountain streams on Shadow.
“Gorramit, Mal, help me,” cries Jayne and he’s more full of fear than Mal’s ever seen him. There’s gunfire, but it’s muffled by the layers of vermin that’re crawling over the mercenary, obscuring his big body from sight.
Mal has his Colt raised, but he can’t see clear enough to pick out what’s Jayne and what’s things that used to be human but don’t seem that way no more.
“Captain.” He can hear Zoë’s voice over the radio and he holds up the com, still aiming his pistol at the mass of critters.
“They got Jayne, Zo. I’m gonna try help him.”
“Can’t happen, Sir. If you’re in contact with them then you’ll be infected same way Jayne is now.”
Mal screws up his eyes. He can’t stand here and watch this, but at the same time he can’t look away.
They drag Jayne, kicking and yelling, inside the church, pawing at him like he’s meat and last thing Mal sees is the thrashing of that head. All he can think of is the merc thrashing under some entirely different circumstances and when he tries to pull the trigger and give Jayne some peace he’s shaking so much he misses by a mile. The bullet clips the iron door furniture and ricochets off into the dirt. The next round is wasted on the heavy oak doors as they close up tight.
“Are you out of there, Sir?”
“I’m gone,” he answers as he walks up the road back towards the shuttle. “I’m gone.”
~~****~~
By the time he arrives back at Serenity, Mal’s numb.
“Tzaraath is a form of Hansen’s disease,” explains Simon as he checks Mal over in the infirmary. “Core scientists thought they’d discovered a successful cure for it, but, instead, the bacterium mutated and it caused the symptoms to be far more severe than in its original state. It also causes madness in much the same way neurosyphilis does once the disease has progressed to its tertiary stage.”
“We gotta get Jayne,” Mal says. “Even if he is infected, it won’t have developed enough to do any harm. You should have let me get him out of there,” he says, staring daggers at the crew who are gathered around him. Then he thinks some more. “What about the med that we took down there? We can go rescue Jayne, get the drugs and then come back and cure him.”
“Rifampsone’s not a cure. There is no cure for Tzaraath. The drugs just limit the onset of symptoms. There is a vaccine available, however,” says Simon slowly. “And if I’d known what you were planning-”
“But you didn’t though, did you, Doctor,” snaps Mal. “All you think about is your moonbrain sister. If you had a mind to get more involved with the goings on of the ship then we wouldn’t be down a member of the crew for no reason.”
“That ain’t fair, Cap’n,” says Kaylee, ever the doctor’s defender. “It ain’t Simon’s fault that you don’t keep him in the know.”
“He should keep himself in the know like the rest of us have to,” says Mal bitterly. Truth be told, he’s way angrier with himself than he is with Simon Tam. He’s angry at Jayne too for his blind faith and utter stupidity.
“There’s still hope,” says Simon and Mal reckons that the doc’s been shamed some by his words. It’s not as if there weren’t truth in them.
“If we get can find a find a supply of vaccine for ourselves and get back here within a month then there’s a chance we can save Jayne’s life. By then most of the population in Shiloh will have died or be too sick to endanger us if they’re suffering from psychosis. Jayne’ll still be symptomatic though. All we can do is practice damage limitation.”
Mal loathes Simon’s matter-of-fact tone. He’s got extra reason to hate everyone now: doctors for letting him down, preachers for their surfeit of lies, Jayne for making him care.
“Get onto it,” he yells, looking around at everyone. “Go find a supply of this gorram vaccine that’s near enough to do some good.”
Simon remains bent over the scope. “As far as I can tell you’re clear, Captain.”
Mal don’t want to hear about his own near misses. He stands up and slams his fist into the wall.
“Is Jayne really worth this?” asks Simon, looking up with confusion written all over his elegant features.
“Yes, Doctor. Yes he is.” Mal rests his arm on the wall and leans his forehead against it. He knows he’s doing a bad job of disguising his feelings, but right now that’s the least of his worries. “Think over how many times I’ve put myself and my crew out for you, then after that keep your disloyal thoughts to your ownself.”
~~****~~
It takes them two weeks to locate a source of vaccine and another week to get to the medical facility on Palatine and strike a deal.
Mal roams the ship listlessly, hating everything and everyone at will, barely able to eat or sleep. Right now he’s sitting at the table in the dining area whittling away at a piece of wood with one of Jayne’s knives. It relaxes him, so much so he doesn’t even notice anyone’s there with him until he hears the shepherd’s voice.
“Malcolm, sooner or later you’ll have to stop tearing yourself into pieces over this. It’s not your fault. Jayne always knew his job was a dangerous one. He spoke to me about it many times.”
Mal gouges out the soft wood with the tip of the blade. “I’ll wager he spoke to you a lot while you two were bench pressing. Gorramit, Book, I don’t think I can talk to you about this right now.”
“Son, if you can’t unburden yourself to a preacher then he’s not worth his salt.”
“That came out of your mouth, Shepherd, not mine,” says Mal, still carving away at the wood, making some kind of twisted totem. A fetish for Jayne to ward off the bad stuff.
“Your well-being matters to me, Mal,” replies Book. “God watches over all of us whether we choose to recognise him or not.”
“Let me tell you what God did for Jayne,” says Mal looking up at the man. “That bug crazy sumbitch had so much faith in his bible stories that he charged right into a church full of freaks just because he heard the sound of hymn singing.”
Book goes quiet and he reaches out a hand to clasp Mal’s shoulder, but Mal shakes him off angrily.
“If it weren’t for your gorram church then Jayne’d be here now. Tell me this, preacher, who’s there to share my load? Because I sure as hell ain’t going to your God for help after seeing what I saw.”
“If you let yourself go a little and remember that you’re among friends then I’m certain you’d feel unburdened some.”
“You want me to what? Cry on your shoulder because I’ve lost someone I care about? Ain’t gonna happen, Shepherd.”
Mal goes back to whittling, irked that he’s been duped so easily, irked too that Book’s right about everything. The load does indeed weigh lighter now it’s been shared.
~~****~~
One week later they’re back orbiting Shiloh Moon. The crew have all been vaccinated against the disease and Mal is itching to get underway.
“Did you see the townsfolk close up?” asks Simon, leaning on the doorway and watching as the captain chooses a veritable arsenal for the rescue mission from Jayne’s gun locker.
Mal shakes his head dismissively, not wanting to get into yet another war of words with the doctor.
“I’m not trying to dissuade you, Captain. I just want you to be clear about what you’re getting yourself into.”
“I’m listening,” says Mal as he straps weapons all over his body and pockets some grenades. ‘Some good that did Jayne,’ whispers a small voice that Mal ain’t gonna pay attention to.
“Tzaraath causes skin deformities, tumours and lesions,” says the doctor. “It also closes the blood vessels, which in time leads to putrefaction of limbs and organs. Once the disease enters the brain it has immense neurological impact, causing personality disorders and psychopathic behaviour. If Jayne is still in the primary stages then he’ll exhibit minor physical symptoms which can be suppressed by the rifampsone. Stage two and the symptoms will be far more pronounced. If he’s in the tertiary stages of the disease, there’s nothing you can do for him.”
“Nothing?” says Mal, feeling the sickness creep over him again.
“Except for the obvious,” replies Simon with a resigned look. “I’m coming with you, Captain. You’ll need me down there.”
Mal ain’t gonna argue because he wouldn’t know a tertiary symptom from a bible passage if they both came knocking on his door. “Long as you keep to medical matters and leave me to make decisions, that’ll be fine.”
When Mal boards the shuttle he’s surprised to find so many of his crew there.
“Ain’t leaving you to do this by yourself, Sir,” says Zoë. “Not happened yet. Not ever gonna happen on my watch.”
Book’s there also and that makes Mal feel a mite reassured because the preacher man is more than handy with a gun. Tam could be wrong and they may well find themselves amidst a horde of starving cannibals and that’s when weapon skills will come in handy over doctoring.
“Figured you could do with someone who knows how to fly this thing,” says Wash, climbing in to the pilot’s seat. “Also someone who can crack jokes to ease the tension.”
“Can’t leave Kaylee, ‘Nara and River by themselves,” says Mal.
“No, because that dainty but deadly psychic secret weapon girl will never be able to take care of things for you.” Wash looks back at him wide-eyed and, after doing some quick second thinking, Mal reckons that he’s right.
“Are we going to go get your man back, or we gonna sit here yammering all day?” asks Zoë, adding a “Sir,” to the end of that sentence as if it’s an afterthought.
Mal don’t query her words because, gorramit, that’s what they’re doing and right now he ain’t too proud to admit it.
~~****~~
Wash lands the little craft in the same clearing that Mal used before. This time though the planetoid don’t smell like dust and dry leaves. Now it stinks of carrion.
“This is one humped up place,” says Wash, covering his nose with his sleeve.
“Least you get to stay here and mind the shuttle, honey,” says Zoë to her husband.
Mal ain’t discussing anything with anyone. He’s too busy scoping the area for trouble and working out some kind of a plan.
“They were all in the church before,” he says, looking accusingly at Book as if it’s his fault. “Every last one of ‘em.”
“Then I suggest we start there,” says the preacher, holding a bandana over his nose.
The smell is already so bad Mal wants to heave. What the hell is it gonna be like when they get closer to the town? He leads the way eastwards down the track, heading for the outskirts of Shiloh. It’s quiet, same as it was last time, but it sure ain’t neat as a pin no more. The main street’s full of bodies, laying there like rotting meat out back of a butcher shop on a summer’s day. A blackened brick road of limbs and sunken skulls, dry body fluids and wet ooze leads directly up to the church.
“This is not God’s fault,” says Book when Mal throws him that look again. “This is all man’s making.”
Mal shrugs because laying blame ain’t gonna help any. Examining as much of the remains as he can stomach, he follows the Hansel and Gretel trail of decay up the steps of the church. Once again reality has shifts on its side a little. There’s none of that singing, but from inside he can hear a dull whine as monotonous as an idling motor.
Throwing open the doors, gun at the ready, Mal steps into the building, blinking as he struggles to make sense of what’s actually there. It could be said they’re still alive, clothes ripped away, faces--the ones that still have mouths--smiling from dementia as they sit in their own filth, humming and rocking.
“Hell, Sir,” says Zoë and her words couldn’t be more appropriate because it is exactly that.
She stands beside him, shifting her stance uncomfortably from foot to foot, and her dark skin pales as she tries to take in the scene, weapon at the ready. “I can’t see Jayne.”
Mal wonders whether they’d recognise him if he was there. There ain’t much left to define these creatures as having belonged to the human race once upon a time.
“Tertiary stage,” says Simon in clinical fashion, but the cool tone of voice belies his actual feelings which are apparent as he clutches his doctor’s bag to his chest wearing an expression that’s twisted up from horror. “Non-violent neurodegeneration though which a blessing for all of us.”
“Those poor folks,” says Book inclining his head forward. Mal knows he’s praying for their souls, and some brighter, lighter part of his cynical self hopes that it helps some.
“What do we do?” asks Zoe, looking to her captain for orders.
“Only thing we can,” Mal says, holstering his gun.
Pulling two grenades from his pocket, he rips the pins free with his teeth and waits for the others to retreat, scanning the living carrion one last time before throwing the shells into the building. Closing the doors with a slam, Mal seals them with a piece of timber then turns and runs clear. It don’t make a gorram difference to him whether Jayne’s in there or not. The man he knows is gone.
The church explodes with an ear-splitting kaboom and Mal reckons it’s a fitting tribute to the merc who always did get a hefty chunk of pleasure out of blowing things up. Fire and smoke blossom upwards and outwards in a plume of energy and Mal winds up lying face down in the dirt.
There’s a crackle of static close by him, but his hearing ain’t right and it’s hard to focus on where it’s coming from what with the loud ringing that’s going on inside his head.
“Mal! Mal!”
For a split second Mal thinks it’s Jayne, but there’s no reason for that other than him wanting it to be.
“Mal!”
Zoë dives down and ferrets out the com from where it’s laying beneath Mal’s chest.
“Wash,” she says into the radio. “We’re okay, baby.”
“Think you might want to get back here,” comes the crackle-heavy reply from the pilot. “Now-ish. Now would be good.”
“Why? Gorramit, Wash, what’s happening?” Zoë shakes the radio as if that’s gonna clear away the interference, but the signal’s gone dead.
“What’s going on?” asks Mal blearily. He’s aching from the force of the explosion and confused from the temporary loss of hearing and he can’t fathom out what’s up from down right now.
“Gotta get back to the shuttle,” says Zoë, priming her weapons. “Wash is in trouble. I reckon not all them things were inside the church.”
“Could the disease manifest itself differently from person to person?” asks Book, looking at Simon for answers.
“It’s possible,” replies the doctor. “Although unlikely. Usually one strain of the bacterium causes similar neurological effects in everyone.”
“But some of these freaks could be dangerous?” Zoe’s hefting her knife with a grim expression on her face.
“It’s possible,” says Simon again. “The disease could have mutated which, worryingly, would make the vaccine ineffective.”
From the look on everyone’s faces Mal reckons that none of them want to focus on that thought for too long.
They make their way out of town, and at every twist and turn in the road Mal’s expecting to see rotting bodies and hear that inhuman hum-whine again, but thankfully there’s no sign of life, human or otherwise. It’s a big relief for sure however it don’t explain away what’s happened to Wash.
“Shouldn’t have left him alone here,” mutters Zoë, echoing Mal’s own words from before.
Mal wants to turn on Simon for lying to them and saying that the townsfolk would be dead by now, but he knows the real blame rests with him. Shouldn’t have left Jayne in this hell. Shouldn’t have come back for him neither.
All’s quiet in the vicinity of the shuttle. The doors are open and there’s no sign of plundering or weapons being discharged. Mal can’t get a handle on this at all.
“Sorry,” says Wash, stepping out of the bay and waving the com link with its jumble of shredded wiring at them like it’s a flag of surrender. “He broke it. Don’t think he liked the noise.”
‘He’ turns out to be Jayne, but not the Jayne that Mal once knew. Wash is pointing to a heap of ragged clothing that’s crouched in the corner talking to himself in a stream of nonsensical words that trickle out of the corner of his mouth like spittle.
For some reason it’s the overgrown straggly beard that hurts Mal like a mule kick to the guts. His Jayne always kept that goatee trimmed so neat.
Mal steps back a little, watching as Simon crouches down to examine the man. Zoë has her gun aimed at dead centre of Jayne’s forehead, but Mal shakes his head and gently pushes her arm down. If it has to come to that then he’s gonna be the one to take care of things. It’s the least he can do.
“I don’t understand,” says Simon looking around at them all. “He’s seems to be suffering from some form of psychosis, but there’s absolutely no physical signs of Tzaraath.”
“What do we do then?” says Mal.
“Smooth him and take him back to Serenity,” shrugs Simon, “Then I can run some tests.”
Jayne welcomes the injection of sedative like a compliant child and when the big man falls asleep, Mal takes off his coat and covers him up with it. Mostly so he doesn’t have to see the devastating effect that has resulted from him deserting Jayne on this gou shi buru rock. He should never have done that.
Mal can’t keep his eyes off the merc all the way back to Serenity. He’s angry and he’s guilty and he’s scared and somehow the not knowing is the worst thing of all. This way he has a tiny amount of hope and if that gets taken away then he’s gonna know what rock bottom truly feels like.
“Have faith, son. It’s got us this far,” says the shepherd, doing that shoulder clasping thing that fills Mal with discomfort.
Pretending that his hearing is no better Mal ignores the preacher’s words because platitudes concerning faith are the last thing he wants to listen to right now, even if Book don’t mean ‘em in that way. He closes his eyes to stop himself from gazing at Jayne, but the images in his head end up being so much worse and the shuttle flight back to Serenity seems as if it takes forever.
When they finally get back to the ship there’s a scurry of activity. Mal and Book lift the half-awake mercenary up to his feet and with his arms draped around each of their shoulders they manage to heave him to the infirmary. It ain’t a pleasant task hauling Jayne around. He smells as dead as them rotting corpses back in Shiloh, but he ain’t one of them and that’s what counts.
Between them, Mal and Book get him up onto the bed and Simon shuts the door, flipping open the key pad and locking them in.
“Just a precaution,” he says, “seeing as we have no idea what state he’s going to be in when he wakes up or what’s wrong with him.”
Simon hands Mal his coat and then begins to cut away what’s left of Jayne’s filthy clothing. “There’s no sign of any physical injuries or symptoms of the disease,” he says finally, having examined Jayne thoroughly from head to toe.
The doctor covers Jayne up with a sheet and Mal’s relieved to the very of core of his being. He hates seeing the man layed out there looking all emaciated. It never dawned on him when he was dragging the merc through the ship that he’d lost so much of his bulk. Jayne still felt reassuringly solid then, but now all Mal can see is a sunken stomach and bony ridges of ribs with hip bones jutting out painfully from the skin. Don’t look like he’s eaten in a month.
Simon draws a sample of Jayne’s blood. “This’ll tell us whether he’s got Tzaraath,” he says, waiting for the readout from the machine. When it comes through Simon pores over the data and then takes another sample of blood to view under the scope.
“Well?” says Mal impatiently. He’s pacing the small room, bumping into Book every time he completes a circuit, but it’s not like he can help it. Walking helps soothe his angst some.
“I don’t understand,” says Simon, not for the first time that day. He takes a third sample and checks it. “The bacteria are present, but they’re dead. It’s as ifJayne has some kind of natural immunity. Maybe he was vaccinated against the disease in the past.”
“I don’t get the feeling his family were the kind to attend immunisation clinics on Core world med centres.”
“I tend to agree with that,” says Simon then he runs through the data readout again. “Oh my God,” he says. “I think maybe I know what happened.”
“An explanation would be welcome right about now,” says Book.
“His blood contains massive amounts of rifampsone and the M bacterium vaccine. I can only think that he self-medicated to a huge extent. I have no idea where he got the vaccine from though.”
“There were two drugs we took there,” says Mal. “You never gave me time to spell out the second one.”
Simon rolls his eyes a little, but remains silent.
“What effect is this gonna have?” asks Mal.
“No idea,” says Simon. “The vaccine is intended to be administered in very small doses to force the body’s immune system to kick in. “The most likely occurrence after an overdose of this type would be for the patient to develop the disease. But Jayne’s not doing that, or if he was then he’s fighting it off.”
“What about his mental state?” asks Book, looking over at the sleeping mercenary.
“Again no clue.” Simon brushes his fingers through his hair lifting it away from his face. “That could be trauma related or an after effect from the meds. We don’t know what happened to him down there.”
Mal’s at a loss. “So what you’re saying is there’s nothing you can do and we just have to wait and see.”
“It’s frustrating,” says Book.
“That about sums it up,” says Mal, “plus a little more on top.” He don’t want sympathetic looks and words of comfort, he wants to be left alone. He don’t even notice that Simon’s been tending to the minor injuries he received from the explosion until the man’s finished patching him up.
“You should get some rest,” says the doctor. “I’ll tell you as soon as Jayne wakes up.”
Mal chews on his lip to smooth over the feelings that are building up inside. Why is everyone being so gorram concerned about him? It ain’t like he and Jayne are married or nothing. They’ve just gotten into a habit of rutting once in a while.
“I’m staying here,” he says and Simon doesn’t argue.
~~****~~
The first time Jayne wakes up it scares the hell out of Mal. He’s roused from a fitful doze by a yell and then a whimper of fear and he turns to see Jayne pulling the sheet up ‘round his face like he’s a kid trying to hide from the monsters under the bed. Maybe he is. Jayne goes back to sleep almost instantly, but Mal remains on alert, covering him back up with a thermal blanket he finds in one of the storage bins.
Next time Jayne wakes he don’t make a sound. Mal turns to see him staring at nothing with huge wide eyes. Not caring much what it looks like to others he’s over there quick as he can get, soothing the man with a hand on his forehead.
“It’s okay. You’re safe now. I got you.”
Once Jayne calms down, Mal gets a cloth and a bowl of warm water and washes the grime away from the man’s face. “You don’t seem insane to me,” he says, “just quieter ‘n usual which is always gonna be a good thing.” He thinks he hears a low growl, but that’s most probably his imagination playing tricks on him. Before he finishes tending to him, Jayne’s napping again and Mal’s left wondering what in the gorram hell Simon used as dope. Must have been a horse tranquilizer to put him out for this long.
Once the man’s fully asleep Mal grabs the opportunity to wash up then he goes to the galley to make himself something to eat. It’s quiet there and the glow of the lamps make it a peaceful place to think.
“I been worrying,” says a small voice coming from behind his shoulder, “'Bout Jayne.” Kaylee’s sitting at the table, poring over diagrams of engine parts. “I can’t sleep ‘cause of it and I’ve been thinking on ways to get more speed out of Serenity. She’s got it in her I know she has.”
Mal wonders whether Jayne's got it in him to recover from this.
“Our mercenary's doing fine,” he says in what he hopes is a reassuring voice as he fixes a bowl of broth to take back to the infirmary with him. “And Serenity’s always gonna do good when she has you looking after her.”
“Is Jayne really gonna be alright?” Kaylee sounds unsure as if she’s lost without the big man protecting her and Mal understands this completely. Maybe it’s about coming from the rough side of the verse, but there’s a kinship between Jayne and Kaylee that was there from the start. Sometimes Mal feels like he belongs there with them, leastways more than he belongs anywhere else.
Thinking some about Jayne’s new skin and bone look, he shovels down his own food and then pours more broth into the bowl. “Gonna try and get him to eat,” he says to the little mechanic then hurries away back to the infirmary. He ain’t in a fit enough state to deal with Kaylee’s fears as well as keeping himself on an even keel.
Jayne's gazing at him again and Mal hates that almost as much as the scruffy facial hair. His Jayne narrows his eyes and scowls a lot, except when they’re getting sexed. His Jayne’s mouth is always flapping and saying things that shouldn’t ever be said in company. He ain’t the silent type like this new feller is.
“Hey there,” Mal says in as bright and cheerful a voice as he can muster. “Supper’s up.”
There’s no answer, just a blank stare as the first spoonful of soup just dribbles out of that vacant mouth. Mal can feel his heart lurching sideways when the notion insinuates it’s way into his head that this may be the only Jayne that’s left now. He ain’t gonna know what to do with him. Can’t keep him on the crew if he’s incapacitated in this way.
Mal’s still working through the problems when the spoon is grabbed right out of his hand and he nearly tips the bowl over in shock.
“’M hungry,” says Jayne as he sups at the broth. There’s still spillage, but not a lot and Mal can’t help grinning like an idiot when Jayne takes the bowl from out his hand, helping himself to the food same way as always like he’s starving. ‘Cept maybe this time he is.
“You gonna tell me what happened back there,” says Mal, smiling on the inside when Jayne scowls at him through his beard as he finishes up the last drops. “I’ll fetch you some more food if you do.”
“Need to get to a bathroom,” says the mercenary, scowling more when he looks down and sees that he’s naked. “And I need some clothes.”
“Jayne,” says Mal as patiently as he can manage. “You’re sick. You need to rest.”
“My need to piss is more vital.”
Mal reckons he ain’t gonna get anywhere arguing with the man and, to be truthful, it wouldn’t be a bad idea to get Jayne into a shower. “A’right then,” he says, “but I ain’t going back to get you some clothes. You’ll have to make do with a sheet.”
Jayne’s unsteady on his feet and he relinquishes some control, resting his arm around Mal’s shoulder, but that’s about as much as he’s gonna concede. Mal reckons that the mercenary is probably the only one who can outdo him in the stubborn rankings.
“Jayne!” says Simon, rubbing at sleep-bleary eyes as he emerges from his bunk.
“I’m taking him to get cleaned up,” says Mal.
“But- but- but-” stammers the doctor.
“He don’t seem so bad off now.” Mal throws a look at Simon which is almost grateful in nature. The doc did enough to get him Jayne back in one piece. “I’ll take care of him. Find out what happened.”
“Right,” says Simon, scruffing his hair back. “I would like to know how come he’s not-”
“Dead?” says Jayne and the look is almost teasing. Mal gets a secret kick out of how much these two profess not to like each other.
“Sick,” amends Simon. “It could be important for others, Jayne.”
“Give me a chance, Doc. I got things I need to be doing first.”
Simon rubs at the back of his neck and falls into an awkward silence and Mal reckons he’s thinking of all the things that he and Jayne might be wanting to do to each other.
“Yep,” he says. “I need to get him into that shower.” It ain’t fair to taunt the doc this way, but Mal can’t resist it. Simon's such an easy mark and he watches him disappear back into the safety of his cabin with more than a little self-satisfaction.
They continue the walk to Jayne’s cabin, making slow but steady progress. However fiercely Jayne will deny it Mal can tell how much this has taken out of him. He’s gonna take good care of him... for a while at least.
The door shuts with a slam and Mal knows exactly how sick the big man is when he don’t even complain at the half-empty gun lockers. Mal can’t even remember what happened to that arsenal of weapons they took down to Shiloh. Returning Jayne’s babies was the last thing on his mind at the time.
Jayne drags his aching body into the head still clutching the sheet around him and while he’s in there Mal gets the shower up to temperature, wondering if he ought to get undressed so he can help him out some. Somehow though that seems too presumptuous. Mal ain’t wanting Jayne to think this is about him getting a grapple. ‘Cause it ain’t.
“You okay?” says Mal as Jayne makes his ways unsteadily into the stall, hanging on to that sheet ‘til the last second like he’s embarrassed. All the things they’ve done together and Jayne still blushes at being naked. Mal can’t resist a smile at this.
“’M old enough to get washed myownself,” snaps Jayne.
‘Cept that don’t appear to be the case. There’s a dull thud and when Mal opens the door he finds the big man slumped on the floor.
“Ain’t feeling too good,” says Jayne miserably.
Mal understands Jayne's feelings. He needs that sense of control too, but there’s times when you gotta give in a little. “Gorramit, Jayne, there’s nothing to be ashamed of ‘bout needing some help once in a while.”
Shucking off his clothes Mal gets into the stall with him. It’s a squeeze fitting two large men in there, but this ain’t about comfort. Mal washes as much of Jayne as he can while the man stays sitting down then he pulls Jayne to his feet, supporting that big frame up against the wall while he lathers away the dirt. It’s a cathartic process and Mal hopes it feels the same way to the merc.
“Want me to do something about this?” he asks, running a hand over Jayne’s beard, which is more pleasant to touch than it is to look at.
“Shave it all off, can you,” says Jayne, fixing the towel around his waist as he sits on the edge of his bunk. “It’ll grow back soon enough.”
Mal fetches a bowl of water and Jayne’s razor and soap then he hunkers down between Jayne’s legs, holding his head steady with his left hand then swiping the cut throat across the beard and rinsing off the thick dollops of lather and hair between each stroke. He goes careful because it ain’t as if he’s ever shaved another man before and it takes him a while to get Jayne spruced up again. Once he’s satisfied he wipes a damp wash cloth over Jayne’s skin, then stands back to survey his work.
“Feels better,” says Jayne laying down and pulling the covers over him. “Thanks.”
“You gonna tell me what happened in Shiloh now?” Mal don’t want to push him, but he has a need to know. He’s still ripped up inside over leaving the man to his fate.
“Could think better if’n I had some more food in my belly then...” says Jayne, but the sentence peters out to nothing.
Mal looks down at the sleeping man wondering how Jayne can manage to be so gorram awkward all the time.
~~****~~
With nothing else to be done Mal leaves Jayne to his resting and rejoins the crew in the sitting area. There’s questions asked of course, but none Mal has the answers to. Finally they quit harping on at him about the mercenary and get to discussing what’s on the cards for them next.
A couple of jobs have been humped up since this Shiloh disaster and Mal’s got some swift and fancy talking to do in order to get things renegotiated. It’s crossed his mind that somewhere down in that ghost township there’s most probably a fair whack of valuable goods to be looted, but he ain’t going back there. Not even if they tempt him with a million credits.
Making his way down to the cockpit Mal sends a couple of waves out to contacts in hope of picking up some extra work because right now they are running on empty then he gets busy working up a new set of plans for the deals he’s already negotiated. Things don’t turn out to be as black as he thought. They’re still flying, all ten of them.
When Mal returns to the crew deck Jayne’s there, sitting at the table with Kaylee dancing attendance on him. Mal ain’t never known a more sweeter human being than that little girl; he can’t recall her ever having a bad word to say about anyone. People are gathering now the way they always do when Book’s doing the cooking, but Mal stays back a little, reflecting quietly on how good it is to have everyone here. Once he’s offered up silent thanks to whoever it was on his side he joins the others, taking his place at the table.
“Best we leave the story telling ‘til after food’s been eaten,” he says to Jayne.
“Best so,” agrees Jayne, attacking his plate as soon as it’s put in front of him.
“You mean we actually get to hear a tale from our mercenary that don’t involve him being sexed up by some whores.” Wash looks around at everyone with an exaggerated expression of astonishment on his face.
“Plenty of violence though, little man.” Jayne grins.
“Ain’t there always with you around.” Mal grins back and just for a second it’s like Jayne’s never been away. Mal can’t recall being this happy in years.
Afterwards, though, when the meal is over and they’re sat around conversing, things ain’t quite so happy making.
“The not-quite-people are still there,” says River and she points at Jayne’s forehead. “I can see them.”
“Hush, River,” says Simon, chastising his sister with a look.
“Ain’t a problem,” says Jayne unexpectedly. “Doubt the pictures’ll be going away that quick.”
“Tell away, Jayne,” says Mal, insistent now because once again the not knowing is worse.
The mercenary picks up his mug of tea and clutches it in both hands, staring out into some other time and space.
“Them things,” he says. “Ain’t never seen anything like ‘em. First I thought they was reavers but they looked worse and acted different. They weren’t aggressive though, just crazy, more than bug house crazy, touching me with them black rotten hands.”
Mal’s right back there with him.
“Ain’t denying how afraid I was, too scared even to get to my guns,” continues Jayne. “Was close to losing it. I heard you firing,” he says looking at Mal. “I knew you was firing at me and I wished for it to have struck true.”
Mal can’t say how relieved he is that it didn’t.
“Thought I was a goner the way they was crawling all over me, but then I got my hands to my knives and cut my way free.” Jayne shivers. “Gorram foul them things were. Soon as I’d get away there were more taking their place. Whole town musta gone bad.”
“Tzaraath has an hundred percent infection and mortality rate. It's the perfect disease.” says Simon. “That’s the part I’m failing to understand.”
“I got no clue.” Jayne shrugs. “I ain’t no medical man.”
“Keep talking,” says Mal.
“Ain’t often you say that to me,” says Jayne with a sudden grin.
“Won’t happen again I can vouch for that,” Mal answers.
Jayne swills down some tea and then starts up with the story again. “I get away from them critters and I’m on my way out the door when I look ‘round and see the mountains of food and clothing, just about everything you could think of all piled up. Reckon they thought it was safest to stay together with everything horded up there.”
“Quarantine I imagine,” says Simon thoughtfully. “They must have taken all the people who fell sick to the church leaving them with plenty of supplies. Eventually the whole town became ill and they holed up waiting for a miracle.”
Mal reckons that his grenades were the best kind of miracle that was going to happen to them.
“Mebbe so, Doc,” agrees Jayne. “Anyway I get out of there in one piece, but I ain’t got nothing left on me ‘cept a couple of knives. All I can think about is that sickness and how I ain’t gonna let myself get that way. Then I think about the meds we was bringing here.”
Simon’s looking at the merc all interested again and that makes Mal mad. “Jayne ain’t some kind of research project, you know,” he says, his tone sounding lighter than he hears it inside his head. Jayne’s frowning and Mal gets the idea that the man don’t want to listen to any arguing right now so he holds his tongue.
“I remembered dropping that carrier when the critters first came at me,” continues Jayne, “so I start hunting around for them little bottles, reaching in under the steps, picking ‘em up from where they’ve fallen. I grab as many as I can lay my hands on then I get the gorram hell out of that place before them things can come after me.”
“But-” says Simon.
“I’m doing the talking, Doc, so shut your trap,” says Jayne amicably. “I ain’t thinking straight right then so instead of checking the place out for supplies I just turn tail and run. Once I’m out of the town I swallow down as much of that medicine as I can.
“You drank it?” says Simon in astonishment. “You drank intravenous vaccine?”
“Well, like I said before I ain’t no M.D.” Jayne scowls. “And I’m here to tell the tale, ain’t I? So it weren’t that dumb an idea.”
“I have nothing,” says Simon, eyes widening in amazement. “You’re a medical mystery.”
“Mebbe it weren’t that great an idea,” says Jayne sheepishly. “I felt mighty crook afterwards. Long time after in fact. Don’t recall much of it.”
“I’m not surprised,” says Simon.
“When I felt well enough and hungry enough to brave that freak town, I found the other carrier of meds and,” Jayne shrugs, “well I took them too ‘cause I’d rather be done in from them drugs than that gorram sickness any day.”
“You should be dead so many times over,” says Simon, still staring at Jayne in shock.
“Well he ain’t,” says Mal. “And that’s what counts.”
~~****~~
The nearer it gets toward time for them to turn in, the edgier Mal gets. Kaylee’s been fussing ‘round Jayne more than ever since she heard 'bout what happened and Mal can’t get close to the man the way he wants to.
“They do look cosy, don’t they, honey?” says Zoë and she nudges Wash and points at Kaylee who’s cuddled up to Jayne in the seating area.
“Definite romance in the air.” Wash folds his arms and nods knowingly.
“Do you reckon they’ll get Book or the captain to marry them?” says Zoe.
Mal can’t help making this huffing sound because the one thing he ain’t gonna do is marry any members of his crew. Not in the way they’re talking about anyways. He looks up when Zoë splutters with laughter.
“Your face,” says Wash. “You and Simon both look like you’ve had your toys taken away.”
“I’m taking my husband to bed and I reckon you should do the same with your man,” says Zoë with a smile.
That ain’t such a bad idea and it’s something that Mal’s been wanting to do for the last two hours. Thing is he can’t figure out how to get him there.
“Just give him an order, Sir,” says Zoe. “That’s what I do with mine.”
“Warrior woman,” explains Wash. “Scary when angry.”
Mal’s starting to wonder when everyone on this crew became readers same as River. He’s sure he ain’t said one word about Jayne to no one yet. Still, there ain’t no denying that Zoë has a point.
“Jayne,” he says with his arms folded. “Bed!” It’s concise and to the point and it ain’t as if people aren’t vividly aware of his relationship with the big man.
“Just as long as you remember I get first go round.” Jayne grins.
“Ain’t forgotten.” Mal grins back. He’s not the same as Zoë. If he’d wanted someone docile he’d have fallen for Simon over Jayne because the doc's the most submissive creature around here, except maybe for Wash.
Kaylee gives them both one of her patented cute looks, the kind that’s usually reserved for Simon, but it don’t vex Mal up the way it should. Maybe he and Jayne are cute, although he suspects they’re more of an odd couple than anything else. Mal reckons he’s been a braver man today than he has throughout the course of his life. Feelings and the like scare him more than reavers any day.
“My bunk,” he says, but he ain’t doing any pushing and shoving to get Jayne there because it’s apparent from the way the big man’s moving that he’s still feeling pretty gorram weak. “Gonna take care of you,” Mal adds quietly.
“I’m thinking on ways for you to do that,” Jayne laughs.
“Hope there’s some acting and not just a whole lot of thinking,” Mal laughs back.
When they get to Mal’s room the tension notches up a level. Jayne might be feeling crook, but he’s fired up just the same and Mal’s glad captain’s privileges give him a decent sized bunk to rut on because he’s intending to show Jayne a whole lot of feelings tonight.
They tumble onto the bed and it becomes a race to see who can get each other undressed quickest. It would’ve finished up pretty much dead level ‘cept for Jayne’s boots which turn out to be awkward sumbitches to unfasten.
Mal straddles the big man, exploring the new planes of his streamlined body. That cock stands out prouder than ever and Mal don’t have to think twice about what he wants to do. Burying his face in Jayne’s crotch, he takes in the scent of sex and sweat and breathes for the first time in a month. It’s as if he’s been in limbo waiting to wake up. Taking Jayne’s cock into his mouth, he works at the shaft with his fist and swirls his tongue around the ridge of the head.
“Suck it, gorramit,” demands Jayne, pushing up from the mattress with his hips and threading his fingers into Mal’s hair.
Mal reckons he might be in for a rough ride if Jayne’s in the mood for playing hard, but it don’t appear to be going that way. Instead the merc rubs his thumbs over Mal’s scalp and concedes the power.
Rolling Jayne over Mal throats his cock, reaching around and cupping his backside then encouraging him to fuck his mouth.
“Laotian!” growls Jayne, arching his body and pumping his erection between Mal’s lips. Fuck, it feels good being used this way, but Mal’s got more urgent needs and he don’t want Jayne coming just yet. He lets Jayne fuck face a while longer then when he feels the beginning of that full body tremble he pushes the big man onto his back.
“Rutting hell, Cap’n,” snarls Jayne, scowling up at Mal as he lies there with his cock twitching and drooling out a pool of fluid onto his belly.
“Thought you wanted a go at my ass,” says Mal, straddling Jayne once again and leaning over him, almost close enough to kiss. If he still had that goatee maybe this’d be the moment Mal’d choose to grab a taste.
He examines Jayne’s thin face, stroking the baby-soft smoothness of the clean shaven skin. “You look different.”
“Better’n I did when you brought me back, I’ll bet.”
“Ain’t that the truth.”
Mal takes a chance and leans in closer, brushing his lips over Jayne’s. He can’t recall ever kissing a man before. To start off with it ain’t that different to kissing a woman, but the more they get into it the better it gets. Sly kissing is the same as sly sex; there’s no need to hold back. They continue to suck and bite at each other’s mouths and it revs Mal up so much that his whole body is hot and tingling and his cock is on fire. Aching with need he kisses harder and grinds his erection against Jayne’s, but it ain’t enough.
Sitting up, he takes hold of Jayne’s cock and rubs the slick head against his hole. With his own erection pulsing like it’s about to burst, he lowers himself down, breathing in deep gulps of air as he’s filled by that prick. As soon as he has all of Jayne inside him, Mal leans forward again, wanting more of those hard biting kisses.
They stay like that a while, enjoying the feeling of being mouth to mouth then Mal begins to move, fucking himself so very slowly on Jayne’s cock. Letting out a low moan, he sits up straight and arches his back then wraps his hand around his erection, pulling himself off with steady strokes.
Jayne can’t take his eyes off him and Mal makes certain that the picture is as pretty as he can make it. He fucks the big man as slow and as hard as he can manage and all the while he works himself off, rubbing his thumb over the sensitive ridges until he’s so close to coming it’s like hanging off an abyss.
“Gorramit, Mal, so good, so rutting good.”
“Not wrong there,” groans Mal, leaning in for more kisses and hitching in a breath as his cock rubs against Jayne’s body hair.
It feels as if he’s made of sex. Jayne’s panting and his mouth’s open and he looks so rutting fine and well fucked that Mal could come just from staring at him. He can feel Jayne swell and pulse inside him and if he pushes forward just a little more then that solid shaft forces itself against his sweet spot and, gorramit, that’s near on perfect.
Jayne’s squirming and trembling beneath him and Mal’s high just from having that cock inside him. His hand flies like lightning and he rides Jayne as hard as he can, squeezing every muscle in his body tight as he digs his fingernails into Jayne’s chest.
“Fuck, yeah,” cries Jayne as he ruts up into Mal and comes with a grunt of pleasure. Mal ain’t far behind him; the feel of that warm bath of come has him almost on the point of black out and he fucks his fist fiercely until he sees stars.
Bed ain't only about the sexing. Mal discovers this when he spoons up into the curve of Jayne’s back and rests his lips against the sleeping man’s neck. Coming that close to losing Jayne has made Mal do some serious rethinking about life. Responsibility of command is one thing, but he ain’t never wanted to be dependent on another person before. Thing is this last month of hell has taught him that sometimes you don’t get a choice in the matter and he still don’t have a single regret.
DONE