mouseovers for translation
Jayne’s hot and frustrated and, more to the point, he’s feeling gorram hard done by over the fact that he’s shifting transport crates while the others are off having a good time in the Chinese Quarter.
He kicks out at one of the towers of boxes and the whole lot wobbles precariously.
“Hey now, don’t destroy the merchandise. Not before we get paid for it anyhow.” Mal’s leaning against the side of the ship watching him with an amused smile on his face.
“Don’t get why I’m stuck here when the others ain’t.”
“Because I need your muscle.”
Jayne frowns. “Don’t get why a load of nuns need a ton of rock salt neither. What they do? Bathe in it?”
“Couldn’t tell you that, but what I can tell you is that they’re willing to pay a shiny amount for this stuff.”
“Why?” Jayne don’t really care, but arguing passes the time.
“Sometimes a person can value something others don’t rate so highly.”
Mal throws Jayne a look which ramps up that heat and the frustration he’s feeling and changes its course dramatically.
Strolling casually over, he leans up against Serenity’s warm metal panels and reaches out a hand to squeeze Mal’s thigh.
“Gimme a show,” he says as his fingers inch upward and tease down the captain's fly zipper a fraction at a time.
Mal slaps a restraining hand over Jayne’s and looks sideways at him.
“Not here,” he says guardedly, but the darkness of them eyes tells Jayne that the man ain’t thinking the same as he’s saying.
“Here,” he insists. “I’ll join you if’n you like.”
There’s a whole heap of stiffening going on beneath the palm of Jayne’s hand and he presses down firmly.
“There’s nuns on the way to meet us, Jayne. Nuns!”
Jayne laughs. “Thought you didn’t go much on religion?”
“Don’t mean I have the urge to show off my diao to a bunch of old women.”
“Best be quick then I reckon.”
Jayne unzips and tugs out his own prick which is as stiff as a poker and a bitch to get free from his shorts, wrong handed the way he is at the moment. His hips thrust as he strokes his fingers over the soft hot skin, mapping out the veins and ridges with his left hand surprised at how unfamiliar his own cock feels. He ain’t never been into southpaw, but it don’t take him long to get into it now.
With clothing pushed hastily out the way, he grips tight and pulls with a dry fist, filled with a dizzying sense of dirty need as he stands there legs apart, humping his own hand with not a care in the 'verse about anything other than getting off.
There’s a strangled moan from next to him and he takes a swift glance to see a pair of greedy eyes fixed on his erection. Mal looks up then shoves Jayne’s arm away from him and opening the fly of his breeches fully. “This ain’t what I kept you behind for,” he mutters, wrapping a hand around his ji ba and stroking upwards until he reaches the piss slit which is oozing with a steady flow of pre-come.
“Nah,” Jayne watches the show and continues to jerk off, cupping his balls then tugging at them firmly. “You kept me here so’s you could get a quick rut later, but you ain’t gotta fret none ‘cause I reckon we’ll both have it in us for more. I know I will.”
“I call the shots here, Jayne.”
The warning is obvious.
“Can shoot over me if’n that takes your fancy.” Jayne don’t normally chance his luck with the captain--just takes what he can get--but today he’s feeling a mite crazy.
“Tamade,” breathes Mal, shifting position until he’s standing in front of Jayne, leaning in so close that their cocks are almost, almost making contact.
Jayne can feel the heat coming off Mal’s body. He breathes in the smell of fresh sweat and musky sex and it sets off another southerly rush of blood making him harder and dizzier than ever. All he can think about is coming; right now he couldn’t care less if the whole gorram convent and crew turned up together to watch him.
They kiss, swift and fierce, then Mal pulls back a little, worrying at his bottom lip, sweat trickling down the side of his face as he arches his back and fucks himself hard.
It’s the prettiest gorram sight Jayne’s seen for a while and he spits and swaps over to his right hand, fingers of his left stroking up his belly and pinching both nipples until he feels that tingling sting of orgasm grip tight hold of his balls and stomach. Running a tongue over dry lips, he breathes in and out fast and, holding Mal’s gaze, works himself up to coming, releasing jerk after jerk of spunk.
Mal groans low and long and, with fist flying, he lets go of his own load, come spattering Jayne’s body in sticky white streaks.
Less than five minutes later, the group of sisters from the Convent of the Perpetual Sacrifice arrive to collect their shipment of Vermidian rock salt and as Jayne stacks the boxes onto their transporter he thinks about hot salty baths and can’t help but laugh out loud.