Mal allows Simon to suck his cock.
Simon lets himself be used. Simon isn't exactly sure when and why he turned into Mal's whore, but there's a part of him that needs it. A part of him that desires so utterly, so viscerally, that he can't pull away.
Oh, he can pinpoint the moment it started. Mal had come into the infirmary, complaining of a wrenched shoulder. Acres of skin, smooth and fragrant, exposed for his examination. Simon traced his fingers along scapulae, dug the heels of his hands deep into spasming muscles, listened to Mal's breathing.
And then, in a moment of indulgence, which frankly, came as a surprise to Simon as well, he pressed his lips to Mal's shoulder.
Mal's breath caught. Simon's brain ceased functioning, looping in shock. Mal spun, caught Simon's eyes with a brilliant blue stare, and Simon physically froze as well. His heart dropped into his belly, leaden. He wasn't sure if he wanted to die or have Mal kill him, but he stood firm and met Mal's eyes. Too late to take back anything.
Simon's been losing bits of himself into the ether. He used to be the dutiful son, the brilliant surgeon. Now he's on this junker of a spaceship, and really, despite the fact that he practically lives in the infirmary, all he is is River's caretaker. She's not his sister, not anymore, not the one he misses like he would miss his arm, his heart. A shell is left of her, and of him. He's not even doing much surgery anymore, not since the Early incident.
Mal's been amazingly cautious lately; the jobs are small, but safe, and they keep moving. And Simon tells himself that it's for the best.
But it's really hard to hold onto his identity as a doctor when no one else can. And he can see why Zoe follows Mal. Why Jayne remains. Even why Inara and Book are fascinated.
He's like a sun, brilliant and eclipsed. Damaged and charismatic. Simon's been drawn to Mal since day one. How could he have helped it? The man reeks dignity and pain. It's an addictive combination; a man he could help and who would protect Simon with his last breath. Simon had been able to control his attraction, though. At least until he had less self to actually be.
So Simon leaned in, took a chance, and tasted skin, salt under his tongue. And Mal stared at him, merciless and questioning. He stared back. Mal was on him suddenly, teeth bruising his neck, strong rough hands pushing him, bending him over the counter. Simon came quickly that time, bruising grip on his cock, fingers fucking his mouth, overwhelmed with sensation. Post-orgasm, he sank to his knees, and let Mal fuck his mouth until he flooded bitter and sweet on Simon's tongue.
He had never felt so used and...content, even. Pure physical release. Mal left, walked away while Simon rearranged his clothing. Of course he hadn't expected declarations or invitations. Or anything, really. The only thing left in his brain was the thought that Mal let him suck his cock.
"Denial looks good on you," was River's comment the next night. Simon wanted desperately to believe that she wasn't reading his mind, that the continuous stream of thoughts he kept having about Mal's taste in his mouth were not a sign of addiction.
Mal came to him the next time. Entered his dorm late at night. Simon was only half awake, and stumbled against the doorframe as he exited. Mal's hand caught on his arm, guiding the two of them into a dark corner of the cargo bay. Lips on his neck, skin hot under his tongue. Sharp stubble on Mal's jaw, a hard hand pushing his mouth down, guiding him lower.
Simon took the hint.
That time, he listened to Mal's groan and hitch of breath as he came. Simon was fisting his own organ, hard and aching before Mal recovered and added his hand to Simon's. It only took a few strokes before he, too, shuddered and came.
When he was caring for River, he tried not to think of what Mal's orgasm sounded like, of the tension that flowed out of the captain, and how he desperately wondered if it would ever happen again. River just smiled and said, "Desperation is a look, too."
It doesn't happen often. Simon cannot, will not initiate their encounters; he's terrified that he'll be rebuffed, or Zoe will find out, or Buddha forbid, Kaylee. Simon still wants to be in the circle of Kaylee's sunshine, but he desires Mal's impersonal, rough touches. Actually, he finds himself craving the silent moments afterwards. Languid, stretched out, before they both realize who and where they are, and leave.
Simon doesn't know when he developed an addictive personality.
He doesn't have enough to do. Simon can't stop thinking about Mal. He's tempted to give a knife to his sister and let her take a few practice slices on Jayne, just so he can have someone to stitch up.
Mal might throw him off the ship, though, and that would be the end. River would be back in the Academy and Simon would never get to smell Mal's arousal or touch his skin again. Or they could both be dead. It's a toss up right now what would be worse.
Simon's not sure how he became the crazy one. River's been calm lately, although she still flutters around like a bird sometimes. She passes Mal some sidelong glances, but he doesn't seem to catch their significance, for which Simon is grateful.
He counts days now. He wonders if it's obsession or lust. It can't be love. Simon doesn't believe in love. He believes in tangibles, in desire, in the slide of muscle over bone, skin over teeth, tastes that just don't exist anywhere else. Simon dreams of heat and sweat, and wakes from half-hard dreams he doesn't want to end. The endless repetitive tasks he sets for himself are no distraction.
Gauze, surgical thread...enumerated, within easy reach. Simon's been organizing this infirmary long enough that he doesn't even really have to count anything anymore. He wonders idly if they'll make it to a world today, if he'll get to see sun. He wonders if he'll even bother. It's like he has no life outside the bright, antiseptic walls of the infirmary.
Simon thinks he might even fall apart if he leaves: he might lose track of who he used to be. He's turning it into a mantra. Dutiful son, brilliant surgeon. What's left of what's-left-of-River's brother. Nearly useless medic to a band of space pirates. Mal's whore.
And the revelation comes as a shock to him. Only one item from that list did he have any say in becoming. Perhaps that's why he's clinging to Mal, why he wants so utterly and can't seem to let go.
As if the thought conjures the reality, Simon looks up to see Mal's reflection in the window. Their eyes meet, and Simon nods slightly in reply to the unspoken question. He closes drawers, puts away tally sheets. He can always be ready for Mal.
It's just a choice, after all.
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Author: skripka [email] [website]
Details: Series | NC-17 | *slash* | 6k | 05/26/04
Characters: Malcolm, Simon, River
Notes: Angst and dark themes and porn. Betaed by Jes.
All the pretty are belong to Joss.
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