A Little Bit of Action

“WooHoo!” Mal called with glee. The mule raced across the sparse desert with Mal behind the wheel; Simon was desperately clinging and praying he wouldn’t fall off, while Jayne stoically watched for pursuit. They were nearing Serenity.
“Pretty sure we lost ‘em, Mal.” Jayne said with a grin.
Mal brought them in for a rougher stop than necessary inside Serenity’s cargo bay. The captain leapt down laughing as Simon pried his white knuckles from a bar.
“Come on Doc, a li’l excitement’s good for you.” Mal stated with a manic grin. Simon didn’t reply. Mal slapped Jayne on the back as the two of them jovially exited the cargo bay.

Malcolm Reynolds walked through his ship a happy man. In the cockpit he found Zoë and Wash.
“Hey Wash, we should be thinking ‘bout keeping our stay on the short side.”
“Problem, sir?” His first mate was instantly alert.
“I thought we already closed the deal with Red?” Wash commented confused.
“We did. This wasn’t with Red.” Zoë arched an articulate eyebrow; Mal gave his most innocent expression.
Wash knew that the captain and his wife were doing that whole silent communication thing that they did – the one where Zoë would get some obscure look and Mal would know that she meant ‘I go right and you go left and we’ll meet up in the kitchen where we’ll use a grenade to rescue Mrs. Plum with the candlestick’. Anyways, he was very certain he was being left out of something.
“Hey! Wanna share with the non-mind reader in the cabin,” Wash asked indignantly.
Zoë responded while Mal managed to look sheepish, “It looks like the cap’n decided to start a one-man revolution down at some local bar.”
“It wasn’t a revolution and it wasn’t one man. I had Jayne… and Simon.” Now Mal was looking both sheepish and indignant.
“Simon?” she stated surprised.
“You took Simon but you couldn’t ask me!?!” Wash said outraged.
“I needed you to get us out if need be – which we didn’t! Need you, I mean. Ah hell, just get us off this rock.” Zoë looked amused as her captain stuttered and looked indignant; Mal stalked out with the small remainder of his dignity.

All it took was a look at Jayne’s ugly, beat-up face grinning like mad to return Mal to happy spirits. The two men looked at each other conspiratorially, connected by the shared visceral thrill of a good bar fight. Speaking of visceral thrills, no one should miss the captain for a few minutes. So Mal headed towards his bunk for some alone time. A smooth job like this deserved some kind of celebration, let off steam and the like.
Mal slipped out of his clothing, determined to do this right. He reached for the lube that he kept near his bed and took his cock in his hands. He sighed in absolute pleasure. His heightened senses relished the feel of recycled air on his exposed skin; he felt in sync with the familiar rumblings of the engine. Fantasies trickled through his mind, making his cock twitch in his hand. Suddenly his private world was shattered by someone knocking and then opening the passage to come down. The clatter of boots completely obliterated his erection.
“Gorammit.” Mal cursed then grabbed a blanket from the bed and wrapped it about his hips. Simon descended down the ladder.
“Oh, Mal. Sorry. Jayne – uh, Jayne just said he saw you come down here.”
“Is there a problem, doc?”
“Um, I – uh, just wanted to discuss with you, um, some things.” Simon seemed uncommonly distressed by Mal’s state of undress; he was spending an awful lot of time examining his shoes.
“Could this by chance wait until, say tomorrow?”
“It’ll only take a moment then you can get back to your, uh, nap.”
“Nap. Right.” Mal glanced behind him at the bed.
“I know that I, um, lack in certain areas - as in, when we, uh, steal or smuggle. I was thinking…” Simon continued to ramble about wanting to be able to contribute more to the clandestine dealings of the crew; Mal wasn’t listening. Any other time he might’ve given the discussion what little attention it was due, but his nether regions were already pretty demanding, and well, they were far more interesting than Simon. Well… now that that particular thought ran across his sex-hazed mind… Simon in conjuction with his nether parts…
The way that Simon strode across the bunk was certainly very graceful: not graceful like Inara, which is so intentional, but this kind of unconscious poetry to his movements. Poetry? Now Mal knew his brain was just way too blood-deprived to think rationally. And of course all he could think about was what he had been doing previously. Suddenly letting his body make his decision for him, Mal let the blanket slide to the floor hoping Simon would get the hint and skedaddle.
Simon’s jaw dropped. His gaze seemed riveted on the captain’s unabashedly aroused state. His mouth moved for a moment or two but nothing came out. The doctor’s animated hands fluttered uselessly about him.
“I-I am so, s-s-so sorry to have… Um, uh, interrupted.” Simon began to leave. His hand was on the ladder when he turned back to the captain. Mal could see the gears turning in the doctor’s head, and then suddenly Simon was kissing him. Warm, soft flesh was pressing against his needy body. Mal couldn’t think; what was taking place was too sudden, too unexpected to compute, especially given his passion-clouded state of mind. All he could think about was the demanding mouth on his, the heat of flesh, the throbbing need of his cock. Suddenly the bunk pressed against the back of his knees and the two tumbled onto it. Simon’s mouth was relentless. And then it was gone. And then it was on his cock. Sucking. Licking. Driving him wild. The doctor’s mouth seemed to be as dexterous as his life-saving hands.
Mal looked down and could see his member as it disappeared into that mouth. Simon was watching him, noting what actions would cause Mal to moan, which would make Mal sigh. The thought of this man watching Mal as he pleasured him sent him over the edge. His body pulsed and wrung him of his seed. The two men collapsed into heaps on the bed: both were digesting the insanity of the previous events.
Simon’s inner monologue kind of went like this: “Oh god, oh god, oh god, oh god,” etc. Mal’s inner monologue went more like this: “Huh, Simon. Wow. Suppose it makes a certain kind of twisted sense. Hmmm… Well. There’s only one proper way to respond to such… talented treatment.”
Once Mal felt sufficiently recovered from his body-demolishing orgasm, he began to methodically rid the good doctor of his pants. Simon immediately began to protest and tried to sit up but Mal put a firm hand on his chest. Utterly confused, Simon contented himself to being a spectator. Mal slid the finely crafted material down the doctor’s legs – there was nothing beneath them but Simon’s milky skin and his growing erection. He gently touched it, as though introducing himself to a skittish creature. Simon’s breath caught as that whisper of a touch sent shockwaves of desire through his body.
The captain reached for the tube of lubricant he had been using earlier; he gooped his hand up pretty slick. When he came back to caress the straining cock, Simon gritted his teeth in frustration: there was no way he was going to get a satisfying amount of friction with that much lube. And the next few minutes were torture.
Mal’s movements were deliberate and intentional, thought out as how to best drive the man crazy. After all, replying in kind really is the only proper way to respond to the talented treatment he himself had just received. He would speed up only to stop suddenly. He fondled Simon’s balls as he squeezed his cock. Each time he would bring Simon to the brink only to back away again. Simon’s eyes were begging for release but he didn’t dare say a word. Finally Mal gave his penis the few twisting jerks that sent Simon soaring. His body convulsed in ecstasy and hot cum spurted everywhere.
Both men laid back and recovered in silence. Eventually Mal got up and cleaned himself up. Simon continued to lie on the bunk and contemplate his wisdom, or possible lack thereof, in having turned back from the ladder. His mind whirled and somehow all he could think of was ‘oh, shit’. True, he was well and truly satiated; Mal was very good. But it was Mal. The man who held Simon and River’s lives in the palm of his hand. Maybe Simon wasn’t good enough. Could Mal kill him just for not being good enough in bed?
Just then Mal sat on the edge of the bunk. Mal looked at him, and Simon was certain he could read all of Simon’s doubts and fears just by looking at him.
“You okay with what just took place here?” Mal asked.
Simon’s jaw moved ineffectually; he couldn’t think of what to say. Or there were just too many things to say. Mal nodded to himself and grabbed the cloth he had used to clean himself. Thoughtfully and almost tenderly, Mal began to clean Simon’s body. Simon was astounded how comforting he found this gesture. Everything was going to be all right. It was the first time someone had ever taken care of Simon and for the first time Simon felt weightless. Everything was going to be all right. Reavers could strike tomorrow, but everything would be all right.
Mal finished his task and ran his thumb along the contours of Simon’s face. Abruptly he got up, got dressed, and climbed the ladder to the rest of the ship. Simon continued to lie on the bunk a little longer because everything was going to be all right.