Title: After
Pairing: Jayne/Simon
Rating: R? I can never tell
DIsclaimer: Please, if they belonged to me they would have been shagging constantly on the show. These are not my toys, I just play with them.
Summary:  After a particularly stressful job Jayne needs Simon. Then Simon needs Jayne. Angst-y, but not tear-jerker-y. 

This is my first slash fanfiction ever (hell, it's my first fanfic ever) so I apologize in advance, and I would love some concrit if you have any.

Everyone aboard the Serenity had their own way of dealing with the stress after a rough job. Kaylee could be found cleaning and stroking everything she could get her hands on in the engine room, Inara would sit and sing to Kaylee, Mal would stand alone on the bridge, staring out into the black, and Jayne? Well, Jayne would do this.

Simon forced his fingers to release the sheets on Jayne’s bunk, breathing deeply to try and fight off the urgency that flickered around the edges of his comfortable arousal.

He choked back a whimper as Jayne’s beard trailed over the sensitive flesh of his side. “Jayne—please—” the drag of the merc’s tongue across his nipple cut the words off. Jayne’s lips, a subject of frequent musing on Simon’s part, seemed too soft to belong to the coarse man. They felt like silk trailing over the pale flesh of his chest, dipping into the hollow in his clavicle, then pausing to suck at the juncture where Simon’s neck met his shoulder.

Rough hands traced reverently over his hips, thumbs stroking slowly over the crease above his thigh. Simon couldn’t contain his moan that time, and was rewarded for the sound by Jayne sinking his teeth into the pale neck.

“Wo de ma—Jayne!”

Jayne had been at this for an hour already, licking and kissing and stroking Simon’s body, until he was one giant, overly sensitized nerve. It was how he coped. The whole ‘verse may have gone to go se, but Jayne could always ground himself in Simon’s smooth body, in his whimpers and moans, and in the helpless way he needed Jayne.

“Turn over.” Jayne’s voice was husky, and Simon started a bit at the unexpected command.

Having complied, Simon shuddered as his neglected cock rubbed against the sweat-damp sheets of Jayne’s bed. He felt callused hands on the backs of his thighs, urging his legs apart, and Simon spread them slowly, wantonly in a way that he couldn’t help anymore. The fact that Jayne needed him to keep himself sane and whole ripped through all the defenses Simon had managed to erect, and left him desperate for his touch.

Kisses trailed down Simon’s spine, interspersed with punishing bites every few inches. Jayne sat back to admire the way the red bite marks showed up against the muscled plane of Simon’s back. Growling, nearly purring, Jayne grinned and licked a single swath in the crevice of Simon’s ass.

“Jayne, please—need you…” Simon thrust his hips back, desperate to get more of that delicious sensation. His resolve was shattering, and he felt unable to stand the teasing touches his lover bestowed any more.

Jayne chuckled and place a stilling hand at the small of Simon’s back. He bent his head to the splayed thighs in front of him, and dragged his tongue up the inside of one, until he nosed against the heat of Simon’s balls.

“Oh, gods. Touch—touch me, oh please, Jayne…” the litany of begging and whimpers was ceaseless now, and Jayne was just about to put them both out of their misery and slide into that incredible heat when his tongue encountered something unexpected.

Brow furrowed, Jayne ran his tongue along Simon’s inner thigh again, confirming the presence of several neat, raised lines. He lifted his head, and stroked his thumb over the area. They were faint, almost too light for him to be able to make them out, and practically invisible in the half-light of the bunk. Scars. Jayne’s hands clenched painfully on Simon’s body.

Simon froze, shaken immediately from the haze of lust that had enveloped him for over an hour. Oh gods, no. Simon jerked in Jayne’s grip, futilely trying to break the hold he had on him.

“Simon.” The growl in his voice was no longer playful, no longer driven by lust or need or any of the other emotions he hadn’t given names to.

“Let me go.”

“You’re a bright kid, you know that ain’t happenin’.”

“I said let me up, you hwoon dahn!” Simon let the icy grip of fear in his stomach heat to anger.

“Tell me.”

The note of fear in Jayne’s voice, hidden beneath anger and confusion, gave Simon pause, and immediately the fight went out of him.

“Let me up, please.” Simon’s voice was quiet, resigned, and Jayne relaxed his hold on the doctor.

Simon turned over, and pulled his legs up to tuck his knees under his chin. Curled up at the head of the bed, he chanced a glance at Jayne’s face, and the cold, lost look in the merc’s eyes made his own close of their own volition.

“Who was it?”

“What?” Simon asked, surprised.

“I said, who in the ruttin’ hell was it!”

Simon studied the top of his feet intently. “It was me.”

For a long time no sound came from the other man on the bed, and Simon raised his eyes tentatively to glance at his—was he still?—lover. The merc’s face was shuttered, closed off, and a moment’s consideration told Simon that he wasn’t breathing.

Simon unfolded himself carefully, and slipped from the bed. The quiet that hung in the room while he dressed was malicious, hell-bent on stealing what happiness he’d managed to find. He paused at the bottom of the ladder, willing Jayne to say something, hopefully along the lines of ‘Stop’ or ‘I love you.’ When nothing came, he numbly climbed the rungs and padded to his bunk.

Simon fell onto his bed and curled into a ball, wishing like hell that he could blame someone other than himself for the spike running through his chest.

He knew it’d been too good to last.

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