fic: firefly
Jan. 21st, 2006 10:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparklebutchTitle: Ain't The Alcohol
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Jayne
Reason: Improv from![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ceruleancat, calime33 and crazy4rog, "bottle, dust, control". Also three outta four votes on Mal pov.
Warning: Drinking is bad for your liver.
**
One bottle and his control was in the dust.
Wasn't the first bottle that did it, but it was the last, so he stares at that one all hateful and blaming. Dangerous for a man in his occup - occup - hiccup - line of work, to be drinkin' like that. Mal glares at the bottom of his glass.
"Time to take you back to Serenity, sir," Zoe tries to lift him up. He resists, rather futilely.
"Don' wanna," he mutters. Across the table, Jayne raises his drink in salute, then downs it.
"I'll keep an eye on him," the mercenary offers Zoe. She seems skeptic. But Mal approves. In fact he approves of anything that doesn't include him moving too much from his spot. If he had to fight right now, he'd lose. If he had to save his ship and his crew, they'd all die. He knows it, somewhere deep in his alcohol-addled brain, and it makes him hate himself. He should've known better.
Zoe's disappeared, he's not sure when. Jayne's still there, two of him even. Lots of bottles on the table in a row. The two Jayne are taking another drink and then announcing, "That's my last."
Which means he'll want to move, and he'll want Mal to move with him, and Mal isn't so sure about that. His suspicions are proven right when the world goes twisty and garbled around him and all the drinks that felt so nice coming down threaten nastily to come back up again. But then he's out under the fresh cold sky, and it's actually not so bad. Better to breathe than that smoke and alcohol fumes inside that they dare call air.
"Jayne," he says, "I'm gonna be sick."
Jayne drops him. Mal thuds on the ground.
"Better sit a spell, wait it out," Jayne grumbles and falls just as heavily beside him, and Mal thinks maybe Jayne isn't really a good designated driver at all.
They both sit in the dust and the sky gets darker.
"Y'know," Mal finally says, "you ain't half bad."
Jayne snorts, a sound that could've been a laughter if it was longer. "Ain't half good, either," he says.
"Got a puppyish charm about you," Mal blurts before he can remember that thing about control and his mouth and how to incorporate the concepts to each other.
Jayne snorts twice now, and it's almost half a laugh. "You sayin' I'm your bitch, Mal?"
"No!" He stops, has to think about it. That takes a while, but they're in no hurry. If Zoe needs them, she'll come get 'em.
Mal finally puts together the sentence he's been working on. "...Do you want to be?"
Jayne waits a longer while than expected. Mal expected him to just - don't really know, walk away, maybe punch his lights out, maybe offer to show him what kind of man he really was, something machismo and defensive...
"Maybe," Jayne finally says, and the shock is nearly enough to kick some of the booze from Mal's blood stream. Not what he expected. He also not expected Jayne's hand, rough and without preliminary advances, landing in his lap, heavy and to the point.
Mal looks down. Then he looks up. Makes him kinda dizzy.
"Jayne," he says, because there's nothing much else to say.
"Yeah?" is the reply because Jayne, he doesn't do subtle on a sober day, and this isn't even that. Seems insistent on rubbing little circles on the front of Mal's pants. Not that he's complainin'.
"I ain't sly." Mal finally says.
"I know," Jayne pats.
"You ain't sly either," Mal is trying to make a point here and really wishes the world and Jayne's hand will understand that point before something happens.
"Nope," Jayne says. "I like women jus' fine." His hand doesn't stop much. "I just like you too."
"Yeah," Mal says, because really, what else can be said. They're still in the dust in a dirty alley behind the bar in which they both got plastered, and Jayne's hand is right there but nothing happens. Mal's too drunk for that. And apparently Jayne's too drunk to notice. He moves to lean against Mal, nuzzling his head against Mal's neck. It feels funny, fuzzy like, beard and short hair rather than smooth skin and long woman's 'do. Mal nuzzles back.
Jayne's voice is low and throaty. "Think we should rut right here?"
Mal shakes his head. "Don't know if you noticed, but I'm not in much shape to do nothin' interesting."
Jayne only now bothers to look. There's a pout on his face that makes Mal laugh out loud. "I'm too drunk!" he says, probably too loud. Ain't no one in the alley though to see them. Jayne's lower lip sticks out like someone took his lolly away, and that makes Mal want to take it in his teeth, so he does. Somehow he ends up with a lapful o' Jayne and a tongue in his mouth, so he kisses back with as much zeal as he can possibly muster.
"Later," he placates. "On the ship, right?"
Jayne grinds against him and despite the alcohol induced numbness, that feels gorram good. "You won't want me later," the large man mutters. "Won't be drunk later."
"Ain't the alcohol what wants you, numbskull," Mal says, "just me."
Jayne says nothing, just keeps grinding kinda slow, kinda sad. And then he's sort of being moved away. Pulled off, and Mal looks up, which is dizzifying again, and Zoe's there.
"He bothering you, sir?"
Mal supports himself on the wall and manages to get to his feet. "Nope. Not at all," he says. "Just need to get him on the ship and in my bunk." He thinks of the ladder leading to his quarters and winces. "Or maybe you can just dump the two of us behind some crates and let us sleep it off," he suggests. Zoe agrees with that assessment. Between the three of them, they manage to all stand up, and after a few false starts, move in the right direction.
Trudging down the unpaved street, Mal muses over Zoe's head. "I left a little self control in a bottle in that bar. Then I left a little more in the dust in the alley." He hiccups again, and from the other side of the strong woman supporting them, Jayne answers with a belch of his own.
"When we get to Serenity," Mal solemnly vows in the vague direction of the unappealing noise, "tomorrow, I'm gonna leave some in you."
[end]
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Jayne
Reason: Improv from
ceruleancat, calime33 and crazy4rog, "bottle, dust, control". Also three outta four votes on Mal pov.Warning: Drinking is bad for your liver.
**
One bottle and his control was in the dust.
Wasn't the first bottle that did it, but it was the last, so he stares at that one all hateful and blaming. Dangerous for a man in his occup - occup - hiccup - line of work, to be drinkin' like that. Mal glares at the bottom of his glass.
"Time to take you back to Serenity, sir," Zoe tries to lift him up. He resists, rather futilely.
"Don' wanna," he mutters. Across the table, Jayne raises his drink in salute, then downs it.
"I'll keep an eye on him," the mercenary offers Zoe. She seems skeptic. But Mal approves. In fact he approves of anything that doesn't include him moving too much from his spot. If he had to fight right now, he'd lose. If he had to save his ship and his crew, they'd all die. He knows it, somewhere deep in his alcohol-addled brain, and it makes him hate himself. He should've known better.
Zoe's disappeared, he's not sure when. Jayne's still there, two of him even. Lots of bottles on the table in a row. The two Jayne are taking another drink and then announcing, "That's my last."
Which means he'll want to move, and he'll want Mal to move with him, and Mal isn't so sure about that. His suspicions are proven right when the world goes twisty and garbled around him and all the drinks that felt so nice coming down threaten nastily to come back up again. But then he's out under the fresh cold sky, and it's actually not so bad. Better to breathe than that smoke and alcohol fumes inside that they dare call air.
"Jayne," he says, "I'm gonna be sick."
Jayne drops him. Mal thuds on the ground.
"Better sit a spell, wait it out," Jayne grumbles and falls just as heavily beside him, and Mal thinks maybe Jayne isn't really a good designated driver at all.
They both sit in the dust and the sky gets darker.
"Y'know," Mal finally says, "you ain't half bad."
Jayne snorts, a sound that could've been a laughter if it was longer. "Ain't half good, either," he says.
"Got a puppyish charm about you," Mal blurts before he can remember that thing about control and his mouth and how to incorporate the concepts to each other.
Jayne snorts twice now, and it's almost half a laugh. "You sayin' I'm your bitch, Mal?"
"No!" He stops, has to think about it. That takes a while, but they're in no hurry. If Zoe needs them, she'll come get 'em.
Mal finally puts together the sentence he's been working on. "...Do you want to be?"
Jayne waits a longer while than expected. Mal expected him to just - don't really know, walk away, maybe punch his lights out, maybe offer to show him what kind of man he really was, something machismo and defensive...
"Maybe," Jayne finally says, and the shock is nearly enough to kick some of the booze from Mal's blood stream. Not what he expected. He also not expected Jayne's hand, rough and without preliminary advances, landing in his lap, heavy and to the point.
Mal looks down. Then he looks up. Makes him kinda dizzy.
"Jayne," he says, because there's nothing much else to say.
"Yeah?" is the reply because Jayne, he doesn't do subtle on a sober day, and this isn't even that. Seems insistent on rubbing little circles on the front of Mal's pants. Not that he's complainin'.
"I ain't sly." Mal finally says.
"I know," Jayne pats.
"You ain't sly either," Mal is trying to make a point here and really wishes the world and Jayne's hand will understand that point before something happens.
"Nope," Jayne says. "I like women jus' fine." His hand doesn't stop much. "I just like you too."
"Yeah," Mal says, because really, what else can be said. They're still in the dust in a dirty alley behind the bar in which they both got plastered, and Jayne's hand is right there but nothing happens. Mal's too drunk for that. And apparently Jayne's too drunk to notice. He moves to lean against Mal, nuzzling his head against Mal's neck. It feels funny, fuzzy like, beard and short hair rather than smooth skin and long woman's 'do. Mal nuzzles back.
Jayne's voice is low and throaty. "Think we should rut right here?"
Mal shakes his head. "Don't know if you noticed, but I'm not in much shape to do nothin' interesting."
Jayne only now bothers to look. There's a pout on his face that makes Mal laugh out loud. "I'm too drunk!" he says, probably too loud. Ain't no one in the alley though to see them. Jayne's lower lip sticks out like someone took his lolly away, and that makes Mal want to take it in his teeth, so he does. Somehow he ends up with a lapful o' Jayne and a tongue in his mouth, so he kisses back with as much zeal as he can possibly muster.
"Later," he placates. "On the ship, right?"
Jayne grinds against him and despite the alcohol induced numbness, that feels gorram good. "You won't want me later," the large man mutters. "Won't be drunk later."
"Ain't the alcohol what wants you, numbskull," Mal says, "just me."
Jayne says nothing, just keeps grinding kinda slow, kinda sad. And then he's sort of being moved away. Pulled off, and Mal looks up, which is dizzifying again, and Zoe's there.
"He bothering you, sir?"
Mal supports himself on the wall and manages to get to his feet. "Nope. Not at all," he says. "Just need to get him on the ship and in my bunk." He thinks of the ladder leading to his quarters and winces. "Or maybe you can just dump the two of us behind some crates and let us sleep it off," he suggests. Zoe agrees with that assessment. Between the three of them, they manage to all stand up, and after a few false starts, move in the right direction.
Trudging down the unpaved street, Mal muses over Zoe's head. "I left a little self control in a bottle in that bar. Then I left a little more in the dust in the alley." He hiccups again, and from the other side of the strong woman supporting them, Jayne answers with a belch of his own.
"When we get to Serenity," Mal solemnly vows in the vague direction of the unappealing noise, "tomorrow, I'm gonna leave some in you."
[end]
