Fic: Expectations (Simon/Mal, PG-13)
Mar. 4th, 2008 04:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
allyndraTitle: Expectations
Author: Allyndra
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Simon/Mal
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon has given me hours of entertainment and a massive obessession, but he never gave me these characters. I make no profit.
Summary: You know what they say about assumptions? Mal and Simon discover things about one another.
Note: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
noandwhere for the Simon round of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
maleslashminis. The request was for tipsy!Mal, gunplay, reading/books. Structured as four double drabbles and one triple.
Thanks toxanzpet for reading it over and assuring me that it was worth posting.
Mal always forgot just how young Simon was. He wore his doctor mask so much of the time – dour and dedicated king of Serenity’s med bay – that Mal rarely looked to the face behind it. Even his connection to River seemed more like a father’s care than a brother’s affection. So when Mal saw River nudge the book in Simon’s hands, grinning up at him like a very imp, saying, “See? Girls are too smart to fall out of their perambulators. I always said you got the doofus chromosome,” Mal expected indulgence. He didn’t expect Simon to stick out his tongue.
“Fictional sources,” Simon said, poking River in the side, “are not scientifically rigorous.” He was tickling her now, and River was giggling, wild and free like the girl she was supposed to be.
They looked like a couple of kids, and all of a sudden, the fact that they were hit Mal like a punch to the gut. He wanted to take a capture of the moment, to keep it for the next time River went feng-le for days on end and Simon’s eyes went cold and ancient, like he’d been born old.
Like he’d never been a boy.
***
Simon had been raised to show his worth to the world. Not to flaunt; his parents would never be so vulgar. But he’d been taught that he had value – as a Tam, as a doctor, as a citizen of the Alliance – and it was only false modesty to hide that.
Mal had obviously been taught differently. It had taken Simon an embarrassingly long time to realize that Mal was more than merely the petty criminal and ignorant laborer he appeared to be.
Simon had just convinced River that the demons under her bunk had been banished, and he’d been too tense to sleep himself. He wandered the ship and found himself in the cockpit. He’d expected to find Wash at the helm, but Mal sat there instead. He looked ... right. Like he was born to fly this ship and captain this crew. His hands were steady on the controls, flicking from switches to keys and back to the yoke, calm and firm.
He made Simon feel safe, and it was that moment that Simon realized he had to be more than he seemed. Mal might be a petty criminal and a laborer, but there was nothing “mere” about him.
***
Mal had seen Simon’s binding cuts and bullet holes, sponging away the blood until it stained his hands bright red, but it was a whole ‘nother thing from seeing the doctor splattered with blood he’d spilled himself. It was no secret that Simon was almost as stone-cold crazy about River’s safety as the girl was about, well, everything else, but Mal thought Simon’s particular brand of insanity stopped at fretting and performing desperate medical procedures.
When a slaver had coshed River from behind and made to drag her off to his wagon, Mal’s sidearm found his hand without conscious thought. He’d have shot the hun-dan in a heartbeat, but he’d been all hunched over River, and there was no clear shot. Mal was near to shaking with frustration and anger when he saw Simon rushing toward the slaver like he hadn’t a fear in his body. He held out empty hands and said, “I’m a doctor. Just let me check that you didn’t hurt her. She’s worth more to you whole, isn’t she?” His voice was tight but level, and he stood firm under the slaver’s skeptical scrutiny.
The slaver nodded his head sharply and shifted his hold on River to give Simon access. Simon stepped close and laid one hand on River’s wrist while the other went to his waistcoat. And then the slaver was down in the dirt with a scalpel in his throat, and Simon was leaning over River, face full of worry and hands drenched in blood.
“Are you all right?” Mal asked, gun still in his hand and shiver of anger still in his gut. He knew what he expected when Simon looked up; he expected anguish, regret.
What he saw was cool defiance. “I’m fine,” Simon said, turning back to his sister.
He was.
***
Simon knew that Mal cared about his crew. One would have to be blind to miss it. Once Mal had claimed River and him as part of the crew, Simon had accepted that Mal might, perhaps, care about them as well.
But.
The expression on Mal’s face as he stared at Simon over the gunman’s shoulder wasn’t “caring.” It was desperate. Simon stared back, and he felt his stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with fear or adrenaline and everything to do with Mal’s eyes.
And his mouth. It was pressed into a thin line, and Simon wanted to change that, make it relax into the half-smile Mal wore at dinner or the proud smirk when he closed a deal. Simon didn’t even flinch when Mal’s gun blasted, dropping the crook in front of him to the ground.
“Thank you,” Simon said, eyes still on Mal’s face.
Mal shook his head. “I take care of my own.”
A few hours ago, before he’d seen the stark need in Mal’s eyes, Simon would have believed that was all it was. He didn’t say anything, though. He just nodded and watched Mal’s mouth as he smiled his relief.
***
If Mal had been asked to describe Simon in one word, “staid” might have sprung to mind. “Snuggly,” however, would not have.
Mal blamed the hooch. Simon had only made it through one tankard before he collapsed against Mal, loose and warm and about as far from staid as a man could get. His breath was hot against Mal’s neck, and Mal wondered if he could blame the hooch in the morning if he lost control tonight.
“Hey, now,” Mal said, shoving Simon more upright. “You need me to call Jayne to take you back to your bunk?”
Simon pressed back against him, fingers climbing up Mal’s chest to wind around his suspenders, one leg sliding up to pin Mal’s to the sofa.
“I’m good here,” Simon murmured. He nuzzled his way up Mal’s jaw, lips coasting over stubble and skin until they found Mal’s mouth. Simon was sweet, sweet, sweet in a way that should have been washed away by the rotgut he’d drunk, and Mal gave in. Just gave in and gave up and kissed him back, his hands sliding around Simon’s waist to haul him closer.
And Mal thought maybe the right word for Simon was “lover.”
***
feng-le: crazy
hun-dan: bastard
Author: Allyndra
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Simon/Mal
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: Joss Whedon has given me hours of entertainment and a massive obessession, but he never gave me these characters. I make no profit.
Summary: You know what they say about assumptions? Mal and Simon discover things about one another.
Note: Written for
noandwhere for the Simon round of maleslashminis. The request was for tipsy!Mal, gunplay, reading/books. Structured as four double drabbles and one triple. Thanks to
xanzpet for reading it over and assuring me that it was worth posting.Mal always forgot just how young Simon was. He wore his doctor mask so much of the time – dour and dedicated king of Serenity’s med bay – that Mal rarely looked to the face behind it. Even his connection to River seemed more like a father’s care than a brother’s affection. So when Mal saw River nudge the book in Simon’s hands, grinning up at him like a very imp, saying, “See? Girls are too smart to fall out of their perambulators. I always said you got the doofus chromosome,” Mal expected indulgence. He didn’t expect Simon to stick out his tongue.
“Fictional sources,” Simon said, poking River in the side, “are not scientifically rigorous.” He was tickling her now, and River was giggling, wild and free like the girl she was supposed to be.
They looked like a couple of kids, and all of a sudden, the fact that they were hit Mal like a punch to the gut. He wanted to take a capture of the moment, to keep it for the next time River went feng-le for days on end and Simon’s eyes went cold and ancient, like he’d been born old.
Like he’d never been a boy.
***
Simon had been raised to show his worth to the world. Not to flaunt; his parents would never be so vulgar. But he’d been taught that he had value – as a Tam, as a doctor, as a citizen of the Alliance – and it was only false modesty to hide that.
Mal had obviously been taught differently. It had taken Simon an embarrassingly long time to realize that Mal was more than merely the petty criminal and ignorant laborer he appeared to be.
Simon had just convinced River that the demons under her bunk had been banished, and he’d been too tense to sleep himself. He wandered the ship and found himself in the cockpit. He’d expected to find Wash at the helm, but Mal sat there instead. He looked ... right. Like he was born to fly this ship and captain this crew. His hands were steady on the controls, flicking from switches to keys and back to the yoke, calm and firm.
He made Simon feel safe, and it was that moment that Simon realized he had to be more than he seemed. Mal might be a petty criminal and a laborer, but there was nothing “mere” about him.
***
Mal had seen Simon’s binding cuts and bullet holes, sponging away the blood until it stained his hands bright red, but it was a whole ‘nother thing from seeing the doctor splattered with blood he’d spilled himself. It was no secret that Simon was almost as stone-cold crazy about River’s safety as the girl was about, well, everything else, but Mal thought Simon’s particular brand of insanity stopped at fretting and performing desperate medical procedures.
When a slaver had coshed River from behind and made to drag her off to his wagon, Mal’s sidearm found his hand without conscious thought. He’d have shot the hun-dan in a heartbeat, but he’d been all hunched over River, and there was no clear shot. Mal was near to shaking with frustration and anger when he saw Simon rushing toward the slaver like he hadn’t a fear in his body. He held out empty hands and said, “I’m a doctor. Just let me check that you didn’t hurt her. She’s worth more to you whole, isn’t she?” His voice was tight but level, and he stood firm under the slaver’s skeptical scrutiny.
The slaver nodded his head sharply and shifted his hold on River to give Simon access. Simon stepped close and laid one hand on River’s wrist while the other went to his waistcoat. And then the slaver was down in the dirt with a scalpel in his throat, and Simon was leaning over River, face full of worry and hands drenched in blood.
“Are you all right?” Mal asked, gun still in his hand and shiver of anger still in his gut. He knew what he expected when Simon looked up; he expected anguish, regret.
What he saw was cool defiance. “I’m fine,” Simon said, turning back to his sister.
He was.
***
Simon knew that Mal cared about his crew. One would have to be blind to miss it. Once Mal had claimed River and him as part of the crew, Simon had accepted that Mal might, perhaps, care about them as well.
But.
The expression on Mal’s face as he stared at Simon over the gunman’s shoulder wasn’t “caring.” It was desperate. Simon stared back, and he felt his stomach clench in a way that had nothing to do with fear or adrenaline and everything to do with Mal’s eyes.
And his mouth. It was pressed into a thin line, and Simon wanted to change that, make it relax into the half-smile Mal wore at dinner or the proud smirk when he closed a deal. Simon didn’t even flinch when Mal’s gun blasted, dropping the crook in front of him to the ground.
“Thank you,” Simon said, eyes still on Mal’s face.
Mal shook his head. “I take care of my own.”
A few hours ago, before he’d seen the stark need in Mal’s eyes, Simon would have believed that was all it was. He didn’t say anything, though. He just nodded and watched Mal’s mouth as he smiled his relief.
***
If Mal had been asked to describe Simon in one word, “staid” might have sprung to mind. “Snuggly,” however, would not have.
Mal blamed the hooch. Simon had only made it through one tankard before he collapsed against Mal, loose and warm and about as far from staid as a man could get. His breath was hot against Mal’s neck, and Mal wondered if he could blame the hooch in the morning if he lost control tonight.
“Hey, now,” Mal said, shoving Simon more upright. “You need me to call Jayne to take you back to your bunk?”
Simon pressed back against him, fingers climbing up Mal’s chest to wind around his suspenders, one leg sliding up to pin Mal’s to the sofa.
“I’m good here,” Simon murmured. He nuzzled his way up Mal’s jaw, lips coasting over stubble and skin until they found Mal’s mouth. Simon was sweet, sweet, sweet in a way that should have been washed away by the rotgut he’d drunk, and Mal gave in. Just gave in and gave up and kissed him back, his hands sliding around Simon’s waist to haul him closer.
And Mal thought maybe the right word for Simon was “lover.”
***
feng-le: crazy
hun-dan: bastard
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-06 07:47 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-06 03:40 pm (UTC)Thanks so much for your comments!
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-22 07:54 pm (UTC)I've never read Firefly fanfic before, but I seem to recall
This is so great! I love the change in the language in the narration to distinguish which character we're "with" at the moment.
The first section about Simon really got to me. It was spot-on, but was something I'd never really thought about personally. I adore when fanfic makes me reexamine my favorite characters!!
This was hot and just right. You really are an amazing writer. Everything I've read of yours has impressed me greatly. I guess I'll have to read more (and friend you, if you don't mind)! :-D
(no subject)
Date: 2008-03-24 05:00 pm (UTC)I have no problem with being friended, and I friended you back.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-05-21 07:58 pm (UTC)