Mal. Inara/Simon. Angst and Woe. Rated PG-13. Set a little after "Objects in Space".

Mostly I'm posting this here because I want it in my little "archive", but I have lost all judgment on the quality. Mostly because it's a bit of a kink of mine, this constellation. Maybe someone else'll enjoy it, too. *g*

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I Spy

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He doesn't mean to watch.

He does.

He does mean to watch and catch them say something silly, something fancy and Core-like that he can mock. Startle them out of this too-close hunch over the galley counter.

But with these two, he shoud've expected them not to do as he plans.

Takes him half a second to even process what he's seeing, so quick and fluid does it happen.

Too-close and closer.

One moment it's tea and the next Inara is leaning over to kiss the boy. Lips and...

And.

No.

There's a pull to storm in when the sight really hits him. Stomp in, make noise, stop this. A barely formed instinct to walk out of this sudden lurch in his ribcage. The hot-cold-hot that flash-floods his skin.

But he doesn't because it's Inara that started it and he can't quite catch his breath to say something. He's caught, poisons himself with the picture.

Simon's hands come up to her face, trickle over her hair like so much rainwater. Almost perfect except for where it's Simon doing it and Inara smiling into the kiss.

Kiss.

His eyes strain a little from staring without blinking and his teeth hurt, so he blinks and relaxes his jaw a mite and tries to fight down the flush and the bile. He chest doesn't want to expand for his lungs. The only thing really hurting is his hand gripping the doorway. Really.

He's good at silent surprise. Has had practice.

War and the like.

It's a slow thing, and all matter of tender and sweet and they're both making little noises like pleasure. Such a look of relief on the doc's face. Inara is more like desperate. Gripping tighter, pulling closer, mewling. Wanting.

So gorram beautiful together.

Kind of like he thought they might kiss. Except it's not them, it's Simon and she was supposed to be leaving and he's sliding her robe over her shoulder and he has to turn away from this.

Can't. Watch.

It doesn't take much to face the other way, lean against the metal and hunch over a little.

Deep breaths. One, two. Nothing shuddery. Just breaths. Deep breaths.

Something keens. It feels like shame or humiliation and dinner not sitting right in his stomach. Wasn't supposed to happen. Should've seen it coming. She's always sticking up for that boy. Noble, brave little hero, unfit to survive but for the sheer determination.

Pretty little man, never knows what to say but ain't ever said the wrong thing to her.

It's no wonder she doesn't want to hear it from him.

His heart has taken up racing, skin red like he's too warm. But he's back upright and tries hard to concentrate on the rush of blood and not on the whatever noises coming from the galley, which he's walking away from and not turning back to and he's being very quiet.

If they notice the hiss of his bunk, he's down and hidden too quick to tell.

There's no plan for what to do. Shouldn't be a plan. Not his to want or have or not let go.

But that ain't ever counted.

She fucks people for a living and it's still never... it's different because she kissed him and he's not paying her and she wanted it.

Unfair.

And the seeing. It's another thing entirely than the imagining. The seeing leaves pictures seared in his head. Gonna stay there.

One hand reaches out to dial down the heating. Let it get cold and bleed away the pull in his head and hist chest and his groin, saying that he's just lost her before he ever had a chance not to say anything.

That he's not good enough to break rules for.

That he wishes he was still up there watching.

END.