Simon looked across the dimly lit kitchen table at Mal, his dark eyes lidded and sleepy at the corners. He smiled, which was so completely unusual for the Doctor that Mal found himself grinning back at him.

"Ahh Simon, I'd go as far as to say you've drunk your fill for one evening." Even as he spoke, Mal's vision swam and lurched with inebriation, light and colors beginning to bleed into each other, the orange glow of the room and the yellow walls and the metal, the metal that cradled them and kept them safe all became one mess of life as Serenity crept through space with them in her arms.

Simon was slightly beyond having deep thoughts such as those. He tried to look incredulous but ended up looking ridiculous by mixing indignation with the red flush of his face.

"Mal, I'm a Doctor."

"Plenty of truth to that, don't make you any less drunk."

"Drunk?" Simon hiccuped, then smiled, laughed and hiccuped again. He stared off into space for the next few minutes, during which Mal suspected a blissful nothing flowed through his head. When he came to he stood up and moved to the chair next to the Captain, where he leered forward, smelling like citrus and gin.

"Its a good feeling, all-" he wiggled his arms and head furiously as demonstration "-yeah. Cuz its like time starts and stops but there's always plenty of it, enough of time, you know? Enough time to-" Simons smile faded and he stared down at his hands. Mal thought how at that moment he looked more like a little boy then he must have ever looked. Like the little lonely boys who the other children tease for being quiet and solemn. To quiet the silence, he tipped some more of the amber liquid into his throat, where in burned in a too-good kind of way.

He'd thought Simon had quieted for good, but he spoke up again after a time, softer, sweeter: "Time enough to be somebody else, with somebody elses life, with somebody elses...normal." he glanced up at Mal and sighed. "Ok, so maybe a little drunk."

Mal laughed so deeply he made himself cough; his brain and body all lubricated with sweet sweet thank you God a'mighty alcohol. When he looked back up Simon was staring at him with a distant expression. Mal raised an eyebrow and Simon laughed slightly and looked away.

"I've never seen you do that before."

"Do what now?" Mal took another drink.

"Laugh. I've never heard you laugh. Not really."

"Oh no? Don't spose you woulda had the chance, we never exactly traded scar stories. Which I happen to have a lot of, by the by, all of them heroic and manly." he let his gaze linger over Simons brow, his delicate forhead and eyelashes. Mal had no idea what, exactly, was going on here, but it wasn't the worst thing to ever unfold, not by a long shot.

"You know, they don't teach you anything about body language in med school. The anatomy, oh, the anatomy they go over like...something holy. But they don't talk about what people are saying when they're not saying. Stuff. With their mouth. Mouths."

Mal hid a smile behind his hand by leaning his chin in his fist, but his eyes continued to sparkle and if Simon had been sober, he would have noticed. As it was he barely acknowledged the ridiculousness of his own broken speech, and he kept drifting in and out of a brain-coma state in which he stared at his hands or the table or the light without moving. He had been eyeing the purple flowers on the wall for a solid two minutes when he snapped back into himself.

"What was I saying?" he squinted with confusion.

Mal was careful to steady his voice so it didn't quiver with laughter. "You were talking about body language."

"Right right...yes. Body language. You can tell a lot about a person that way." Simon was made bold by liquor, and he reached over and took the Captain's cup right out of his hands and drank down the contents while never breaking eye contact. Mal just raised his eyebrows and smiled slyly.

"What does my body say about me?" his voice had a noticeable edge of slurred roughness to it.

"It says" Simon thought this over a minute while he swayed in his chair and made a face that suggested he was extricating very important information from a deep and cryptic well in his mind. He began again:

"It says that you're the guy in charge. A...leader. A leader of men. And that you got hurt, and didn't want to deal with people anymore, so you bought a ship and got together the few people in this verse you could stand and you....whats that word?...you....catapulted them all into space." Simon smiled and his next words were lined with sugar "Threw them as far as you could reach."

Mal poured himself another strong helping of gin. "Seems about my story."

Simon shook his head violently. "But not all of it."

Mal looked at him, his eyes twinkling. "No?"

"Nope." Simon reached out a gentle hand and touched Mal's face, almost like a child would touch, to explore and learn. He felt his way around hard cheekbones, the captain's square lips and flat nose, finally resting his hand on Mal's shoulder. Then he smiled and leaned in confidentially. "The rest is that deep down inside of Malcolm Reynolds there is....there is still a laugher." Simons eyes warmed over and he looked hollowingly into Mal's face "A laugher in space."

Captain Malcolm Reynolds was not in control of himself. He was not in charge of the synpasis that were going on in his brain, he was not, himself, sending those signals to the muscles that were currently springing into action. He wasn't in the pilot seat, at the moment, because if he had been, it was unlikely that he would have leaned forward as he had done and kissed Doctor Simon Tam. At least, he would have done it with far less ferocity and abandon, and he probably would have meditated for a moment before thrusting his tongue into his mouth. Luckily all this did was elicit a high breathy moan from Simon, which worked as some kind of animalistic libido enhancer for Mal, as he instantly found the blood draining from his brain and pooling in a much more important part of his anatomy. At some point during the preceedings, Simon slipped out of his chair and, to both of their great suprise, straddled Mal, who looked up into his flushed face, beaded with sweat and felt his cock begin to harden and strain against the fabric of his pants.

For 12 seconds, nothing happened. Both men panted and tried to force their eyes to focus through lust.

Then Simon smiled an evil smile and slithered forwards, rubbing himself against the edge of Mal's distress causing shooting stars of friction-made goodness to ignite in his brain. As retaliation, Mal unbuttoned Simon's vest and shirt, leaving them hanging open at the sides of his bare chest and stomach that were curved with the shadows of established muscles. Mal sucked him into his mouth like a vacuum, pushing Simon's back forward and licking and suckling at his nipples and stomach, swiping his tonuge in long, leisurely paths up and down his body. Simon, in turn, panted and occasionally stopped breathing only to moan or gasp, or sometimes laugh, little musical bursts of glee that danced out of him like smoke or bubbles. When he moved to relieve him of his shirt, Mal stopped him.

"Wait, not here." his slow, tipsy mind searched through possible rendezvous spots, but Mal and Simon's rooms where too far away, there was no way they could make it to either without stumbling and giggling and, if not quite waking the whole ship up, at least alerting everyone to the mischief they were up to. Somehow that did not seem like the very best plan of all time. But the only other option was....

"Come on." Mal motioned for Simon to get up, and they both stood. Mal took Simons hand and led him quickly to the control room, where he hurtled them both inside and closed the sliding door leading outwards. When he turned around, Simon was standing with all his weight on one leg, his arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.

"This is your plan? The control room? There's not even a lock on the door."

"Its not my best plan, its my only plan." Mal strode directly in front of him and got as close as he could without actually touching. "Big difference."

Without looking away, Simon undid Mal's suspenders and let them fall to his sides. He then, with teasing butterfly touches, undid the brass buttons on Mal's pants, and slid a hand between the cloth and his heated skin. He wrapped his hand around Mal's cock, making an `o' with his fingers and stroking upwards, hitting as many senstive spots as humanly possible on the way up. Mal made a noise that sounded like "GAH!" and "SIMON" both at once, and stumbled backwards into the piloting chair. Simon grinned and knelt in front of him and continued to grasp and torment, carefully watching the changes in expression that Mal went through when Simon hit the really good places, which he did often and without mercy.

His eyes completed dialated and wide, Mal stared into Simon's unwavering gaze before he bent his head and took Mal's ready cock into his mouth. He suckled and nipped and teased with teeth and breath and began to hum an undiscernable tune, letting the vibrations of his jaw and molars create an intoxicating touch as he drew his Captain closer and closer, hotter and hotter until-

"Lao Tian ye! SIMON!" Simon paused, looking upwards. He looked like annoyed and like he was going to say something as Mal tackled him to the floor, silencing him by covering his mouth with his own. He ripped the rest of the Doctors clothes off, finding Simon was just as hard as himself, even though he had barely touched the boy yet. Mal remedied that, stroking his cock like Simon had done before, but Mal had rougher hands and a domineering touch; the touch of a Captain, Simon thought as he threw his head against the floor and pushed his chest into the air, moaning and yelling nonsense into the emptiness of the metallic room. He managed to still the captains hands long enough to roll over and extract from his pocket a small tube of lubrication. Mal held the tiny tube in his enormous hand and looked disbelievingly at Simon.

"You mean to tell me you carry this stuff around all the time?"

Simon sat up and tangled his fingers into Mal's hair.

He kissed Mal's mouth, his cheek, nibbled at his earlobe as he whispered "For you, Mal. I carry it for you."

Mal stared into his eyes, dumbstruck. "You mean you been...all this time, and you never..." he looked down at the tube, then back at Simon, something sweet behind his eyes "...for me? Really?"

Simon smiled and kissed him, a long stretched-out kiss that bound them together, for a moment, with fog and mirrors. Mal prepped him, taking his time, sliding one, two fingers in and out of him until he cried out and held his breath so he wouldn't scream, and when that happened Mal gathered him into his lap and slid his cock deep into him. Both of them stilled for a moment, overcome by impulses, then, with a quiet caution, Simon started moving his hips backwards and forwards, his eyes shut closed, concentrating.

Mal followed suit, and soon both of them were thrusting and rocking in a strange opposite but in-tune unison. He refused to close his eyes, though, refused to stop looking at Simon; he was pale and young, younger then Mal but not obnoxiously so. He was just so refined, smooth and perfect, and everything he did he made look effortless, and where he was not smooth and perfect he was unique and interesting. Even the beads of perspiration on his throat as he threw his head back glistened with a different sort of gleam; it looked special on him, out of place but right at home, his heaving chest struggling to get oxygen to his brain. Mal then felt himself boiling over as Hurricane Pleasure opened its gates and poured goodness down on him, and Mal jerked and fidgeted into orgasm, with Simon yelling and bracing himself with unsteady hands against his shoulders.

Simon opened his eyes and looked at Mal, who leaned forward and touched their heads together. Simon kissed the tip of his nose and laughed, his shoulders shaking.

It often got cold in the control room, so there were a few folded up fleece throw blankets stored under a switchboard. Mal rolled over and retrieved them, throwing them over him and Simon and bunching up their discarded clothes as pillows. Simon snuggled down under the blankets but then looked at Mal, his eyes big and his brows knitted.

"Are you sure this is smart? Won't they find us in the morning?"

"Shhhh" he comforted, "I'll just doze, wake us both up before it gets too late. Dont you worry."

Simon didn't. He promptly fell like a rock into sleep, his head resting on one of Mal's sinewy arms, the other one held tight around his waist.

****

Mal had just slain the enormous quadruple-headed lizard/chicken beast, much to the chagrin of the evil Sorcoress, Mistress Layla, when through the maroon and turquoise clouds came a distinct yet unplaceable bellow:

"OH MY GOD, MY CHAIR? THEY DID IT IN MY CHAIR?! THATS...oh god...I have to go sit down...SOMEWHERE ELSE..GAAAAH....."

Wait, what?

Mal cracked open an eye. There were lights on, lots of them, light everywhere, making the brain cells cringe and whimper and the bad bad hangover machine to kick into gear.

And there was the giggling.

He sat up, blinking rapidly and looking around. He was naked, splayed on the floor, covered from the waist-down by one of the tattered blankets. Simon was no where to be seen. However, he was not alone. Zoe was crouching by lockers against the wall, her arms around her stomach, laughing so hard her whole body was shaking.

"Zoe?" his tongue was still heavy with sleep. "What...?"

"I think you just bruised my husbands brain beyond repair, sir." She looked at him for a minute, snorted, and then continued laughing.

Mal nodded and made a face. "Yeah yeah, laugh it up." He belatedly remembered-- "Simon. Where's Simon?"

"Raced out of here like a bat outta hell, last I saw. Lookin' pretty mortified too." She winked. "Maybe you ought go comfort the boy."

He pointed at her. "You keep this to yourself, understand? You and Wash. Gossip in the ranks is just about the last insubordination I can take from this rag-tag crew of filanderers."

"But we're merry, boss. Merry filanderers."

"Exactly. Bunch a savages."

Mal stood up, gathering the blanket around him, and tried to maintain as much of his dignity as he could while running out of his own control room, naked as the day he was born. He threw open the door to his room and slid down the stairs, navigating through familarity and not even needing to climb the rungs.

He was suprised when warm hands grabbed him from behind.

"Hey pretty." He felt Simon kiss his nape and nuzzle his face into the crook of his neck, growling or possibly purring as he did so. Mal turned around, looking down at a fully dressed but slightly disheveled Simon.

"They'll come looking for us." Mal warned gently.

"You're ill. Very ill. You need bedrest. All day. Possibly all night as well. Maybe even on into the next day. We'll be lucky if you make it out alive."

"That a promise, or a dare?"

Simon thought. "Probably both."