Warning: If you object to sex toys and taking your own pleasure, I'd skip this one. (ie warning for vibrators and masturbation)

Spoilers: Inspired by a line in Serenity (BDM not pilot), but not really spoilery unless you are utterly pure. Takes place between Objects in Space and the movie.

Notes: Much thanks to emeraldsedai for an excellent beta, discussion, encouragement, the title and the ending.

Disclaimer: Firefly and all related elements, characters and indicia (c) Mutant Enemy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television, 2003. All Rights Reserved. All characters and situations -- save those created by the author for use on this website -- are copyright Mutant Enemy Productions and 20th Century Fox Television.

***

When Inara suggested that she take matters into her own hands, Kaylee was pretty sure this wasn't what she had in mind. But a girl's got needs. And thankfully she's also got a door that locks. She's pretty sure no one else knows how to override the codes.

There are all manner of useful things a talented mechanic can do with a few odds and ends. And imagination. Kaylee has never lacked imagination. Though her mama'd wished otherwise when at nine years old Kaylee went to work on a brand new idea for restructuring the stove on a day when there was important company coming over for supper. The stove had worked like a dream when she'd finished up -- one whole week later.

Kaylee saw her first ship sail off into the sky when she was a bitty thing, and ever since then she had imagined what it would have been like to go with them, to feel the whoosh of breaking atmo and floating in zero G. In her daydreams, home was cool metal under her feet and a warm engine steadily thrumming in time with her heartbeat. And a few years after that she added a shuai fella by her side and in her bed at night. Two and a half out of the three weren't bad.

For now she'd just have to make do with imagination and batteries.

Her imagination don't even have to take her all that far these days. Not since she'd been unable to sleep one night and wandered kitchenwards for a snack. She knows her ship so well she can make her way in the dark without hardly paying attention. Unless there's something ain't there usually. And that night, the something had been Simon. She rounded a corner with a spring in her step and her mind elsewhere and slammed into something warm. She found a bicep to steady herself on, and his hand found her elbow. He was so close she could smell chamomile on his breath. Even in the half-light she could see his blush spread down his neck and past his collar bone. Her eyes lingered on a nipple. He quickly let her go, and took a step back, clearly flustered in his apology. She can't quite remember what he'd said; he had been wearing pajama pants and not much else.

Sometimes reality's even better than what her mind could come up with.

Though imagination always could add a bit of a boost. She licked her lips and imagined she had had more momentum, that she had slammed into him and found him beneath her, betwixt her thighs and out of breath. Or that he had crashed into her, pressing her between his body and the deck plates, hot and cold. He'd be apologetic and insist on checking her over for injuries, convinced that her breathing short was medical rather than her response to the feel of him flush against her. Gentle and concerned, his hands would examine her for any trace of hurt. He has nice hands. Real nice. She wants them on her, over her, in her. She remembers his ghosting touches, despite the meds, checking the wound on her belly. She licks her lips and traces her scar, imagining other hands and lips caressing lower and lower and lower. Her eyes close, an image of a dark head between her thighs flashes behind her eyelids, sending a honeyed-sweet jolt pulsing though her. One hand travels to where she is wet and aching, the other clutches for purchase on her blanket, wishing her fingers are tangled in his hair, pulling him closer and closer and closer. Wants to be riding his mouth and bucking and squirming against him, instead of against her own fingers.

She's been taking matters into her own hands a lot these days.

She slides in another finger and rubs her thumb against her sweetest spot. It still isn't enough. Sighing, she withdraws her hand, sliding slicked fingers up under her pajama top to circle her nipple slow-like, akin to screwing in a bolt. Each turn makes her nethers tighten just a little bit. But something still ain't coming together quite right. She whimpers, bringing her hand from her breast to her mouth, licking her fingers clean with a swirl of soft tongue and then slowly sucking. A swift bite sends a pull straight to the warmth curling low in her belly.

She needs something inside her right now.

She dries her hand off on her top and without getting up reaches down and fumbles blindly in a box under her bed. She pushes aside the fabric she knows to be shirts and bras before grasping something cool and hard and pulls it out. She thinks about bringing her toy to her mouth to slick it with spit, but decides that's not gonna be needed tonight. She knows from the lack of friction in rubbing her thighs together that she is very near to dripping wet.

She runs her fingers down the sparkly pink ridges to flick the switch on the base, and it purrs to life. She smiles triumphantly, catching the tip of her tongue between her teeth. She's real good with machines, especially those she's made herself. She brings her vibrator down between her nethers, where it thrums, sending a pleasant tingling from her head to her toes. She rubs herself against it, sliding its hardness along her folding parts before slowly slipping the tip inside her. She imagines Simon's face above her, watching tenderly, as she pushes it deeper, relishing the feel of it stretching and filling.

She wants to touch his mouth, wants his fingers pressing into the flesh of her hips.

A bit more pressure and the vibe sinks further in. She uses her index finger to flick the switch from thrum to pulse and then flicks her own pleasure switch back and forth and whimpers. She needs more friction. Grips the base, finesses it out in a slow pull that seems like forever and ever, before adjusting for another slow slide. She wiggles slightly, searching for where it fits just right.

Finally, like attaching the last part of an engine, everything falls into place right where it should be. She comes to life, hips bucking wildly as she works it swiftly in and out, increasing the finest kind of ache on the feel-good side of pain. A few more thrusts and her insides tighten around the pulsing, drawing it deeper still and she feels all her insides hum. A twist and another deep twinge- causing thrust and she knows her mouth is open and gasping but she can hear not a single moan. She's thrumming and it feels like she's inside her engine, inside the heart of Serenity and she's just initiated hard burn. Her blood pounds in her ears, drowning out passion-hazy cries.

As she breathes deep she feels like she's been reduced to nothin' but a messy heap of wires and bits. She sinks back into the tangle of her sheets and pillows and the sweat cools on her skin.

She starts, surprised, at a sharp banging. It's followed by a familiar hollerin' of her name, muffled slightly by the locked door.

"Kaylee? You okay?"

"Just shiny captain," she calls out, loud enough for him to hear.

"You ain't dying?" He sounds real concerned.

"No captain. Bad dream, is all. And it's over now, nothing you need mind." He's been real solicitous since Jubal Early, and she feels a bit bad 'bout her little white lie, but the truth would give him an uncomfortableness a lot greater than her own in the telling.

"You want me to come down there?"

She quickly eases the vibrator from between her legs and shoves it under a pillow. "Thanks for the offer, captain, but I'll be just fine. Promise."

"Nothing you need?"

"Nope." Not unless you can buy me the stuff to soundproof my room, she thinks. "Maybe I'll just go get me a cuppa tea to calm me down."

"Good plan. Chamomile will put you right back slumbering like a babe in arms."

"Yeah. Well, have good sleep!"

"You too, little Kaylee."

She pulls on a pair of threadbare cotton pajama bottoms and waits until she heard the faint whoosh of Mal's door open and close before climbing the ladder and stepping out into the hall. A cuppa tea sounds real nice.

And who knows, maybe Simon's having trouble sleeping too.