Series: MAKE ME A STONE Title: Pray there ain't no more surprises. Author: Kispexi2 Rating: R - not really explicit, but the hints are not very subtle! Pairing: Mal/Simon Betaed by: Wedjateye

WARNING SLASHFIC

* * * * *

NOTE: This story takes place shortly after the events of 'Objects in Space' but before those of the Serenity comic book series 'Those Left Behind'.

I plan to cover the events of the comics and the movie (or, rather, twist them to my own purposes!) and to continue the story from there.

Also - the full, uncensored version is here http://firefly.populli.org/archive/11/praythere.shtml

PRAY THERE AIN'T NO MORE SURPRISES.

* * * * *

“And I'll take five – no, better make that ten boxes of weaves.”

“That all?”

Simon does a quick calculation. The prices in this pharmacy are really very reasonable. He might just have enough money for ... A loud cough makes him look around. Mal is standing in the doorway, making urgent time-to-go-NOW gestures.

Simon snatches up his purchases, shoves all the coin he has across the counter and, telling the astonished assistant to keep the change, hurries out into the street after Mal.

“What-?” he begins.

“No time,” Mal interrupts. “We gotta get out of here. Seems there's a thief about.” He pats a pocket and grins before remembering the seriousness of the situation. “Feds're on the way.”

A shot rings out.

“Zao cao!”

Mal grabs Simon by the arm and drags him into a side alley. He presses himself flat against the wall and Simon, feeling faintly ridiculous, does likewise. Full of trepidation, they wait, until at last a trio of riders flashes past the end of the alley. Federal agents, like Mal said. Simon's stomach flips over.

“This way,” Mal orders, doubling back the way they came.

Blinking, they re-emerge into the sunlight of the market square. A quick scan of the scene and Mal finds what he's looking for. Transport.

“Best you get up behind me,” he tells Simon as they run over to the hitching post where half a dozen horses are idly nibbling at a bale of hay and flicking away flies with their tails. Mal unties the nearest, puts a foot in the stirrup and swings himself up into the saddle. Extending a hand down to Simon, he advises, “You jus' hang on tight.”

Simon shakes his head and unties the next horse, saying haughtily “I do know how to ride, Captain.”

Mal raises an eyebrow at that, all manner of surprised and half-expecting Simon to fall off his mount as soon as he gets on it.

But the doctor wasn't joking. He does know how to ride. He turns his horse's head, gives the beast a small dig with his heels and takes off at a gallop. An outraged cry from the horse's rightful owner has Mal urging his own horse to follow.

“Keep low!” Mal yells to Simon as more gunfire rattles around them.

“What?” Simon looks over his shoulder to ask and to his horror, he sees Mal's horse stumble. Its near front leg crumples and it goes down, sending Mal sprawling into the dust. “Oh, gou shi!”

Pulling down hard left on the reins, Simon wheels round and gallops back to where Mal is struggling to his feet. Slowing to a walk, he clasps Mal's hand and hauls him up behind him. The manoeuvre is ungainly but successful.

Mal wriggles forward and wraps both arms tightly round Simon's waist.

“Head for those trees!” he orders, in the hope that cover will confuse their pursuers. “Fast as you like.”

Once in the woods, Simon has to slow to a canter but he has the wit and the skill to weave in and out of the trees. Before long, Mal is convinced of their escape. He looks around, seeking a landmark and in the distance spots an old abandoned windmill.

He pulls out his radio. “Zoe? You read me?”

“Shi a. Trouble, Sir?”

“May have been a small problem with the locals, but we're shiny now. You got a visual on the land to the south of Belvieu? See a windmill? Bring the shuttle.”

Zoe acknowledges and Mal tucks his radio back into his coat pocket.

He's about to tell Simon to head for the meet point when he realizes his medic has already turned the horse in that direction. Mal's pleasantly surprised by his competence. Seems like the boy's been learning after all.

Mal decides he can relax.

And that's when he notices. Really notices. The way Simon is bouncing up and down in the saddle. Rising and falling. Mal tries not to see the way the muscles in his thighs are working and determinedly avoids looking down at his ass, resolutely fixing his gaze on the windmill instead. Trouble is, that don't stop him feeling it. Simon's body moving in his arms. Against him. Between his thighs. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“Wo de tian!” Mal moans, closing his eyes. “You gotta do that?”.

“Shen me?”

“All that jiggin' about.”

“Are you criticizing my horsemanship?” Simon demands.

“Hell, yes!” Mal exclaims, wondering why he ain't let go of the boy if he feels that uncomfortable. “Men ain't supposed to ride like that. Fancy ladies, mayhap – but not men.”

Simon raises his chin defiantly. “For your information, I learnt to ride at one of the best stables on Osiris,” he declares. “And I'll have you know I have a very good seat. Exceptional. All my instructors commented on it.”

Mal groans. “I bet they did,” he mutters under his breath as the contours of said exceptional seat brush against his inner thighs over and over again.

“What did you say?”

Oh God. Now Mal's body's betraying him.

“Nothin',” Mal assures him, trying to pull back a tad. “You jus' concentrate on gettin' us to that windmill in one piece.”

Simon looks back at him over his shoulder. “Not afraid of taking a tumble are you, Captain?”

If he weren't so prim and appropriate, Mal would swear Simon's doing this deliberately.

To his relief, Mal's distracted from the unsettling thought by the sight of the shuttle landing up ahead of them.

* * * * *

“Might wanna rethink your plans there, Cap'n,” Kaylee tells Mal cheerily when she runs into him outside the bathroom. “Shower circuit fuse is blown and we ain't got no replacement. 'Fraid there's only gonna be cold water till we reach Sulis.”

Mal shrugs. “Gotta wash the dust off, mei-mei.”

He don't mind cold water. And, given the fevered thoughts he's been having all afternoon and evening, it might well be a blessing.

Kaylee shudders and laughs. “Simon must be rubbin' off on you!”

Mal's eyes go wide, his need to get under that cold water even more pressing now.

“You know,” Kaylee continues, glad of an excuse to talk about her favourite subject. “Him being so clean an' tidy all the time. Makes the rest of us feel kinda dirty, don't he?”

Mal tries not to choke.

“Really got no idea what you're talking about,” he mumbles, sliding the shower room open.

“Jus' meant the both of you seem awful keen on gettin' cleaned up,” Kaylee explains with a frown. “Simon was the exact same earlier. An' he wasn't bothered about the cold water either.”

“Hope you gave him more peace than you're givin' me,” Mal snaps and locks the door firmly behind him.

* * * * *

Simon can't sleep. And it's no good trying to convince himself that his restlessness stems from his all-too-close brush with the Alliance today. Not when all he can think about is being encircled by Mal's arms and the feel of his body hot and hard against his back.

He throws back his quilt and gets out of bed. If the cold shower didn't work, maybe some exercise will. He pulls on a vest and steps out into the corridor, heading for the cargo bay. A few sets with Jayne's weights ought to do the trick.

He's in the commons area when he first hears it. Music. Liquid, silver notes. An achingly beautiful melody. His first thought is that River must have somehow got her hands on a flute. She used to play when she was very young. Before she decided the instrument presented too few challenges to hold her interest. But this tone is softer than that of a flute. Breathy almost. Sad.

“River?”

The music continues, swelling to fill the whole of the cargo bay as Simon draws nearer to its source, so sweet and clear now that he has to pause and breathe it in.

“River?”

Abruptly the music stops.

“She ain't here. You lost her?”

Mal appears from behind a stack of packing crates, with some kind of instrument that Simon doesn't recognize in his hand.

The medic's jaw drops. “That was ... you?” he asks, incredulous. “That was you playing ..?”

Mal grins. “You di'n't imagine it was Jayne, didja?”

“No.” Simon is still staring in astonishment. “But ... well, it's just ... I'd never have thought ... Was it really you?”

By way of an answer, Mal lifts the penny whistle to his mouth again, purses his lips around the mouthpiece and starts to play. His fingers are deft and sure as they move up and down the length of the instrument, Simon notices, and surprisingly fluid. He has one thumb pressed against the back, close to the head, steadying it.

Simon shifts uncomfortably and licks his lips.

“That was lovely,” he says, meaning it. “You play very well.”

“Well, once you learn how to blow right, the rest comes easy enough,” Mal replies, the suggestion of a twinkle in his eyes. “'Course, you gotta work on your fingerin' too.”

“Yes,” Simon murmurs, unconsciously backing away as Mal starts walking towards him, “I'm sure I've heard that said.”

Mal taps the whistle lightly against Simon's chest. “An' you gotta practice. Can't hope to perform well if you don't practice.”

Simon swallows. “And, uh, do you? Perform, I mean?” Even he hears the unsteady edge to his voice.

“Used to,” Mal confides, moving a fraction closer. “Long time ago. 'fore the war. Ain't had much opportunity since.”

Simon would tell him that's a pity because he's really very talented if only he were sure that it's music they're talking about. Because if they're not – well, in that case, he can only guess at how talented Mal is. Guess. Imagine. Fantasize.

“Besides,” Mal continues, moving nearer still, “it ain't so much fun when you got no-one to play with.”

Simon realizes Mal is watching his face and that there's something close to a question in his eyes. Not knowing how to answer it, he blurts out the first thing that comes into his head.

“I had no idea you were so musical, Captain.”

Is it his imagination or does Mal flinch a little at Simon's use of his title? It's hard to tell because now Mal is smiling one of those bright, hard smiles of his. The kind of smile he hid behind yesterday at dinner when Inara told everyone she'd decided to leave Serenity. The sort that's all cold eyes and teeth and which could so easily turn into a snarl.

“Reckon there's a lot we don't know about each other, Doc.”

Simon clears his throat. “I – uh – I should check on River.”

“Yeah,” Mal says slowly, pocketing his penny whistle. “You go do that. Wou'n't want anythin' untoward happenin'.”

* * * * *

Back in his bunk, Mal can think of a dozen reasons not to go to Simon's. Not the least of which is his near miraculous talent for turning relationships sour. Case in point: Inara.

But, the gathering ball of desire heating his groin argues, this ain't about a relationship. It's about sex, nothing more. It ain't like Mal wants to wake up every morning with Simon's body warm against his own. And he sure as hell don't wanna be worrying about how to make Simon happy or about how to stop him from leaving one day too.

No, that ain't what Mal wants at all. He wants simple. Easy. In and out.

Liar, a little voice at the back of his mind whispers as Mal puts his foot on the bottom rung of his ladder.

He ignores it.

Just like he ignores the prick of conscience that reminds him how dependent on him Simon already is. How lonely he must be with only a moon-brained sister to call family. How the weight of caring for her and trying to fix her must grind him down.

Hell, the boy's already screwed up. Mal's bedding him can't hardly make it any worse.

* * * * *

Simon had almost forgotten what it felt like to be held that way. And now it's all he can think about.

But it would be madness to go to Mal, he tells himself. Not because he thinks the Captain will be offended, or even that he'll turn him down. The more Simon thinks about it, the more certain he is that Mal was flirting with him earlier. No, what's worrying Simon is the thought of crossing a line that's kept him safe so far. Safe. Whole. Sane. If he admits to wanting Mal, where will that leave him? Even more at his mercy than he is now. Simon will stop being his own man and become ... what? A plaything? A convenience?

He can't. He won't. He doesn't want Mal's arms round him. Doesn't want to feel the heat of him, the weight of him.

He doesn't, he doesn't.

* * * * *

They meet in the kitchen.

Mal smiles knowingly. “Somethin' you need, Doc?”

Simon swallows, nods.

“Gonna tell me what that might be, or you gonna make me guess?”

Simon looks down at his feet.

“I think you know.”

There ain't gonna be any game-playing with Simon, Mal realizes with relief. No will he/won't he fei hua. No wiles. No promises and no demands.

Mal's smile widens. He closes the gap between them and wraps one arm around Simon's waist.

“Reckon I do at that,” he says softly, pulling him closer and kissing him hard.

It's not like a first kiss at all, Simon thinks, as Mal's tongue invades his mouth. There's no hesitancy, no persuasion in it. Nothing but certainty and fire.

“Know what I want, Simon Tam?” Mal asks when at last he pulls away. “I wanna take you to the edge, push you over an' watch you fall. Sound like a plan?”

“Oh God, yes,” Simon breathes against his throat, feeling his knees start to give way.

“Hey,” Mal chides. “We ain't started yet.”

Simon tries to focus. “We haven't?”

Taking hold of his shoulders, Mal turns him round and points him towards the crew dorm. “My bunk. Now.”

* * * * *

“Thought you were leaving.”

Simon awakes with a start. It takes him a moment or two to remember where he is and with whom. A moment longer to process Mal's words. He glances at Mal's bedside clock. 03:20.

“Go. Go now.”

Oh. Of course. Simon's clearly outstayed his welcome.

“None of it means a damn thing.”

Well, Simon supposes he didn't really expect it to. He's not stupid. The best thing would be for him to creep back to his bunk and in the morning they can pretend this never happened. If he can just get out from under the weight of Mal's arm.

It tightens round him, pulls him back against the warm curve of Mal's body. With a sigh, Simon nestles into it. He could stay like this forever.

“Very much alone out here.”

Mal's eyes fly open. What in the name of suoyou de dou shidang? Then he realizes that the voice he heard was his own and his panic subsides. Only to be replaced by horror, shame, guilt. Yesu tamade - Simon's in his bed. Still in his bed. And with Mal's arm wrapped possessively around him. Zao cao! Why is Mal so rutting weak? This is exactly what he didn't want.

He pulls away, sits up, rubbing a hand distractedly through his hair.

“Sorry. Did I wake you?” Simon asks, sitting up too.

“No. I -” Mal loses track of what he was going to say because Simon is smiling at him. The boy has a truly beautiful smile. Kinda hard not to smile back.

No. This has got to stop. Mashang.

“Think you best be gettin' back to the passenger dorm,” Mal grunts, avoiding eye contact because he can't bear to see what effect his words might be having on Simon. If he's shrinking back hurt, it'd be bad enough, but if he ain't ... Tianna, Mal don't want to be thinking on that.

“Mal-”

Mal lies down again and rolls over onto his side with his back to Simon. “I ain't lookin' for anything from you, son,” he declares.

“No,” Simon acknowledges quietly. “I know.”

He dresses as swiftly as he can. Tries not to look back at Mal when he starts climbing the ladder.

Tries not to care when Mal doesn't move.

* * * * *