Disclaimer: Not mine, no money. Thanks to Jacqui for beta, to Rion for being challenging and inspirational.

Premise: Written in response to a challenge from Rion to write a set of sexual encounters between Jayne and Kaylee, limiting each to a single page of text – in other words, “quickies”. When you live on a space ship with seven other folks, privacy comes at a premium and creativity is an asset. Feedback, please, dear readers. I'll grovel, really I will.

When: Set in the weeks immediately following my series Waited Long Enough. Needless to say, NC17/R

Quickies 6: Swingin’

There's a job the next day and the crew of Serenity have turned in except for Wash, who's standin' watch up on the bridge.

Kaylee can't sleep. She's been watching Jayne quietly cleaning his guns on the galley table, entranced by the way he handles each part, the process completed with a focus and sensuality that surprises her. She could watch his big hands swab and strip and oil and reassemble the weapons all night long, his face intent and serene.

The merc looks up from his work and sees her studying him. "Can't see what ya get outta watchin' me do this. Why don't ya git on ta bed, girl?"

"If I could sleep, Jayne, I'd be sleepin'." Pretty obvious. "Besides, that looks interestin'."

Her eyes are twinklin' and she grins mischeviously.

He's been cleaning a disassembled pistol, pushin' the stiff swab in and out of the barrel and her remark makes him consider what the process looks like. "Huh…"

She stands and takes the barrel and swab from him and lays both on the table, then leads him down the short corridor back to the engine room. They push the door closed and she's in his arms. This is her temple, her sanctum. Her body fires with the pulsing of Serenity's engine and he knows it.

Jayne kisses her so hard she tastes the coppery flush of blood in her mouth. His mouth feeds hungrily on hers, he’s tearing at her coveralls, peeling her like a ripe fruit. She yields to him, opens to his hands.

Off go her pink flip-flops and she's out of her piled clothing. She buries her face in his chest, biting, nuzzling, inhaling him as her hands scrabble with his belt and fly. She finally gets his zipper down over the bulge that strains it and he's free, urgent.

He sweeps her book out of the hammock and sets her rump right on the edge. Puts her at just the right height for him. He kneels to tongue her clit, laps at the sweet wetness of her center, then stands and drives himself home into her. Their bodies reciprocate, her hammock the perfect swing to carry her back onto to him with each mighty thrust.

He can feel her tighten, knows her climax is close and that she will take him with her. The synergy of Kaylee and Serenity's drive are too much and he's been without her for too long to last forever. They stifle their cries of pleasure as best they can, hers high and keening, his a gut-deep groan. Better not to awaken the rest of the crew, after all.

In afterglow, a dazed, happy Kaylee grins at Jayne and pats the hammock fondly. "An' you called it a swingin' death trap."

Jayne nods, panting. "Yep, I did. Handy thing, that hammock.”

“So, is this gonna happen every time I start cleanin' my guns?"