Warmth Now

(a Firefly/Serenity fanfic - Mal/Wash slash)
written 4 November 2005 copyright © 2005-present James Sanghyun Han (a.k.a. steal this and DIE)

(a quick list of phrases and terms used: grapple - have sex fei hua - nonsense, crazy talk tie de gaowan - iron balls meimei - little sister aiya - ah!/damn!/oh jeez wo de tian a - my god, my heavens gorram[it] - goddamn[it] sly - gay houzi de jian huo - monkey's slutbag blue - horny/randy dong ma - understand hun dan - bastard, ass) - - - - - Mal raised an eyebrow when he heard the quiet knockin' on his bunk door and suppressed a smirk as he reached up to the keyboard to unlock the mechanism. Three times in as many nights? If he didn't know any better he'd say the guy was getting addicted. Sure enough, Wash climbed down the ladder, wearing the same shy, sly smile he always wore when he found himself in the captain's room, wearing the same deep red jumpsuit that Mal found all manner of appealin'. Mainly 'cause the whole thing fell off with one long swipe of the front zipper, like openin' a Christmas present. "Couldn't sleep?" "No, Mal," Wash said, staring pensively as he walked over to where the man sat arrogantly on his bed, legs spread casually. As usual, Mal was fully clothed even this late into the night. As if he has to be ready for any contingency, Wash thought ruefully. Mal was amused. So shy for someone who always initiated the grappling. "How'd things go today with Zoë?" he asked with a pointed smile. Wash blinked, his own grin ratcheting down a notch or two as he sat down next to the captain. "Ah, that woman won't have nothing to do with me, Captain; I'd've had better luck with Bester if he were still around. And I thought for sure she'd notice me once I'd shaved off my moustache." The airman was half-serious. Mal laughed. "Oh, she noticed. She told me now it's gone you look about eight years old." "What?" Wash's eyes widened in despair and then narrowed indignantly as the other man guffawed even harder. "Captain, can't you play nice?" "I told you," Mal wheezed, slapping a hand onto Wash's shoulder, "no power in the 'verse'd give you a chance with her..." "We'll see about that," the pilot threatened, nodding emphatically. Abruptly he turned to Mal with a raffish grin and landed a hard kiss on his mouth, working until he felt Mal relax but pulling away just as the man was starting to crave more. "In the meantime, Captain, I think you have a gift for me to unwrap." He put an eager hand on Mal's pants, feeling the spot where the tight fabric was being strained further by a new bulge. Mal smiled back. Always the initiator, was Wash, but he wasn't the only one with a present waitin'. The captain reached out, and with one long swipe he had Christmas under his fingers. * Although she was too weak to rise from where she was laid out on the infirmary's side counter, Zoë's voice was strong when she demanded, "What happened?" as Wash and Simon carried the captain in on a stretcher. The first mate's eyes widened as they took in the amount of blood that was on Mal's person, but her face remained placid. "Don't know," Simon said worriedly as he and Wash laid Mal on the bed and pulled away the two halves of the stretcher in a single, fluid movement. "He has a gunshot wound in his abdomen, but he couldn't have shot himself." "Fei hua. Suicide ain't the Captain's way," Zoë said dismissively/loyally as River cautiously stepped in, her body moving to a rhythm inaudible to all but herself. "Someone came aboard, did this to him." Simon nodded absently as he hurriedly pulled various surgical tools out of drawers and motioned for Wash to roll the standing tray over. "That would explain why he got into the adrenaline supply," and here the doctor shook his head in appalled wonder at the empty syringe that Wash had kicked into a corner, "but how he managed to use that on himself..." "Captain's known for his tie de gaowan," Wash said humorlessly as he passed his hands under the disinfecting light bath and wheeled the stand over. "Be careful what you wish for," River announced, shivering in a way that caused the others to look over in concern; Simon's brow furrowed as he passed the tray of tools under the light bath. "Meimei-" "Miracle got here," River interrupted, looking at the captain's face with a wistful expression. "Dreaming now. Love at first sight, across the barren dirt. Sleek curves," she described happily. Then, before any of the others were able to spend a moment on that riddle, she started screaming. As if on cue, the captain started convulsing. Simon rushed to Mal's side with a full hypodermic, yelling at Wash to take every single bag of A positive blood out of the cold unit, and Zoë did her best to calm the wailing girl with soothing words. As it was, they were all so absorbed in the crisis at hand that none of them really heard the ka-chunk-clunk of Shuttle One docking a quarter hour later, or the clatter of eight anxious feet. It was only when Kaylee gasped, "Captain!" from the doorway that any of them looked up. Holding Vera like a talisman, Jayne skidded to a halt behind the little mechanic and growled, "Told'ja they'd be here!" over his shoulder as Inara and the Shepherd hurried up to the infirmary. "Aiya..." "Simon, is he gonna be okay?" "Wo de tian a!" "He got shot? What happened here?" "Where did he find a catalyzer-" "Simon-" "Please, everyone, I need to work," the medic interjected oppressively, so deep into his surgeon mode that he didn't even look up. "I will however need blood from one of you. Thankfully I had most of you donate one or two bags worth of your own blood to the infirmary in case something like this happened," he said as he put a gloved finger inside Mal's wound, causing everyone but River to look away, "but right now Mal is taking in the last four hundred mils of the A positive, and I need another half liter. O positive would work," and Simon paused, tweezing out a piece of bloody metal from the distorted flesh, "but I used those up a while back." "So who's gonna give the blood? Didn't you record all our blood types a while back?" Wash asked impatiently. He was sitting by Mal's side, holding the man's left hand concernedly. Simon had earlier drugged the wounded captain into a deep, merciful unconsciousness. "Yes, all but Inara's - I never got any of her medical information," Simon said, too focused to notice the Companion's brief flinch. "A positive is the ideal type, and thankfully, it's one of the most common types; Wash, Zoë, Book, and I all have it. And River has A negative, which can work. Now, I can't donate since I'm doing the surgery, and Zoë's out of the question since she's injured herself-" Jayne stepped forward decisively. "Hold it, Doc, I got O, you said O would work-" "Normally yes, but in your case no. You have a rare variant," Simon replied patiently, "which is why I kept asking you in particular to donate for storage - if you ever needed a tranfusion finding a match from a non-relative would be very unlikely. In any case cross-matching techniques can alert us to possibly fatal donor-patient incompatibilities by detecting the presence of rare antigen variants in the blood, or sometimes the complete absence of the H-factor antigen base, like in the Bombay phenotype-" "Gorramit Doc, quit tryin' to make us go all cross-eyed," Jayne barked. "Who's it gonna be?" "I got A positive," Wash said quietly, his eyes on Mal's face. Book stepped forward. "I'll do it." "No, me," Kaylee said, putting a gentle hand on the Shepherd's shoulder. "Simon, you told me I got O, but it's probably the okay kind, right?" Wash let go of Mal's hand and stood up, looking defiant. "No, I have to-" "No, me!" River insisted gleefully, eager to get on whatever bandwagon the others were riding, and the discussion collapsed into a babble of competing voices. "GLAD AS I AM THAT WE ALL WANT TO SAVE THE CAPTAIN," Wash yelled, silencing the others, "I'm doing this." He paused, looking briefly at Zoë before turning back to the others. "Don't any of you argue with me," he warned, his jaw tightening visibly. To make his point, he removed his fisherman's sweater and unzipped his faded red jumpsuit enough so that he could wriggle his arms out of it and roll it down to his waist. Simon, perhaps recalling the way Mal had forced Wash out of the infirmary just hours earlier, was the first to recover and quietly said, "Thank you, Wash; if you could hold your arm like so," as he went over to where the man sat. And perhaps it was the slightly desperate, wide-eyed look on Wash's face, or the fact that they had hardly ever seen their pilot angry, but everyone, even River, remained still as stones as Simon swabbed the fair man's arm and inserted the needle. Wash refused to look at anyone. He shouldn't have made a scene, but Mal's hand had just been so cold. He did feel slightly euphoric as he watched the warm red flow out from his body through the clear tube and into a collection bag. After that he couldn't tell what flowed where or how his blood got to the captain's arm, since the doctor was running a convoluted network of tubes that included the last two bags of A positive. Nevertheless he silently willed all the blood to flow into Mal, the warmth into Mal's body now. Simon stared intently at the pilot as he checked the flow - a half liter was all he needed and at any rate that was near the maximum he could allow the man to give - but Wash showed no sign of discomfort, his gaze resolutely fixed on the constellation of dried red droplets that had turned the infirmary floor into an ominous, inverted starscape. * Mal gritted his teeth to hold back a moan as the pilot's tongue deserted his neck in favor of his chest and nipples. The captain lifted his legs a bit higher in an unspoken request, which Wash answered by driving himself in just that much harder. This time, the noise Mal was holding prisoner managed to escape as the force of Wash's thrust unclenched his teeth for him. When Mal ever got sly with a man he almost always pitched instead of catchin', and it weren't like he got sly often, so he did feel a mite awkward bein' on his back with his feet pointin' skywards somewhere above his ears. Still, Wash was too much of a pro for him to really give a good gorram. The man was moving in and out at just the right angle, somehow managing to get a hand in between their sweating bodies to gently squeeze and stroke Mal's dick in perfect rhythm to his thrusts as he kissed the captain on the mouth, on the neck, on the chest. And of course the pilot was deep inside him - Mal was all too aware of the feelings of warmth, of length, of hardness and thickness. It was too much, too much sensation. And gorramit, it wasn't enough. "C'mon, Wash, more," he snarled several times, to which Wash responded by groaning and pumping harder, stroking Mal's cock faster. A small part of the captain's mind that was still functional mused that he had never grappled with anyone where all he had to do was just lay back and try to keep his thoughts from unravelling, and yet here he was, inexorably being led to the edge with all speed. As Wash kissed Mal's face and continued to move in and out, pitching his hips back and forth, the captain's voice took on a frantic note. "Wait Wash, hold back gorramit, I'm gonna-" But Wash wasn't in the mood to do as the captain said, and he thrust harder, shoving his tongue into Mal's mouth and pumping his hand over Mal's dick more urgently. The man groaned helplessly underneath him, his body shuddering and legs twitching as he came onto his chest, his stomach, and Wash's fingers. It was all too much for the pilot, who quickly slid out of Mal, breathing hard and sighing loud as he stroked himself and came onto the other man's stomach. He would have preferred to shoot into Mal, but the captain liked to see Wash in the act. The two of them kissed hungrily for a few moments before rolling apart to lie back on Wash's bunk, exhausted. After a moment Mal stretched out an arm to offer his shoulder to Wash, who rolled over and accepted the makeshift pillow after wiping the both of them down with a nearby towel. There was something in Wash's manner that Mal was troubled by, however: something he'd started noticing the last few times; something he'd noticed tonight from the moment he climbed down into the airman's bunk. Not being one to talk circles 'round an issue, Mal asked, "Somethin' the matter today, Wash?" The pilot sighed. "Can't hide things from the Captain, eh Captain?" "Not particularly," Mal said amiably. "So what's the deal? You've been a mite off the last few nights we got together for some old-fashioned fun." Wash sighed again. "Mal... We can't do this anymore." "What, afraid you'll go sly for good? Or do you mean to say that you want me to pitch from here on out?" Mal deadpanned, wondering inwardly what could be so difficult to say that the pilot had lost his humor. "Zoë and I kissed last night, Mal." Although the change was barely detectable, Wash felt the captain's body go completely still underneath him, and he made sure to keep his head on Mal's shoulder so that his eyes wouldn't come anywhere near to resting on the bigger man's face. "Seriously, Mal. I think I might have a chance with her, and I don't want to start a relationship with a person while I'm still grappling with someone that person knows." After some silence, Mal said, "Well, I'll be a houzi de jian huo! You managed to prove me wrong, you bastard!" He actually started laughing. Wash did look up this time, staring at his bedmate's face in disbelief. "Captain?" "What, you thought I'd wouldn't approve?" Mal asked in a captainy tone as he chuckled, but it was all too apparent to him that Wash wasn't sure his own self what he thought. "Well, I-" "Or that I'd be upset? C'mon," he cajoled, jiggling the shoulder Wash's head was lying on playfully, "you yourself said that there ain't nothin' wrong with two folk gettin' together to relieve the blueness once in a while. But a chance at a relationship? That's somethin' on a whole 'nother level, and hell, I ain't gonna begrudge you that, nor Zoë 'specially. 'sall shiny." The captain got up, sliding his arm out from under Wash's head, and he started to dress in an efficient manner. Wash sat up and stared helplessly as Mal began to cover himself; in all the times they'd grappled it wasn't unusual for the visitor to return to his own bunk soon after they were done, but the fact that this departure was coming on the heels of his announcement worried Wash a bit. "Mal, you sure this is okay?" he said, looking a little lost and rumpled as the captain started pulling on his boots. Mal laughed softly. "Honestly, Wash, yeah. Besides," he reminded the man with a wicked grin, "you ain't won Zoë yet. I keep tellin' ya: no power in the 'verse," he said, chuckling knowledgeably. "And by the by, if you do anything to hurt Zoë in any way, your captain's gonna be here to hold you accountable, dong ma?" Wash swallowed; the glint in Mal's eyes, while playful, was genuinely dangerous. "Anyhow," Mal said, stomping his feet the rest of the way into his boots, "thanks for the last hump, but I gotta say you're a sneaky hun dan - I'd've done the pitchin' had I known it was gonna be our last one." He leant down, gave the speechless pilot a soft kiss on the lips, and left. Wash stared until the booted feet disappeared up the ladder and the door swung shut. He shook his head as a smile sprang to his face, and he fell back onto his bed, revelling in Mal's lingering scent and heat, fully sated in all possible senses. Mal smiled all the way back to his quarters and all the way down the ladder, and when his feet hit the floor he reached up to the keyboard and carefully locked the door behind him. He sighed ruefully, letting most of the grin drop as he noted the time on the wall clock, and he sat on his bed, staring into space. The man was lost to deep thought for a good while, but eventually he blinked his eyes rapidly and got up, going over to the corner and pulling out the drawer that housed his sink. The captain methodically brushed his teeth, making sure to get every possible angle, and once that was done he splashed some water on his face and shut the sink away before pulling out the toilet to take a much needed piss. He buttoned his trousers back up once he was done, and before he laid down on his bunk to try and catch some sleep, he removed his boots. He left the rest of his clothes on, however, because his quarters felt a mite cold, and he reckoned he could use the extra warmth. (END)

Whole Lotta Fanworks
Ganymede's Library
Ganymede's Palace