The sun has set and you're at your usual place by the bar. It's been a slow night so far, but even so, the air is mildly smoky. It's not too thick to breathe yet. You hope you'll be gone before it gets that bad.
Still, you've had worse evenings. You like this town. It's better than most you've seen, and the bars are decent. They attract a certain kind of traveller, those who usually wouldn't stick around after a job. You've set yourself up well here, made a good deal with the owner. You're well-liked and the venue suits you.
The drinkers here at the moment are mostly locals. The few new ones aren't worth your attention. Instead of trying to catch someone's eye, you listen to loud, bragging stories and the occasional brash laugh. You smile into your glass, bored but too disciplined to show it. You cover the boredom with a slow sip of your drink. The beer here is surprisingly good. It's one of the reasons you chose this bar to set up your trade.
Behind you, the door bangs open and you turn slightly. Then you straighten as they walk into the room. They fill up the space, even though they're just a handful of people. You've never seen a group with such presence. They're the best prospects you've seen tonight. The best you've seen in a long time. Looking at them makes you smile, this time genuinely.
Over your beer, you casually look them up and down. There are five of them, some comfortable in the bar, some not so much. The one in the brown coat is is clearly the leader, and you assess him briefly. But no, he's as likely to take what you have to offer as he is to get cozy with the Feds. Doesn't take much to see he fought Independent in the war.
The woman is next. Curly dark hair, eyes evenly spaced and wary. Independent too. Probably fought with the leader. She moves in a straightforward way, like she expects everyone to get out of the way when they're in her path. It's startlingly sexy, almost enough for you to fix your bets on her. But then you see the way she looks at the blond man, and you know there's no chance. You sigh surreptitiously into your glass.
The pretty boy looks like he'd rather be anywhere other than this bar. Or the whole town. He doesn't even seem to entirely like his companions, although occasionally he sidles close to the leader. You're not even going to try with this one.
You turn your gaze to the big one. You always save the biggest ones for last. You'll admit, after enough drinks, that the big ones are a weakness. He's looking around the room, but he walks close to the leader. He's the muscle of the group, though you wouldn't bet that he could necessarily outshoot the woman. Hell, you might even pay to see that kind of set-up, and you're not one to part with coin easily.
He's looking at you now, and you hold his gaze for a few minutes. You reach an understanding, and you're not disappointed when he walks past you, heading for a table in a darker corner of the room. He'll be back.
The table they choose has a good view of the whole place, and walls on two sides. As they sit down, you wonder what it is they're worried about. Feds, most like. Not that they ever stop by this bar. It's clear that the Alliance isn't welcome in here. The owner shuts down every Unification Day, claiming there's nothing to celebrate. People around here, they don't argue with him.
Marcy goes over to take their drink orders,
and you can
almost hear them commenting on the rarity of a serving girl who isn't
selling her body. The place might not look like much from the outside,
but inside they try to make it decent. Marcy's pretty too, and she
gets the men, and sometimes the women, to drink more. She more than
earns her pay.
You stay seated at the bar as they drink the first round. The leader -- Captain, probably -- relaxes a little, and so does the woman. The big one and the blond one bicker with each other, and the pretty one drinks slowly and looks like he wishes he could get gone. You think maybe the captain is getting some sly, secret laugh out of making him stay.
You're talking to the bartender when he makes his move. You don't see the big one leave their table, but you feel the not-so-subtle shift of air behind you. You turn, smiling a little.
He doesn't waste time with preliminaries. "How much?"
You look him up and down, liking what you see even more now that he's close up. He's taller than you, not that you're particularly small, and you have to tilt your head to meet his eyes. You negotiate a price and he pays you half up front. Then you help him carry the drinks he ordered back to his table.
He doesn't ask your name. You don't offer it.
You set the drinks down on the well-finished table and smile when the blond man reaches out to grab one. Someone clears his throat, and you turn. Ah. The captain is looking a mite pissy, but you think maybe that's his regular look. He ignores you and says,
"Jayne. You wanna maybe introduce us?"
Jayne leers down at you, and grabbing your arm, he pulls you close. "Everyone, this here's my bit of fun for the night."
You laugh. How blunt.
The woman and her man look disgusted but not surprised. The pretty boy makes a face and turns back to his drink. The captain shrugs. "And here I was thinkin' we were what made your night fun." He dismisses you with the words, and you doubt he'll look at you the rest of the night.
Jayne grabs his drink and chugs part of it down before he speaks to you. "Now, I'm gonna have a few drinks here first."
You nod and smile. He hands you a drink of your own.
You end up sitting on his lap.
The conversation at the table picks back up. You don't pay too much attention to what is being said, but you think the blond one is telling jokes or amusing stories. Jayne sometimes laughs. When he does, he grins at you, clearly having a good time.
When Marcy comes by for more drink orders, Jayne orders another for you. Two drinks later, you're straddling him and rocking minutely. His hand is on your ass. You've always been told you have a great ass. Jayne seems to be enjoying it, so you press back into his hand a little.
His eyes are starting to glaze.
There's a cough from behind you, and you turn a little. The captain is a bit fuzzy around the edges, but he's still frowning.
"Think maybe you and your -- fun -- are gettin' a little personal out here in public, Jayne?" He keeps his eyes fixed on Jayne.
You turn your head and smirk into Jayne's shoulder. You move your hips a little more. It nearly makes you laugh when Jayne tenses up underneath you.
"You're makin' the doc a touch uncomfortable." The captain's tone is sincere concern and rebuke. On a hunch, you turn around. The pretty boy is looking angrily at the captain. Even in the dim light, it's clear his cheeks are flushed. Ah. Pretty boy is the doctor. The doctor is here because the captain is here. You think if he really cared about the doctor's comfort, he'd encourage him to leave.
You rock your hips harder.
"Doc's just pissy 'cause he ain't ever gonna get this kind of tasty." Jayne sounds a little strained. You press your hand above his heart to feel it beat.
"I notice you had to pay for it, ape." The doctor's tone is haughty. How very unsurprising. It's almost enough for you to hand Jayne back his money, just to spite that kind of snobbery. This doctor probably only considers a fully trained Companion good enough to spend money on. You sneer. You hate snobs. People think money and fancy schooling make them so much better.
You wonder briefly what he's doing out here with these kinds of people.
Jayne doesn't respond to the doctor's goading. You're working your hand under his shirt. He lets you for a few minutes, then abruptly he's pushing you off him and standing. "You gotta place?"
You nod. You leave the rest of them behind, walking away with Jayne's hand still on your ass.
The place isn't pretty, but it serves its purpose. It's lit mostly by candles. Electricity is expensive and the soft glow of candles hides some of the shabbiness. The floors are rough wood, but you have thick, handwoven rugs. You got them in trade from a female client once, in your earlier days. You obsessively clean them every month, leaving them hanging in the sunshine afterwards. The colours have faded, but you still love those rugs.
You're just through the door when Jayne starts unbuttoning his pants. You push his hands away. "Let me."
He does, a kind of bemused look on his face. His arms hang at his sides, almost like he's not sure what to do with his hands. It's likely no one has undressed him before. Smiling, you undo the belt and the buttons, and then you push him down into a low, reclining chair. It's the most comfortable thing in here, and it better be. You paid dearly for it.
Straddling him, you tug off the belt and drop it carefully on the floor. His hands grab your upper arms, but he lets go as you slide down his body. When you're on the floor, you get to work on his boots. The laces are thick with dried mud and you wonder what kind of job he and his crewmates had today. The knots take a while to unravel, and you think he probably wouldn't have bothered with taking his boots off, had he gone to bed drunk and alone.
While you're working, his hand slides into your hair, grasping a little. It makes you glad you keep your hair a little longer than is strictly necessary. It might mean extra work keeping it free of lice, but you like the feel of fingers tugging through it.
When his boots finally slide off, you set them aside carefully. Reaching up, you grasp the edges of his pants and pull down gently. He leers at you as he raises his hips. Then his pants are off, folded neatly by your hands in an automatic move.
Looking him over, you grin. He has nothing underneath his pants but the natural. He's been hard for a while, since you started teasing him in the bar. He'd felt large underneath you, and it's gratifying that you guessed right.
You stroke him lightly with one hand for a minute, then you reach up to push his shirt off. He shakes his head. "Leave it for later."
You nod. His hands are on your shoulders, and you don't bother getting up. It's obvious what he wants. Jayne is clearly not a man versed in subtleties, but you're used to that. You move in a little closer between his knees.
He hisses when you lick along the length of his cock, and his hand slides back into your hair. You take your time, teasing a little, but when his hand tightens, you suck the head into your mouth. Bracing your hands on his thighs, you work your tongue around him as your lips stretch. He tastes like dirt and sweat, and again you wonder what kind of job he had today. You imagine him, lying down in mud, his gun in his hand. He's on look-out, watching over his captain as some kind of deal goes down. When you close your eyes, you can almost see it.
Under your hands you can feel the tickle of coarse hair and the roughness of old scars. You've done this hundreds of times, but never for someone so covered in proof of his profession. You'd like to see the patterns his scars make, but that would be an indulgence for later. This is not the time to be thinking about your body and your wants.
Pushing away your fascination with the textures under your hands, you refocus on how he feels in your mouth. Hot, a familiar kind of weight against your lips. Smooth skin that pushes against your palate, that leaks a bitter fluid into your mouth. When you let your teeth scrape across his flesh, he twitches and groans. You do it again and he pulls you closer, pushing himself into your throat.
You swallow. His fingers clench in your hair.
You draw back a little, sucking hard. One of his legs wraps around your back.
He pulls you close again, holding you still. You draw in a hasty breath as he pushes you down, and then he's pumping into your mouth. Your nose is pressed close into thick hair and he's rotating his hips, pushing further inside incrementally. You can't breath, but it's sending shivers of awareness down your body. You keep sucking as best you can until he pulls you away slightly.
Dragging in another quick breath, you try to smile around his flesh. He's watching you, mouth open and panting. When you meet his eyes, you go back down, letting him push back into your throat. You're swallowing around him when he starts to come, so you pull back slightly and feel the sting of hot liquid against your palate.
You swallow again and he pants. You pull away gently and he grunts.
You rest your head on his thigh for a few minutes. Your tongue traces the scars within easy reach, and you wonder if he can feel it. When his hand loosens, you push yourself up. He's sprawled on the chair, his eyes closed. They open when you step away, and he grins. "Goin' somewhere?"
"Not far." You gesture to the cheap, crane-patterned screen in one corner, then move to step behind it. There's a small bath and a bowl of water waiting for you, right where you left them. After carefully concealing the money Jayne gave you earlier, you undress. Then you sponge yourself clean. You washed earlier, but it had been a few hours in the bar before you found a decent customer, and the town was dusty. The water sluices down your body, turning a faint brown as it travels.
When you're satisfied you're clean, you step out from behind the screen. Jayne is still lying on the chair, and you go to him. He watches you with eyes half-open. The grin gets wider. Reaching down, you pull him up. Walking him towards the bed, you push off his shirt.
There's a long scar across his chest, and you finger it. Bumpy and smooth, a hairless patch of delicate pink. You lick across it and he lets you. Then you're being turned and pushed down on the bed. You bounce a little as you land. Jayne's hand runs down your back, stopping at your ass. You smile into your sheets. You'd have been surprised if he'd been happy with just a blow job.
You've known lots of men like Jayne. They're cooped up on a ship most of the time, and the crew is likely off-limits or uninterested. They get shot at and chased, probably have run-ins with the Feds regularly. Men like Jayne want a night filling up on sex 'cause they don't get it often enough for their liking. They know there's no guarantee how long they will live. They want the pleasure, the feeling of another against them for a little while. If you're really lucky, they want a little connection too, and they'll let you finger their scars and burns, the evidence of battles won and lost, after all's finished.
You knew what you were in for when you negotiated the price.
You made yourself slick before leaving for the bar, but you nod towards the jar on the small table next to the bed anyway. Some of them like things wet and slippery, others like rougher friction. When you hear the opening of the jar followed by the familiar sounds of lubing up, you sigh in relief.
He startles you a little when he slaps your ass. "Knees underneath."
You nod and bring your knees beneath you. He doesn't waste time with preliminaries, just positions himself, takes hold of your hips and pushes into you. The weight of him is relentless and you grunt and brace yourself, spreading your knees wider to help accommodate his girth.
He seats himself deep, then pauses. You try and catch your breath, but then he's pulling out slightly. He pushes back in roughly, his hands moving from your hips to rest on either side of you.
The rhythm he sets is rigorous, and you're momentarily impressed with his focus. Then you're swept along as he hammers into you. It's all so familiar. The hard press of a body against yours, the slap of flesh connecting. The scents vary a little with each person, but they have a similar underlying tone.
Jayne uses you hard, his breaths coming in harsh puffs. He arches himself over you, and you're supporting part of his weight. His cock is stretching you, sending jolts of sensation through you. You're hard, and it isn't from an exercise of will or fantasy. He works his body in a way that leaves yours aching for more.
You wonder if you'll be able to walk properly tomorrow. It might be time for a rare day off.
He has started cursing now, and he's moving faster. You raise up a little and press back, moving your hips languidly as his rhythm starts to falter. You can feel your back arch as he makes you gasp with startled pleasure. Then his hand is reaching underneath you. You take more of his weight as he takes your cock in hand, stroking rough and sure.
It doesn't take much before you're coming into the palm of his hand. He follows soon after, his body spasming slightly.
You collapse under him and Jayne goes with you. He shifts his hand a little so that it lies under your chest. You're both breathing hard. Goosebumps cover one of your arms. The other is underneath Jayne's own arm. His face is pressed into your skin.
His eyelashes tickle your neck.
You calm your breathing.
He shifts off and away. "Good ride."
You laugh into your sheets. "I'm the best around these parts."
He snorts. "Got much competition?"
You imagine him going out to find someone to compare you with. Just for the novelty and challenge. Maybe he'd bring him or her back, have the two of you together. Turning towards him, you shake your head. "No. It's not a big town. I drove them out of business."
He stares at you a minute then laughs. "I'll bet."
You feel sticky and cold, as you imagine he does. Sighing a little, you push yourself off the bed and clean up behind the screen. You bring out a cloth and start to do the same for him. He grabs your wrist.
"What're you doin'?"
It should be obvious, but you say, "Cleaning you off."
Frowning at you, he yanks the cloth from your hands. "I can do it."
You shrug and let it go. He drops the cloth on the floor when he's done and then he turns to lie facing away from you. You take it as a cue that you're not welcome in the bed, but as you're walking away, he asks, "You gettin' in or what?"
"Of course." You cross the small distance quickly and settle on the bed. You pull up the covers over both of you. You think he's already asleep.
You may as well doze.
You wake up on your stomach, one hand under your face. Your legs are spread and fingers are circling your ass.
"I get another go 'round?" Jayne's breath is warm against your ear.
You nod. Of course. He paid for the entire night. You breathe in hard when his fingers push into you.
"Still loose. Slick." He sounds satisfied.
Your head is still muzzy with sleep. You're not sure what kind of response he's looking for, so you just wiggle back onto his fingers. He lets you, but then he's pulling out and the bed is shifting. You find yourself being pulled upward and walked towards the wooden table in the room.
You're glad you took the time to sand the wood down carefully and oil it until it gleams. Splinters are hard to remove when they're in awkward places. And they need to be removed out here. You knew a trader once, got a splinter and didn't take it out. Thing got infected, and there was no doctor handy to deal with it. The man ended up losing his entire hand.
You can't afford such amputations. Your kind of clientele don't pay for mutilated whores.
The table is a good height, almost enough that being bent face down onto it is comfortable. Jayne nudges your feet apart, and pulls your arms up so you're hanging onto the far edge of the top. You grip the worn wood tightly.
Your face is pressed into the wood, Jayne's hand holding you down by the back of your neck. You think this is likely as exotic as Jayne's tastes get. A little almost-force, and sex against a table. You think about the things you could show him, if he stuck around for a few days. A month, maybe. The thoughts are a distraction as he shoves himself into you. He hasn't bothered to lube up this time, probably thinking that what's left in you is enough. It almost is, but the shock of him is still enough to make you bite your lip.
You take care not to cut through your skin.
Like the first time, it's rough. It's not by design, you know what that feels like. You think he's just focussed. He probably works everything in his life hard. Men like Jayne are incapable of any gentleness and delicacy. He mashes everything in his path and doesn't realise he's doing it.
He pushes you into the table as he fucks you harder. You spread your legs wider and go with it, grunting in time with his thrusts. Letting go of the table with one hand, you reach behind you to grasp his arm. Working your hand down to his wrist, you tug hard. He partly collapses on you, and you bring his arm around to your face.
You bite. Hard.
He jerks and you shiver with the way the sudden movement sends pleasure rippling through you. A few more thrusts and he's coming, his mouth sealed tight to your shoulder.
You let go of his arm. He reaches down and jerks you off, leaving you weak-kneed and panting.
With one slick hand, he pulls you off the table. You find yourself face down on the bed before you realise you even crossed the floor.
The bed dips to one side of you, and then something is being tucked under your pillow. You raise your head. Jayne meets your eyes. He pulls his hand from underneath your pillow. It's full of money. The other half of the price you negotiated. You nod, and he puts the money back.
"Mal said we might be back here soon. Didn't make too many enemies on the job, got some good leads for other work." He lies on his back next to you.
Mal must be the leader. You nod again. He seems to want more, so you drag your voice to the surface. "Come and find me. We'll talk price."
He smiles at you, the expression a mix of satisfaction and anticipation. You wonder for a minute if he's lonely. Then you shrug the thought off. His kind don't think in those sorts of terms. Any further transactions you have will be uncomplicated.
Your eyes close. You turn onto your side, grunting at the twinges in your muscles. Tomorrow is definitely a day off.
Sometime before dawn, you wake up alone in the bed. The room smells warm and slightly rank. You feel under your pillow. The money is still there.
|Rating: NC-17. Very much
Disclaimers: I don't own Firefly, Jayne or any other characters.
Notes: First time trying a second-person POV. It's kind of a writing experiment for me. Also, basically, this is a smut-fest. I haven't written any Jayne smut in a while, and I've heard that mercs get pissy if they don't get action on a regular schedule. Or something like that.
Unovis did the fastest beta in the west, and that rocks my world. Thank you, ma'am :)