| When Simon wakes up, something is sticking to his face,
something else is draped over his chest, and something sharp is digging
into his butt. He has now idea where he is, or how he got here, but he's certain that the room smells. It smells like it hasn't been cleaned for at least half a year, and it smells – It smells suspicious, and something about it makes Simon want to close his eyes, and not open them for a long while. He's still in denial about the last time. He can only keep his eyes closed for so long before things start to shift around him. The arm over his chest moves down, the cloth tangled around his legs gets pulled away, and the smells change subtly. Simon opens his eyes. "Hey." Jayne's braced above him now, grinning, eyes still muzzy with sleep, and hair standing up every which way. He can't quite trust his voice, so he nods, slightly, and winces at the pain this causes. "You got a spatula stuck to yer face." Oh, that's just lovely. A spatula. At least it's not a knife. He refuses to listen to the tiny voice in his head saying that one morning he will wake up with a knife, or some other weapon, stuck to his face. That's the peril of Jayne. Well, another one. And it's never going to happen, because this is never going to happen again. And anyway – a spatula? "Where are we?" Jayne looks around them, and he doesn't seem to be having any head pain. It isn't fair. "Kitchen?" Serenity's kitchen does not smell like this. Simon wouldn't eat anything from a place that smells like this. "Kitchen where? And also, can you please get off me?" Jayne shrugs, and lifts up slightly, momentarily. It's enough that Simon can reach under himself (jarring his head again), and pull out the sharp object under his butt. Oh. It's a potato peeler. How delightful. "What did we do last night? How drunk did I get?" Jayne shrugs again, this time smirking a little. "Reckon we worked off some steam." Well, judging from the various twinges in his body, the taste in his mouth, and the fact that he is, once again, naked up against Jayne, Simon has to agree. "This has got to stop." He says it more to himself than to Jayne. Because. Jayne. Sex. In a kitchen, god only knows where. It's just got to stop. "I ain't the one who starts it." Simon feels his eyes narrow, because that is so – untrue. It's just untrue. "I ain't!" "Well, you could at least stop it. Or say no. Or something!" "Why?" It's too much, and Simon wants to close his eyes again. But the kitchen is starting to get lighter, which probably means the sun is rising, which means they really shouldn't stay here much longer. The sun is rising on – Persephone? Or – it's not Whitefall. Or Beaumonde. Or Haven. Oh, wait. It is Haven. Which can only mean – "We're in the tavern kitchen?" He knows his voice has risen an octave, mostly because this time he really winces. How much did he drink? "Reckon so. Least someone left us with a blanket." He is never going to be able to live this down. Never. "Bet we had a real interestin' night." Jayne's grinning again, wide, kind of dirty. He lowers himself down a little, and wow. That's – "Nice. I mean yes. Yes, I imagine it was." "Probably made for a few good stories." And now Jayne is moving. A bit. A tiny, annoying bit. "Oh, yes." He gasps a little. "I bet." "Probably got people outside waiting for us to come out. To share those stories." Simon groans. It's not just from the idea of the hassle he's going to get. "Wanna make 'em wait?" Jayne doesn't wait for an answer, just slides down to the floor, pulling Simon onto his side. And then their legs are tangled up together, and Jayne's mouth is on the crook of Simon's neck, and yes. They can wait. |
| Pairing: Jayne/Simon Rating: PG-13 Summary: Something sharp is digging into his butt. Note: For claireweasley |