Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub
Title: The One Where Serenity Gets a Bathtub
Fandom: Firefly
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: We do not own or profit from any of the source material.
Summary: After the events of Safe, the ship still smells like cows.
Word Count: 7,054

Now that the cunningly concealed cows are gone, the accompanying stench needs to go too.

"I am going to buy soap. In bulk," vows Simon. He would if he could, anyway. Scour the entire ship until it no longer smells like a barn. For now, the least he can do is air out himself and drag as many people along as possible. There’s no reason to avoid a bathhouse at this junction.

Mal, with his face turning into a sour scowl, reaches forward and snaps up the exorbitant amount needed for a single admission directly from Dr. Tam's neat-pressed vest pocket. His expression is just asking to be challenged on the point.

Simon merely shrugs. "You'll understand if I'm finding the idea of water appealing just now." Being a second away from burned alive will do that to someone, after all. Even though Jiangyin's safely behind them, that still means Serenity reeks of cows, and now that they've made planetfall again Simon's determined to eliminate that.

"You'll understand if I have a funny notion to drown you in aforementioned water," but there's less heat in his voice. More preoccupied. Thumbing through the vividly inked Alliance bills. No way around it-- you wanna travel a loosely Alliance-ran world, then you did so with not so loose Alliance-like bills.

"And be out a free medic?" Blithely. "I wonder if I could convince Jayne..." As if it's an actual possibility. Jayne probably grew up in a barn anyway.

One eyebrow slants over a dark-blue eye, the other moving up Mal’s forehead instead, before the captain turns away from Simon and strides off in the opposite direction altogether. There are worse things to be prescribed than a bath.

Still, wo de ma, it's been... a while. Honest-to-God water against his skin, lapping over his waist, up along his abdomen after he'd scrubbed himself damn well pink. Took some layers with him, of that he's sure. But, has to admit, doc might not be wrong about it-- with his head lolled back limply against the copper rim of the tub, steam in the lungs, out the lungs. Boneless.

While he's out of them, Mal's clothes get laundered. The usually worn-soft material having had something added to them that creates a whole new layer of soft-- and smell-- that wasn't there before. Makes him crinkle his nose. He's not sure he likes it much.

Simon, in the meantime, scrubs till his skin's the color of a lobster and he feels like he's been peeled, but sinking into a real, true bathtub full of scalding-hot water is worth it.

Would it be too much to have at least one bathtub on Serenity as opposed to nothing but those stark, standard showers? They could make room. They could use his room. He has a feeling he’s dangerously close to falling asleep and drowning, but lifting his head an extra inch just requires too much exertion.

Until the captain's got a fistful of that fancy-dancy hair, dripping and wet as it is, and is tipping the doc's head back. Rather uncomfortably.

He gurgles. Inhales a mouthful of blissfully hot, delicately scented, revoltingly foul-tasting foam and sputters bathwater all over the place trying to get a word out.

Taking stock, discarding opponents in turn. Not being arrested or kidnapped again. Good. Just the captain. Why, and why he couldn't have tapped him on the shoulder, Simon doesn't know. "Mal. Can I...help you?" As he’s trying to glare at him upside down.

And Mal brings his now-damp hand upside the back of that same head-- not too roughly, but not exactly gently, either. After all, he just toweled off, thanks so much. "Yeah. By not swallowing your dead weight in water, mm?"

"I was relaxing." Not as if Mal's seen him doing much of it before; maybe it really did look like a near-death experience. "What are you even doing here?"

"Funny. Looked a lot like drowning." Mal's got his pants on, barefooted, hair damp-limp with humidity, shirt over one arm, collecting damp splotches, suspenders in a knot.

"Your compassion moves me. Truly." Really, it just moves him to sink a little deeper into the tub and try not to stare.

Mal straightens, more or less standing over the other now before fetching into his pocket with index and middle finger, plucking free loose bills. They flutter weakly. He moves over where Simon has his clothes waiting on a marble-smooth bench and visibly tucks them into a pocket in that vest.

"You could have waited to give me back my change." Now he just sounds sulky. Mal is not going to ruin this for him, not now that he's finally stolen a few moments for himself.

If he'd been less than satisfied with the whole service, Mal figures might have kept the change for himself. As it is, the kid did nearly lose his skin to medic-hungry hillfolk. He's not completely ignorant to the advantages of having a medic who works merely for the board. "Could have."

Mal sounds gruff as he always does when conversation's not something he's after. But the money is back in Simon's pocket and the captain does look as if he's made the most of his time here--is this gratitude? Simon smiles a little, but only to himself. Outwardly, he closes his eyes and slumps further underwater, seriously considering petitioning to have one brought onboard. Somehow. "Well. Thank you." Mal doesn't actually seem to be going anywhere and the temptation to bring up his opinion is strong. Instead, he says, "Is something the matter or did you plan on scrubbing my back?" If anyone needs medical assistance right this second, he'd have told him already, wouldn't he?

"Am I interrupting your drowning time?" Clink of metal on the bench, suspenders, then his shirt draped there; undoing his pants' buttons one by one in order to pull his shirt on and tuck it in when he does so.

He opens his eyes in time to catch an unsettling glimpse of Mal opening his pants, and admittedly that makes him start. But...no, nothing to worry about, just the captain covering up all that bare, brown, scrubbed-clean skin with his shirt. "I wasn't aware we were in a hurry." Or that he would be getting both an audience and a show.

"We're not." Simply. "All the same..." Small buttons of his shirt done up, trousers following now: one button at a time. "Best get out of that water soon-ish." Mal's shrugging into the suspenders, barefoot still, but his boots nowhere to be seen. "Y'know... before you wrinkle." Which, by his tone alone, seems to be something the captain finds amusing to think on..

And Simon slams his eyes shut and clenches his jaw, trying to broadcast a beacon that blares "I'm relaxing!" firmly enough for Mal to take a hint and leave him alone. "I think I'll take that risk." None too comfortable with the captain standing around shooting the breeze while he's naked and alone--Mal's never been inclined to engage him in much casual conversation before, and starting now is a little precipitous.

Mal has to admit, it did feel nice-- all clean and scrubbed that way. Like he's been shucked new again, and he can recall, quite clearly the look on the doc's face when he'd went into detail about the scent of him. Though he does leave Simon to the rest of his time in the bath.

--

Showering is one thing, soaking and scrubbing is another-- sheds away all those sun-tinged layers of skin ready to peel away, makes Mal a little paler under the fresh, healthy tinge of newly found pink. Simon had taken cleaning solution to every flat surface in the cargo hold, trying to clean away the bovine smell that-- in his opinion-- had infiltrated every molecule of the ship. Mal's hair is damp, still, and his clothes feel good and fresh against his skin-- he's not so sure about that clothing softener that's been added, but he supposes he'll live.

The infirmary is empty save for the doctor-- with his head ducked and various drawers and implements opened and scattered, rearranging. Mal strolls right in without invitation, pausing there and lifting his arms from his sides, dark-blue eyes dancing, "Better?" After all, wouldn't do to offend the doctor's sensitive nose every time he passed now would it?

"Much. Thanks." Still be better with a bathtub of their own, though. "I think we might need more disinfectant." He knows he's sparkling clean and he's not going to let Serenity sink her dirty claws into him again for as long as he can fend them off. Even as he's thinking it, he knows it's the sort of thing that would make Kaylee flounce off in a huff if he were to say it out loud.

Mal just drops his arms to his side, an eyebrow quirked and a slight smirk on his lips. "I meant me. ...Unless you did, too." He uses a thumb to catch up a bit of his shirt and bring it to his nose, inhaling before his face crinkles some, slowly wiping his hand off as if he might be able to get rid of that clothing-softener smell in this manner. "My clothes smell funny." He’s still kind of annoyed about it. "Like... flowers or somethin'. It's unseemly." After all, how is he supposed to threaten a man's life when he smells like a bouquet?

That makes Simon look up curiously. It seems like the sort of thing Jayne would say. "You're not familiar with fabric softener?" Cheap and a little cloying, he'd noticed when collecting his own clothes, but better than cow.

He crosses his arms across his chest, "I am. Doesn't mean I have to like it. I smell like a ruttin' wedding."

.

"I'm sure you'll be reeking of intimidation in no time. How difficult would it be to have a bathtub installed?" Well. The second part just kind of slipped out

Mal's mouth opens, then closes, frowning slowly as he eases his weight from one foot to the other. "...Never gave it much thought-- can't afford it. Bet that would make you all manner of giddy, though, wouldn't it?" He can't help but smile slightly at the idea.

He's prepared to defend the idea by reeling off all the useful qualities they could enjoy, but somehow it all dries up when Mal actually doesn't shoot the idea down right off the bat. "That's one word for it, yes."

He merely shakes his head. Plainly, "Can't afford it."

"But it would be possible, wouldn't it? If you could." Mal's made some unconventional bargains before, and life on this ship isn't ever predictable, so if circumstances somehow made the option feasible...

Mal just raises an eyebrow, "I can't. Besides, where would you suggest we put it-- if we could afford it?" The captain doesn't wait for an answer, reaching up to knuckle an eye as the other hand makes a dismissive gesture, turning away for the door.

Oh, there are so many places. If Mal's asking him, that means this might be a possibility, however remote. "Well, I--" Mal's turning to go and Simon just blurts out everything at once. "The dimensions of the showers should allow for a small one. Or a bigger one, if we convert one of the passenger dorms. Lay down tile." Well aware how silly he sounds, like he's fourteen all over again and whining for a dedicated source box.

Mal grips the threshold as he passes, pausing, clapping it there lightly-- once, twice... A tub is the last thing he's thinking about when he's turning back around, getting about two steps in while his hands grip his belt, thumbing the metal of the buckle, "You all right? I mean, no one has asked formally, seeing as how you'd be the one that would usually ask, but we don't have a doctor for the doctor, so...." Awkward. Ugh, why does he have to sound so awkward?

If bathing has the effect of washing away some of Mal's more acrid tendencies, that's yet another reason to look into making it a more regular occurrence. "Oh." Of course, he's not sure how to respond to it. It's clear this isn't a question about something as mundane as washing his hair. "I've been better," he says honestly. It's been over a week now and he's still waking up to check on River ten times a night, as if he's going to find nothing but a pile of ashes on her bed. "This helped."

Mal fits his hands safely into his pockets, tilting his head and staring levelly at Simon for a long moment, as if he's not sure whether or not to take the boy at his word. "Surprised me, really. I expected to find you beaten, a rib or two broken, at the very least I figured you'd have taken hold of one of those torches, trying to burn them right back…didn't take much account of you just... givin' up."

Ah. There's the winning personality he's so used to. "Did you miss the part where there were at least fifty of them and we had nowhere to go even if we did somehow escape?" Tartly.  Even though he knows it was necessary, he hasn't quite come to terms with the fact that Serenity actually had left without them. And he's not about to tell Mal just how hard that had hit him.

"I didn't miss that part-- just didn't expect you to just... not..." Mal keeps his eyes on Simon's face, narrowing them some, shoulders rising and falling. "Not try. Whatever the odds. Being overcome is slightly different from standing there and willingly allowing yourself to go up in flames..." Mal drops his head some, stares at Simon through his lashes, intense and quiet.

Simon doesn't have to explain himself. He doesn't need to care if Mal thinks he's a limp-wristed weakling. But the insinuation licks through him like a slowly burning flame and Simon feels his teeth grit. "I tried." Maybe not in the same way Mal would have, but he had. When push came to shove, he'd rather have died with River than let her die alone.

Mal turns his head some, breaking that eye contact, lips pressing together in a thin line before Mal's gaze darts to the floor. Nodding. Just the once. "As you say, doctor," plainly, meaning to let the subject drop altogether. The captain turns on a heel, at the doorway, before he reaches for the lit panel there at the threshold-- a few deft keystrokes before the automatic door slides shut. Seals. The slats of the windows fall into place, effectively blocking outside viewing-- as Simon would do if he needed to provide intimate medical service. Mal's mouth twists to the side, fingers tapping on the metal thoughtfully before he turns from the door and takes the short distance between Simon and himself.

"I didn't think you expected much of me at...all." Simon trails off when the captain moves towards him, not looking for a fight or a lecture, just...looking. He almost forgets he's supposed to be feeling annoyed that Mal doesn't seem to think he loves his sister enough to fight for her. "You can't possibly know--" he begins, softly, like he can make him understand through sheer force of will, but the words are already getting swallowed up by surprise and Mal is kissing him. Light-lipped and smelling like bargain fabric softener.

As Mal presses his hands into his pockets again, as deeply as possible, fingers curled in on themselves while he wets his lips. He doesn't... reach out, or touch him, or hold him steady or anything else one usually does when they kiss somebody. He just sort of... hesitantly leans in and tips his head just a fraction and lets their mouths... brush. Touch. Hardly making contact. Mal's brow is furrowed and his eyes are open to not much other than a slit of glittering cobalt light. He seems to think it over, and draws a hand from his pocket to touch along the line of Simon's jaw-- kiss him again. Light, but firmer than before, no tongue, no parting of lips, just a slight sigh on Mal's part and he draws his hand back first, then lets his mouth follow. This time, Mal's eyes are closed and his mouth is partially open and he uses the tip of his tongue to slip across his top, then bottom lip, exhaling slow. Murmuring. To himself. "Yeah, I thought you'd--..." And trailing off. Then, to Simon with a smirk. "Sorry. But I didn't want to kick myself for not doing it at least once-- just in case I'm not there to bail you out of oncoming danger, just in case you're 'trying' just as hard as you were this last time. Which, I mean to say, means you'll be dead and I'll have missed the opportunity."

Maybe facetiously suggesting Mal scrub his back in the bath house hadn't been too far off the mark. But he'd never had any indication whatsoever that the captain looked on him as anything but a sheltered kid with the potential to be a decent crew member and a touch of hero-worship for him. "I thought you left," is all he can utter, letting the full fury sink into the words. "You had to see to the Shepherd, I know that now, but at the time I didn't think you were coming back." Unconsciously drawing a knuckle across his lower lip, brow furrowing. The feel of Mal's mouth and the sound of his apology--apology, dear God, there must have been something in that bathwater--still being absorbed.  "You have a strange way of showing your affection. Captain."

Mal presses his lips together, eases his hand back into his pocket at lets one shoulder rise and fall. "Had to give it a go at least once..." He turns from Simon now, and once he's a few steps in the clear, he trusts himself to bring his hand clear of his pocket again, to lightly touch his own mouth where Simon's had touched... pink and sweet and soft. Like he knew he'd be. Knew that's would it would be like to kiss him. Perfect like that. Tasting sweetly-- of course, Mal had kept his lips closed, never parting, not until afterwards, but he imagines he can taste Simon's lips lingering there on his own.

The panel chirps happily, the door sliding open, the slats of the blinds slip-clicking open again. "Next time, just know I mean to come back for you." Mal levels a look over his shoulder, quiet and serious. "I'll come back. ...Dong ma?"

Mal slips out of the infirmary, not looking back as he speaks, "If you think maybe we could manage a tub, speak to Kaylee about it..." Just like that. Like he'd not said what he'd just said. Like he had not just kissed the other...

Simon stares after him, everything around him having gone dreamlike and vague. "All right." Not sure what, exactly, he's answering and why he can't take his eyes off the doorway long after the captain's disappeared through it.

--

Later that day, at chow, Mal doesn't look at him any differently. Or speak to him any differently. Doesn't do anything differently. Whatsoever. Just passes the biscuits and doesn't say a word.

Simon, on the other hand, studies him carefully. Especially his mouth. He should have said something, responded somehow, before. Intimacy hasn't ever been something he's excelled at, even when it isn't dropped on him like an anvil. Instead of feeling conflicted, he turns to Kaylee and mentions the captain's given the go-ahead for installing a tub. Safer to discuss it with her in front of everyone instead of alone with her, even though he sees Jayne leer out of the corner of his eye.

Kaylee, who hops up and hugs the captain and, sitting back down, looks like she wants to hop up and hug him.

Inara makes some comment about wonders never ceasing, Mal throws back some remark about putting an embargo on smelling up the shower room in the name of hygiene, and it's just like any other meal.
 

Mal is blinking at Simon now, eyebrows raised and his mouth lax. He raises a finger, "Now... now wait a minute, I said if... if, by some... miracle... you might be able to find a deal on one, to affo--"

"Oh, I'm sure Simon and I could work something out." Inara now. Smiling gently. At Simon, which makes a very... unhappy... expression flit over Mal's features for a second. Missed by everyone, he's sure…except for Simon.

"Don't get one of those sissy little barrel-sized ones," Jayne cautions, very concerned.

Mal looks confused for a second, blinking at Jayne before he turns back to Simon, "Work something out, how...?"

And Simon looks over at Mal, eyebrows raised. "I think as the captain you should have the final say as it is."

River just proceeds to rattle off the dimensions of the shower room.

And Mal wonders what "having the final say" means. Wandering around a...tub store and lying in each one in turn? He ducks his head, going red in the face some before he draws up a hand and scrubs it across his face, looking to Kaylee. "Never mind, that-- Kaylee, what do you think of this?"

"Don't think it'll be a problem at all, capt'n; it'll be easy-peasy!"

Which makes Mal's expression go a little sour. His eyes move to Inara. Pinning. "Tubs are hardly cheap..."

"No one asked for your concern on that subject, Mal. Simon and I will be fine on our own." The corners of Mal's lips pull down a little, his hand tightening around his chopsticks.

The captain stares down into his plate, prodding his food around a bit before shaking his head, sighing, "Whatever. Not like I own the damn ship or anything." He pushes his plate away from himself, standing; "Just make sure no huge mess comes of it." He moves his eyes to Simon, intent. "Understand?"

Simon meets his gaze, studying what he finds there and not altogether certain what to make of it. "Of course not."

Mal nods, picks up his plate and carries it into the kitchen, mumbling to himself as he dumps his plate clean. "...looks like we're getting a tub."

Simon won't ever say that they're making this purchase because of him, that Mal feels some sort of regret about unwittingly leaving him and his sister to burn, because that would be the quickest way to make the captain change his mind. But just to himself, when he's alone, he does think about it. And whatever the gesture is meant to indicate--he hasn't entirely figured it out yet, as is so often the case with Mal--he thinks he can enjoy it.

--

They all pitch in, but when it comes to  installing the thing, Kaylee ends up doing the bulk of the work. Trying to get the plumbing right, engaging Simon for some help, and he finds himself just stuttering away when she accidentally douses herself with a jet of water that comes bursting out of the pipe. Dashing off to get towels, of course he ends up running into Mal, who finds it hilarious that a soaking-wet girl gets him into this state.

"Have an accident, doc, or are you just happy to see me?" Smiling, eyes dancing, hand to the wall and leaning in on the good doctor. All manner of amused.

Shoving back his damp hair, Simon catches his breath, trying to explain. "Kaylee--she--the plumbing--I need a towel. I need several towels." Starting on his way again, then looking hopefully back at Mal. "Did...you want to go in there and help her instead?"

Hands up, backing away, "Ooooh-ho, I think not. This is your tub, doctor. You see to it." He pauses, half-turned away, before smirking, "Though, must say, I don't mind seeing you all wet." A rather scandalous wink in the doc's direction.

Simon squelching off in his shoes and Mal unexpectedly following him, getting a hand around the back of his neck and kissing him up against the laundry room door. "Fact, don't think you've ever looked so good with clothes actually on..." with his voice low and his eyes half-lidded and a touch of color in Mal's cheeks.

He'd been going to give Mal a sarcastic reply in return, but with those words singing over his skin and those lips an inch away from his own, all he finds himself doing is drawing him in closer and claiming them. One of his arms around Mal's broad back, pushing, bringing their bodies together and no doubt leaving wet patches on the captain's own clothes.

And the captain makes this.... sound. In his throat. Low, muffled, and damp. It's not like before, when Mal had tentatively reached in and let their mouths touch. Nope. This time, the captain's mouth parts, his tongue comes slipping out-- eagerly and with hunger-- nudging between Simon's lips, wriggling past his teeth, tasting good and hot with his hands knotting into Simon's hair, face reddening, eyes squeezed closed.

Mal's close, pressed up to him tightly, and he can't get enough of that. Grazing those lips with his own and opening up when Mal wants more, Simon pushing his own tongue inside and feeling heat bloom up everywhere, his entire body suddenly feverish inside his wet clothes. Moving, barely realizing it, feeling the rub of the door at his back and Mal all along his front.

They find the door there-- or, rather, Simon finds the door. And Mal presses him into it, good and firm; his pulse quickens alarmingly, his breath dragged in thick and sharp through his nose: shouldn't, shouldn't, shouldn't. Simon was nice. Polite. Mal could very easily take advantage of him. ...That's the last thing he wants to do, get sexed out of pity or because Simon doesn't know how to say 'no.' He hadn't meant to, it was just the look of him when Simon turned away, this involuntary color rising in the good doctor's pale face from Mal, campily, winking at him. Had the most overwhelming urge to... Mal's hand is tight over the nape of Simon's neck, nails raking lightly as he curls his fingers there against the soft, sensitive skin. Is mouth is wide and wet and parted good and hard over the doc's, claiming with demanding, wet pushes of his tongue.

Stop. Stop. Stop. Hard to, with just how... easily Simon opens up for him. Yields to him. Mal's free hand over a shoulder, down the side of Simon's chest, over his warm, indrawn stomach and... he could. Simon would let him. Let him touch him this way, kiss him, fuck him. Mal jerks his head to the side abruptly, breathing in quick and sharp, lips hanging open and eyes closed, brow marred and his hand opening and closing there at Simon's side-- fingernails digging into his own palm.

Simon has on a pullover today, since he dressed with the chore of bathtub-wrestling in mind, and it would be easy as anything to reach back, pull it over his head, and let Mal put that hot, eager mouth on him anywhere he wants. Tease and lick and suck stray beads of water off his skin until Simon can hardly hold himself on his feet any longer. Cloth clenched in his hand, drawing it higher, and Mal's hand is suddenly directly on his bare stomach instead of on the fabric covering it. His head tilting back, solidity of the door against his skull, breathing hard as Mal's hair is soft between his fingers and Mal's body is freezing up abruptly. Nononono--it's been too long since he's had this and if the captain has second thoughts it's just not acceptable. Not with the way he's been baiting Simon of late. His fingers hook in a suspenders strap as his mouth kisses a messy trail along Mal's jaw, up to his ear, and it can't be his voice saying things like don't stop and want you to over and over, but it is and he couldn't call a halt to it if he tried.

He can. He can stop. Mal has it just on the edge of his control, he's pulling his head back more completely when all of a sudden, there's tension in the straps of his suspenders, there's the doctor's slender, clever fingers all knotted in Mal's hair. He bares his teeth, head tipping back some because Simon is... smearing his mouth up Mal's tight jaw, breathing in a heated rush to... not. stop.

Which, wait-- waitaminute, since when did Simon...? He hadn't acted like this. Not in the infirmary. Hell, he'd barely had a lukewarm reaction at all. Now. Now. 'Want you to...' Just 'want you' is enough for Mal to be seeing spots in front of his vision. One of the captain's strong, tense hands shoots downward, grasp a hold of the laundry room door and shoves it open; his other arm is around the doc's middle before either of them can blink. Ushering him inside, the door snapped shut behind him and Mal shoves Simon up against the solidity of it, head ducked and mouth on that pale, satiny throat, sucking-- biting lightly. Simon has hocked his shirt up some, Mal's touch on bare skin there for a split second. Mal arches against the doc's body, his hand smoothing down the small of Simon's back, and forcing the other to curve against him, breathing out heavily. Audibly. "Should go..." Mumbled. Dazed, but feverish, heated. This isn't what Simon wanted. Or, at least, didn't seem like it was a few days ago...

He knew, somehow. As much as he'd done to distract himself from being attracted to his walking contradiction of a captain, Mal still picked up on it and didn't see fit to let him know until after Simon and River nearly died. And now, now that he's had time to digest that and realize Mal's clearly not averse to taking action, Simon's not thinking at all. Mal bites at his throat and presses the two of them together, a hand firm and strong and still soft somehow at the hollow of his back, until there's no chance of the captain not feeling Simon hard and desperate up against him. And he does stop, then. Of course. Second thought, rearing up at the most inopportune moments--Simon knows how that works, as it happens to him all the time. "Go?" Rushed and whispered. He needs to say something before Mal makes assumptions, decides this is Simon's way of giving him a perverse thank you or something equally crass. It's not about being given a job or a bathtub or a home on the run, but he can't for the life of him put to words what it is about.

Both his hands up, fingers spread over Mal's hot face, thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. "It took me...I needed time. That's all." And crush his mouth back over the captain's, teeth grazing skin and breaths wet and shaky--pulling him in.

God, he feels wonderful. Wonderful. Soft and warm and responsive-- and he's hard. Mal doesn't know if it's because of him or from merely being kissed (because as long as he's gone without, he knows Simon has gone on just as long; if not longer) so his body is definitely interested, fuckfuckfuck. Mal's breath hisses in through his teeth, a sort of whine quiet and frustrated from Mal's throat; wants to. Wants to so badly. And he feels so good, smells just as amazing as he feels. He's always catching himself thinking about doing lewd and unseemly things to their medic, but he can usually control them-- this, however, had taken him off guard. He'd seen Simon looking damp and messy, ruffled and fucking... sexy and he'd just meant to kiss him... just the once. Not end up yanking him into the laundry room and frot. The doc's voice is unsteady, sounds somewhat confused, and Mal pulls his head back, frowning, slitting his eyes open, "Yeah, g--" The doc's hands on his face, Simon's mouth on his, hard and bruising. Unrelenting. Demanding. Pulling him. Time. Just needed time.

"D-doc," Mal stutters, grips hold of those slender hips, lines them up and does the exact opposite of what he should be doing: he rolls his hips. Thrusts. Can feel Simon hot and ready and willing-- hard-- through his clothes and Mal growls, groans wantonly. Skim his hand off the other's hip, back up the front of that shirt; he's so damnably warm and Mal wants nothing more than to strip him naked and fuck him. Right here. He's panting heavy and harsh, hand on the side of Simon's throat, thumbing over his pulse unsteadily, Mal's eyes are squeezed shut and his lips are redwet, shuddering, "So-... someone... someone's gonna notice you're missing and y-... you don't know what you want..." The captain, on the other hand, knows exactly what he wants...

Push of the captain's lower body into his own and Simon's breath hitches in his throat. Mal's hot and strong all over and just feeling him touching him, anywhere, throws his mind into a wild tailspin. If Mal really wants him gone, he's doing a terrible job of convincing him. "I can't go back there like this," he says hoarsely, and it's true. Mussed and flushed and cao, he just needs to come, but he's not saying that out loud. That last accusation, on the other hand...that he doesn't hesitate to answer. "Do you have any idea at all about what I want? Other than keeping River safe and getting a rutting bathtub onboard?" Gasping at the feel of a hand on his bare back, trying to squirm his shirt higher up his body, and he's canting his hips hard, legs sliding farther apart so he can fit one of Mal's between them. "You don't know anything about what I've thought of doing to you and how sure I was it wouldn't ever get to happen." Blurted out almost too fast to be intelligible--he can feel his face burning, hides it by ducking to close his teeth high on Mal's neck and bite there just as Mal had done on his own throat.

Everything he'd religiously forced to the back of his mind, all of it's springing free now and he can't just fold it up neatly and lock it away again. Shirt buttons--he's plucking at buttons, mouthing the dip between Mal's collarbones; nails in the back of his neck. "Didn't think you..."

Simon's teeth in his skin has Mal's hips bucking and his hands clenching on the other, groaning roughly and hiccupping for breath because Simon is undoing his shirt, mouthing at bare skin and-- "Oh, did I ever..." Think, thought, jerked off to... Simon is rocking against him and Mal fists his hands in the other's hair and lays claim to that mouth again. Shoving his tongue in, along the length of Simon's own before he pulls his head back, panting, blinking rapidly, then... glancing over his shoulder. Mal bites into his bottom lip, looks back to Simon and kisses his mouth again before pulling away. Takes all of a minute to pull wet clothes from the washer-- shove them into the dryer and kick it shut, turn it on, where it rumbles angrily to life. Mal snags Simon by the wrist.

Grab the younger man by the hips and hoist him up, sitting him heavily onto the vibrating, rattling machine and take his face in his hands before slipping his tongue into his mouth, eye him intently when he pulls back. Mal's fingers undoing Simon's trousers as he speaks, "Quiet as you can be for me..."

Mal's larger and stronger than he is, something that's come into play quite a bit when he's relented and let himself think about it, but somehow he never imagined the captain pressing his advantage in order to press him onto a dryer. Like one of those dorm-room rumors that swept through university, about alternate uses for everyday objects. And now, with Mal's fingers working open his pants and the thrum and buzz of the dryer literally being sent through him, he knows he must have a disbelieving look on his face. "Oh, God." Not that he has any plans on complaining. The captain's always been resourceful. Quiet. He can be quiet--has been for long enough--but Mal's a bare inch from touching his cock and he arches up with a small groan.

"Shh," goes Mal, but he's grinning. And it's not that playful or teasing or dry grin he usually gives out, nope-- this grin is particularly... dirty. A grin that vanishes altogether when he ducks his head to press his mouth against the pale, soft side of Simon's throat, 'mm'ing long and low as he laps with his tongue and grazes with his teeth, as if it's the most wonderful thing he's ever had the pleasure of passing over his taste buds. The grit of that zipper makes his heart trip up, speed up, and he's working a hand beneath the open V of them instead of pressing them down just yet, feeling the hard-hot outline of Simon's erection through crumpled, damp underwear, sighing thickly as he drags his thumb down the length of it, pressing in at the base.

Simon breathes in sharply, fingers catching in the folds of the captain's shirt, digging in and pulling until Mal's situated snugly between his spread legs and he can press in good and close when he takes his next taste of that still-parted mouth. No room left for Mal to play at soothing him when it's clear that's the last thing on his mind, not with the way one of his hands is slipping into the open fly of Simon's pants and squeezing there. Not even direct contact, and it still makes his hips go thrusting up, his legs trying to lock around the captain and keep him there--all heat and muscle and very, very capable of shaking Simon off like a rag doll if he chose. Which is isn't. Fabric bunching up Mal's back, but the suspenders are in the way and he can't touch him until they're gone, but that seems a bit beyond him just now, so he settles for shoving his own and over the captain's wrist and pressing there.

Simon, for all that stuffy manner, is a wonderful kisser-- better than Mal had thought he might be, which he's not complaining. Not in the least. After all, one only gets better with practice-- lots and lots of practice, which he'd been fully ready to provide, but he's not disappointed in the least by just being able to enjoy it. Simon pushes against him, legs catching around him-- and God, if that isn't sexy as all hell, especially when those pale fingers grasp at his own and forces Mal's grip tighter against the hard heat of him. His head tilted, groaning against that mouth despite his own warning to be quiet, quiet, quiet, quiet... Mal pulls his head back, shucks out of his suspenders where his shirt material has gotten all knotted and bunched beneath the straps, eyes down and he's tug-pulling those nice-neat trousers down some, just enough to expose the band of the underwear, work them open and down as much as that sitting position allows.

Suspenders down, Mal's shirt off, and before Simon has a chance to put hs hands on any of that bare, smooth skin Mal's own are hooking under the waist of his pants. He hisses, squirms and arches to try and slide them even lower--barricaded away in a laundry room for a quick rut with the captain, and he doesn't have the sense to feel embarrassed about it. It's a wonderful feeling. As is having his thumb flicking open the button of Mal's trousers as his other hand splays flat between the curves of his shoulder blades, bracing there and letting him curve into the touch on his erection. "Anything besides kissing you would've had to kick yourself for not getting a chance to try?" Because he can think of a few, really.

Mal smirks at that, eyes heavy lidded as he leans in, brushes his mouth against Simon's and wraps his hand around the other's exposed cock slow and firm, lips grazing up the jaw, to the redness of Simon's ear. Tongue flickering. "Oh, quite a manner of things... quite a manner..." Thumb up under the head of the other, his free hand gripping the tautness of a still-clothed thigh as Mal ducks his head and mouths just where his thumb had been, deciding he likes that just as much. If not more.

Words licking at his ear like a flame, then actual licking, Mal's head ducked between his legs, and Simon's suddenly jolting forward, not that sitting still feels natural with the machine heated and humming under his now mostly bare skin. Unfamiliar, but not unpleasant. "Sorry," choked out, because if he hurts Mal somehow and ends this all prematurely he'll never live it down. "Me...me too." His fingers are curling over the short, fine hairs at Mal's nape, skimming over scalp and shoulders and the liquid-graceful shift of muscle. "Never...exactly imagined this, but..."

Instead of pulling back to assuage the other with words, Mal just opens his mouth more and ducks his head deeper, tongue along the underside of that hot-silky skin, humming as he... mouths. At first. Then, slowly, begins to suck, as if biding his time, maybe playing it out like he's done so in his head time and time again, with his hand around himself and very alone in his bunk. Truth be told, he hadn't gone into that bathhouse merely to return change as much as he had to get a good look-- no luck, however, with the doc slumping down further in the water and looking pretty determined not to come out any time soon.