Fic: Wrong Valentine, Continued

[looscanon.livejournal.com]

Title: Wrong Valentine, Continued
Author: LoosCanon
Summary: A valentine card ends up in the wrong person's bunk. There are consequences.
Rating: NC17 for explicit male/male sex
Characters: Jayne, Wash
Pairing: Jayne/Wash - Slash
Timeline: Series, no specific time
Sequel To: Wrong Valentine by thunder_nari
Disclaimer: These characters belong to Joss Whedon. I'm just mistreating them shamelessly.
Author's Note: thunder_nari wrote a very funny story about Jayne receiving an anonymous Valentine's Day card, called Wrong Valentine. She very kindly has allowed me to pick up the story where she left off. (If you haven't read her story, you might wanna go read that first.)

Also posted on inevitableslash

Jayne gives Wash a little shake. “Got my hopes up, little man. Thinkin' someone needs to pay for that.” Wash looks a little terrified but Jayne can see that Zoe is just smirking now and maybe he's gonna end up getting lucky after all.

“Zoe?” Wash's voice is plaintive but Zoe only turns away, pushing the paper heart back into Jayne's hand.

“You can have them both.” She goes over to the table to take a seat and dish out some of the breakfast that Kaylee has made. Little pancakes of protein shaped into hearts. Cute. Jayne catches sight of the confused but interested faces watching the drama unfold. The wide eyed man in his hands is a little more interesting, though.

“What are you going to do?

Jayne doesn't really need to think about that one. A glance to Zoe says she's still ignoring them both but he can see that little smile. A look at Wash shows big blue eyes and parted lips. Jayne waves the little heart around. “You're gonna hold up to your little valentine, here.”

There ain't no complaint from Zoe, so he scoops the little man up over his shoulder and carries him out. Could be this ain’t a total loss of a day but he’s still gonna spend it hiding in his bunk. Just gonna do that a little less alone.

Wash... He don't exactly complain about it.

From Wrong Valentine, by thunder_nari

Wrong Valentine, Continued, as imagined by LoosCanon

One part of his brain insisted surely, surely Zoe would relent, and come to his rescue. Another part simply confirmed an opinion he'd always maintained: the only thing wrong with Jayne's ass was that it was attached to Jayne. And now he was getting a real close look at those muscular buttocks flexing under the fabric of some well fitting jeans. Albeit upside down. A third part of his brain focused on this inverted condition, noting that it wasn't doing his hungover head or stomach a lick of good. In fact...

“Jayne,” he said, but it was hard to get any volume going, being upside down and with a squashed tummy and all, so it was a kinda squeak. Then Jayne took the galley stairs, which set Wash to swaying back and forth with each step.

“Jayne,” he repeated, a bit desperately, and gave the guy a light swat on the right buttock to get his attention.

“Hey!” The gunman returned the swat, with enough force to leave behind a tingle. But at least it also got him to stop walking. Wash got his hands on Jayne's hips and levered himself away from his back, so the guy could hear him better.

“'M gonna puke-” he began, and there followed a sudden whirling sensation, and he was on his feet, facing away from Jayne, the merc's big hand on the back of his neck, holding Wash steady, and making sure his mouth was pointing away from him. Wash took a few deep, careful breaths, swallowing hard two or three times, while his head slowly stopped spinning.

“'M okay,” he said after a bit. Jayne took his hand off his neck, allowing Wash to ease out of the slightly bent posture that heavy palm had pressed him into.

Jayne gave him that suspicious look he was the master of, and growled menacingly “You puke on me, or in m' bunk...”

“No, really,” Wash averred. “I'm okay. No projectile vomiting is imminent. I think you scared the hangover right out of me.”

“Good,” Jayne grunted, reaching up to cup the nape of Wash's neck again, getting him moving toward the hatch to his bunk.

“Now, about this valentine thingie,” Wash began as he was propelled forward. “I agree that-”

“Shut it, li'l man.” Jayne triggered open the entrance to his bunk. He shifted his grip from Wash's neck, to his wrist. “Yer fanciful li'l poesy got me all stirred up.” He yanked the pilot's hand forward, setting it against the bulge in the front of his jeans. Wash's face went white. “Time t' follow through.”

“Ai ya,” Wash quavered, eyes wide, palm full of warm, heavy Jayne-ness.

Giving Wash a slanting, wicked grin, Jayne murmured, “Down the hatch.”

It was indeed a bit like being swallowed as Wash descended into the dim warmth of Jayne's lair. The man's smell permeated the small space, not a bad smell, really, clean sweat and gun oil and maybe a hint of that musk cologne he wore when he went whoring. A blanket covered one wall, and some pin-up girls the others. Wash didn't really get much of a chance to inspect the room closely, as the other man clambered down the ladder after him, and the place was suddenly filled with a whole lot of Jayne.

His thoughts flashed to Zoe, probably serenely eating heart-shaped protein-pancakes, with cinnamon sugar, all blasé about his plight. Hell, she had encouraged the beast to carry him off into his dungeon. Another thought flashed through his mind; whatever happened in the next indefinite span of time was going to be interesting. He'd always been a big fan of interesting. A guy didn't become a pilot if he didn't get off, at least a little, on taking risks.

These thoughts skittered through his brain in the time it took Jayne to turn around, that evil grin still curving his mouth.

“Go on, get nekkid.” Setting an example, Jayne stripped his t-shirt off over his head.

“Just- just like that?” Wash laughed nervously. “No, um, tender nothings whispered in my shell-like ear?”

Jayne slanted him a skeptical glance, fished the valentine out of his front pocket, uncrumpled it, and squinted at it in the dim light. “'I don't wanna be sappy or silly or corny,'” he read. “'So, right to the point, let's do it, I'm horny!'” He lowered the red heart and leered. “Don't sound like y' was innerested in no billin' 'n cooin' when y' penned this pretty piece.”

“...I was drunk..?”

“'N' I'm roused. So y' c'n take yer duds off on yer own, 'r I c'n do it for ya.” Jayne grinned, showing lots and lots of teeth. “See? Givin' y' all sortsa options here.”

Wash knew that nakedness was a logical condition of the situation he found himself in. And, in the abstract, he had no problem with that condition. But this was going so fast, and Jayne looked even bigger with his shirt off, and his flight suit currently felt like the closest thing to protective gear he had.

Jayne had the grace to let him process for a moment, standing unmoving, shirt in one hand, his gaze resting heavily on him. Wash lifted his hand slowly, hesitantly, to the zip at his neck. He pulled it down, just past his navel, then shucked the top off his shoulders, letting it fall off his arms and down his back.

Jayne grunted, satisfied things were moving along properly, and tossing his shirt on his bed, he undid the button at the top of his jeans, then jerked, all the other buttons popping smoothly out of their holes.

Wash's eyes dropped involuntarily to Jayne's crotch as he shucked his jeans. They widened in alarm as he discovered the guy went commando and that, released, something rather... notable had come to attention. “Ta ma de,” the pilot whispered, as his fingers clenched on his flight suit, pulling it protectively tight around his waist. “I am so humped.”

Then Wash's mouth launched into babble mode. “Look, Jayne how 'bout a nice blow job? I'm pretty good at those, and I've only ever pitched before, and I really think, that for a first time, that you, that that, might be more 'n I can take on, might, in fact, do me an injury, and I really don't think, I mean, I really need to be able to sit down to do my job-”

Jayne had apparently stopped listening pretty early on, because he cut Wash off with, “Yer good at blow jobs?”

“Uh.” Wash hauled back hard on the verbiage. “I said 'pretty good.' And it's been awhile.” His gaze wandered back down to Jayne's crotch, and something speculative flickered through his eyes. “Yeah. Yeah. It's been awhile.” He took a couple fluid paces toward the other man, fists still gripping the fabric of his flight suit. “Years, in fact.” He sank down to his knees in front of Jayne, then looked up into his eyes, his own sparkling with mischief. “So, I might have to practice awhile to get the hang of it again.”

Jayne stared down at the little man, flummoxed by his abrupt mood shift, one second all nervy and fretful, next second cheery and teasin'. Always figured the guy was more 'n a little feng le. He decided though, as Wash's surprisingly knowing and confident hand took hold of him, that it was his kinda feng le.

Wash's fingers loosely circled Jayne's erection, now at about three-quarters mast, and ran them swiftly, lightly, up and down, riling the guy up a bit more. He slid a finger and thumb to the tip of his cock, pulling the retracting foreskin back over the glans, massaging firmly.

Jayne let out a deep grunt, then gasped, “Yesu, little man. No fair. Y' said blow job.”

“Geez, Jayne. Patience is a virtue, y' know,” Wash snarked, liking that he was managing to agitate the guy.

“Ain't too much virtue goin' on in this bunk at this partic'lar time,” the gunman growled.

“Ai ya, well, if you're worried 'bout the condition of your soul, I could leave.”

“Gorramit, Wash, do somethin' with that mouth 'sides yammerin'!” Guy sounded a little desperate, actually.

Wash snickered wickedly, but did as he was told, sliding his hand down to grip the base of Jayne's cock. Leaning forward to place his lips where his fingers had been, he used them to continue to slide Jayne's 'skin back and forth over his swollen head. A salty, bitter tang flowed into his mouth. He ventured a tentative tongue tip, a little concerned he'd be having to deal with a more pungent taste than he cared for. Stronger salty bitter. A little funk. 'S okay. He firmed his lips, easing the foreskin back, swirling his tongue around the exposed glans. Ten fingers suddenly clenched in his hair, tugging painfully. He tightened the fist he had on Jayne's cock, so that if the guy suddenly thrust he wouldn't be having to deal with more than he could comfortably cope with.

Rather than shoving in, Jayne pulled Wash's face away from his groin.

“Wanna,” he mumbled, “wanna lie down.”

Wash slowly sat back on his heels, Jayne letting go of his hair as he pulled away. “'Kay,” he said. “I'll follow.”

Jayne shuffled to his bed, jeans around his ankles, and sat on its edge, bending over to unlace his boots, toe them off, then shuck free of the hobbling pants. He left his socks, a bizarrely orange and purple striped, home-knitted pair, on. (Wash committed yet another sin by coveting said socks.) Jayne stretched out, shoving the pillow back against the wall, propping himself up in a semi-reclining position. Wash, one fist still tight on the waist of his flight suit, crawled after him, up over the end of the bed, spreading Jayne's legs with his knees, making a spot for himself.

“All right,” he stated softly, “from the top then.” And he started back at the beginning, quickly working Jayne to hard-breathing lather a with a deft and assured hand. The guy closed his eyes, letting his muscles go slack, letting the pleasure of the moment take him. After a minute of hand-work, Wash eased off, crouching to slide the wet ring of his lips as far down Jayne's shaft as he could without gagging himself. He kept the pressure light, letting the guy's excitement ebb a bit. Jayne shifted beneath him, brow furrowing, his hips lifting as he sought out greater stimulation. Wash remembered one of the many reasons he liked his male partners on their backs. On his back, Jayne wouldn't be as likely to be able to choke him, pushing in too fast and too deep.

He increased the friction with his lips, tonguing the underside hard, flicking the frenulum of Jayne's foreskin on the upstroke, making him inhale sharply. He brought both hands into play, the right slick with his spit, sliding up and down Jayne's shaft, in tangent with his lips and tongue. With the left he caressed Jayne's scrotum, fingertips enjoying the velvety softness of his sac. Jayne's balls drew up even tighter against his body, and Wash, figuring he was pretty close, eased off again.

Wash sent a wary glance upward as Jayne swore softly in Chinese, fists clenching. But he didn't open his eyes, and he didn't grab Wash's head to force himself down his throat. Nice. Guy was trusting him enough to let him set the pace.

He slowly worked Jayne back up again, just to the brink, then backed off, then took him up again, a tidal ebb and flow, over and over. (Sometime during this, he slid his hand into his briefs, adjusting his own erection so it wasn't being strangled.) Jayne's whole body would become rigid, breath coming in short shallow gasps every time Wash brought up to but just short of the edge. When Wash would abruptly lighten his touch, denying him release, he'd let his breath out in a sudden, shaky gust, his muscles going limp.

Wash got a little lost in the rhythm, the sounds and smells, the heat of the man beneath him. The feel and taste of the silky skinned, iron hard shaft sliding over his lips and tongue. His own arousal filled his whole body with a deep, sweet energy, not demanding, but pervasive. After some indeterminant space of time, though, his forebrain clicked in, making him aware of how very carefully he was having to handle Jayne now. Guy was on a hair-trigger at this point. And, his jaw was getting tired, and he didn't want mandible-fatigue to diminish the finesse he sought when finishing a partner off. One last time, he brought Jayne back up to the brink, then gave him more, more pressure, more speed, more friction.

Jayne groaned deeply when he realized his fall was coming, inevitable and soon. He arced up, straining to meet Wash's mouth and hands. With a low grunt, he spasmed, and thick bitterness flowed over Wash's tongue, and he swallowed what he could, drooling the rest, adding another slick layer to the pulsing shaft in his fist. The big man jerking under him, Wash kept working, kept moving on his cock, continuing to swallow what he could as Jayne came again, then another time. Wash eased up on the pressure and the speed as he felt him softening, using his thumb along the underside of his penis to milk him dry. When he held Jayne, completely limp in his hand, he glanced up into his face. The guy's eyes were closed, features slack. Sweat gleamed on his chest and belly, which rose and fell rapidly with his breath. He released his cock, wiping his sticky hand on the thigh of his flightsuit.

A little stiffly, he got out from between Jayne's legs, and stood up beside the bed. Eyes resting on the man sprawled before him, he wiped his mouth and chin with his forearm. Stretching out his back and legs, a bit cramped from having been bent for so long, he watched as Jayne's breathing slowed, as his eyes opened and sense gradually returned to them. So, with Jayne pretty much wrung out and limp, Wash figured he'd paid off the debt he owed for drunkenly affixing that gorram valentine to the wrong bunk hatch.

“So. I'll go, yeah? We're square?”

Jayne lazily tucked one hand behind his head, grinning arrogantly. “Fuck, no, little man. Drop trou.”

“Um. Drop- What?” He flicked a glance at Jayne's cock, definitely flaccid, definitely sucked dry.

“Shuck the suit, pilot. Don't make me say it again.” Jayne began to sit up, pale eyes glittering dangerously, and Wash finally let go of the grip he had on his flightsuit.

“Shucking, shucking!” he babbled, holding up a placating hand, and Jayne eased back down on his bed, smirking. Wash let the suit slide down his legs, then, with a deep, bracing breath, he bent slightly to get his briefs down past his erection. He felt the skin on his cheeks burning, and he knew he was blushing furiously. A curse, a veritable curse, this tender skin of his ancestors.

Jayne chuckled. “Shit, Wash. Y' turn pink like a girl all th' way down t' yer titties.”

“I know, Jayne, I know,” Wash muttered, rolling his eyes, toeing out of his shoes, stepping out of the legs of his suit. Boy, did he ever.

Jayne, to his relief, left off mocking him, instead patting his hipbones with both hands, saying, “Sit here.”

“Hmm?” Wash queried, eying the proposed spot of sitting, wary, perplexed.

“C'mon, just sit. Y' ll like it.”

So he did, straddling Jayne's hips, his thighs clamped on the guy's sides, conscious of the cock, big even limp, under his ass. But also conscious of his own fretting, unresolved hard-on jutting out in front of him.

“So,” he drawled, trying for insouciant, ignoring the nervous sweat beading on his temples and upper lip, “what- ai ya!” The guy's huge hand curled around him, squeezing hard, real hard. With a smug smile, Jayne pinched Wash's foreskin up over his glans, stimulating both with a vigorous roll of his fingers and thumb, copying Wash's initial opening gambit. Wash clamped his teeth shut tight and held his breath, to keep from whimpering in shameless, pained abandon. He watched as Jayne's other hand reached down, opening a drawer built beneath the bed, and expertly fished inside for a tube of lube. He released Wash for a moment, a moment Wash used to catch a series of quick breaths. Jayne flicked the tube open, squirted a generous dollop into the palm of his right hand. He tossed the tube carelessly back into the drawer, and fisted Wash's erection, twisting his wrist to spread the slick evenly, peeling his foreskin back. Wash hissed at the cold gel, at the sudden friction. Then, with a ruthless grip, Jayne jerked upward, then down again, then up, establishing a vigorous, relentless rhythm, thumb stroking hard over that sweet spot just under the head of Wash's cock.

Rough. Oh, man, lots, lots, lots rougher than Zoe'd ever handle him. Only the lube kept it endurable. But god, god, it was, it was... perfect The bright heat, the piercing pleasure started deep down in the root of his cock, and swept up to its tip, over and over, building in intensity with each rush. He reached out, bracing himself with one trembling hand on the cool metal of the hull beside him. Wash found himself spinning out a breathless, helpless chant, “Fuck, fuck, fuck, oh, Jayne, oh, please, oh, yeah...”

His orgasm hit him hard, was almost agony, and he yelled, eyes wide, with the sharp shock of it, involuntary thrusts of his hips shoving him over and over into Jayne's hand. In a delirium of pleasure, he watched his ejaculate spurting across Jayne's belly and chest, flowing over his hand. Jayne continued to jerk him, forcing more spasms from him, which rapidly became too much.

“Stop, stop,” he gasped. “Enough, please, enough.” He grabbed Jayne's wrist, and with an open mouthed grin, the guy gave him one last pull, then eased up, letting him go. Pale eyes shining in the dim light, he stared at Wash, clearing enjoying the fact that he'd wrung him out so quick, had brought him to this gasping, trembling, sweat-drenched state.

Wash didn't quite know what to do. He knew his legs wouldn't support him yet, so trying to leap lithely from Jayne's bed was not the plan. With Zoe, he'd just collapse forward, snuggling up against her. Figured that wasn't about to happen with Jayne. Figured he wasn't really ready to cuddle with Jayne. One thing though, did spring to mind...

He slumped forward, catching his weight on his arms on either side of the big merc, edging down Jayne's thighs, lowering his face to the guy's belly. Then, carefully, thoroughly, he began to lick his own semen off Jayne's torso.

After a moment, a heavy hand came down on the back of his head – Jayne's left, he hoped, so he wouldn't have to be washing his own come out of his hair – fingers sliding gently along his scalp.

“Ai ya, li'l man. You are one weird fuck.”

Not looking up from his little task, Wash replied, “Mom taught me to clean up after myself.”

There followed a heavy silence. Then Jayne chuckled softly, and muttered, “Weird, weird little fuck.”

By the time he'd finished tidying up, Wash's legs felt lots less noodly, so he backed all the way off the end of the bed, and got to his feet. Jayne gazed up a him with narrowed, dozy eyes, big body slack. He reminded Wash of a cat drowsing in a spot of sunshine. A big cat. A big, big cat.

“We square now?” Wash asked quietly. “'Cuz, really, I should go.” He jerked his thumb over one shoulder, indicating the bridge. “Course checks. Piloty things.”

Jayne yawned hugely, and stretched, toes wiggling in the orange and purple socks, lurid even in the half-light. “Yah, we're good,” he conceded sleepily.

Wash nodded, and clambered back into his flightsuit and shoes, stuffing his briefs into a pocket. Jayne pulled his blanket over himself as Wash dressed, settling deeper into his bed. Wash headed up the ladder, and was most of the way up when Jayne spoke again, making him pause.

“Hey. Jus' mind where yer leavin' yer li'l love notes from now on, huh?” he cautioned muzzily.

Wash grinned down at him. “Not to fret,” he replied. “I've learned my lesson. I'll make sure they end up exactly where I mean them to from now on.”

Brow furrowing, Jayne watched him scamper up and out the hatch, groggy brain cranking through the feng le pilot's typically twisty response. He fell asleep, the happy scent of very fine sex lingering in his nostrils, before he could work out all the knots.