THE SHARP SIDE OF THE APPLE 3-Simon! by belasera A vague disclaimer is nobody's friend: All recognizable characters, etc. belong not to me, but to Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, and Fox, and no money is being made here. The story, however, is mine. NC-17, kiddies Written for Rebecca, who wanted to see boys kissing. If you don't, please don't read it. Xoxo Back by pervy demand, Simon’s POV. This one’s diiirty. Consider yourself warned. ..........................................

…Jayne was a danger to me, and he seemed to have limitless ways to show me the real truth of that. To show me the things I could be, or want. To turn me into a creature of base desire, to show me the thrilling bit of danger hidden in the mundane. The urge to maul the hell out of him caught me in the gut and I put my hands on either side of his face and pulled him down. I didn't know if he'd let me kiss him, but he didn't stop me when I did, when I pushed my lips against his and tasted lust and sweat and the cold sharp side of the apple…

I was lost to the sweet, hot weight of his thighs as his cunning hands worked past my belt buckle toward their inevitable, dizzying goal. My breath when it came was a machine gun hiccup against his jaw. Jayne moved with an unrelenting pace that gave me no room to barter…or beg.

He meant to have me. The thought was pounding over and over into me. He meant to have me quick, before that apple even browned, before we could see each other again and not just our panting goal. That goal came ever closer- his chest grazed mine as he leaned into me, settling onto me in all his heat and lust and hurry.

When I realized I could move, when I realized I wanted to be more than Jayne’s prey, I pushed his t-shirt up and off of him, moved my lips and tongue over his neck and down to one nipple, where I bit…I actually bit him and grinned to have done it. Grinned like a slut when he growled in that way he has and pulled me off of him by my hair, Pushed me hard into the couch and his face was dark and warm, nearly touching mine when he growled,

“Stay.”

He seemed to slow impossibly when I complied. He unbuttoned my shirt and his frantic pace was gone for a moment, replaced by a languid tension bought by my obedience. He stripped me of my shirt without looking at me, ran his palm smooth down my chest, my belly, then stopped. I moaned low, I couldn’t pull it back though I refused to ask Jayne Cobb for more, refused to say to him-

“Don’t stop.”

I bit my lip angrily but the words had already flown past them. His eyes, so intent on my body, snapped up to my face. They were dark anvils above his heated cheeks and they only flickered shut briefly when I thrust my hips up, scrambling for contact, all pretension lost. When his eyes opened again they found my face urgently, focusing on me hard for a moment, like they could keep me present before his lips fell to my neck and his hand reached down to grasp me firmly. He shoved my pants down, aside, I wished he’d rip them off, wished I was full naked against him, but-

“Oh...”

That was good, too, he stroked me furiously while his tongue lapped at my shoulder, ear, jaw. I curled my fingers through his short hair and pulled him up to face me. His lips hovered against mine for a moment, panting hot breath before I kissed him, moaned long and jagged into his mouth as my orgasm gutted me.

We panted. Lips still pressed together, not kissing, just…there. His hand was still on me. I didn’t want to look down, didn’t want to see him still holding my cock when the room was realigning itself with the rest of the ‘verse. His weight was an anchor, holding me firmly to this situation, my body still twitching against him, my hands still dug into his hips. I was beginning to notice all of these things a moment before his lips began moving.

“Simon,”

He said, turning my name into a kiss that wasn’t hard by half.

“Simon, Simon.”

I couldn’t pull away, had no place to go but I shook my head and his lips left mine cold. I stared at his mouth, his lips blossoming like bruises, retreating from mine as he moved to brush back my sweaty hair. One hand went around the back of my neck and worked the muscles there, his fingers like threats to my equilibrium.

“Jayne, no, I can’t…”

But he was pulling me to him as he whispered, “Yes”

“Yes” As he pulled me off the couch and onto the floor, our bodies tangling on the way down. He moved again, for a moment he wasn’t touching me at all and I knew I could simply roll away, pull up my pants and walk. Leave him on the floor, panting and hard with my come drying on his hand. Ignore the fung-loh desire telling me ‘Take him. Let him. Yes.’ I raised myself up on my elbows, half decided, as he began to work his own belt off.

He decided for me. Not with the urgent mechanics of his body, but with his uncertainty. He stopped, there on his knees beside me. When I moved to roll away he stopped and looked down on me with something akin to fear. Maybe it had caught up to him, too, the very realness of what we were doing there. He made a little motion like he might back away, might bolt before I had the chance to but I’d already changed my mind.

I reached him before he could start, caught him by the gunbelt and yanked him down. The damage was already done, that apple was gonna rot and maybe we would too, but everyone deserves a taste.