Title: Six Hundred Mills

Author: Lemonlashes

Feedback: lemonlashes@yahoo.com

Author Website: http://www.geocities.com/lemonlashes

Status: NEW - Standalone

Rating: NC-17

Genre: *slash*

Characters: Wash, Simon - Mal

Pairings: Simon/Wash

Summary: Sex, drugs, basketball, not necessarily in that order

Notes: None, actually



Six Hundred Mills
By Lemonlashes

"This is your fault," Simon said, weaving dizzily. He was attempting to dribble the basketball, but it kept doubling and tripling as he watched it, and whenever he missed one it bounced up and hit his chin.

"S'not," said Wash. "S'Mal's."

"You cannot blame everything that happens aboard Serenity on Malcolm Reynolds."

"Are you sure about that?" As Simon was pondering this, Wash stole the balls, all three of them. Then he teetered, and Simon tried to scoop it back.

"Gimme."

"Nuh uh."

"You were traveling."

"Personal foul!" Tug-of-war ensued; then the ball went one way, the men the other. They ended up on the floor, more or less side by side, panting.

"Okay," said Simon. "'Splain to me again why you spiked my tea with six hundred milligrams of Machycarbi--Macrovaliacarb, I mean Machyv--"

"Happy juice," Wash said.

"Yes, that."

"Simon, my friend, you needed cheering up almost as much as I did."

The floor was hard and uncomfortable. It had one soft spot, a warm cushy area just under Simon's leg. He glanced in that direction, and saw the leg was thrown over Wash's thighs. "Now... see... that isn't true. You needed... what I prescribed was a medical necessity--"

"Is it getting hot?"

"That's a side effect." Twisting, he laid his head on Wash's shoulder. It was soft too.

"So you prescribed me, I prescribed you back. That's fair." Wash swore cheerfully in Chinese. "I'm burning up."

Simon reached over and tugged on the zipper of Wash's flightsuit. He tugged harder than he'd meant to, and the suit fell open all the way to the crotch.

"That's better," said Wash. He was flushed and perspiring, a natural reaction to the drug, and in no way a dangerous one. As reactions went, it looked very healthy... almost appealing. "Thanks, Doc."

"Doc. See, that's why I get to hand out medicine--"

"And stitch people up."

"Yes. Whereas you fly the ship--"

"And pull bullets out of them. Oh, and set bones."

"The point is you're not allowed to spike my tea!" Simon's voice rose. "I'm the only one who can--"

"You spike your own tea?"

"Of course not."

"Well, someone has to spike your tea." Wash rolled so they were looking right at each other, and Simon realized the pilot was stroking his hair. Actually, he'd been doing that for awhile. It felt... calming. There were dark shadows under the pilot's eyes--had been, for half a year--but right now his gaze was clear. "Aren't you hot?"

"It doesn't affect me that way."

"If you're a doctor, can you still play doctor?"

"What?" The question caught Simon off-guard. One of the other side effects of metrylcavi--merrilsasi--happy juice was erotic arousal, and he'd been too busy noticing that having his hair petted was really enjoyable to realize before that he was experiencing it. Erotic arousal.

Hmm. That might explain why he'd let his hand fall onto Wash's chest after opening up his flightsuit. And why his thumb seemed to be tweaking Wash's nipple lazily, flicking back and forth over it, tick tick like a clock as the nipple and hand doubled, trebled, and doubled again.

"Stop that," Simon told his thumb. Wash stopped petting him. "Not that," he said.

"Are you sure you're not hot?"

"No," said Simon, and his hand grabbed the nipple in a pinch and tugged it. Giggling, he kissed Wash, who had apparently decided that Simon needed to be saved from drug-induced biothermic reactions, and was trying to get his vest and shirt off.

"Is this Mal's fault too?" he asked as his teeth closed gently over Wash's lip. Wash snickered and turned so their cocks were next to each other, separated only by Simon's pants.

"Simon?"

"Yes?"

"Your cock's hard."

"Sexual arousal is a side effect."

"Can I have that one too?" Wash asked, all grace as he opened up all three of Simon's belt buckles and slipped off all three pairs of pants.

"You are having that one too." Simon looked away hastily--there were at least six penises down there, and twice as many hands. With his eyes shut he kissed Wash again, groaning as Wash's hands wrapped around all their cocks, squeezing and pulling.

"This is a really bad idea," Simon breathed, sliding his tongue between Wash's teeth.

"I know," Wash said, in that voice he got when he was doing something really tricky with the ship.

"If Mal comes back he'll see us."

"Shut up, Simon, I'm trying to concentrate."

Simon slid his hands down Wash's back, cupping his ass in his long fingers. He squeezed, and Wash's groan was a warm rush of air over his ear, and he forgot about getting caught and doctor/patient ethics and everything except squeezing that ass and nibbling the neck, which tasted a little of salt.

Mmm. Yes. That made Wash pull faster. Simon was so sensitized he could feel Wash's pulse through each of his fingers, through his palms, through the compressed skin where his cock met Wash's overheated foreskin. He hissed, his hips starting to grind in time with Wash's hands...

Just then, Wash let go.

"Hey," said Simon in protest, but Wash had slid him onto the floor of the cargo hold and was finishing the half-completed job of undressing them both. He had them naked, had his hand between the cheeks of Simon's ass almost before he knew what was happening.

"Hey," he protested. "Who says you get to fuck me? I'm the doctor."

"Seniority. I've been on the crew longer."

"That makes no sense." Nevertheless Simon relaxed, pushing against Wash's cock as it entered him, feeling a happy sense of surprise at the lack of pain, even though it had been so long since he'd had sex, way back before...

... before leaving home, say...

He pushed all the thoughts of leaving home, and why, behind an interior door and bolted it firmly. Then he clamped onto Wash's nipples again, focusing on the other man fucking him, concentrating on the feel of his cock gliding in and out. Wash's whole body was covered in a sheen of perspiration, glowing in the cargo bay's harsh lights, every freckle doubled and tripled, shining like dark stars in a cream-pink sky...

He discovered that if he ran his tongue in a circle around a nipple and then changed directions suddenly, Wash made a sort of 'eee' sound. If he squeezed his ass, more of an 'uhhh' came out.

Tightening his muscles around Wash's thrusting cock brought an 'ooh' out of them both.

"Like playing bagpipes," Simon said, and then worried that it wasn't a romantic enough thing to say. "On Earth-that-was--"

Wash thrust hard, just once.

"Ahhh," said Simon.

"Less talking now," Wash said.

"You're not the boss of me," Simon said, squeezing.

"Oooh," they intoned simultaneously.

Wash switched his weight, freeing a hand, and then wrapped his fingers around Simon's cock. "Just fuck me, okay?"

"Okay."

Stoned as they were, it took a minute to get into synch with each other again. Simon let his head fall back, his eyelids drooping, and he clung to Wash's hips as Wash worked in and out of him, long serious thrusts, his hand squeezing Simon and his hips and hand were picking up speed. Both of them were making a sort of sustained panting noise that was off-key even by bagpipe standards, and Simon felt Wash's cock jerk, deep inside him. They were both coming, uuhh oooh arrh and a spray of jizz, sealing their chests stickily as they kissed, a little desperate now, a little sad and Simon was half-afraid to open his eyes as the last wave of pleasure spasmed through him.

He wasn't so out of it that he didn't know he was afraid to see remorse or regret--even revulsion--on Wash's double-visioned face.

"Hey," said Wash, and his voice was kind, but before Simon could look there was a clank and a distinctive hum. Serenity's cargo door was opening.

"Wash?" Mal's voice came through as soon as the door was slivered. The two men grabbed for their clothes, scrambling behind crates. "Wash, we've found 'em. Zoe, Inara, River too."

Simon felt his blood cool to ice. All the tripled things in the hold merged to one. It had been six months, and he'd all but given up hope.

"Wash, goldurn it, where are you? I said I know where they are and the contact says they're alive."

Alive. Simon sank to the floor behind his crate.

"Coming, Mal." There was the sound of a zipper ratcheting up and Wash stepped out into the middle of the bay. He was wearing Simon's socks. His face was still flushed but his voice was steady.

"You hear what I said?"

"I heard," Wash said. "Heard you say it before, too."

"Your problem, Wash, is you give up too easy," Mal said. "I'm sure this time. Come on, fire 'er up. We're going on a rescue. Kaylee! Jayne!" They were stomping up the metal staircase now, Wash and the Captain. Looking up, Simon watched their boots vanish into the ship's main corridor.

"Metrycaviolic acid," he murmured to the empty cargo hold, and laughed softly as he finished putting Wash's socks on and hurried to join the others.



--end--