TITLE: Exposed


A/N: Hi guys, I'm sorry for all the delays in my posting. I do try really hard to update as soon as I can, but I don't want to pump out something I'm not happy with. I try really hard to make it something you'll enjoy, so I hope you'll bare with me, I'm doing my best!

He wants to fuck her again.

Legs and arms, nails on his back and the constant fight for dominance, to win, to push the other to breaking point and keep them there long enough to climax.

He needs to.

His name hissed in his ear, anger and tension and harsh, perfect release.

It's driving him crazy. Zoe and Wash are on cloud nine, their whole world currently existing in that big bump she's sporting. Kaylee seems determined to destroy every last one of Simon's brain cells using some kind a buck nekkid torture device women are equipped with, and Simon doesn't seem to mind. Mal is more than happy to keep them flying without a job for a while, which Jayne would normally take as a sign of their current cashy credit accounts being rather well stocked. However the black haired beauty currently making eyes at the Captain over the dinner table seems like the bigger draw.

Everyone is getting some.

Everyone is sporting tired eyes and easy smiles; everyone is enjoying the kind of physical intimacy you can only really experience when you've been sweaty and nekkid with another person.

Not just that, they're happy.

He hasn't noticed other people so much in the last month. He's been too wrapped up in creamy thighs and perfect skin that seemed even sexier with his hand prints bruised into it. He's been enjoying the taste of sweat and the sound of her gasping, spitting out his name like a curse when she comes. He hasn't had any time to annoy other people. He's been friendly, possibly even helpful, and no one has rubbed him the wrong way.

Until now.

Now every longing look, every flirtatious giggle, every heated flush not caused by a workout or a gun fight is making him furious. It isn't hard to put his finger on what is driving him mad.

He needs to get laid.

A little voice in his head pipes up, asking what he was doing back on their last stop off, or the one before that. It reminds him that he has in fact spent more money getting sexed in the last two weeks than he has in the last year, and asks him why he's still hard as a rock and going to sleep hornier than a stallion in spring.

He ignores that stupid, annoying little voice.

Dinner with his folks had been good; it was always good to see his siblings. He'd come back to the ship a little calmer, which was lucky, seeing as Mal had looked set to leave him behind if he didn't stop picking on the girl. Still, he wasn't going to be keeping the act up for long.

A few weeks back, when they were still torturing one another. Dinner, her hand sweeping over his chopsticks, knocking them under the table. She shoots him an apologetic look so sincere that for a moment he thinks it really was an accident.

She corrects this misjudgement.

As she comes back up her chair has moved infinitesimally closer to his, her left hand skimming over his thigh, her chest brushing his arm as she returns his chopstick. Her hair hides her smirk from the table, and he prays he doesn't bite through his gorram lip when her hand reaches the bulge in his pants.

It's torture, perfect fucking torture, as she takes him out and begins to stroke slow, agonisingly gentle touches along his length. All he can do his pray when she draws the others attention, knowing he can barely control the expression on his face as her grip tightens and her movement speeds up. She's careful, so careful, to make sure they can't see the movement, isolating the muscles in her forearm so her upper arm is completely still.

She just makes sure he nearly pulls muscles by trying to keep his face straight.

Ruttin' bitch.

He knows he'll have to get her back for this, and as he feels his breathing become heavier and harder to conceal he thinks of what he's going to do to her later. He's picturing her arms locked behind her back while he pulls her into his lap, pictures thrusting into her hard enough to make those perfect tits bounce and her teeth snatch her lip in an effort not to scream.

He thinks he'll fuck her in the infirmary this time, and contemplates the best way to make the most mess.

"Jayne, you ever eaten a marshmallow?"

He swallows when Kaylee brings the conversation onto him. He thinks perhaps they've been talking about treats, but he's so wrapped up in getting one himself he's got no capacity to form words. He'd be in deep guay if it wasn't for the fact that Simon speaks before he can.

"I'll find you a marshmallow."

The mechanic shoots him one of those sweet, grateful looks that makes Jayne's lip curl, but this time is different. River's hand falters, and he looks at her sideways, seeing her eyes resting on her brother and his girlfriend.

The expression on her face is…sad, confused even.


She slowly draws her hand away, leaving him hard as a rock, confused and annoyed. He searches for her later than night, ready to punish her body for leaving him panting, only to find her asleep on the couch with Book reading beside her. When he enters the galley the preacher tilts his head.

"Are you alright, Jayne?"

He goes for honesty. "Ain't too sure."

He watches her now, weeks later, still studying the couples on the table. Her chair is closer to Book, though no one else would notice, and his eyes narrow.

He doesn't miss her; he swears he doesn't miss her.

A warm laugh from another end of the table draws his attention; Wash is tracing patterns on Zoe's stomach, eliciting amused chuckles from his wife. Jayne watches the girl, sees that same look in her eyes.

Over the next few days he studies the couples on board. He needs to know, needs to figure out what to do so he can fuck her again. He watches Zoe bring Wash coffee and Mal let Inara choose the vid for the night. He watches Kaylee show Simon how to make food that doesn't taste like ass, and watches Wash bring Zoe cushions for her aching back. It's the same relationship go se he has always hated, has no interest in, and he hopes for their sake that the sex is good.

The everyday interaction looks boring as hell.

He watches the couples and realises something.

There are smiles and in-jokes and heady laughs and those eyes that say 'later tonight you will see me without cloths'. There are quiet teases and sultry stares and affectionate gestures. There are fights and tense moments and periods without talking and even the occasional yelling match. There are apologies and forgiveness.

They're not hurting one another.

He's standing in the far doorway of the galley. Simon, Kaylee, Book and River have selected a vid, watching it on projector in the little crash nook filled with chairs. Kaylee has fallen asleep on Simon's shoulder, the Doc not looking too far behind her. River is curled with her feet tucked under her, a drawing pad and charcoal perched precariously on her lap.

Book rises quietly, heading to the kitchen for a cup of tea, when he spots Jayne. He follows the line of vision to where River is sitting, and moves closer to the mercenary, keeping his voice quiet and even.

"Are you alright, son?"

Jayne's answer hasn't changed. "Preacher, I still got no idea."