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The new dress Simon buys her is gauzy golden-yellow print and comes with a little pack of extra beads sewn into the tag and an adhesive strip of plastic proclaiming smallsmallsmall down the front. She leaves them both on, pressure to be a lady and keep her dress clean, no bunching it between her thighs and getting it dirty too soon, no having to take off the newness and wash it.
She jumps to hear the beads rattle, sees Jayne glancing at her chest when she does even though Inara's breasts are bigger, full and supple and sweet, but the Companion is off limits, just like the little crazy girl should be. Smallsmallsmall, and she dances because Jayne watches, feigning obliviousness and letting the skirt swirl up above her knees, hearing the beads sifting and swimming in their pouch like little fists on little walls.
Eyes closed, arms out, knowing more than she should know, like how Jayne's fingers itch to hike that skirt up higher and slide the straps off down her arms. It's only the two of them there, so she lets one do it, baring a fishbelly-pale sweep of collarbone and feeling Jayne's eyes try to drag that strap down even more. Her stomach flutters and jumps and her nipples press hard and small through the cotton--no bra today, and her panties are slick-damp when she finally goes crawling onto the couch. Stretching out, letting herself drowse, letting Jayne look, wondering how it would feel to crawl into his lap instead. Big and gruff and scared of her, but she could do what he said. Take him out and lick him like he licks his knives sometimes, slow and careful and attentive.
Simon says socialization is good for her, but this isn't what he has in mind. If Simon could peel back her skull as easily as he can peel back skin, he would be aghast, but it doesn't stop her from sighing a little in her supposed sleep and bending one knee in, knowing the dress is molded all against her front and her nipples are two tiny points just pleading to be nipped and pinched and kissed at. And Jayne would lick at her, burn her thighs with his beard and made her laugh delightedly and then moan long and low by pushing a finger up inside her. She smiles widely at him before hopping to her feet and disappearing.
It's easy to creep into his bunk, easier to creep into his bed, not easy at all to wait to be found. That part never gets any easier. "Not off-limits," she tells him, and then there's the head of Jayne's cock, big and blunt and rubbing against her through her panties--wet panties, wet cock, might as well be nothing, and she croons to herself when the very tip pushes into her, through the fabric. Fisting that gold-gauzy skirt in her hands and lifting it higherhigherhigher.
Dress crumpled up on the floor, Jayne pushing into her from behind, up against the wall, her cheek and breasts pressed against cold metal. Like the surge of lust he felt when they broke open that box and found her there, naked and vulnerable.
The next day, she snips the bead packet off her dress, strings the beads into a necklace, and tells Simon to give it to Kaylee.
She likes the way Jayne's big hands feel splayed on her hips. Underwear small and silky today--she took it from Inara's shuttle and the cloth is the sort of thing Jayne can spend forever running his fingers over, making her squirm and whine and finally grip one of his wrists and push his hand inside--bra nothing but a scrap of lace. Those hands spreading her open, drawing her cheeks apart, gripping tight and strong, and the tip of his cock nudges against her, causing her to tremble and moan in his lap and feeling it when all the breath in his body gets ready to rush out in a groan.
No clothes in Jayne's bunk, that's the rule. She undresses as soon as she's down, sometimes doesn't care if he does it himself and rips her clothes in the process, so now and then she deliberately wears cheap, filmy things that she tells Simon she ruins playing.
Playing is a good word for so many things. People think they're friends now, having mended their ways after Miranda, binding together after losing so many, and she sits on his lap like a little girl sometimes, when they aren't alone, heat spreading inside her and slickness spreading between her legs when she feels him harden against the swell of her ass.
There's talk of hiring a new pilot, since she and Mal together can't make up for the pilot that was. She practices, senses out Serenity's hums and thrums and when Jayne gets bored and feels like making trouble she can still fly the ship with his hand in her lap. Mal would go into a fit of apoplexy if he knew, she tells Jayne, and he might not know what apoplexy is but he snorts anyway.
Jayne is so big and almost unbearable, but she isn't small anymore and she can take it, would let him do it till she's bleeding and limping but that would give too much away to others, to her doctor-brother, and Jayne becomes a gentleman in bed anyway. And sometimes, when they can go planetside, Jayne gets a room for them and she can be as loud as she pleases. Simon trusts her on her own now. Even with Jayne going about his business and River tucked up to his side like a sharp little knife, something to flash around just enough to catch the light and intimidate.
Fucking like a whore and Jayne kissing her like she isn't one and that's not how her brother finds them, finds out, no. It's back on Serenity when the door is unlocked and Jayne's curled up behind her, out like a light in her own little bed.
She looks at Simon, no words said, and he dips his head down and leaves.