Chapter 4: Cleared
The mercenary was elbow-deep in the guts of Vera, muttering to himself as he cleaned and reassembled his favorite rifle for the third time that morning. His jaw was tight, his shoulders tense, and the scowl on his face could’ve soured milk.
“Forty-eight hours my ass,” he grumbled, though the truth was closer to seventy-two by now. “Doc’s draggin’ his feet just to see me twitch.”
The sound of his own voice didn’t help. He needed something to punch, but Mal had made it real clear that breakin’ anything before shore leave would land him double watch duty. So he settled for snapping Vera’s receiver back into place with unnecessary force.
Still, behind the cussing and pacing, he was half proud of himself for holding the line. Jess had been… teasin’. Sitting too close, whisperin’ things in that honey-smooth drawl, brushing against him like she wasn’t aware of what she was doing. She was definitely aware. And he’d been holding out by sheer force of will and maybe divine intervention.
Soon as Simon says the word… I’m gonna forget what restraint even means.
He snorted, shaking his head. “Hell, I’m already halfway there.”
“…I’m fine, Simon. You could sign the damn paper and save us both a lotta time.” Jess sat on the exam bed, one hand gesturing broadly while the other toyed with a medical instrument she wasn’t supposed to be touching.
Simon looked up from his tablet, the picture of weary patience. “You were abducted, drugged, suffered acute neural stress, and then aggravated your own injuries before the tissue had even fully reknit. Forgive me if I’m hesitant to—”
“Simon,” she interrupted sweetly, voice syrup-thick, “if you don’t clear me before we hit atmo, I will have Kaylee reroute the cabin vents to flood your quarters with engine grease fumes for a week.”
He blinked. “You wouldn’t.”
“Would too. I been restless as a cat in a rainstorm, Doc. I’m ready to go stretch my legs. ‘Sides, I heal quick, you said so yourself.”
Simon pinched the bridge of his nose. “I said the medication was accelerating your recovery. That’s not the same thing as being invincible.”
She flashed him a grin that was all sharp edges and charm. “Never said I was invincible. Just durable.”
Before he could argue further, River’s voice drifted through the open doorway, calm and knowing: “She’s fine. He’s waiting.”
Simon didn’t bother asking how she knew. He just sighed and reached for his data pad. “Fine. But if you so much as sneeze too hard, I’ll confine you to bedrest until next year.”
Jess’s grin turned positively wicked. “Confined to bedrest with Jayne? That a threat or a promise, Doc?”
Jess moved quick and light toward the cargo bay, her booted footsteps barely making a sound on the grating. It didn't take her long to find Jayne exactly where she expected to, surrounded by what was by now the cleanest and best maintained weaponry in the 'Verse.
Without so much as a by-your-leave, she took what he was working on out of his hands and set it aside before sliding into his lap. Straddling him a knee on either side of his hips, she grabbed him and kissed him with enough heat to scorch the both of them and leave them breathless before she pulled back with a grin, "Doc says I'm cleared."
Jayne barely managed to kick the door panel before his back hit metal, Jess still in his arms, her laugh muffled against his throat. The sound sent a jolt through him straight to his bones. He’d meant to say something—something about atmo, or the Cap’n, or at least locking the gorram door—but the words dissolved when she kissed him again, hard and hungry.
The lock clicked. A small mercy.
Her fingers fisted in his shirt; his grip slid from her waist to her thighs, lifting her as easily as breathing. She fit against him like she’d been built for it, like the wait itself had been the forge that shaped them to match.
The world narrowed to heat and heartbeat, to the smell of gun oil and vanilla and skin. His voice was a rasp against her ear, half growl, half confession. “Been thinkin’ about this since you came walkin’ into my life, Kaid.”
She answered with a grin that was pure challenge. “Then stop thinkin’ and start doin’.”
His hands spanned her waist, rough fingertips skimming the curve of her ribs beneath her thin tank top. A question hovered in the tight line of his jaw, unspoken but clear in the sudden stillness between them. "Your ribs?" The words came out low, graveled with concern, scraping against the heavy air charged with their need.
She answered by capturing his mouth again, nipping at his lower lip, a sharp punctuation. "Still wired together," she breathed against his lips, her own hands already tugging his shirt upwards, seeking skin. "Doc's fancy glue holds. Stop worryin'."
A shudder ran through him as her cool fingers traced the hard planes of his stomach, then lower. His own hands slid up her back, anchoring her closer, feeling the solid, reassuring cage of her spine beneath his touch. The memory of her wincing in pain days ago was a cold splash, warring with the heat pooling low in his gut. "Don't wanna hurt you," he managed, the confession raw.
"You ain't gonna break me, Cowboy." Her eyes, dark and fierce in the dim cargo bay light, locked onto his. That sardonic smile played at the corners of her lips, but there was a vulnerability beneath it he rarely saw. "Unless you're stallin'?"
That did it. A low growl rumbled in his chest as he surged forward, reclaiming her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle this time. It was possession, relief, weeks of frustrated waiting unleashed. His fingers found the hem of her top, bunching the fabric, lifting it over her head in one swift motion. The cool metal air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps instantly chased away by the heat of his palms sliding up her sides, carefully avoiding the faint, still-tender bruising low on her right side.
"See?" she gasped, arching into his touch as his thumb brushed the swell of her breast. "Still functional." Her own hands were busy, fumbling with the buckle of his belt with an urgency that made him dizzy. The clink of metal was loud in the confined space.
The sharp clink of the buckle echoed off the stacked crates, unnaturally loud in the sudden heavy silence. Jess’s nimble fingers finally found their prize, the rasp of his zipper joining the frantic beat of her own heart hammering against his chest. "Doc said no restrictions," she breathed, her voice rough and desperate, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers.
He needed no further invitation. Every shred of careful control, painstakingly maintained over three agonizing days of her smirks and whispered promises and accidental brushes, evaporated. A guttural noise tore from Jayne’s throat, raw and feral. His large hands didn’t fumble, didn’t seek buttons; they gripped the worn flannel of her shirt, knuckles white. With a brutal, single wrenching motion, he ripped it open down the front. Buttons pinged like shrapnel against the metal deck plating and nearby crates. Cool air hit her skin.
Her breath hitched, part shock, part pure exhilaration. "Jayne—!"
He didn't stop. The thin tank top beneath met the same fate, seams popping as he tore it apart, exposing her to the chill cargo bay air. The faint, fading yellow-green bloom of old bruising low on her ribs was stark against her pale skin. He saw it, registered it, but the dam had burst. Weeks of wanting, days of torturous denial, flooded every synapse. He couldn't wait another second. Not to touch, not to feel.
His hands clamped onto her hips, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks. With a grunt of effort, he lifted her clean off her feet as if she weighed nothing. Jess gasped, instinctively wrapping her legs around his waist, the cold metal wall hitting her bare back a half-second later. It stole her breath.
Jayne drove into her. Hard. One powerful thrust buried him to the hilt. No careful entry, no gentle testing. Pure, rough urgency. A cry tore from Jess’s throat, swallowed immediately by his mouth crashing down on hers. It wasn’t a kiss; it was possession, a claiming. His hips pistoned, setting a brutal, driving rhythm against the unyielding wall. The force rattled the metal behind her, a counterpoint to skin against skin.
She clung to him, nails scraping down the sweat-slicked muscles of his back. Every deep, punishing stroke jolted through her, pushing her against the cold plating and making her gasp against his shoulder, biting down on the worn cotton of his shirt.
"Don't stop," she demanded, locking her ankles tighter at the small of his back, pulling him impossibly deeper. She arched, shifting her hips slightly and grinding down onto him.
A harsh groan ripped from him at the relentless pace, his thrusts powerful and deep. The rough fabric of his still-half-fastened trousers scraped against the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. His mouth found the curve of her neck, teeth grazing, sucking marks into her skin. One large hand remained clamped on her hip, the other slid up her spine, tangling in her hair, tilting her head back to expose her throat.
The cold metal wall bit into Jess's bare shoulders with each jarring thrust, a brutal counterpoint to the searing heat where Jayne filled her. His grip in her hair tightened, tilting her head back further, exposing the frantic pulse pounding in her throat. He didn't kiss the exposed skin; he marked it, teeth scraping, sucking hard enough to bruise, a silent, possessive claim echoing the relentless drive of his hips.
Jess gasped, her knuckles white where they gripped his shoulders, the thin cotton of his shirt bunching under her fingers. A sharp gasp escaped her as a particularly deep stroke ignited sparks behind her closed eyelids. "Jayne—"
He growled against her throat, the vibration traveling straight down her spine. His rhythm was punishing, unyielding, driven by seventy-two hours of her teasing and his forced restraint. The hand on her hip shifted, fingers digging harder, lifting her slightly to change the angle. She cried out, a sharp sound swallowed by the cavernous bay and the slick sound of skin against skin. "Hurts?" he rasped, the question gruff, but his pace didn't falter, hips pistoning.
"Only when you stop," she managed, her voice breathless and defiant, raking her nails down his sweat-slicked back. She hooked her heels tighter, pulling him impossibly deeper, meeting each thrust with a desperate grind of her own hips. She bit his shoulder through the fabric, muffling a moan as the coiled tension inside her tightened towards breaking. "Don't stop."
A harsh, guttural sound ripped from Jayne’s chest as she clamped down around him. His control, already frayed, snapped completely. His movements became frantic, powerful lunges that hammered her against the unyielding steel, the clanging impact echoing off the stacked crates surrounding them. He buried his face against her neck, breathing ragged, damp heat ghosting over the fresh mark. "Jess..." Her name was a choked plea, a surrender.
That was all it took. The coil inside her shattered. She came with a silent, breathless intensity, her body arching rigidly off the wall, every muscle locking. The cry caught in her throat, emerging as a choked gasp against Jayne’s shoulder. Her inner walls pulsed violently around him, a relentless, fluttering grip that tore his own release from him. He slammed into her one final, shuddering time, a raw groan vibrating against her skin as he spilled deep inside her, his massive frame trembling with the force of it.
He slumped against her, pinning her fully to the cold wall, his breath coming in ragged, hot gusts against her neck. His hand loosened its death grip in her hair, fingers instead tangling loosely, almost tenderly, in the damp strands at her nape. The silence was thick now, filled only by their harsh breathing and the ever-present hum of Serenity. Jess rested her forehead on his shoulder, utterly spent, the chill of the metal seeping into her back.
Jayne felt her wince. He went rigid against her. "Ribs?" His voice was gravel scraped raw, thick with sudden, familiar worry cutting through the post-coital haze. His hand slid from her hair, tracing down her side towards where the bandage had been, low beneath her breast.
"No, they're good." Jess laughed, voice rough, "Just wall's cold is all."
Jayne eased her down slowly, his hands rough callouses catching on her bare skin. "Gorram wall," he muttered, eyes scanning her bare torso where the fading bruise bloomed over her ribs. He brushed a thumb near the edge of the discoloration, a gesture so uncharacteristically gentle it made her breath catch. "Sure?"
"Positive," Jess insisted, shivering slightly as the cool air hit her damp skin full-force now that he wasn't pinning her to the metal. She looked down at the tattered remains of her shirt and tank top. "Though you owe me a new wardrobe, Cobb. That was my favorite flannel."
He grunted, already shrugging off his own worn overshirt. "Weren't plannin' on decoratin' a storage bay with buttons." He draped the heavy, warm fabric around her shoulders, the scent of gun oil and hard work enveloping her. His eyes stayed fixed on her face, searching.
The simple act, the familiar weight of his shirt, settled her more than words. She pulled it tighter and smiled. "Thank you."