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Fic: Made to Measure 4/4 - Playtime

This started out in life as the opening scene of a much longer story, in which Mal asks Jayne to marry him, then finds out something about Jayne's past that he doesn't like. Mal behaves like a complete idiot and it's Simon that has to get them back together again. Unfortunately, after sixteen pages I ran out of steam and the story never got finished. Maybe one day.


Title: Playtime
Fandom: Firefly
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Mal Reynolds/Simon Tam/Jayne Cobb
Contains: BDSM, D/s and gay sex (how many more warnings do you need?)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters, I'm just making them happy.







Playtime


Mal is fucking him.

Or is it Simon?

Blindfolded, Jayne has abandoned himself to these two men torturing him so competently although he can no longer be sure who is taking him now.

They have been doing this for what feels like hours. Passed between them, he has been beaten, fucked, sucked, bitten, pinched and generally used so hard that he can hardly remember his own name. He has come twice already and he knows it's not enough for them.

Currently, they have him on his knees, but they've also had him standing, sitting, lying down and half a dozen other ways he can't even seem to recall, although it's possible that if they want him to stand again someone will have to hold him up because he doesn't think he has the strength any more.

His hands are free but they have been tied for the most part, although they haven't taken the blindfold off. Even if he wanted it off he would not ask. Asking isn't part of the rules. Not that he minds though, really, apart from loving to watch these two men when they take him.

Someone his holding down his arms. His chest is pulled down onto the bed, his legs are wide with his ass in the air and the cock inside him is relentless in its pounding.

And he gorram loves it.

Gloved hands are gripping his hips. Gloved hands are holding him down. Every nerve ending is on fire. He feels alive.

By unspoken agreement, the cock in him stills a moment and then another is being pushed into his mouth. It feels huge and he thinks it might be Mal but it's getting hard to tell the individual flavours and sizes of his lovers when they are using him so hard.

They start moving, thrusting in perfect time into his ass and mouth and he knows he's not required to be more than a hole for them, something to fuck.

And he loves that even more.

Leather clad fingers seem to be everywhere; gripping his hair, his head, bruising his hips, slapping his ass, stroking down his spine. Each movement pulls on the belt around his neck, put there earlier by Simon, tight but not constricting yet still enough to remind him of who owns him.

They are in Mal's bunk, their bunk now since Jayne moved in with him, pretty much on the same day a bed moved in too, replacing Mal’s narrow berth. They use his old bunk for storage, mostly, these days.

Earlier in the evening, wondering where Mal and Simon have disappeared to, he arrives there to find them both waiting for him, naked apart from tight black leather gloves. Laid out on the bed, Mal's arms are around Simon and they look flushed and sexy and the sight goes straight to Jayne's cock before he even has chance to register surprise that they seem to have started without him.

He does not have chance to speak, before Simon is off the bed and pointing to the floor before him.

“On your knees, Jayne,” he says, softly, the words a command nonetheless.

Swallowing, Jayne obeys instantly, dropping to the deck at Simon's feet. Those words are ingrained into his soul now. Mal has carved them onto the surface of his being and he never tires of hearing them. They never fail to excite him although sometimes he wonders how automatic his response to those words has become. Yet somehow Mal has only to say them now and something in him sighs with relief. Because he needs this, sometimes, more than he understands. Mal knows how to give it to him but hearing the words from Simon shocks him somehow.

Simon is twenty five years old. Jayne is forty. Taking orders from someone so much younger than him shouldn't feel so good, so right. But it does.

“You're mine,” Simon tells him quietly. “Just for tonight, Mal's given you to me.”

Looking up at his lover, Jayne sees Mal's nod of confirmation. “You do as he says and you do it quick. Simon here ain't beyond punishing you if you don't. Dong ma?”

He nods, suddenly excited, suddenly afraid. Yet not unhappy at the thought of two Masters.

Simon takes his jaw in a bruising grip, forcing his head back and up. “Say the words, Jayne. You belong to me.”

“I’m yours, Simon,” Jayne affirms, speaking for the first time entering the bunk. Looking into the younger man's eyes, they are deep and blue and look colder than he's ever seen them before and he wonders then if this is really the gentle young doctor that occasionally shares their bed.

A soft thumb strokes his cheek. “I don't think you have any idea how sexy it is seeing you on your knees like that," Simon reflects. "All that power, all that strength, mine to use, to do with as I please, and you'll let me.”

It's not a question but Jayne answers anyway. "You know I will."

Simon nods and smiles. "You want me to," he corrects knowingly, and Jayne isn't about to argue with him because he's right, he does want him to, because this is nearly as good as getting on his knees to Mal. Mal can take him to the safe place and now he desperately wants Simon do the same.

"Pretty mouth," Simon is saying softly, one leather clad finger tip brushing over his mouth but he doesn't know Simon's rules so he keeps his mouth closed. "Pretty eyes too, but you don't get to use them tonight. Tonight is all about touch, sensation, about pain and obeying. Do you have a problem with that?”

Jayne feels his heart lurch in his chest. When did Simon learn how to push his buttons like this? Has Mal been giving him lessons or does this come naturally to him?

“No.”

Simon nods, pleased. “I knew you'd be good. Close your eyes.”

Jayne does as he is told, holding still while he is blindfolded and the world goes dark.

“Mal. Clothes,” he hears and is amazed when Mal obeys, stripping him of his clothing with quiet efficiency. He ends up standing, naked but for the cloth over his eyes until he feels a length of leather being fitted around his throat and buckled securely.

“There,” he hears. “That's better. It shows that I own you now.”

Then his mouth is taken in a bruising kiss and the wonderful torment begins.

"Take Mal's hand," he is instructed. "Go where he leads you. Stay as he puts you."

Leather touches his hand and he clings to it as he anchors his senses to something solid as it pulls him across the room. He is halted by a murmured command and his head is pushed down but his legs are kept straight. It feels like he's bent over Mal's desk although in the dark his imagination supplies him with other places it could be.

Something brushes over his ear and he shivers as a soft voice murmurs, "You speak only when spoken to. You answer when asked a question. You address us both with respect. You say your word if you want us to stop. Are you clear on those points?"

"Yes…. sir."

"Good boy. Now, keep very still. I'm going to warm those cheeks up a little. They're going to look so pretty when they've been reddened."

It's not a question so Jayne keeps quiet. Anticipation dances through him. He wants this, and he's wary too. Simon is an unknown factor in this. Mal knows how much to hurt him, when to stop. Simon is the mystery here.

It begins. Soft at first, the touches are gentle, tender, becoming taps, then when they turn into slaps he begins to moan. As each slap gets harder his moans get louder. Then they really start to hurt and just when he's starting to wince, they become soft again, soothing, rubbing, kisses in leather on his warming skin.

"You like it, don't you."

"Yes, sir," he whispers, the pang of humiliation he feels at this admission somehow making it all the sweeter. He knows there should be humiliation from standing with his ass in the air being hurt by a man fifteen years his junior but he's letting go of himself, forgetting who he is for a while, and he knows now that Simon too can take him to that special place where everything is warm and safe and good.

"Such a slut," the voice murmurs affectionately. "You look so beautiful like this, but I don't think you've had enough yet. I don't think a hand's enough for you either. Let's try something harder."

Again, he knows better than to answer. Instead, he hangs his head a little more and sticks his ass out that little bit further.

There is a soft laugh from above him. "I seem to remember telling you not move but that looks so good on you I'll let it go this once. Do it again and you'll regret it."

Shivering at the cold promise, Jayne takes a deep breath, knowing what's to come.

And then it starts all over again only harder this time and instead of the gloved hand it feels like a belt being stroked over his eager skin. Then it lands, gently at first although there are fewer softer blows this time and he loses count as the belt starts to fall harder, each blow devastating and beautiful as it cracks across his aching flesh. By the time it's gone full circle to soft again, he's quivering and gasping and wanting it to stop and never wanting it to stop, losing himself in this dark world of leather and beautiful, burning pain.

"You're doing so well," the voice croons, praising him. "You look so good like this."

He shudders as he feels kisses on his abused behind. Soft kisses followed by tiny stinging bites and then the lazy lick of a warm, wet tongue.

"But we haven't finished yet. I think you need more. Do you need more?"

No. No more, he wants to say. It hurts. But his mouth is saying, "Yes, sir," before he can stop himself. "Please, sir."

"Twenty more, then," the voice promises, as though giving him a gift. "Because you’ve been so good. Then we're going to fuck you."

Jayne knows this will be hard to take. These twenty blows will push him the furthest into darkness.

His breath catches.

He is not wrong.

This time there is no gentle warm up, no softness. Within seconds his ass is on fire, the skin alight, bruising beneath the hard, uncompromising crack of the belt, rhythmic and terrible.

He cries out, wordless inarticulate sounds.

They told him not to speak but he was not told to be silent. If they had, he would not utter a sound but with no such restriction in place, he lets go. Besides he knows how much Mal likes to hear him scream when he hurts him.

And it does hurt, enough to want to make it stop. Just one word is all it would take but he can't use it, won't use it, because this is what he craves in some dark and twisted place inside himself and he never wants it to end.

There's a hand in his hair now and another on his neck, soothing him and he knows that if it's Simon wielding the belt, then this must be Mal, although he can't say for sure. Whoever it is though doesn't stop and it hurts so much now that his legs can hardly hold him. Then, at the point of no more, his cock is taken, wrapped in leather and it's only then that he realises how hard he is.

The blows time with the glide and pull and before he can even begin to process what is happening to him, he is ordered to come. His conditioned cock obeys, exploding instantly, erupting in pure liquid ecstasy, so wonderful against the counterpoint of the last lash of the belt.

He is gasping now, his breath coming out in harsh sobs, shuddering against the desk and something cool and soothing is suddenly being rubbed into his ass, the touch gentle and careful.

The hand in his hair is stroking him, petting him almost and now he cannot mistake Simon's voice behind him.

"Well done, pet. I'm so proud of you, darling. We both are."

From the place in his head where his Masters have sent him Jayne basks in the praise. He feels warm and safe and so loved that he thinks his heart might burst.

"Do you want your reward now?"

That voice is Mal's and he nods, floating on a cloud of joy and pain. "Sir… If it pleases you, sir."

Someone leads him to the bed and he is laid out on his back, the pressure on his wounded cheeks both good and bad in equal amounts. His legs are parted and a slick finger plays around the entrance to his body.

"You don't need to open him up. Go straight in. It'll hurt some but he likes it."

He wants to protest, but Mal is right. Lost in sensation and darkness, he says nothing, just holds his breath and waits for the gift of the burn.

And that is how he ends up where he is now, being fucked hard, his ass and his mouth used purely for the pleasure of the men at each end of him and he's not sure how much more of this he can take. Whoever is behind him is milking his cock again and it's so sensitive now he's sure that if he could he would scream.

Both his tormentors have come in him once already but knows they are not going to stop until they've come again. It won't be long either. He feels their strokes getting more out of control and hears their harsh, gasping breaths. Then it happens, the miracle, and as part of him wonders how they can do this, how they can come together, twin cocks jerk, spilling deeply into him.

And even as he's swallowing, trying to empty his mouth he's being hauled upright, still impaled, and as teeth fasten onto his neck, biting almost brutally, his cock is taken firmly and shown no mercy. Another mouth latches onto the other side of his neck and between the biting, the sucking and the pulling, one final orgasm is wrung out of him with a screaming cry.

His brain shuts down and he becomes nothing more than the throb and the pulse. He thinks he might be breathing but he's not really sure. Sensation has become everything and for a moment he is nothing more than the sum of his nerve endings and he can't even begin to describe how he feels. Soft now, the cock inside him slips out and he groans at the loss. Suddenly, he feels lifeless and begins to slump but finds himself supported against a strong body behind him.

Then, gentle hands are in his hair and the blindfold is removed though he can do little more than blink and shake. Simon's face swims for a moment and it takes some effort before it focuses.

“Are you still with us?” he is asked, as long fingers cup his cheek, the younger man's dark blue eyes warm again now, wide with concern.

“Sir…”

Simon shakes his head, corrects him with a finger on his abused lips. “No more ‘sir,’ baby, not now. You did so well but I think I took you too deep. Are you back with us yet?”

Still feeling the need for contact after the high they've given him, Jayne leans his jaw into the tender touch.

“That was you?”

Giving him a wide smile that transforms his face, Simon nods. “Most of it, yes.”

Taking a deep breath, Jayne leans his head back onto the shoulder behind him. A soft kiss lands on his cheek from behind.

“Thank you. Was good.”

"You are very welcome," the younger man replies.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Jayne starts to feel reality return. His head feels a little clearer and he begins to feel sleepy. Parts of him are going to be sore for days, but it feels wonderful and he can't find it in himself to care.

“Come on, big guy,” he hears from behind him. “You're getting a mite heavy here.”

“You're the one who's just fucked me stupid,” he grumbles, collapsing down onto the bed. “No good complaining when it's your fault I'm so wiped.”

There's a chuckle from above him. Opening one eye, he sees Mal leaning over.

"Well, well. Who'da thought my big strong merc couldn't take the pace?"

"You kidding, right?" he manages.

"Did we break you?"

Mal's grin is positively smug and Jayne groans, "You really need to ask?"

Leaning up, Mal looks over to Simon. "We broke him."

"Ha ha. I'd like to see you take the pounding you've just given me."

"One day you might."

"Well, there's a helluva thing to say to a guy when he needs to sleep."

Mal looks pretty worn out himself although Jayne's not one bit surprised by that, considering.

“I'd be a mite amazed if there's any life out of you again tonight,” Mal grins, pointedly looking down at Jayne's limp cock.

“Or the rest of the week.”

A body presses itself to him from behind. "Do you mind if I stay for a while?"

"Stay all night, baby, if you want to. You know that."

"Thank you," Simon murmurs, sleepily. "I don't think I can move."

Despite being smaller, Simon manages to wrap himself around Jayne quite effectively, as Mal settles into his usual place within Jayne's arms.

"Did you enjoy that?" Mal asks him softly. Simon's breathing evens, the younger man asleep before Mal has even finished speaking.

"Hell, yes. The boy's good."

"You have bruises."

Warmth rushes through him. Jayne is proud to wear his Master's marks on his skin and they both know it. He can't explain why it feels so good and gave up trying long ago. It's just another sign of Mal's ownership. And Simon's too now, it seems.

Somewhat surprised to find that he doesn't mind that at all, Jayne sighs with contentment as Mal kisses him tenderly, their tiredness making it languid and slow.

"Mine," Mal whispers possessively when they part, his eyelids drooping heavily.

"Yours, sir."

"Good boy," he hears, before Mal too gives in to sleep.

Smiling, loving the dull throb from his ass and the warmth of the two men pressed against him, Jayne follows them, as he has always been content to do.
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