Neoteny
Title: Neoteny
Pairing: Jayne/River
Words: 1,067
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer/Warning: I don’t own the characters or source material; I’m not making any money from this. There is consensual underage sex in this fic; please don’t read it if that bothers you.
Notes: Takes place post-Objects in Space.
Summary: River can manipulate just about anyone.
The thing about River is: if she wants something, she’ll be damned if she doesn’t get it, whether it’s through hard work or sheer manipulation.
Barely given a second glance since the day she crawled out onto Serenity’s cold metal floor; now, everyone’s watching her. Make sure the crazy girl stays out of trouble. No touching guns. Not allowed-
Little girls aren’t allowed to get dirty, aren’t allowed to run all over the ship, aren’t allowed to fix things. If she can make the Bible perfect, then she can be perfect. Normal. Like Kaylee, with that perma-smile on her face, or Inara, dark-saucy eyes shining; she speaks in that bell-clear voice.
Little girls can’t have fun.
So she won’t be a little girl anymore, then. Not if she has her way. Not if she wears her pretty grown-up dress.
“It’s for special occasions,” Simon says when he helps her into it. “Try to keep it clean for a little longer this time, mei-mei.”
Look skeptical, and he says, “Will you try?”
She nods; he kisses her forehead.
--
She can tell Jayne’s trying not to look at her.
He’s been trying not to for a long time. He glances at her sometimes, when she sits alone at the table, staring off into the nothingness of the ‘verse. Space between her breasts, narrow and bare, and his eyes flicker downdown to her small chest. He reluctantly turns away, and she grins something wicked.
Jayne thinks she’s a problem - “crazy. Can’t have her on board, captain.”
--
“Stay out of everybody’s way. Quiet. Just... in your bunk, okay, River?” Simon runs his hand across her cheek, and smoothes the blanket. “Sleep now.”
Sleep. Sometimes it doesn’t come for days, and her overtaxed brain keeps whirring like the engine. Getting louder, and then she can’t even hear herself think. Voices inside her head travel outside her head, talk to her, scream at her.
She leaves her room, padding about in Simon’s shirt (too big on her, hanging loose down to the top of thin thighs, the cuffs trailing over her thumbs), practically glowing in the dark. Quiet as she goes, bare feet on the floor, not like the click of Inara’s heels.
Mumbling from another bunk, and she steps a little closer: Jayne. Talking nonsense in his sleep. Nonsense like what’s in her brain. She understands; she doesn’t comprehend. His words getting louder, but not clearer, sleep-rough voice guiding her in.
Poke his side, and Jayne reaches for a gun (no touching guns), fast as he shoots, and grunting, “Wha’s that?” Confused and expecting an invasion, only to find a girl-child at his side.
“River. I can’t sleep.”
He doesn’t face her, but stays on his side, gun at rest. “Go bother Simon. No point in wakin’ me up ‘cause you’re not right enough to sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” Slowly, in her best seductress voice. Like the one Inara uses with her clients. River asked how she talks to them, and Inara showed her. Gave a crash course in intimacy to the crazy little girl. Not her best-kept secrets, of course, just a trick here and there. River sliding the second button from the top out and squaring her shoulders a little; climbing in next to him when he’s still groggy and unsure as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.
“Don’t...” and then he can’t say anything else because she’s pressing her lips to his and running dainty fingers through his mussed hair and he’s too shocked to shove her away.
...Until she’s on top of him, spreading her legs like she thinks he wants her to. And he does.
“Can’t. It ain’t right. You’re a kid.”
“I’m sixteen.” She pouts, exactly the way a child would. “Not little anymore. See?” Guiding his hand to her breast, perky-firm and looking much too small against Jayne’s large frame.
Still little: delicate rosebud lips, broken glass eyes, long legs, and tiny toes curling in to the bottoms of her feet, but she insists she’s old enough.
“I’m not an idiot.” Practically snorted, and she inches her leg over Jayne’s, straddling him, snaking one hand down to his pajama bottoms, the edge of her (Simon’s) shirt brushing over Jayne’s thighs. She leans down for another kiss, but he stops her.
“No kissing.” Firmly. Brusque, almost, if it weren’t for the fact that he’s under her and hard and all but bucking up.
No kissing. No touching guns. Nokissingnotouchingguns. Looped in River’s head. She’s never been one for rules. Tease him, run her mouth over his, feather-light, all the while working his pants down. No protesting once River’s fingers fan wide to cover him, tug-stroking hard, because he’s not breakable like she is. Strong. Resilient. He can take it. Head of his cock beaded with cloudy fluid, and she fumbles around the shelf behind him to find a condom and rip the foil off.
He’s hard and thick and curving slightly to the left. Roll the condom on, lift her hips and then ease back down. Flash of pain when he enters completely, and River whines (so good), slamming down with all the force she has. Jayne grabbing her waist, slowing her down, treating her nice. Eyes closed, head back on his pillow, his fingers clenching her waist but not moving, just keeping her steady. Wide hands going down her back, slow, and he flicks her hair away so he can take one of her nipples into his mouth, pink-peach and hard. Sucking gently, kissing her there, but not on the mouth. Stroking her, tracing circles on her skin, and she shivers. Breathy inhale when he finally rocks forward, and he eyes her.
“Quiet,” he says, but when his fingers are between her legs, teasing, she has to bite down on her lip to obey.
He likes that, she thinks. He’s relaxed. Not tense, like he usually is around her - all tightened muscles and clenched jaw. Lazy. Jayne’s lazy, letting her squirm-squeeze around him, letting her bear down harder; he opens his eyes and watches her grinding on him, a moan escaping from her lips.
She collapses on top of him, and even though Jayne’s bunk is small, she just tucks in, her back to his chest. River hears him breathing, tired-heavy, in her ear.
She sleeps.