FF/SPN: Caieta Port
Another installment in this set of stories. This section has some adult stuff at the end.
Caieta Port
by Vanzetti
Adult, John/Zoe
Summary: I think this counts as the second date.
Caieta Port
She sees his ship again in Caieta Port, waits that evening at a booth across the way until he comes out and closes the hatch behind him. She steps out of the shadow. "You need backup?"
He looks her over. "You'll need a good knife," he says; she draws it from the sheath at her back and he nods. "Wait here." He goes back in, comes out a minute later with a shotgun for her and a handful of shells. "Rock salt. Good against spirits and the undead." He sets off down the road, heading for the edge of town. There's a cattle market here, maybe twelve scrawny beasts in one of the pens, dozing on their feet.
"Not much for sale," Zoe comments.
"They've had a problem with livestock mutilation," Winchester says. He settles down on the benches overlooking the pens, halfway up and over to the side, where they can't be easily seen from the ground. She sits down next to him, stretching her legs out over the row below. If she knew the man better she might close her eyes, or offer to let him do the same; you rest while you can, even if most of warfare's just waiting around for orders or the enemy. Winchester leans back against the row behind them, gun on the bench by his hand. "Moonrise in half an hour," he comments. "They'll come then, I reckon. Salt won't kill them, but it'll put them down long enough to get in and cut their heads off."
Zoe nods once, and then, because it's pretty dark, adds, "Hâo de." He shifts his weight behind her and Zoe half-thinks he was expecting her to say, "Yes, sir," there, like a soldier under his command.
Whatever he was before, he knows what he'd doing now; just after moonrise he touches her arm and points, and there they are, six white shapes at the edge of the enclosure, slipping forward toward the cattle on four feet. He gestures to the left; she nods and starts circling round on the benches to come in from the side, while he heads silently down toward the creatures. They're low to the ground like weasels, but bigger, three or four feet long, and there's something off about them, like their heads don't fit their bodies. The cows are awake now, lowing and jostling each other as they crowd into the far edge of their pen; the noise will be good cover, Zoe reckons.
The weasel-things have reached the edge of the pens and she's directly across from Winchester; he checks her position, raises the shotgun and fires. One of the creatures howls and falls writhing on the ground; the other five head as one for Winchester. Zoe raises her own shotgun, fires once, corrects her aim, fires again. Winchester's taken two more down; she reloads and fires once more, but the first one to go down is on its feet again and heading for her. She waits until it's almost near enough to spring and fires the second shot; then the knife's in her hand and she's trying to get a strong enough grip on its hairless skin to start cutting. A second creature leaps for her, and she drops the body of the first and strikes almost without thinking, slashing at the neck. It falls and she keeps cutting until the head is off, blood making her hands slippery on the creature's skin, so that she has to hold it down with her body to keep it still. There's another shot; so, she thinks, Winchester's still up, and turns back to the first of the creatures. She's got her knee on its back and the head three-quarters off when Winchester shouts, "Down!" She doesn't question, just rolls and comes up in time to see Winchester throw a knife: it hits one of the weasel-things in the back and Winchester follows it up with a sweeping blow with the long blade in his hand. The creature's head falls to the ground, its body sprawled where Zoe had been a moment before.
She can't hear a thing over the bellowing cattle, but a quick look around shows five bodies outside the pen and another one inside where the cows are milling around, nervous at the blood. Winchester stands up. "Now we're even," Zoe tells him. He grins, a quick flash of teeth in the shadows.
There's a pump at the side of the enclosure with a hose for washing down the pens and watering the livestock; they use it to clean off the worst of the blood. The sleeves of her shirt are soaked with it, and it isn't until she tries rinsing them off that she realized that on the left side, at least, it's from a long, shallow gash on her upper arm. She starts ripping the sleeve away; slit down the side like that it's a loss and she might was well use it to wrap the cut.
"Let me see that." His voice is a low rumble, nearer than she'd realized, and he's got one hand on her shoulder. He pushes the sleeve back. "I've got a medkit back on my ship. Could clean that up for you, put a bandage on."
She nearly says that there's a doctor back on Serenity, but that's not her secret to share, exactly, and trusting Winchester with her safety ain't the same as trusting him with Simon's or River's. That's what she thinks, that and how he's right there, nearer than anyone's been since... Well, in a while. He's still got that hand on her shoulder, and his head's not far from hers, dark hair and sad eyes. Winchester's a big man, moves like a soldier, don't have much to say for himself. And whatever that ring on his finger means, he's on his own now. So she turns around and tilts her head up, and he must be thinking the same, because his hand tightens on her shoulder as their lips meet. It's warm and slow as she gets a feel for him, lets him set the pace, and she's reminded of the way his hands moved over the parts he was showing Kaylee, that day back at Eurydice Settlement, deliberate and sure.
When he pulls back, his hands stay on her. "We need to burn the bodies."
She tilts her head. "Cutting off their heads ain't enough?"
There's that smile again, slow and sweet like honey. "You want to explain them to the town fathers, come morning?"
She'd shrug, but she doesn't want him to move. "Seems like it's their problem, not yours."
"Anyhow," he says, "burning's safest."
So they smell of smoke by the time they make it back to his ship, a small thing, the kind a man can run on his own, maybe room for one or two crew; she looks around the bare quarters while he dabs antibacterial lotion into the wound on her arm. Wouldn't have guessed, once, that she'd be thinking of Serenity as comfortable but that's what it is. Homelike. This room's a mess of paper and scattered machinery; only the weapons and first aid supplies are held neatly in their own cases. He smoothes the dressing down, his fingers careful. "That's it," he says.
She gets off the table. "Take your shirt off," she says.
He grins. "I like a woman knows what she wants."
"You're favoring your right side," Zoe tells him. "I want a look at your ribs."
He sighs and starts on the buttons. Sure enough, there's a red mark there, halfway down his side. "That'll bruise."
"They ain't broken," he says. "I got out of the way of the hooves. Just don't hit me there, and I'll be fine."
There's something a little uncertain about his smile, though, like he's not sure she won't try it, so she says, "I'll remember that."
He takes it like she meant, steps forward to kiss her. She presses against him and her arms go around his neck; his hands rest on her waist for a little as they kiss, but then they start roaming up her sides, along her back, pulling her shirt out of her trousers; she shifts back to let him push at her vest, because that's what she wants, right now, to feel his skin against hers, his hands on her breasts. His body is marked with unfamiliar scars; under her hands, he's all muscle, thinner than she guessed, like he's had some lean times. Her fingers brush the bruise and he hisses; she doesn't apologize.
He's got a bunk hidden in an alcove off the main room; she's half-expecting mess but it's been made with military precision; she files that away to think about later because right now she's too busy with boots and buttons and getting those gorram trousers off him, and his mouth isn't helping. He's pushing her back onto the bunk, kissing down her neck toward her breasts; then he lifts himself up and stares down at her, one long moment. "Zoe," he says, just her name.
"John," she answers. There's that smile again, enough to melt her; she pulls him down to kiss him again. Soon enough he's moving down her body, breasts and belly and lower, stubble rough against her thighs, one strong hand holding her by the hip. She gives herself over to the pressure building in her, arches her back against it until time stretches out to waves of nothingness. She's still panting as he works his way back up to her mouth, and he doesn't shed that smug look until she has him inside her. But as Zoe watches him he loses himself in the motion, his face drawn and his eyes closed until she touches his cheek; then he opens them again and smiles, fresh water in a dry land.
Afterwards they lie curled together on the narrow bunk. "Serenity's in port a couple more days," she says. "You got any more monsters need slaying?"
"Reckon I'll think of something," he rumbles against her back.
end
Next: Xú Landing, 1
Caieta Port
by Vanzetti
Adult, John/Zoe
Summary: I think this counts as the second date.
Caieta Port
She sees his ship again in Caieta Port, waits that evening at a booth across the way until he comes out and closes the hatch behind him. She steps out of the shadow. "You need backup?"
He looks her over. "You'll need a good knife," he says; she draws it from the sheath at her back and he nods. "Wait here." He goes back in, comes out a minute later with a shotgun for her and a handful of shells. "Rock salt. Good against spirits and the undead." He sets off down the road, heading for the edge of town. There's a cattle market here, maybe twelve scrawny beasts in one of the pens, dozing on their feet.
"Not much for sale," Zoe comments.
"They've had a problem with livestock mutilation," Winchester says. He settles down on the benches overlooking the pens, halfway up and over to the side, where they can't be easily seen from the ground. She sits down next to him, stretching her legs out over the row below. If she knew the man better she might close her eyes, or offer to let him do the same; you rest while you can, even if most of warfare's just waiting around for orders or the enemy. Winchester leans back against the row behind them, gun on the bench by his hand. "Moonrise in half an hour," he comments. "They'll come then, I reckon. Salt won't kill them, but it'll put them down long enough to get in and cut their heads off."
Zoe nods once, and then, because it's pretty dark, adds, "Hâo de." He shifts his weight behind her and Zoe half-thinks he was expecting her to say, "Yes, sir," there, like a soldier under his command.
Whatever he was before, he knows what he'd doing now; just after moonrise he touches her arm and points, and there they are, six white shapes at the edge of the enclosure, slipping forward toward the cattle on four feet. He gestures to the left; she nods and starts circling round on the benches to come in from the side, while he heads silently down toward the creatures. They're low to the ground like weasels, but bigger, three or four feet long, and there's something off about them, like their heads don't fit their bodies. The cows are awake now, lowing and jostling each other as they crowd into the far edge of their pen; the noise will be good cover, Zoe reckons.
The weasel-things have reached the edge of the pens and she's directly across from Winchester; he checks her position, raises the shotgun and fires. One of the creatures howls and falls writhing on the ground; the other five head as one for Winchester. Zoe raises her own shotgun, fires once, corrects her aim, fires again. Winchester's taken two more down; she reloads and fires once more, but the first one to go down is on its feet again and heading for her. She waits until it's almost near enough to spring and fires the second shot; then the knife's in her hand and she's trying to get a strong enough grip on its hairless skin to start cutting. A second creature leaps for her, and she drops the body of the first and strikes almost without thinking, slashing at the neck. It falls and she keeps cutting until the head is off, blood making her hands slippery on the creature's skin, so that she has to hold it down with her body to keep it still. There's another shot; so, she thinks, Winchester's still up, and turns back to the first of the creatures. She's got her knee on its back and the head three-quarters off when Winchester shouts, "Down!" She doesn't question, just rolls and comes up in time to see Winchester throw a knife: it hits one of the weasel-things in the back and Winchester follows it up with a sweeping blow with the long blade in his hand. The creature's head falls to the ground, its body sprawled where Zoe had been a moment before.
She can't hear a thing over the bellowing cattle, but a quick look around shows five bodies outside the pen and another one inside where the cows are milling around, nervous at the blood. Winchester stands up. "Now we're even," Zoe tells him. He grins, a quick flash of teeth in the shadows.
There's a pump at the side of the enclosure with a hose for washing down the pens and watering the livestock; they use it to clean off the worst of the blood. The sleeves of her shirt are soaked with it, and it isn't until she tries rinsing them off that she realized that on the left side, at least, it's from a long, shallow gash on her upper arm. She starts ripping the sleeve away; slit down the side like that it's a loss and she might was well use it to wrap the cut.
"Let me see that." His voice is a low rumble, nearer than she'd realized, and he's got one hand on her shoulder. He pushes the sleeve back. "I've got a medkit back on my ship. Could clean that up for you, put a bandage on."
She nearly says that there's a doctor back on Serenity, but that's not her secret to share, exactly, and trusting Winchester with her safety ain't the same as trusting him with Simon's or River's. That's what she thinks, that and how he's right there, nearer than anyone's been since... Well, in a while. He's still got that hand on her shoulder, and his head's not far from hers, dark hair and sad eyes. Winchester's a big man, moves like a soldier, don't have much to say for himself. And whatever that ring on his finger means, he's on his own now. So she turns around and tilts her head up, and he must be thinking the same, because his hand tightens on her shoulder as their lips meet. It's warm and slow as she gets a feel for him, lets him set the pace, and she's reminded of the way his hands moved over the parts he was showing Kaylee, that day back at Eurydice Settlement, deliberate and sure.
When he pulls back, his hands stay on her. "We need to burn the bodies."
She tilts her head. "Cutting off their heads ain't enough?"
There's that smile again, slow and sweet like honey. "You want to explain them to the town fathers, come morning?"
She'd shrug, but she doesn't want him to move. "Seems like it's their problem, not yours."
"Anyhow," he says, "burning's safest."
So they smell of smoke by the time they make it back to his ship, a small thing, the kind a man can run on his own, maybe room for one or two crew; she looks around the bare quarters while he dabs antibacterial lotion into the wound on her arm. Wouldn't have guessed, once, that she'd be thinking of Serenity as comfortable but that's what it is. Homelike. This room's a mess of paper and scattered machinery; only the weapons and first aid supplies are held neatly in their own cases. He smoothes the dressing down, his fingers careful. "That's it," he says.
She gets off the table. "Take your shirt off," she says.
He grins. "I like a woman knows what she wants."
"You're favoring your right side," Zoe tells him. "I want a look at your ribs."
He sighs and starts on the buttons. Sure enough, there's a red mark there, halfway down his side. "That'll bruise."
"They ain't broken," he says. "I got out of the way of the hooves. Just don't hit me there, and I'll be fine."
There's something a little uncertain about his smile, though, like he's not sure she won't try it, so she says, "I'll remember that."
He takes it like she meant, steps forward to kiss her. She presses against him and her arms go around his neck; his hands rest on her waist for a little as they kiss, but then they start roaming up her sides, along her back, pulling her shirt out of her trousers; she shifts back to let him push at her vest, because that's what she wants, right now, to feel his skin against hers, his hands on her breasts. His body is marked with unfamiliar scars; under her hands, he's all muscle, thinner than she guessed, like he's had some lean times. Her fingers brush the bruise and he hisses; she doesn't apologize.
He's got a bunk hidden in an alcove off the main room; she's half-expecting mess but it's been made with military precision; she files that away to think about later because right now she's too busy with boots and buttons and getting those gorram trousers off him, and his mouth isn't helping. He's pushing her back onto the bunk, kissing down her neck toward her breasts; then he lifts himself up and stares down at her, one long moment. "Zoe," he says, just her name.
"John," she answers. There's that smile again, enough to melt her; she pulls him down to kiss him again. Soon enough he's moving down her body, breasts and belly and lower, stubble rough against her thighs, one strong hand holding her by the hip. She gives herself over to the pressure building in her, arches her back against it until time stretches out to waves of nothingness. She's still panting as he works his way back up to her mouth, and he doesn't shed that smug look until she has him inside her. But as Zoe watches him he loses himself in the motion, his face drawn and his eyes closed until she touches his cheek; then he opens them again and smiles, fresh water in a dry land.
Afterwards they lie curled together on the narrow bunk. "Serenity's in port a couple more days," she says. "You got any more monsters need slaying?"
"Reckon I'll think of something," he rumbles against her back.
end
Next: Xú Landing, 1