Brought to Heel

 

Author: NA35

Fandom: Firefly

Pairing(s): Mal/Jayne

Warnings: discipline, sex, whipping

Spoilers: after Ariel

Summary: Written for the anon challenge, Mal/Jayne "belt-whipping" won in the BDSM-related catagory.

 

Nominated Category:

Most Intense Scene: Acted TV & Movies - Slash

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Jayne's head is swimming. Strange as it seems, Jayne's never felt quite so close to death before. It makes him feel queasy, then faint - like he's been sitting for a long time and then stood up too fast.

 

He hasn't felt terror like this since he was a child. He stumbles onto the ship, dazed. Every footfall on solid steel feels like a gift.

 

All the adrenaline of the day – the arrest, the violent, by-the-skin-of-their-teeth escape, and finally, being in the airlock, his ears flooded with the roar of the engine, the freezing cold air cutting at his skin - has finally caught up with him.

 

It’s not just that, though, as if that weren’t enough: something else had him reeling, too – something he wants desperately to deny, but the feeling’s too immediate, too visceral. It settles into his stomach like a living thing, eating away: shame.

 

"Don't tell 'em what I did."

 

Before, he wouldn't have thought twice about taking a better deal when it came along. That's what separates a merc from some gorramn kamikaze, he thinks. What happened between the day he came aboard Serenity and now, he can't begin to understand.

 

He doesn't have time to brood though. Mal apparently isn't content to let him slink back to his bunk. He comes in, out of the airlock, and tries to walk past, but the captain stops him.

 

"Where do ya think you're going?"

 

Something in Mal's tone makes him stop dead in his tracks. It’s something cold and dark, and it’s in his expression, too. Something he’s never seen before.

 

"My bunk, Jayne. Now."

 

Following Mal back to his quarters, Jayne starts to come to his senses. A certain part of his brain, the one that usually holds sway, is already starting to fight off his fear and confusion, tempting him to start plotting again – to start weighing things again to see how he can get the upper hand. But neither part of his brain succeeds, the fear, or the defiance; none of the million things rushing around his head right now can really splice itself into a complete thought. So he just follows Mal into his bunk, like he’s been told.

 

Jayne hears the hatch hiss shut behind him as if from a distance. Instinctually, he’s on edge about being confined; he tenses, his eyes dart around the room. Jayne realizes he's never been in Mal's bunk before. It’s unnerving in its intimacy; looking over his spare belongings, his neatly made bed. It’s unnerving too, wondering what Mal could possibly need privacy for. Not like he’s got any problem yelling at or beating folks in public.

 

Mal’s voice, unsettlingly in its calm, interrupts his thoughts.

 

"Reckon' there's only one thing a man like you understands."

 

Jayne looks at him. That tone of voice makes the air in the room seem cold and thin all of a sudden.

 

"Take off your belt, Jayne."

 

Jayne's not sure where he's going with this, but there's a darkness in Mal's eyes that's some controlled kind of crazy. Like he's knows something terrible that the merc's about to find out.

 

Jayne's hands go his belt buckle, and Mal's eyes follow them there, keenly. Just seeing Jayne's hands there, against that muscled abdomen, affects him more than he expects. Jayne's big hands are trembling a little as the buckle clinks open and Mal is almost ashamed of how part of him likes that – likes it a lot.

 

"Mal, I -"

 

"Zhùzuî! In this bunk, you'll speak only when spoken to."

 

The belt slides through the loops and when Jayne looks unsure about what to do next, Mal takes it from him, running his hands over the soft brown leather, weighing it in his hand. There's nothing fancy about it; it's simple and masculine, but the leather has pleasant smell.

 

"Bend over the bed."

 

Under normal circumstances, the merc probably would've sputtered in surprise, or even laughed, but the look on Mal's face assures him he's deadly serious.

 

"Bend over the bed, Jayne, or do ya gotta be forced?"

 

Jayne, being Jayne, takes just an instant to lunge at him. Mal, with practiced dexterity, dodges him and swings.

 

To Jayne, it seems like a single moment when his fist meets just air, then hard knuckles connect with his mouth and he's falling backward, tasting blood, slamming into the bulkhead and sliding to the floor. He's dizzy, but Mal is bending over him, putting his hands on his shoulders and looking into his blinking eyes intensely.

 

"Now as much as you're not gonna believe it over the next few minutes, Jayne, I don't want to hurt you any more than I have to. I'm not gonna do anything to you that ain't completely necessary."

 

Jayne brings his fingers to his lips, feeling blood there.

 

"Nothing's gonna happen that you don't need to happen. Dong ma? That's the difference between punishment and discipline, Jayne. And I aim to discipline you."

 

Before he knows it, the big merc is hauled to his feet by his shirt and roughly pushed over the bed. He's struggling, but Mal is stronger, much as he hates to admit it. He watches as a drop of blood from his lip falls onto the sheets.

 

Mal pulls Jayne's shirt off and drags his pants to his knees. The cool air of the room hits his skin and he can't believe this is really happening. Mal keeps him pinned 'til he stops struggling, which takes a good long while.

 

When he realizes it's not going to do any good, Jayne steels himself. Mal can do what he wants, he thinks, defiantly. It won't get the better of him. You think I ain't had worse?

 

But for all his arrogance, the first blow lands harder than he expects. It's a surprise, more than anything. He doesn't hear the belt move through the air or see it from his bent-over position, but the leather comes down on his back with a crack and a sting and his whole body jerks, tensing.

 

Crack.

 

The leather makes an exquisite sound as it hits Jayne's skin the second time, on his bare ass this time. Mal sees him clench, but he doesn't make a sound.

 

Crack.

 

The big merc's hands are balled tight into fists. Mal can tell he's angry as hell, but he can't get away very quick, not in the position he's in.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

Mal can tell Jayne's never had this done to him before. That could make this harder or easier.

 

Crack.

 

Jayne is visibly in pain now, flinching with each stroke of the belt. But he's still silent. Hardly more than a grunt passes his lips.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

What's almost worse than the strikes themselves is their irregularity: Mal follows two strokes shortly after one another with two or three farther apart – never finding any rhythm. Jayne knows what he's doing too – the ju tou, it’s a mindfuck, he knows it.

 

Crack.

 

Mal knows just what it does to Jayne; it keeps him constantly off balance, constantly cringing for the next blow, not letting him settle into the pain.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

The pain that's flooding Jayne's body pushes everything aside, even the anger. A confusing mix of emotions wells up inside him. The rage he felt before drains from him, and with it, most of the fear. In its place, he clings tenuously to one thought: the single-minded focus to stay quiet, to keep Mal from getting the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

Crack . . .

 

Eventually, the last conscious thought slips from Jayne's mind. What he's feeling - the intensity of it all, the pain, the emotions, being bent over, being completely at Mal's mercy like this - is messing with his head somehow.

 

Crack.

 

Crack.

 

The blows are coming fast and hard know, at least it seems fast, because Jayne's skin is so tender, so abused, he's lost track of where one stroke stops and another begins.

 

He feels a scream building, and then - suddenly, it's over.

 

The belt drops to the floor abruptly and the clank of metal buckle makes him jump.

 

His skin stings so bad he hardly realizes Mal has stopped. All the way from his shoulders to the top of his thighs, he’s been whipped.

 

The captain stands back a little, taking in the sight of his merc. Jayne is normally so strong, fearless even, and now he's bent over Mal’s bed, half-defeated. The captain can't help but admire the way the light plays on Jayne's dramatically muscled back. His tan skin is accented with glowing, angry red stripes left by the belt.

 

Jayne's heaving a little; his body remains rigid with tension. But still - Jayne hasn't cried out once. Man still had some fight left in him, thinks Mal. He can appreciate that. He watches Jayne struggle to catch his breath and come to his senses. Before he knows it, he’s starting to unbutton his fly.

 

Mal didn’t intend to do this; he’s swears he didn’t. But he hadn't expected the sight of Jayne to affect him quite so deeply. The way Jayne struggled hard, then took the pain so bravely, makes his breath catch a little. He tries to calm himself a little, telling himself to slow down. Don't want this to end too quick.

 

He drinks in the sight of Jayne's tight, round ass as he releases his cock, already at half-mast, from the folds of his boxers, stroking himself to full hardness, watching the rise and fall of the merc’s shoulders under his laboured breathing, admiring the beauty of the body that's bent over at his mercy.

 

He fumbles for lubricant, slicking himself up and then preparing Jayne roughly. Jayne’s not pinned anymore. There’s nothing to stop him from resisting the fingers invading him, two, three at a time.

 

Mal’s positioning himself at Jayne's opening, pressing the slicked-up head against his puckered opening, just firm enough to build the anticipation. The merc isn’t even close to ready, but Mal’s a bit vain; he wants Jayne to think he feels huge inside him. Besides, he tells himself, I’m making a point here.

 

Jayne shivers, suddenly faint again, then Mal pushes in, abruptly, forcefully, and his cock is balls-deep in Jayne's tight body. Jayne grunts and grits his teeth, gripping the sheets so hard he thinks they'll tear.

 

Mal starts to fuck him slowly, savouring the feel of how tight Jayne feels, almost unyielding, around him.

 

When Mal slides his cock all the way in and his hips hit Jayne's tender skin, it makes the merc twist involuntarily; sending exquisite sensations up and down his cock.

 

A few more strokes and Jayne is lost in the pain and confusion. He hasn't done this in years, he thought he'd never want to - it hurts like hell when Mal pushes all the way in. But the discomfort is giving way. With each stroke, Mal's claiming him, and after everything that’s happened today, it's oddly . . . reassuring -

 

Mal is trying to take it slow, to draw it out as long as possible, but Jayne's always had a sort of hold on him and now, having him like this, it’s almost too much. Two parts of him struggle against each other; the part of him that’s confused and ashamed that he set out to discipline Jayne and things spiraled so far out of control, and the part of him that’s loving this, that’s reveling in the sight of the big man brought to heel, in the illusion that he’s taking Jayne against his will.

 

Jayne doesn't know how he's let Mal do this to him, this mindfuck. As much as he fights the realization, he knows; in some deep, hidden-away part of him, the pain is giving him something he needs. He needs the intensity of it, needs the sharp, undeniable reassurance that he's alive, that he’s Mal’s; that this wouldn’t be happening unless Mal intended to keep him. He's proud, almost, amidst the pain and humiliation – proud that he's shown Mal he can take it.

 

He hears Mal groan a little behind him, feels his fingers grasps at his hips, and something in him just breaks.

 

Nothing's gonna happen that you don't need ta happen.

 

It hits him like some gorramn ton of bricks – he's not just proud that he can take the pain, he's proud that in some fucked up way, Mal is telling him he belongs, ‘cause otherwise, Mal wouldn’t bother. He needs it, needs Mal to put him in his place, so he knows for sure he has one. He’s not just proud that he can take the pain, but that Mal’s taking pleasure from his body. A moan escapes Jayne’s lips, and he knows he’s lost, completely lost, completely Mal's –

 

When the captain hears that first moan, it’s nearly his undoing. He has to have more. He changes angles ever so slightly, searching with each stroke, until Jayne cries out, and he knows he's found just the right spot.

 

Jayne knows for sure he's never felt anything like this. He's too sore for it not to hurt, but Mal is hitting something just perfect, something that makes him finally give in to the pleasure. When Mal reaches around and takes hold of his erection, Jayne knows his last shred of dignity is gone.

 

He can hear Mal chuckling behind him. "Can't say I'm surprised Jayne. Takes a lot to break a man like you. But I can't say I'm not enjoying every minute of it."

 

It's true that Mal's not surprised, strange as it seems. It's not an unusual trait in a gunhand – this propensity for pain and pleasure to bleed into one another ‘til each becomes unrecognizable. For men that live lives of violence and blood, constantly on the razor's edge of death, it makes a kind of sense.

 

Mal's fingers ghost up and down Jayne's cock, stroking him just light enough to tease, but not enough to really get him anywhere. The merc tries to push against him, tries to find the pressure he needs, but it doesn’t do any good.

 

He hears Mal's voice behind him. "There's one more way I'm gonna make you submit to me."

 

It's true, Jayne isn't quite all there at the moment, but he still doesn't have first idea of what Mal’s talking about.

 

Mal leans in closer to him and lowers his voice: "When you go back to your bunk tonight, an' you're all alone nursing your wounds - I can't be lettin' you have the luxury of tellin' yourself ya didn't want this."

 

Jayne just moans confusedly in response. Leave it to Mal to pontificate when he was fucking a man in the ass.

 

"Ask me, Jayne. Ask me to let you come."

 

The big man is trembling beneath him. If Mal would just touch him a little harder, just a little faster - it would be enough.

 

"Gorramnit, Mal - "

 

"Captain," his tormenter corrects him sternly.

 

Mal's hand speeds up just a little around Jayne’s cock - almost imperceptibly - just enough to plant a little more hope in the merc bent over beneath him. It brings him just that much closer to the edge without allowing him to find what he needs.

 

"Captain –" the words are out of his mouth before Jayne even has a chance to realize it; and there’s something else, too, somewhere between a moan and please, but he hardly recognizes it because his voice shakes with so much need and emotion.

 

Mal's response is instantaneous and adept, stroking Jayne fast and firm, twisting his thumb over the head of Jayne's cock 'til Jayne's pushing into his hand as desperate as a teenager.

 

Jayne comes with a sob; hot, white semen spurting onto the bed, his chest, dripping down Mal's hand. He feels it, wet against his hip as Mal finally lets go of his spent cock and takes him by the hips, white-knuckled, moaning, slamming into him.

 

He can feel Mal swell a bit more inside him, and then pull out, rubbing his cock against Jayne's sore, bruised ass, jacking himself, and then long, hot ropes of come land all over his ass and back, branding him.

 

Jayne feels like he's going to collapse, but Mal guides him onto the bed. He collapses onto it, spent physically and emotionally, watching dazed, as Mal calmly goes to the sink and washes his hands. The bed squeaks as Mal sits down next to him where he's sprawled on his stomach, exhausted.

 

Jayne feels fingers, still cold from the water, where his neck meets his shoulder. Mal takes in the long bites the belt made, red against the merc's tan, muscular back. The reds are already turning black and blue.

 

The fingers stroke him gently, almost soothingly. Mal’s voice has lost its frightening edge, but none of its calm resolve.

 

"Every morning from now on, when you go‘n put that belt on, you're gonna think of me, Jayne. You're gonna think of what I did to you."

 

The captain rubs his shoulder a bit, then bends, unexpected, to kiss the back of his neck.

 

"You're gonna remember who you belong to."

 

Jayne doesn't turn to meet Mal’s eyes; he's too sore. But he sees the belt on the floor, curled up on the floor like a living thing, and he knows every word is true.