Author: NA69

Fandom: Firefly

Pairing(s): Simon/Mal

Warnings: none

Spoilers: none

Summary: Mal and Simon watch porn in which an actor playing a browncoat is raped by Alliance soldiers

Nominated Category:

Simon isn't sure how he got here, how Mal let him get here.

Mal, who's so focused on the screen that he didn't hear Simon climbing down the ladder, that he doesn't see Simon standing quietly, barefoot and shocked, in the corner.

Simon's attention moves from the screen to Mal, to the screen again. The scene playing on the Cortex is dark, mostly lit by flashes of light that Simon comes to understand are supposed to represent distant explosions.

Their uniforms are stylized, impractical, but it's easy to see what they represent. Alliance soldiers, all of them, except for the one, lone, Independent.

The Independent, face dirty but hair immaculately styled, is down on all fours. The soldiers take turns, expressions eager, hands rough. The capture moves, finds the best angles, and shows Simon – shows Mal – the way the Independent bites his lip when the next pseudo-soldier lines himself up, shoves inside.

The Independent rocks with the motion, slides down to his forearms, bracing himself as he's fucked. He keeps his face up, towards the capture, showing everyone how much he likes Alliance cock. How much he's yearned for it, for this moment.

The angle shifts again, awkwardly, and Simon looks briefly away, suddenly dizzy. He watches Mal instead. Mal, who hasn't even bothered to take his pants off, who just works himself rough, fast, half-hidden. "Pants off," Simon almost wants to whisper, but he knows that will spoil everything. So he keeps his mouth shut, and watches, hands clenched by his side. He watches Mal until a sound from the screen distracts him, and then he's back to focusing on the screen.

Another Alliance soldier is pulling the Independent – hand wrapped around chin – up from his forearms, forcing him to brace himself with hands only. Simon watches as the Independent's head is pushed down on the soldier's almost impossibly thick cock; he watches as the Independent's throat convulses, as his mouth stretches wide.

The two Alliance men smirk at each other over their fuck, setting up a simultaneous rhythm, one that leaves the Independent's arms shaking, his face contorted with pleasure even around cock. The fucking is relentless, Simon can almost feel it, the way it pounds into the Independent's body. And over the sounds of fucking – grunts, obscene wet slaps, swearing and cries – Simon hears scattered words, phrases. "Unification," and "browncoat bitch," and "take it," and "asked for it, begged for it." He glances over, away from the screen, watching how the words make Mal's hips buck, make his expression twist into a grimace.

It seems to go on and on, the Independent soldier used, fucked, played with. The sounds and images melt together – the Independent swallowing hard, repeatedly; his mouth, now empty, forced down towards the ground; one Alliance soldier going rigid as he comes, only to move aside moments later, opening up the way for another to take his place. All through it, the Independent's cock is hard. Simon can imagine how it must ache, how badly the man must want to come.

And Mal watches it all. His face is flushed, his lips wet, and his free hand clenches at the bed sheets so hard the skin is almost white. He touches himself roughly, and Simon wonders if he even bothered with lubrication, or if this is the way Mal sometimes needs it.

Eventually, the scene will end, Simon knows this. The room won't be full of the sounds of well-choreographed war porn; instead, all there will be are Simon's laboured breaths and Mal's bitten-back cries.

Simon wonders what will happen then.