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Nocturnal	By : dragonfall Category: 1 through F > Firefly Views: 9315 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Firefly, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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It was easier on nights like this.

Not that it was night. Night didn't exist in the Black, no pull of tides and moon and sun. No broken staccato of night and day and night again. In the Black there was only one time... no time... stretching to the edges of the verse and beyond to pool under her fingertips like engine oil.

The others kept pace with the interloper, adjusted clocks to represent local times and sleep cycles. Kept the blanket of life planet-side wrapped around them, wishing of suns without suns, false perceptions and the safety of separating time into compartments that could been seen and felt. She was the only one who walked the corridors at night regular as waves on Osiris, lapping against metal grating.

Serenity was quiet at these times, dreaming with her crew of younger days. Mal was the only other person awake, on watch, eyes drifting over blinking lights that said they were alone in his sky. All alone with no one to tell him what to do and where to go. No rules, no orders, just himself and the souls he carried. She would call him Shepard, but probabilities indicated that would be an improper course of action.

River stopped in front of a door, thoughts coming to a similar pause. The grating was cold beneath her feet; the heat was turned down during sleep cycles to conserve fuel. Cheap plastic and vinyl gave beneath the pressure of her hand, door hissed open. It bled in, swirled with other sounds like dripping memory coating her nerves, slip and slide and hush of metal on metal...

She shook her head. She wasn't here for this; not for musings on the nature of reality and not-reality and things she shouldn't remember. She was here for something else entirely.

Simon was on his side, pillow held between neck and shoulder. A heavy sleeper, her Simon, even after all he'd seen and done. Sleep was safe, sacred; no doctors pushing needles into his brain to suck out secrets and replace them with lessons and orders. No blinking lights and sounds and pain and heat and cold. No crazy sister but not-sister, shattered memories laughing at him from syringes and bottles and cold steel. She moved closer, head cocked and listening without ears.

Yes, tonight would be easy.

He was already asleep, already in that place where fantasy touched reality and mixed together like the swirling colors in her old paint kit; reds with blues making purples but when you looked close you could still see the individual threads of color. He was relaxed, dreaming of what was, saving lives and dancing and the subtle pull of Vicryl through flesh.

He dreamed of so many things, her Simon. Dreams were where he could be, not big brother, not doctor, not stripling fresh out of the Core. Just Simon. Simon who wanted, who craved, who lived without attachments and did as he pleased. Sometimes there were nightmares, dreams of being held down while surgeons without faces vivified his mei mei. Of clawing with bloody hands at the rubble of their old house, pulling out body parts but nothing that truly identified the dead.

Most nights he dreamt of sex.

Psychologically speaking, it was only to be expected. Humans were ruled by the need to procreate, fueled by biological imperative and a creeping fear of death. Her brother was no exception. He dreamt of Kaylee, smelled lubricant and engine oil mixed with coconut shampoo. The way she laughed at his jokes merged with the sounds she made when she bit into fresh fruit overlaid on blank templates from women he'd had in the past. Other times he dreamt of Zoe, though that was few and far between. Dreamed of acres of brown skin and strong muscle. Rarest of the rare were dreams of different skin, short hair, rougher hands and larger bodes that made him wake almost before they began.

River sifted through the dream currents, smiled when she found the one she needed and latched onto it, drawing a sleepy moan from her brother, a roll of the hips. He was filled with dreaming now; dark hair and flashing eyes, Inara but not-Inara and that was perfect. Her nightshirt drifted over her head, floated like down to the grating as she climbed in beside her brother. He mumbled, eyes tightening as sensations warred and wakefulness threatened. She reached out, smoothed the creases in his mind. A new trick, pulling the tiny voices floating in the air to her, cradling them until they became what she wanted and let them float back to their owners. Just a dream, she whispered in his mind, hands following the invisible trail left by not-Inara. Sleep. Feel.

Differences in body type and size were forgotten in the half-dreaming state he was in. Hands trailed over pale skin, leaving fire in their wake. Member hard and heavy against her thigh. She catalogued the changes in her own body: nipples hardening now from heat, not cold, labia majora becoming flatter, thinner and spreading outward as lubrication slicked the vaginal walls in preparation for intercourse and then he was on top of her and there, pushing inside her with a groan and she forgot about cataloguing as instinct took over.

Small hands scrabbled at the planes of his back, caught on skin when he changed position and dragged in sweat. He was flush against her, chest to chest, rocking more than thrusting and she moved with him, thighs gripping narrow hips. She moaned against sealed lips when she wanted to scream. But screaming was bad, would get them in trouble; little children should be seen and not heard and anyone hearing this would be worse than when she found Father kissing Mr. Gardner on New Years.

"Simon." The word was more breath than voice against his ear as he sped up, the dance growing faster, harder. Simon.

Something shifted behind his closed eyes, grew hard and bright and suddenly it wasn't not-Inara beneath him but River, his mei mei, and there was shock and revulsion and lust and he was thrusting now harder, faster. Stiffened as he came hard insider her, shuddering and gasping her name. She drank it in, let it push her that much farther until she burst and twinkled like stars, white and distant and perfect.

Dreams drifted away, sucked back, left the exposed sand of consciousness. She felt Simon tense against her, pulled her back from the stars to the now. Sleep, a command, so hard he didn't have time to fight it. Taught muscles relaxed as he entered a true REM cycle. She stayed that way, half buried beneath her brother as he softened and slid from her, combined fluids leaking to the bunk below as sweat chilled on her shoulders.

River slid from beneath her brother, giggled at the heartfelt groan that turned into a snore. No trouble in finding her shirt in the darkness and scurried into it, a barrier against Serenity's eyes and ears, even though metal didn't judge and engines didn't pass down rulings on morality and behavior. The door opened with no preponderance of memory on the sound.

"'Night, Simon," words muttered into the cold, frosting white ghosts that dissipated within seconds.

Boots broke the moment to shining pieces.

"You're up late," Mal said as he came down the steps.

River closed the door, locking the heavy scent of sex and sweat away where the O₂ scrubbers could take it up, recycle it so the others could breathe it in unaware. "Dreams," she muttered into the silence. "Simon's sleeping, second REM cycle. Bad to wake him now."

The captain took in her still-damp hair, the slight flush, and softened. "But you're all right?"

Mal stepped closer and River backed away. Cold retarded the movement of molecules, and thus kept down odor, but only to a point. "Brain function nominal, hormone levels returned to normal parameters."

"Oh." The captain blinked.

River backed into her room. "Good night, Captain."

Mal shook his head when the door to River's room slid shut, the light within quickly extinguished. He took a deep breath, prepared to sigh about insanity and little girls, and frowned. There was a smell, or what was once a smell, that lingered where River had stood. Familiar as grass after a rain.

Malcolm Reynolds ran a hand over his face. Crazy was catching, that's what his grandmother used to say. They'd best make landfall soon, or he'd start acting as touched as the girl.
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Nocturnal