TITLE: Intolerable Cruelty
SPOILERS: Nothing much to speak of, really.
SUMMARY: Two people, one locked closet, no key. This is what happens when things don't go smooth.
CHARACTERS: Simon, Saffron
RATING: NC17-ish (a bit on the PWP side of things)
DISCLAIMER: Everything = property of Joss. (Except the title, which is shamelessly stolen from a George Clooney movie I never actually saw.) Please don't sue; I'm way poor.

THANKS: Dani for listening to me whine about all the people who never turned in their ficathon assignments and for providing lots of encouragement. Nikki and Skrip for the beta kung-fu action.


She was sulking.

Simon decided that was rather absurd, considering she was the one who'd decided to betray him in the first place. If anyone was going to be upset, it should by all rights be him. But somehow he doubted she would see things his way.

"You know, you could stop nursing your wounded pride and try to find something useful to do," he informed her. The only reply he got was an annoyed huff of air and what looked to be a flounce of sorts, though it was hard to tell in the near-dark of Jed Archer's insufferably tiny broom closet.

"Fine, have it your way," he muttered, kneeling down in front of the door, lining up his shoulder and pushing with all his strength. Not that it accomplished anything really, aside from making him feel a little less useless.

"That won't help, you know," she said, her voice far too smug for his liking.

"Well, if you have any better ideas, I'm open to suggestions," he replied, gritting his teeth and giving it another good push. No good. The door wouldn't budge. Not that he really expected it to.

Simon still couldn't believe his rotten luck. This was supposed to have been an easy assignment; Mal had assured him of that fact countless times beforehand. He came, he doctored, he got paid, he left. Simple enough in theory. Or, at least, it had been before Mal's double crossing ex-wife turned out to be Archer's new bride.

The only consolation Simon got out of the entire ordeal was that at least she was stuck in this mess, too. She'd gone behind her husband's back to try and claim the reward on him for herself, which had made him none too happy when he'd found out about it. Hadn't made Simon very happy either.

Of course, perverse satisfaction in her troubles aside, that still didn't change the fact that he was now locked in a broom closet, awaiting the arrival of Alliance officers.

Sighing, he slumped back against the crates that took up the majority of the room in their impromptu prison cell. He felt her skirt brush the side of his face and scowled, batting it away with one hand. Room to breathe, that was all he asked for. How was a man supposed to plan some kind of last minute escape without even space enough for his own thoughts?

"Look, it's no use," she said, matter of fact, like this sort of thing happened to her all the time. Though, Simon mused, considering her line of work, it probably did. "We're stuck here until my darling husband decides what to do with us."

He saw a flash of white in the darkness, her teeth as she smiled, and felt his stomach clench up. When she smiled, it was never a good sign, he was certain of that.

"Lucky for me," she continued, "Jed thinks with his cock." Simon could just imagine her beaming at him, the perfect picture of smug contentment. "So it won't be long before he comes to his senses, forgives me for trying to cut him out of the purse, and begs me to take him back."

Simon snorted. Somehow, he doubted that was going to happen any time soon. After all, if Archer wanted sex, he had the means to pay for it. And he wasn't the type to suffer traitors lightly, no matter how attractive they happened to be. He didn't say so out loud, though. The soon-to-be-former Mrs. Archer had a mean right hook, and there was no need to make matters any worse for himself.

Oblivious to his skepticism, or perhaps just choosing to ignore it, she kept right on gloating. "He might've been willing to do the same for you, if you didn't act so high and mighty."

Simon felt fingers ghost across his cheek, lingering just left of his mouth for a moment before dropping away. It sent a shiver down his spine, which only served to make her chuckle deep in her throat, and good lord, that shouldn't sound as nice as it did. He hated her, after all. Very much so. And he was positive she felt the same about him.

"I did always enjoy a good threesome," she purred, her voice sending gooseflesh down his arms. "And you're not exactly hard on the eyes."

Simon swallowed, doing his best to ignore her proximity. Stupid, tiny closet! Who ever heard of one this minuscule? He silently cursed Jed Archer and his intolerably small storage facilities.

"Seeing as it's your fault I'm in here to begin with, I highly doubt you'll be hearing me return the sentiment."

He sensed movement, and then she was sliding off the crate and sitting beside him, her right side pressed flush against his left. "I notice you didn't actually deny that you find me attractive," she said. He could hear the smug in her voice, and it made him want to strangle her. He told himself that was a completely healthy emotion, considering the circumstances.

"You'll notice you didn't hear me affirm the concept, either," he noted, doing his best to ignore her enticingly warm presence at his side. It had, after all, been quite some time since his last... involvement. Ever since he'd found out about River, he just hadn't had the time for anything aside from working and planning. And god knew his hand was a poor substitute for the real thing.

Before he even had a chance to blink, she had twisted around and slithered into his lap, straddling him easily. Linking her arms around his neck, she leaned close and whispered, "The way I see it, we're both stuck here, Doctor Tam. So why don't we try and make the best of it?"

He started to object, but her lips sealing over his derailed his train of thought completely. Her clever tongue teased at his closed mouth, asking for entrance, and he was granting her request before he'd even made up his mind on the matter. His hands, which seemingly had minds of their own since he was hardly capable of coherent thought at the moment, moved to her waist, gripping roughly and grinding her hips down to get pressure where he needed it most.

He felt dizzy all of a sudden, lightheaded, and tore his lips away from hers, acting on blind panic. They were both panting heavily by this point, and she sounded more than a little frustrated when she hissed, "What the hell are you doing?"

Forcing his mouth to work and straining to remember how to form complete sentences, Simon said, "I'd rather avoid being drugged into unconsciousness, if it's all the same to you."

She laughed, a throaty chuckle that went straight to his cock and made him shift uncomfortably beneath her. "If I wanted you unconscious, it would've already happened. The drugs don't take that long to work."

Simon knew that logically; he was a doctor, after all. But still he found himself wanting to protest just on principle. It was either that or give in, and it was disturbing how quickly the latter was becoming the more attractive option of the two. Fear of the Goodnight Kiss was his last resort, barring an immediate rescue or divine intervention.

"Look," she said with a rather put-upon sigh. "I want you, you want me, and we happen to be locked in a broom closet for the foreseeable future. I mean, seriously, what are you waiting for? A written invitation?"

She brushed her lips teasingly across his and tangled her fingers in his hair, giving it a sharp tug that made him gasp. She leaned forward, her breasts pressing against his chest, the clothes between them feeling almost nonexistent, and let her mouth hover by his ear. "I want you to fuck me," she whispered, her breath warm on his neck.

Simon shivered, his eyes slipping closed and his hands fisting in the fabric of her dress, causing it to ride further up her thighs. He tried to marshall his strength and push her away, but she was having none of it, and really, they both knew it was just a token protest at this point. He was too far gone to worry about possible consequences.

When she caught his earlobe between her teeth and give it a light nip, he groaned, his head slipping backwards and banging against the crate behind him, making him wince. But the pain just made everything sharper, more real. And when she pressed her lips to his again, rocking her hips against him just there, the last of his self control shattered and he kissed her back. Actually, devoured would probably be a more apt descriptor, not that she seemed to mind if her pleased moan was any indicator. She pulled him closer, giving her hips a delightful little twist that made his head spin.

"Tiānna," he gasped when they broke for air, his hands hurriedly tugging her dress up over her waist.

He felt her nimble fingers at his pants, quickly undoing the fastenings and giving them a sharp tug. He lifted his hips as much as he could, so she could slide the pants down, and underwear soon followed.

A sudden thought made him ask the question he should've thought of much earlier. "Wait, what about-?"

She shushed him with two fingers over his lips as she slowly lowered herself onto him. "Don't worry about it; it's taken care of."

Not that he even heard the words at this point. All he could hear was his own ragged breathing and his heart pounding like a trip-hammer.

And yes, it had been a long time, because he almost came from this alone. He grit his teeth, summoning up what remained of his control, and took a deep breath. His heart kept pounding, and he had the presence of mind to wonder when it had gotten so loud, before he felt her hand over his mouth again.

"Shit!" she cursed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. "Not now!"

Her words didn't make sense but his hands rose to wrap around her anyway, stroking up and down her back in as soothing a motion as he could manage.

Then he heard the pounding again and suddenly it clicked. That wasn't his heartbeat. That wasn't his heartbeat!

Somebody was at the door.

"Simon? You in there?"

The voice was familiar, though it took a minute for Simon to place it. His brain wasn't really at its peak proficiency just then.


Not knowing what else to do, he pushed her hand away from his mouth and called out an answer. And if his voice sounded a bit strangled, well, there wasn't much he could do about that. "In here, Captain."

He felt her shudder against him and tried to ignore how good movement of any kind felt just then.

"We'll have ya outta there in just a few minutes, Doc!"

God, fate really didn't like him very much. In fact, Simon was rather convinced it had it in for him. This whole thing smacked of a personal vendetta of the cosmic variety.

He heard muffled conversation from outside and then a voice he knew better than even his own spoke up, sounding delighted and just a bit mischievous. "No need to hurry; big brother has his hands full. But he knows how to be quiet, like a church mouse. Little feet, Simon. You don't want to wake up the cat. It might just gobble you up."

Then he heard a patter of footsteps and Mal cursed loudly, the door forgotten for the moment. "Gorramit, Zoe, stop her! This ain't the place for dancing."

Sudden comprehension dawning, Simon pushed aside the fact that his little sister had just given him sex advice, because that was sure to buy him countless hours of mental trauma when he thought about it later. Right now, he had to be very, very quiet.

Like a mouse.

Though at least this mouse was going to get laid. And yes, Simon would have to peg that as a definite upside.

Rocking his hips up, he bit his lip to keep from making any sound. And when he heard his sister giggle like she'd just been told the best joke ever, Simon could only smile blindly in the darkness and silently agree.

The End