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Pray There Ain't No More Surprises by kispexi2 (NC-17)
Fandom: FIREFLY
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Length: 3993 words
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
kispexi2
Author Website: her fic lj,kispexi2_2
Why this must be read: Kis is one of my favorite sources of Mal/Simon for a couple of sterling reasons. Firstly, she writes excellent voices and strong characterizations. Secondly, she writes plausible, complex relationships, in all their tangled and difficult glory. She never glosses over the rough bits, or gives the shiny happy ending that I want to believe but cannot quite manage to. When Kis does write a happy ending, she makes the characters work for it, and that makes the payoff infinitely more satisfying, in my opinion. I think Kis' gifts would be brilliantly useful in depicting any pairing in any fandom, but they're especially important in effectively writing a pairing in which both characters have a genius for screwing up their relationships and a tendency to rub each other the wrong way more often than the fun way. The way Kis takes those flaws and makes them work for her stories is a thing of wonder and beauty.
Mal lifts the penny whistle to his mouth again, purses his lips around the mouthpiece and starts to play. His fingers are deft and sure as they move up and down the length of the instrument, Simon notices, and surprisingly fluid. He has one thumb pressed against the back, close to the head, steadying it.
Simon shifts uncomfortably and licks his lips.
“That was lovely,” he says, meaning it. “You play very well.”
“Well, once you learn how to blow right, the rest comes easy enough,” Mal replies, the suggestion of a twinkle in his eyes. “'Course, you gotta work on your fingerin' too.”
“Yes,” Simon murmurs, unconsciously backing away as Mal starts walking towards him, “I'm sure I've heard that said.”
Mal taps the whistle lightly against Simon's chest. “An' you gotta practice. Can't hope to perform well if you don't practice.”
Simon swallows. “And, uh, do you? Perform, I mean?” Even he hears the unsteady edge to his voice.
“Used to,” Mal confides, moving a fraction closer. “Long time ago. 'fore the war. Ain't had much opportunity since.”
Simon would tell him that's a pity because he's really very talented if only he were sure that it's music they're talking about. Because if they're not – well, in that case, he can only guess at how talented Mal is. Guess. Imagine. Fantasize.
“Besides,” Mal continues, moving nearer still, “it ain't so much fun when you got no-one to play with.”
Simon realizes Mal is watching his face and that there's something close to a question in his eyes. Not knowing how to answer it, he blurts out the first thing that comes into his head.
“I had no idea you were so musical, Captain.”
Is it his imagination or does Mal flinch a little at Simon's use of his title? It's hard to tell because now Mal is smiling one of those bright, hard smiles of his. The kind of smile he hid behind yesterday at dinner when Inara told everyone she'd decided to leave Serenity. The sort that's all cold eyes and teeth and which could so easily turn into a snarl.
Pray There Ain't No More Surprises
Pairing: Mal/Simon
Length: 3993 words
Author on LJ:
kispexi2Author Website: her fic lj,
kispexi2_2Why this must be read: Kis is one of my favorite sources of Mal/Simon for a couple of sterling reasons. Firstly, she writes excellent voices and strong characterizations. Secondly, she writes plausible, complex relationships, in all their tangled and difficult glory. She never glosses over the rough bits, or gives the shiny happy ending that I want to believe but cannot quite manage to. When Kis does write a happy ending, she makes the characters work for it, and that makes the payoff infinitely more satisfying, in my opinion. I think Kis' gifts would be brilliantly useful in depicting any pairing in any fandom, but they're especially important in effectively writing a pairing in which both characters have a genius for screwing up their relationships and a tendency to rub each other the wrong way more often than the fun way. The way Kis takes those flaws and makes them work for her stories is a thing of wonder and beauty.
Mal lifts the penny whistle to his mouth again, purses his lips around the mouthpiece and starts to play. His fingers are deft and sure as they move up and down the length of the instrument, Simon notices, and surprisingly fluid. He has one thumb pressed against the back, close to the head, steadying it.
Simon shifts uncomfortably and licks his lips.
“That was lovely,” he says, meaning it. “You play very well.”
“Well, once you learn how to blow right, the rest comes easy enough,” Mal replies, the suggestion of a twinkle in his eyes. “'Course, you gotta work on your fingerin' too.”
“Yes,” Simon murmurs, unconsciously backing away as Mal starts walking towards him, “I'm sure I've heard that said.”
Mal taps the whistle lightly against Simon's chest. “An' you gotta practice. Can't hope to perform well if you don't practice.”
Simon swallows. “And, uh, do you? Perform, I mean?” Even he hears the unsteady edge to his voice.
“Used to,” Mal confides, moving a fraction closer. “Long time ago. 'fore the war. Ain't had much opportunity since.”
Simon would tell him that's a pity because he's really very talented if only he were sure that it's music they're talking about. Because if they're not – well, in that case, he can only guess at how talented Mal is. Guess. Imagine. Fantasize.
“Besides,” Mal continues, moving nearer still, “it ain't so much fun when you got no-one to play with.”
Simon realizes Mal is watching his face and that there's something close to a question in his eyes. Not knowing how to answer it, he blurts out the first thing that comes into his head.
“I had no idea you were so musical, Captain.”
Is it his imagination or does Mal flinch a little at Simon's use of his title? It's hard to tell because now Mal is smiling one of those bright, hard smiles of his. The kind of smile he hid behind yesterday at dinner when Inara told everyone she'd decided to leave Serenity. The sort that's all cold eyes and teeth and which could so easily turn into a snarl.
Pray There Ain't No More Surprises