He stepped onto the bridge and was a little amused to find the pilot chair occupied. It made him smile as he approached from behind and draped his arm across the back of the seat. “So, new pilot, huh?” he questioned in a slow drawl. “Pretty good looking fellow, if you ask me. Smart, too, don’t you think?”
The chair swiveled, revealing a smirking Mal. He studied Wash for several seconds. “Could say he’s all right on the eyes. Not so sure about smart, though. Ain’t seen him much in action, yet.”
“Oh, he’ll surprise you,” Wash replied jovially. “He was pretty much top in his class, you know. He’s very good in action. Even better under pressure.”
Mal arched an eyebrow and his smile turned slightly devious. “That so?”
“It’s a fact, in fact,” Wash answered coolly. He met Mal’s eyes for a few seconds before he shrugged, and turned toward the console. “There a problem?”
“Mm?” Mal looked away from Wash, and followed his hands. “Problem?”
“Yeah. You’re in my chair,” he plainly noted. “There a reason for that?”
Mal laughed. “My boat,” he replied. “My chair.”
“Yes, perhaps so,” Wash agreed. “But seeing as how I’m the shiny new pilot, it follows that the pilot’s chair would therefore belong to me.”
Mal leaned back in the chair and nodded, considering this. “Well, that is an interesting theory.”
Wash rolled his eyes, but grinned. “Well, it can be my chair even if you don’t leave.” He turned around and promptly sat down in Mal’s lap. “Mmm, it’s quite cushy now, actually.” He wriggled about on Mal’s thighs a bit and then leaned back into him. “Like it’s got a new cushion on it or something.”
Mal protested the weight, at first, but eventually sighed and wrapped his arms around Wash’s waist from behind. He rested his cheek against Wash’s back. When he spoke, his voice was softer. “How did a guy as disrespectful to his captain as you end up top in his class? It just don’t make sense.”
Wash put one hand over Mal’s, holding them in place. Then he twisted around enough that his mouth was in range of Mal’s. He didn’t kiss him though, just got close and wriggled his mustache up against his head, tickling. “Maybe I slept my way to the top?”
One of Mal’s hands broke free of Wash’s waist and went exploring, dropping over his abdomen to cup tentatively at his crotch. He ducked away from Wash’s bothersome mustache as the man groaned, and put his mouth against Wash’s neck. “Thinkin’ maybe that’s more the case.”
“Bu que shi,” Wash breathed thickly. “It ain’t true, captain,” he repeated. “Never slept with any of my superior officers before.” His grip on Mal’s other hand loosened.
Mal lifted his mouth from where he was gently suckling on the soft curve of Wash’s neck. “’Til now,” he prompted and gave a possessive squeeze.
“Ngmmn.” Wash was already breathing heavier. “Until now,” he agreed. He started to sit up, to pull the chair off of its recline. “We doing this on the bridge again?” he throatily asked.
Mal’s freed hand snaked up Wash’s chest to find the zipper of his flight suit, and began tugging it open. “Don’t see no reason not to,” he hotly answered against the damp spot now on Wash’s neck.
“Good,” Wash murmured. He twisted around in Mal’s lap. “Don’t think my legs’d make it to my bunk at this rate.” He captured Mal’s mouth in his own, kissing him roughly.
Mal swiveled the chair around until he could push Wash up against the yoke for purchase, and then kissed him back forcefully. Mal’s hands easily shed the clothes off Wash’s torso, allowing his fingers to comb wantonly over Wash’s flat stomach and up through his fine smattering of golden chest hair.
Around them the ship was cold and perfectly silent, but for their heavy breathing. Together, they found a spark of warmth, and ignited it.