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Softcore Firefly incest
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bonibaru made a very nice Firefly vid
to Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah."
Her vid is very nice and pretty and all about
Mal and Serenity and his crew.
This story, which is loosely based on the same
song, thanks to the vid linking song and fandom
inextricably in my head, is not any of these things.
It's a River/Simon story. And noncon. Maybe. Apparently
it's being reinterpreted by reader(s)? I should shut
up and stop editing this warning.
(spoils Ariel, War Stories)
The Secret Chord
It goes like this. Every night, it goes like this:
She comes to him, she kisses him, she starts to strip. He holds her close to still her hands and tells her no.
"It's wrong, River," says Simon.
"Simon says, Simon says," River moans. "Not a game. Not a child. Not anymore."
She looks at him with pleading eyes and he feels his resolve melting, and it frustrates and confuses him, because tonight was going to be the night he ended it. Tonight and every night before.
"Simon," she says, looking up at him.
"I love you," he says, cupping her face in his hands, and he kisses her again. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Are you sure you want this?" Begging her to say no.
She nods quickly, her chin bumping the heel of his hand.
"Tell me," he entreats.
"Yes," she whispers.
Simon asks her at every juncture, every inch of skin exposed, every kiss of flesh. She says, "Yes," every time, softer every time until he can barely hear her, so he stops, starts to pull away. And then River reaches out, pulls his hand back to her, or his head, or his hips, and whispers, "Please," and so he does, then, and cannot stop.
He hates himself after. He feels hollow inside, feels cold and empty as space and the only warmth in the universe is her body, pressed against his, seeking the comfort of his touch even in her sleep.
The thing Simon does not know--and he does not know because River has been careful, so careful, since the men realized she could do this and took her away--is that it is not that he has no strength against her, it is that she saps his strength, binds his will, moves in his head as he moves in her and flips the switches, love to lust and want to need and no to yes. She does it slowly, so he thinks it is his own will turning on him. He thinks himself weak for not resisting her, when he has no means to resist this.
River is quiet, as quiet as she can be, because he told her once, in a fit of shame, that the others would hear. Simon tries to be as quiet as she, but when she draws him to her, he sometimes cries out. She holds him to her and muffles the sound with her shoulder, her neck, her hair.
Simon thinks that he is in control because he lives in his own mind. River is in control because she does not.
Simon feels desperate because he cannot stop himself and does not understand why. He thinks of telling someone, of letting them do the stopping. He is afraid to tell the captain because he thinks it will get him thrown off the ship, and River needs him. He thinks of Book, of asking if he hears confessions. It becomes a fantasy: Simon imagines baring his soul to the shepherd. Book, in Simon's fantasy, tells him to be strong and resist temptation, but Simon cannot. He always breaks before his sister.
And he never does tell anyone, because shame rises up and burns the back of this throat, and he cannot speak. River overpowers him.
Simon thinks that if he can fix River, if he can undo what they did to her, then it will stop. She will understand the sin, she won't ask him to touch her, she won't let him take advantage of her. For this, he becomes a criminal mastermind, cobbles together a plan to get into an Alliance hospital to diagnose her and treat her.
It's a long shot, the plan riddled with holes. The soldiers of the crew are stumbling over the medicalese, and the store rooms are on the other end of the hospital from the morgue, and the Alliance is after him and River. And they have to die to get in, which terrifies him even though he knows it's only temporary.
But it's the only thing Simon knows to do, and it terrifies him less than how he feels when he makes love to his sister, so he does it. He prays to God that it will work. God hasn't shown him any mercy lately, except, perhaps, Malcolm Reynolds's inexplicable kindness and protection, but that only means that Simon is owed a little mercy, he thinks.
God, apparently, thinks otherwise. Even with the treatment Simon devises, River is only lucid in the morning, not at night when he needs her to be, and when the medication starts to wear off, the first place she runs to is Simon's bed.
He closes his eyes. "My sister," Simon says as he holds her. He loves her, and despairs.
~end
bonibaru made a very nice Firefly vid to Rufus Wainwright's "Hallelujah."
Her vid is very nice and pretty and all about
Mal and Serenity and his crew.
This story, which is loosely based on the same
song, thanks to the vid linking song and fandom
inextricably in my head, is not any of these things.
It's a River/Simon story. And noncon. Maybe. Apparently
it's being reinterpreted by reader(s)? I should shut
up and stop editing this warning.
(spoils Ariel, War Stories)
The Secret Chord
It goes like this. Every night, it goes like this:
She comes to him, she kisses him, she starts to strip. He holds her close to still her hands and tells her no.
"It's wrong, River," says Simon.
"Simon says, Simon says," River moans. "Not a game. Not a child. Not anymore."
She looks at him with pleading eyes and he feels his resolve melting, and it frustrates and confuses him, because tonight was going to be the night he ended it. Tonight and every night before.
"Simon," she says, looking up at him.
"I love you," he says, cupping her face in his hands, and he kisses her again. "Are you sure?" he asks. "Are you sure you want this?" Begging her to say no.
She nods quickly, her chin bumping the heel of his hand.
"Tell me," he entreats.
"Yes," she whispers.
Simon asks her at every juncture, every inch of skin exposed, every kiss of flesh. She says, "Yes," every time, softer every time until he can barely hear her, so he stops, starts to pull away. And then River reaches out, pulls his hand back to her, or his head, or his hips, and whispers, "Please," and so he does, then, and cannot stop.
He hates himself after. He feels hollow inside, feels cold and empty as space and the only warmth in the universe is her body, pressed against his, seeking the comfort of his touch even in her sleep.
The thing Simon does not know--and he does not know because River has been careful, so careful, since the men realized she could do this and took her away--is that it is not that he has no strength against her, it is that she saps his strength, binds his will, moves in his head as he moves in her and flips the switches, love to lust and want to need and no to yes. She does it slowly, so he thinks it is his own will turning on him. He thinks himself weak for not resisting her, when he has no means to resist this.
River is quiet, as quiet as she can be, because he told her once, in a fit of shame, that the others would hear. Simon tries to be as quiet as she, but when she draws him to her, he sometimes cries out. She holds him to her and muffles the sound with her shoulder, her neck, her hair.
Simon thinks that he is in control because he lives in his own mind. River is in control because she does not.
Simon feels desperate because he cannot stop himself and does not understand why. He thinks of telling someone, of letting them do the stopping. He is afraid to tell the captain because he thinks it will get him thrown off the ship, and River needs him. He thinks of Book, of asking if he hears confessions. It becomes a fantasy: Simon imagines baring his soul to the shepherd. Book, in Simon's fantasy, tells him to be strong and resist temptation, but Simon cannot. He always breaks before his sister.
And he never does tell anyone, because shame rises up and burns the back of this throat, and he cannot speak. River overpowers him.
Simon thinks that if he can fix River, if he can undo what they did to her, then it will stop. She will understand the sin, she won't ask him to touch her, she won't let him take advantage of her. For this, he becomes a criminal mastermind, cobbles together a plan to get into an Alliance hospital to diagnose her and treat her.
It's a long shot, the plan riddled with holes. The soldiers of the crew are stumbling over the medicalese, and the store rooms are on the other end of the hospital from the morgue, and the Alliance is after him and River. And they have to die to get in, which terrifies him even though he knows it's only temporary.
But it's the only thing Simon knows to do, and it terrifies him less than how he feels when he makes love to his sister, so he does it. He prays to God that it will work. God hasn't shown him any mercy lately, except, perhaps, Malcolm Reynolds's inexplicable kindness and protection, but that only means that Simon is owed a little mercy, he thinks.
God, apparently, thinks otherwise. Even with the treatment Simon devises, River is only lucid in the morning, not at night when he needs her to be, and when the medication starts to wear off, the first place she runs to is Simon's bed.
He closes his eyes. "My sister," Simon says as he holds her. He loves her, and despairs.
~end
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I already had this argument with jmtorres on AIM :)
I think it is open to interpretation.
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Just...
Whoa.
I keep thinking of River as the innocent party in this whole thing, but this is just... creepy. Scary and hot and just... creepy.
Does she have that kind of power? Or is she just imagining it, to take away what she may see as Simon's guilt and complicity? So he's not tainted, as it were, by their sin?
Very interesting...
Re:
I've been playing around a lot with potential abues of telepathy in a few different stories I'm working on (one of the others involves controlling memory), so as I was writing it--yes, she did have that power. That was my intention, anyway. But I'm intrigued by the different ways people are reading the story.
I keep thinking of River as the innocent party in this whole thing, but this is just... creepy.
I think River is an innocent any way you cut it. I think she was mentallly incapacitated by whatever was done to her and is not capable of making rational decisions for herself. I also think that Simon, as a doctor, should be able to recognize this clearly. He is her guardian and is responsible for her actions because she cannot be held responsible herself. (Until he comes up with a treatment in War Stories, at which point she is rational and respoinsible for her actions *some* of the time.) This means, to me, that under ordinary circumtances, even if River says yes, Simon would still be taking advantage of her. And that's something I don't think he would do; I don't think he could live with himself. Which is how I arrived at the idea of River manipulating him to begin with.
But is she really? Or is this him being unable to live with himself? You decide... *laughs at self*
Or is she just imagining it, to take away what she may see as Simon's guilt and complicity? So he's not tainted, as it were, by their sin?
That's an interesting and fairly complex motive to assign to River. I think she could handle it, though my Simon evidently thinks that in her current state River doesn't grok that this *is* a sin. Hmm.