Firefly Jayne/Simon bandage
"There." Simon turned his back on the mercenary and began washing his hands for the third time. "You can try it out, but don't put your whole weight on it. Really, you should stay off of it for a few days."
"Like that'll happen around here," Jayne spat. He swung his legs off of the stainless-steel table and stood up. For a moment, his tightly-wrapped ankle threatened to dump him on the ground, and he windmilled his arms in a successful attempt to not tip over into a tray of slightly bloodied medical instruments. The bullet that had just barely not shattered any bones or snapped any tendons lay on a piece of red-stained gauze just off-center on the tray; Jayne suppressed an urge to swat it like a fly, as if that would somehow make his leg hurt less. "I'll probably have to jog all over creation tomorrow, gettin' you and your fuzzy-muzzy-brained sister out of some other jam."
The dark shadow that had flickered across Simon's calm features at "sister" dissipated. "Well, if that happens, then I'll see you here, same time, same place." His eyes flicked down Jayne's well-muscled leg; their perhaps slightly over-dramatic captain had sliced off the larger man's boot and most of his pants leg to free him. Only the outsize mass of elastic and gauze interrupted the swells of well-toned flesh. Simon swallowed, and returned his gaze to the harder man's eyes. "How does it feel?"
"Warm and a little creepy, but nothin' I ain't handled before," mumbled Jayne. He blinked; his eyebrows lifted a fraction of an inch. "Oh, you mean the ankle. Hurts, but not near as bad as before, and it's holdin' my weight just fine now." He stopped, his eyes flicking upward and to the right as his jaw shifted slightly. He looked as if his mental gears were grinding towards a conclusion. After a pause so long the doctor had decided that Jayne had forgotten he was there, the mercenary let out a short huff. "One thing, though. That lump's so big, I don't think I can get what Mal left me of my pants off over it."
Simon almost laughed at that, then smothered the impulse - laughing at their bruiser might not be good for his own health, after all. "Well, you could just finish the job he started. I don't think you'll get much use out of those at this point, anyway."
Jayne shifted. "I ain't putting no knife nor shears that close to my danglies. You do it." He looked away, his mouth a hard line.
Simon's eyes widened; he opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it and nodded. "Stand with your legs a little farther apart." He picked up one of the sharp instruments on the tray and very slowly crouched next to Jayne, aware of every hair suddenly standing up on that well-defined, well-exposed leg. One long, steady hand pressed against Jayne's inner thigh to steady him, as the snips traveled smoothly and slowly up the angle of his hip. The waistband offered a bit of resistance, then clipped smoothly away.
Simon started to stand, then was pushed gently back to a crouch by Jayne's broad, calloused hand. The other hand worked the well-worn leather belt clear of first its buckle, then the remnants of the worn jeans. "Do the other side, too."
Simon looked up, probabilities and permutations flashing in his eyes. He nodded, slowly, and curled around Jayne. The hand that had steadied him before found the crease between the crotch rivet and the back pocket, and settled there, as the snips made one long, slow glide from hem to mid-thigh, then a second from thigh to hip again. The newly-opened seam immediately parted, pushed open by an unmistakable bulge. The doctor's fingers toyed with the back waistband, now held in place only by sweat and friction. "Forget your boxers this morning?"
"Didn't think I'd need 'em." The larger man's smile was teasing, not predatory. "Don't think I do now."
Simon's expression barely changed, but his voice was low and smooth. "Perhaps not." He slid the ruined fabric away, careful not to disturb the bandage, and then returned his full attention to his patient.