exploration
summary: bored on the journey to erid, you and ryland have to find a way to entertain yourselves. who would have thought that roleplay and a pair of latex gloves was the way to do it?
CWs: 18+ MDNI!!!!! explicit sexual content!!!!! fem!pilot!reader x ryland grace, no use of y/n, established relationship, inappropriate use of a doctor title, use of pet names, Dr. Grace, medical play, roleplay, choking, finger sucking, fingering (f!receiving), dirty talk, praise praise and more praise, edging (f!receiving), is this manhandling?, is this also soft!dom!grace? who knows? better safe than sorry?, he's really nice while he's doing all the groping, he's a little bit of a sassy smartass (as he should be). i think that's most of it! this is nasty, yall! heed the warnings!
word count: around 7k!
author's note: time to let ryland's freak flag fly!!!! this was 100% spurred on by that gif up there. don't look at me. very special thanks to @kryptidfiles for this one btw bc she helped me with the choking part + encouraged me to let grace's freak flag fly. jae, i love you and your smart brain. im gonna kiss you. with your permission of course.
Exploration.
A natural thing that every couple does. Something that they do when events in the bedroom have gotten stale after they're together for a while. Different kinks will be brought up and played around with. A new area of the house will be conquered. Maybe a new position will be thrown into the usual rotation.
Sometimes a new person will be thrown into the usual rotation.
Those people are not you and Ryland. Not because neither of you aren't interested in it, but because it's a little hard for you to throw a new person into the rotation when all of the people you know are approximately 12 lightyears away from you. And…potentially dead.
And also because you're just not interested in it.
But being on the Hail Mary has gotten a little static. Especially now, when you're a couple months in to the three year journey to Erid and have nothing to do. Your mission has been completed. Ryland and Rocky saved their stars. You course corrected Mary to high-tail it out of Her return to Earth and toward Erid instead.
All you have is time and each other, now.
Entertaining each other isn't hard, but you can only do the same thing in the same bunk so many times before you start itching for a change in the routine.
Plus, it's not easy to talk about doing something new in the "bedroom." When your extraterrestrial guest has the most incredible hearing of any living creature you've ever met, it's borderline impossible to get two minutes into the conversation before it gets shut down.
"What about roleplay? You ever tried it?"
"Ryland Grace!"
"What? It's fun!"
"No, I haven't tried it. Have you ever done anything in public?"
"You had the audacity to freak out over roleplay, but asking if I've had sex in public is totally fine?"
"Just answer the question!"
"No, I haven't done anything in public! Well…in college, I had this girlfriend, and we'd sneak into a section of the library no one ever went to so that we could—"
"Grace and mate discussing mating rituals, question?"
"Nope! No, we're not! When did you even get here?!"
"Ry, it's not like we actually were having—"
"We aren't doing or talking about anything!"
"Grace is bad liar."
Grace, indeed, is bad liar.
He got so flustered that you thought he'd never return to normal—which is weird, because Ryland's usually an open book with him. But, for some reason, he could hardly look at Rocky for the rest of the day after that one. From that point on, discussions surrounding anything intimate were restricted to whenever Rocky fell into one of his food comas. Doesn't happen often, but you know you've got a solid few hours to yourselves at the very least.
Right now, you're in hour two of one of those food comas. Time's ticking.
You're perched on one of the lab tables that hasn't been used in forever now that the mission's over, your legs gently swinging back and forth while boredom takes you hostage. Ryland's sitting on a stool at the table next to yours, eyes practically glued to a microscope where he's examining the star-saving Taumoeba he bred.
Sometimes he just likes to look at it. You understand why. It's a mix of pride and anxiety. Checking in on it and yet admiring it at the same time. You like to let him do it as much as he needs to, but…it does get a little boring when you're not busy elsewhere.
Mary's dependable despite all She's been through. She doesn't really need to be piloted all that much.
You sigh.
"Uh oh," Ryland pipes up, practically speaking into the Taumoeba when he does. "I know that sound."
"You don't know that sound."
"I do know that sound." Ryland briefly pulls back from the microscope. Just long enough to raise an eyebrow and look up at you. The overhead light casts a glare on the lens of his glasses. You could pout; all you wanted was to see those pretty baby blues.
"I've been around you for months in the closest quarters imaginable. You think I don't know all your sounds?"
You roll your eyes, but there's a smile teasing the corners of your mouth. It's impossible to get annoyed with him. It's even harder to feign that annoyance. You gesture toward him with one hand—a tiny challenge. He straightens. Challenge accepted, apparently.
"Fine, genius. Go ahead and tell me what that sound was."
He just stares at you. Crosses his arms. You try not to think about his biceps or his forearms when he does it. Without a single shred of hesitation, he very confidently says, "It's boredom. You're bored."
Shit.
You lean back on the lab table, careful to not knock anything over as you press your palms into the cold aluminum surface of it. It's first nature for you to want to act like he's wrong. He'd get all squeaky, and then he'd get pissy when you'd laugh at him for getting all squeaky. That's always fun to do, but…only when Rocky's helping you do it.
"Well," you trail off, staring into the glare where his eyes are hidden and trying to come up with some smart assed remark that'll give you the upper hand.
Then you let your head fall backward and you push out a groan.
"Okay. You got me."
Ryland's laugh echoes off the lab walls. He reaches over to grab and squeeze your knee that's closest to him, then returns to looking into the microscope.
"Should've said something, hun. What do you wanna do? We've got all the time in the world."
You lift your head back up. While you're thinking of a response, Ryland starts to slowly rub his thumb back and forth over your leg. Your eyes drift down to his hand, down to his thumb, down to the soft sweeping notion he's doing. It's as if it's nothing to him, and yet everything to you.
The warmth of his palm is bleeding through your sweatpants. Bleeding through that glove he's got on. Why he put gloves on to look at a sample in a microscope, you aren't sure, but…there's a fire being stoked in your belly while you're looking at the soft blue color of it.
Maybe it's time for a little bit of that exploration you'd been thinking about.
"Rocky's out for a few more hours. Probably."
His grip tightens on your knee and you have to bite back a laugh. Sometimes he reacts like a dog does when you've just said its favorite word.
When he pulls off of the microscope this time, there's a glint in his eye that you only see when you've finally got a pinch of privacy. Could be the glare from the light, of course, but you know it's there anyway. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then rubs the back of his neck with his other hand. After he gives your knee another squeeze, he attempts to speak again.
"What's on your mind?"
Your thoughts drift to his thumb still gently sweeping over your knee. Then to his free hand, and the glove tightly wrapped around it, as it pulls his glasses down so he can hang them on his jaw in that weird way he always does. A soft, wispy sigh slips from between your lips, and you gnaw on your bottom lip a little, then you let out a breathy, slightly nervous laugh.
"I," you pause. Then you clear your throat. Ryland—always obedient and attentive—simply waits. Sits silently while his eyes not-so-subtly attempt to devour you.
"You mentioned roleplay a couple days ago," you spit out. That fire in your belly is still roaring; somehow, though, it's traveled up to your cheeks as well. Borderline uncomfortable, but not as uncomfortable as the ache between your legs when you see the little smirk playing on his lips.
"Yeah? I piqued your curiosity with that one, huh?"
"A little," you squeak out. He nods his head. Only takes a second for him to rise off of the stool he was perched on and slot himself between your legs instead. He runs his hands up your thighs before clutching your hips in a gentle, reverent grip. Your arms instinctively slide around his neck.
"I just," you begin, voice low and a little shy, "I haven't done it, and…"
You gasp when he tugs on your hips, pulling you closer to him and closer to the edge of the lab table. It cut your sentence off completely. Made you lose your train of thought. His newly tightened grip is intoxicating. He's closer, now, but not close enough for you to kiss him.
When he slips his hands beneath your shirt (his, a button up…why'd they send a button up to space?) and the latex-covered pads of his fingertips brush over your waist, you shiver. Why the feeling of that latex against your skin is giving you the filthiest thoughts, you're not sure.
Boredom's a crazy motivator.
"I had…an idea," you whisper. "It just came to me. Only if you're up for it."
"Always up to it with you," he whispers back.
The soft push of his forehead against yours just a few seconds later makes you smile. You get what you want because of that; as soon as you close in and press your lips against his, you finally feel whole. Your hands tangle in his messy hair at the nape of his neck, giving it a gentle, experimental tug that has him groaning into your mouth.
That little noise gives you a chance to slip your tongue into the kiss. A tilt of your head deepens it. Ryland leans into you a little more. Enough to press himself against you. It isn't long before he's cradling your body with one arm, slipping it around your waist while he presses his other hand into the lab table behind you. Keeps both of you steady.
He's good at that. Can hardly walk on his own two feet if he's doing something on his own, but when he's got you weak and pliable in front of him like this, he's invincible. It's actually quite admirable.
It's unfortunate that you have to breathe. Your need for oxygen makes you pull back. While you're panting and trying your best to catch your breath, Ryland's dipping his head down into your neck. His stubble tickles, prickly and a little overgrown—his usual look that you haven't gotten tired of once. Makes you squirm. The soft drag of his teeth against your skin before he nips at it yanks a moan out of you that you didn't even know you were hoarding.
"You're distracting me," you playfully scold him, laughing through a heaving breath and patting his chest. He smiles against your skin and pulls back to get a good look at you. Takes a little step back and removes his hands from your body; the equivalent of a death sentence for you.
It gets worse when, through his muttered apology, he goes to take his gloves off. You frantically reach forward to lay your hands over his when he slips his fingers beneath the elastic band tightened around one of his wrists.
"Wait, don't take those off!"
Ryland does as you say when he completely stops in his tracks. His brow knits together and he looks down at his hands. Confusion is always so adorably physical on him.
"Don't…take these off?"
"Don't take them off," you confirm. There's a beat. You stare at each other; him still lost, you still a little shy. But you've already made it weird by reacting like that, so…might as well go all the way.
Your hands slip away from his. He leaves them suspended in the air between you, still gloved. It's like he's too lost to move. Makes you giggle. Eases some of the tension. Your fingers find the buttons at the bottom of his shirt you're wearing, but they don't move. You don't wanna give him anything just yet.
You clear your throat and shrug your shoulders. Let out a very dramatic, very pathetic little sigh. Ryland hasn't lost that confusion he got well-acquainted with. Eyes widened, and cheeks flushed pink, and lips in the beginning stage of being kiss-swollen while his mouth hangs open just a bit.
"It's been so long since I've had any sort of physical exam," you purr. His eyes somehow get wider. His face somehow flushes deeper. You laugh at him.
"Maybe you could help me with that. Make sure everything's in tip-top shape. What do you think, Dr. Grace?"
He punches out a laugh of utter disbelief, but he smiles at you. A tiny shiver rushes down your spine. It's instinctual, honestly; happens every time he has his eyes on you.
"I absolutely can help you with that."
Your hands gently lunge toward his jaw so you can put his glasses on correctly. As you're settling them on his face and slowly pushing them up the bridge of his nose, you whisper, "Need to be able to see to get a good look at me, right?"
He laughs. Winks at you from behind his lenses. Now that he's standing above you, you can see his eyes clear as day. No more overhead light glare. Just a soft, steadily darkening pair of eyes that makes your heart race.
"Maybe you should be the doctor," he whispers back. Steals a quick kiss from you that sees you grinning at him. Then, he clears his throat and gestures toward the table you're sitting on.
"Can you sit back, ma'am? Y'know, so I can get that good look at you?"
You slowly lean back for him. The steel table is cold beneath your palms when you press them into the empty space behind you. Grounds you and cools you off just a bit.
Ryland's eyes trail over you now that you're a little stretched out. You see them linger on the familiar places he always does. Over your thighs and hips, over your sides, over the gentle curve of your breasts and up your neck.
The area over your collarbones is the only sliver of your skin he can see right now; everything else is covered by his shirt you're wearing and the pair of sweatpants you haven't ditched yet. That tiny bit of skin's basically an oasis in some sort of desert.
You huff before you look him in the eyes. He meets them soon after, face flooded pink but his gaze still…hungry.
"Do you look at all of your patients like this, Dr. Grace?" you tease. He rests his left hand on your hip.
"I assure you," he begins, voice deep and raspy and definitely full of need, "this is all part of the exam. You're in good hands."
"I like when my doctor is good with his hands," you purr. Was that too on the nose for this little game you're playing? Sure. But it's what makes this fun. It gets him to huff out a laugh through his nose and give your hip a little squeeze.
You gnaw on your bottom lip to keep yourself from laughing, too, but only for a moment. Ryland's too busy bringing one hand up to your face and cradling your jaw. As soon as his thumb brushes over your chin, you release your lip from your teeth. His eyes land on your mouth and stay there for a beat longer than they should.
The soft scent of latex gently creeps up to your nose as he holds your face still. That scent gets a little stronger, lingering and pushing into your skin when his thumb runs over your bottom lip.
Why is that doing something for you? Why does it have you making a mess in your panties? What the hell will this awaken in you? Why did it only take two months to get here?
Questions to address later.
"First thing we need to do," he rumbles while still eyeing your lips, "is a temperature check."
His thumb remains on your lip. It isn't long before he slowly, softly pushes it a little forward. Aiming for the inside of your mouth, clearly.
"I'm so sorry, but our themometer is broken, so," he pauses. Lets out a fake apologetic scoff. Then he shrugs and looks you in the eyes to continue hedging with, "I'll have to use my hand instead."
Said it with his whole chest. Completely devoid of jest. Seems like he's really hitting his stride here. How many times has he done this with someone else?
You add that one to the bank of questions to be answered later. You need to up your game if he's bringing this much to the table.
"Do you need me to open wide, Dr. Grace?"
Although your words are muffled from his grip on your jaw and his thumb playing at your lips, you get them out clearly. Clearly enough to make him flush a soft pink that bleeds over the bridge of his nose and threatens to reach his ears.
He doesn't stumble, though. If you guys hadn't been shot up into space against your will, he might have been able to pursue a career in acting. You know, after the whole "Sun's dying" thing got fixed.
Instead, Ryland straightens.
"Mhm," he hums his answer. "Now, open wide."
So you do as he says and you drop your mouth open. Real wide. Until you can't open it any more. Time for that temperature check.
Ryland shoots you a sly little grin. Nods his head and blesses you with a whispered, "Very good."
The raw, deep rasp in his voice when he bestows that praise on you is enough to shoot a jolt of need straight to your pussy. Enough to make you squirm, to make your body physically ache for him. It's his most effective form of temptation. Has you wanting to ditch this fun little game and just let him fuck you.
But he's so enamored with this that you let it continue. You swallow your impatience, you still your writhing hips, and you let it go on.
His thumb gently pushes beyond your lips, brushing at the tip of your tongue. That heat blooming in your lower half deepens. Simmers a little more. Makes you think you might be sitting on an oven instead of a freezing cold lab table.
"Close," he instructs seconds later. Seems like you're not the only impatient one here. You've never followed directions faster in your entire life. Your lips encircle his thumb almost immediately. The skin-tight latex surrounding his hand takes away the joy of his thumbprint pressing against your tongue. Should be considered a crime.
"Perfect."
Ryland presses his thumb a little deeper into your mouth. You gently suck on the thick digit while looking directly into his eyes through your lashes. He's always been a sucker for the way you look at him while you're trying to tease him.
It breaks his concentration; an incredibly brief flash of need when he pinches his eyebrows together and he punches out a shaky sigh. His knees might have buckled, actually—but he plays it off like he's just shuffling to get closer to you. Like it actually was his intention to tighten his hold on your hip and pull you near the edge of this table.
When you push a little further and circle your tongue around his thumb, he actually shuts his eyes. Hangs his head for a second before he mutters, "Yeah, like that."
You indulge him. Suck a little harder. Tease with your tongue a little more. Give his thumb just enough attention to make him shudder in front of you. He reopens his eyes and reluctantly forces them back up and on you. It's not long before he's pulling his thumb out of your mouth. The quick action forces a lewd little pop to ring out into the tight space around you. Whether it's because he was about to come in his pants or not is beyond you.
Solid chance that it was, though.
"Did that feel good?"
Your cheeky question makes him chuckle. His face turns even more pink.
"My temperature, I mean," you clarify. "Did it feel good?"
"Yes," he answers through a smile that mangles the general casualness he was trying to upkeep. His hand slides down to your neck. His thumb, still damp with your saliva, braces against your jaw. You lean into his touch. How could you not?
"It was just right," he coos while he positions his fingers around the side of your neck, palm softly pressed against your throat. His thumb hovers on your quickened pulse on one side of your neck, just beneath your jaw, while his index and middle fingers dig into the pulse on the other side in the same spot.
You hum and try to ignore the thrumming between your legs when he gives your neck a single, firm little squeeze. When his fingers dig a little deeper into the soft give of your pulse points, when you can feel your own heartbeat hammering against your jaw from how hard he's grabbing you. It's not enough to take your breath away, but it's just enough to make you weak. To force a head rush when he releases his grip but leaves his hand there.
Your teeth find your bottom lip. You gnaw on it so hard that the taste of copper spreads over your tongue, metallic and abrasive as opposed to his softness. You look up at him through your lashes again—in that exact way that kills him every time—and your voice is breathy when you find it. Struggling from the gentle firmness of his grip and the fog of your own lust.
"What's this for, Dr. Grace?"
He gives your throat another squeeze. You shut your eyes and whine softly, head tilting back just a bit. There's something so intoxicating about the rough dig of his fingers into that sensitive, soft skin beneath your jaw. Did your hips buck up toward his? Probably. Not like you have time to focus on it, though; he's too busy giving you another fucking head rush when he relaxes his grip.
"For checking your heartrate."
When your eyes flutter open again, you find him smirking at you. He follows it up with another squeeze on your neck. One of your hands beelines for his where it rests at your hip. The way you borderline stab your nails into his wrist is almost as instinctual as the whimper that leaves your mouth when he relaxes his grip again and inundates you with a euphoric rush you're coming to adore. Your hold on him grounds you, but not for long.
"Seems to get quicker when I do this," he mutters, then he gives your neck another fucking squeeze. A little harder this time. Lasts a little longer, cuts off your blood flow just enough to make you deliciously woozy. Has your pussy fluttering and clenching around nothing. You'd be surprised if your arousal wasn't seeping through your sweats at this point.
You sink your nails deeper into his skin. He doesn't even flinch. Just laughs, soft and sweet despite how he's putting you through the ringer.
"What's that about? Are you nervous?"
"Yes! Yes, I'm—I'm just a little nervous. That's all," you stutter out. Total lie. Wasn't even convincing in the slightest. You run your tongue over your bottom lip and try to ignore the remnants of your own blood lingering there.
"No need for that," he reassures you, all saccharine and sickeningly comforting.
"You're in good hands, remember?"
Punctuates that one with another squeeze of your throat. That means another head rush a few seconds later when he releases it. You moan this time. Close your eyes tightly and tilt your head back a little. It was impossible to keep any part of that reaction in.
"Good hands," you eventually choke out. Whiny. Impatient. Breathy and embarrassingly pathetic. A parroting of only a fraction of his own question. Like you're giving him an excuse to call it quits and tear into you like you desperately want him to.
But Ryland doesn't break. Seems like he's actually capable of teasing you when he doesn't have his thumb in your mouth. It'd be admirable if you weren't so needy. All he does is hum to himself. Your bliss depletes when that soft, silky latex of his glove glides down your throat and toward your shirt.
"Got a strong, steady pulse aside from those nerves. Feels healthy to me," he mumbles. Does a good job at ignoring the frustrated groan that you punch out. You could have came from the "heartrate check" alone if he had done it a few more times.
Then, he drops his voice. It's a whisper, now. Confident, but so hardly-there that you consider leaning in when he tells you, "Let's keep going."
His fingers tease at the top button you've got fastened on his shirt. He taps it once, twice, three times. Gentle, and maybe a little teasing, but that's just your judgment from the hint of a smirk painted on his lips.
"I'm gonna need you to open your shirt, ma'am."
He clears his throat and shoots you a half-grin.
"So we can continue with your physical examination, that is."
It's right after that sentence that his hands leave you completely. No more teasing the buttons on your shirt. No more palm pressed against and fingers curling around your hip. He even takes a step back—distances himself from you until you can't feel his hips against the inside of your knees. Can't feel the warmth of his body flooding into yours even through all your layers. All you can do is deflate.
Months of close contact without even a second of personal space, and you're at your most miserable when you finally get a little bit of it.
The desperation to get it back is what pushes you to lift your fingers up to the buttons of your shirt. While you find each button and fumble with it, Ryland keeps his gaze glued on you. On your trembling fingers, on the heave of your chest, on the way you've got nothing but lust clouding your half-lidded eyes.
"Need some help?" he asks, soft and genuine, when he sees you slipping and fumbling over the third button on your shirt. You nod. Immediately. Quickly enough to have you feeling a hot, embarrassed flush in your cheeks. But it's only for a moment—he overshadows it by closing in on you again.
His massive hands are nothing but delicate as they close in on your shirt buttons. Slow and steady. Precision that gets your shirt completely unbuttoned within a matter of a few seconds. Why is that turning you on even more?
"There you go. Lean back and relax for me," he murmurs while in the process of undoing that final button. Instead of shrugging your shirt off, he simply pushes it open. The loose fabric billows around your waist. Brushes over your collarbones and your ribs. Hangs onto your shoulders as if it's only a brief look away from falling off of them.
By the time you press your hands back into the steel table, you're much more exposed. You'd conveniently forgotten to put on a bra this morning. Well…if it was morning when you woke up. Time doesn't exist here.
You chest is bare. Breasts on full display now that this shirt of his you've got on is open wide for his viewing pleasure. He looked directly at them, because even in the midst of his dedication to this roleplay, he's still a man.
Why not torture him a little?
"Is this where you want to start, Dr. Grace?" you purr. The hitched breath in his throat is audible when you gently arch your back and lift your chest in his direction. He tries to play it off with a fake cough but falters when he looks up at you. His pupils are so blown out that you should probably be concerned for him.
"Want me to take some deep breaths for you?"
Your teasing question makes Ryland hum. His hands have already returned to your hips. His thumbs, still enveloped in latex, are buttery soft when they gently trace back and forth over the skin just above your waistband. Almost as soft as the hold he's got on you. The gentle dig of his fingers into your body remind you of home. Maybe he is your home now.
"Go ahead," he commands. Nods when you do just as he says. One big, deep inhale—enough to make your lungs burn—followed by a full exhale.
"Very good. Just like that. Give me another one."
He trails one hand up your stomach, over your abdomen, toward your ribs. His touch merges with his praise. Leaves a path of goosebumps in its wake and a shiver shooting down your spine.
You manage to pull in another breath. Breathing is an automatic process for the brain, but when Ryland Grace is pawing at you this well, this hypnotically, it kicks that automatic process into manual. So when you draw it in, it's shaky. Hesitant, in a way. Unfocused.
All you can think about is the way he's inching closer and closer to your chest and how he's looking at you like he would devour you if you so much as thought about giving him permission to do so.
After that pathetic attempt at a breath, Ryland clicks his tongue at you. Very quiet. A little disappointed. Maybe even an attempt at humiliating you because he knows you like it. There's something mischievous in his eyes. Something a little playful behind all the lust.
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip. Curls his fingers around a section of your ribs and gives you a gentle squeeze. Finds his voice a few seconds later, and gifts it to you in a low, rich rumble.
"I'm afraid that wasn't sufficient enough. I need you to take a big, deep breath, ma'am."
You whine. You squirm. You let your head fall back for some brief, momentary relief from his still-hungered gaze. It's the only set of actions you could muster, especially with his hand sliding up and toward the valley of your breasts.
His large palm splays out over your sternum, steady and grounding despite how miserable you feel right now. He's great at bullshitting this. There's no way that this is actually how breathing is supposed to be measured.
Not that you care.
"C'mon. Just give me one more," he firmly instructs. Gives you a gentle tap on your sternum and lowers his velvety tone to a whisper.
"You're my best patient. If you wanna keep that title, I suggest you take a deep breath."
That gentle, cooed compliment really gets you going. Does its job, although it's a bit difficult to get there. After you push out the remaining whisper of a breath you had in your chest, you inhale. It's still a little shaky, but it's full-bodied; enough to make him smile at you and pat your chest.
"Perfect."
He continues with the "exam" in a way that's actually familiar to you. Because, instead of doing it like an actual medical doctor, he's doing it like himself: As a scientist. His hands glide up to and over your chest, his fingers tease, pinch, and tug on your nipples, and he gropes your breasts. His expert hands slide down your abdomen while his tongue sings soft praises to you for obeying the good doctor's orders.
He's not examining you like a doctor, though. He's exploring you like a scientist—and you're a fool for it. Staring up at him through lidded eyes, sucking in stilted breaths, releasing soft little whines and whimpers and moans spurred on from being poked and prodded.
So much for a physical exam. This borders on a lab test. And being the test subject of the brilliant, world-saving Dr. Ryland Grace? That's even better than being his patient at this makeshift doctor's office.
But he knocks you back down into your roleplay as his fingers tease over the waistband of your sweatpants.
"Can you take these off? Pelvic exam's the final step before we wrap up here."
"How about you do it for me?" you plead through feigned innocence. "You're just so good with your hands. Much better than I am."
He laughs. Then he blushes. And when he starts to untie that knot at the front of your sweats, he sends you a grin that'd make you swoon if you weren't so desperate to have him all over you.
"I'd love to help you with that, ma'am," he purrs while he slips his fingertips into your pants and slowly pulls them down your thighs. Only takes a second or two for you to kick them off and let them fall onto the floor in a heap. Takes even less time than that for him to pull your panties down.
"Lay back," Ryland tells you. A gruff little command. Definitely not as professional as a doctor would be. He's gotta be hurting as much as you are if he's starting to break like this, as subtle as it was.
But you do as he says. The lab lights cascading all over your body as soon as you lie down are extremely bright. Almost fluorescent.
Here you are: Illuminated by the harshest light possible, all spread out on this cold steel table, a lab rat for him to test on. Fully exposed. It should be embarrassing. It should make you want to cover up. To run and hide.
Instead, you spread your legs. And it makes Ryland turn a much darker shade of red than he was earlier. He covers up his blush with a smile. His hands meet your calves. They slowly run up your legs and toward your thighs, smooth latex gliding against your skin and making you shiver. Part of you misses the feeling of his bare skin against yours.
Ryland's hands glide up and up and up, slow and teasing, before they rest at your hips. His thumbs gently press into the soft skin there, and his fingers tighten their grip on you, and his eyes do a little gliding of their own. Up and down your entire body, lingering on every inch of skin he can get them on.
His tongue runs over his bottom lip before he softly coos, "You're so pretty."
You gasp. Act offended. Try to hide your genuine adoration and glee for his compliment behind a fake, snippy attitude.
"Are you flirting with your patient, Dr. Grace?"
"Making an objective observation, actually," he sasses back. It's almost hard to believe this guy could barely look at you the first time you slept together. What an honor it is to witness someone coming out of their shell.
"If I'm so pretty, can this exam be on the house?"
Ryland throws both of his eyebrows up.
"Let's not get ahead of ourselves."
You scoff. A quip forms on your tongue, but dies almost immediately. You lose your ability to speak as soon as Ryland's hands slink away from your hips and toward your inner thighs. As his big, warm palms pin your legs down onto the table you're basically spread eagle on, he asks, "Can you keep your legs spread for me?"
You can't come up with the single, affirmative word. You just nod.
"I'm gonna trust you," he murmurs, thumbs getting to work by gently spreading your folds open. You keen. Your body jolts, and he's barely even touched you—but any sort of attention to your aching, needy pussy will do that to you.
"Especially since you've been doing so well for me," he adds. Although your head is swimming, clouded with nothing but wanton need that makes you want to lunge at him, you keep your word. Your hips squirm, but your legs stay open.
He smiles. His eyes flit up to yours when he glides one thumb through your folds. When you gasp and let out an actual moan, he laughs. Sweet and full of adoration for you.
"Easy. Sit still," he whispers. His other hand finds your stomach, big, warm palm splayed out over it so he can keep you still. You squeeze your eyes shut, and you toss your head back, and your jaw tenses so roughly that you're worried it might shatter.
But when Ryland's thumb finds your clit, the combination of the soft latex and his warmth makes it a little easier to relax. Finally, some fucking relief.
He starts rubbing slow, heavy circles on the sensitive bud. Enough to make your head loll to the side and your chest heave. Ryland's other fingers trace random shapes into your abdomen. It's soothing enough to keep you from squirming.
"Looks real good," he says while adding a little more pressure to the circles he's drawing on your clit. You moan again. It might be loud enough to wake up Rocky. You know that's not possible, but…there's a first time for everything.
"Reacting very well to stimulation."
"Fuck," you hiss, hips stuttering and one hand flying down to his wrist. Your nails dig into his exposed skin just above the elastic band of the glove on his hand. You want to stay in character; unfortunately for you, he's managed to wind you up so much with his poking and prodding that you're already about to come.
"Is something wrong, ma'am? Do you need a break?"
"I—No! I'm fine!" you squeak out, back arching, pussy fluttering around nothing and probably dripping onto the table beneath you already. He clicks his tongue against his teeth and, after getting you so close to your orgasm that you were seeing stars in your clouded vision, takes his thumb away.
"Why don't I try something else?"
Tears begin to pool in your eyes. You fall back down onto the table with a defeated, earth-shattering groan and let go of his arm. If you weren't so tired, you'd have fired off a string of insults his way. That's no way to get what you want, though. Ryland can be quite withholding when he's in the driver's seat.
He chuckles. Drums his fingers against your stomach for a moment, then gently mutters, "We're almost done. Take a deep breath for me."
With the last semblance of your mental awareness, you do it. The breath you suck in is deep. It burns your chest when you hold onto it. Luckily for you, though, it doesn't stick for long—Ryland pushes two of his gloved fingers into your pussy and your breath leaves you as a loud, guttural moan.
"Feels so good," he whispers to himself, as if he's the one struggling to keep it together.
There's no resistance. You're soaked from all the teasing and touching, so he slips in with ease. You cover your mouth with your own hand, teeth digging into your palm as you whimper into it and try to keep it together.
Truth be told, though, you didn't have a chance. Ryland's already thrusting them in and out of you, slow and deep and just how you like it. He's curling them up and hitting that soft, spongy spot that almost makes you black out each time he touches it.
"Dr. Grace!" you roughly pant, whimpering and hips roughly bucking up to meet his hand. He doesn't stop you. He probably wants to see you come more than you want to come.
"Is this part of the exam?"
He smirks up at you. Speeds up his fingers and presses his thumb against your clit again. Clears his throat and announces, "Of course it is. Just making sure everything's working how it's supposed to."
What a pervert. A beautiful, incredibly-skilled-with-his-hands pervert.
Something about that makes it impossible for you to keep it together. You throw your head back, your legs tremble, your lower half roughly and involuntarily twitches. The worst part is that you can't keep your mouth shut; you let go with a slew of almost unintelligible babbles and a set of moans so loud that you're worried your vocal cords will be torn to shreds.
When you come back down to Earth—or, rather, Mary—Ryland's got a shit eating grin on his face. It's a little crooked. Somehow, that makes it even more perfect. He clears his throat and straightens between your legs. Pulls his fingers out of you and presses both hands into the table, bracketing you in without a chance to escape.
Not that you'd want to.
"I think that test was inconclusive," he lies through his teeth. When you roll your eyes and lean up on your elbows because you want to shoot him a smart-assed response, you end up falling silent. His fingers are undoing the knot at the front of his own sweats, and he's taking you in like a starved man.
You giggle at him. At the way he's enamored with you despite you not doing anything. Then you simply ask, "What on Earth are we gonna do about that?"
He shrugs. Pushes his sweats down before he reaches forward, grabs your hips, and pulls you closer to the edge of the table you're still laid out on.
"I've got another test in mind."
taglist: @clarkscolumn @thceseus @clarknsun @sparklingsin @notebookmixup @frivolousimagination @qardasngan @aerixae @snoopysupe @pinksplace @soniayonce @yearningforsolitude
@kryptidfiles everything i write is gold?? speak for YOURSELF MA'AM!!! i adore you 4eva and eva don't ever forget that. so glad to have tipped your rygos situationship scale btw like i hold that with pride <3
more responses to reblogs below the cut! thank you all so much for loving this one, im soooo glad you're all loving this one, it's definitely a labor of love. perverted, freaked out love.
@irlr0gue thank you for reading!! so glad to get the favorites tag - means the world to me that you enjoyed!!! <3
@grilchgurt i already responded to your adorably sweet comments, but im going to respond to your reblog too because it just made me that happy. and also because hand obsession with rygos is so real. he has the most beautiful hands i've ever seen i think. like they're Massive and they look so Soft. and don't get me started on the veins <3 thank you for reblogging and for all of your kindness!!! it means the world to me!!!
@pixiebuggz you're so real for this. this is exactly what i felt like writing it. this is what i felt like rereading it while i was editing it. this is what i felt like thinking over this concept and putting pen to paper to jot it down. i, too, couldn't stop screaming. thank you one million billion times for reblogging, im sooo happy that this scratched an itch for you!!! sorry about how you saw it while on the clock.......or maybe not. i hope it made the work day easier 🫶🏻
@sipofchai GLOVES!!!!! WE LOVE GLOVES!!!!! i hope that you enjoy when you return! thank you for the reblog!!!
@pensationalwriting oh my indeed 👀 thank you for the reblog!!!!
@oatyoat32 perhaps the realest reblog of all time? ryland grace has me barking and panting like a feral dog at all times. you get it! thank you so much for supporting!!
@soniayonce HAND KINK GO BRRRRRRR. DR. GRACE TITLE KINK GO BRRRRRRR. im so happy you enjoyed!!! and that this ticked so many of your boxes!!!!! we love the soft dom of it all. he's incredible. thank you so so so much for your support, you are so deeply appreciated by me!!!
oh it's that kind of exploration 🤭 doctor grace
