Lobster @lobster-tales - Tumblr Blog

Jul 15

It's Dark in My Imagination

Rating: E Summary: Dr. Ryland Grace didn't expect to spend his Friday night at the vampire burlesque show with his coworkers. He especially didn't expect to see one of them on stage. AKA Simon is a dancer doing a blood-themed burlesque routine. This work is available here on AO3. Spotify playlist here. Chapter 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 3: The Apartment

The car ride was both excruciatingly long and much too short at the same time.

The rush of endorphins had cleared Grace's mind, making space for a slew of anxious thoughts.

What a night. What a terrifying, wonderful night.

Grace tried to keep his eyes on the road, tried to keep them anywhere except for where Simon sat in the passenger seat, arm propped on the open windowsill as the streets of Houston rolled by.

They should be talking, but even though Grace's head was full of a thousand questions, he couldn't make his lips form any of them. He tried to rein in his thoughts, focus on the next step of the evening.

Cleaning. His apartment was a mess, not a cool, rockstar mess like Simon's apartment probably was, piled with liquor bottles and sexy leather harnesses. No, Grace's living situation looked much like the backseat of his car: papers everywhere, clothes on the floor, boxes and bags of long-finished takeout.

The backseat.

He blushed at the thought of their mania only a few minutes ago. This was so unlike him. Grace had never been the 'fooling around in the car', 'make out in the middle of the goth club' type. He was the guy with no plans on a Friday night, not necessarily on purpose, but just because that's how it usually worked out. He was, as his middle schoolers often called him with varying degrees of affection, a nerd.

And Simon…

Did goths and nerds get along? Could a nerd be friends with a goth? Could they be more? Why was his brain defaulting to high school clique categories?

Because he was a scientist, he admitted to himself. Because he was a man of logic, and logically, this didn't make sense. It didn't make sense that his quiet, evasive coworker was a burlesque performer. It didn't make sense that said coworker liked him. And it definitely didn't make sense that they were headed to Grace's apartment right now, to fool around for what would be the second time that evening.

Grace inhaled sharply, fingers clutching the steering wheel. What was Simon expecting from him, once they got back to the apartment? Grace hadn't had sex in… well, a long time. He was way out of practice.

What if Simon was expecting more, and Grace couldn't deliver? What if Simon was disappointed with him? What if he left later that night, wearing a pair of borrowed sweatpants, muttered a deep, half-hearted, "Thanks," on his way out the door, and they never spoke again, and come Monday morning they both completely ignored each other and pretended as if-

Impulsively, he pried his fingers loose from the steering wheel and turned on the car radio, pre-set to a pop music station. He needed to drown out his thoughts, needed more than the silence.

T-Pain's voice came in loud and clear:

I need to get her over to my crib and do that night thang

'Cause I'm in love with a stripper

She poppin', she rollin'-

Grace practically punched the power button, his face flushing a deep red.

This really was a nightmare.

A gentle sound came from the passenger seat. Grace glanced towards Simon, surprised to see him grinning to himself, snickering softly. They locked eyes, Simon's gleaming with amusement. Grace matched his smile, began to chuckle himself.

Simon looked away shyly, muttered, "Sorry."

"No, you're- you're good."

Grace realized then that he was being silly. Simon wasn't some cool, unattainable vampire prince. He was just a person. A hot person with what sounded like a complicated past, who was both devastatingly shy and impossibly confident at the same time. But just a person all the same.

And, against all odds, Simon liked him. Just how much he liked him, it was hard to say: maybe his attraction was just physical, or maybe it was something more.

But he would never know if he was too much of a scaredy-cat to find out.

"So um." Grace cleared his throat. He needed to start with something easy, something low-stakes. "How did you get into all that? Like the burlesque, pole dancing, thing."

For a long moment, Simon said nothing, and Grace worried that the silence would take over again, that it would carry them all the way back to the apartment.

"In college," Simon finally answered. "I used to work at a club on the weekends."

"As a dancer? Or…" He considered Simon's muscled figure in his peripheral. "As a bouncer?"

"No," Simon said, the word coming out as a quiet laugh. "As a server. But I did step in a few times. If the patrons got too handsy."

Grace imagined Simon, muscles flexing beneath a black t-shirt, much like the one he wore now, hauling up some loser by the upper arm. "I bet the dancers liked you."

"Yeah, we got along really well." His voice softened. "When it was slow, they would teach me some moves on the pole."

Now Grace pictured Simon young, college-aged, round-faced, maybe with shorter hair, surrounded by dancers in glittering pasties and skimpy thongs, all directing him where to place his hands and how to engage his core. As far as mental images went, it was an adorable one.

Except… hands. Plural. Grace glanced his way. "Was that before you lost your…?"

He worried that Simon might be offended, but he just nodded, his expression neutral. "Yeah. I only picked it back up recently. Had to relearn the grips."

Unintentionally, Grace flexed the fingers of his left hand, tried to imagine what daily tasks he would have to adjust using only his right.

"I mean, you seemed pretty comfortable up there tonight," Grace said. "I guess once you got the hang of it again, just had to slap on some vampire fangs?"

Simon rolled his eyes affectionately. "That was all Olesya. She was the one who told me to sign up."

"Yeah, I didn't realize you two were so close."

"We are now. We weren't at first. When we started the project, I was a little… standoffish."

Grace fought off the urge to make a sarcastic comment. Noooo, you? No wayyy.

"Until we found out we go to the same goth club," Simon continued, "So we decided to start going together every week."

"Kind of crazy that two people on the same team just happened to both be goths," Grace chuckled.

"You know how there's a lot of furries in IT?"

Grace gawked at him. "Wh-what? No, I-I didn't know-"

"Lot of goth engineers."

"… Huh."

They pulled up to a stoplight, the soft glow casting them both in red.

This was good, talking, keeping it light. Grace asked, "So, what did you do for work before the project?"

Apparently, that was the wrong question.

Simon's shoulders tensed. He turned his head away, a lock of hair falling over his features. "Odd jobs. Here and there," he said simply.

Grace frowned. "Really? I mean, you're one of the top engineers on the team, I assumed you had all kinds of opportunities."

He rolled his jaw, and said quietly, "Yeah, no. Turns out that not a lot of employers want an ex-con with only one arm."

Guilt twinged in Grace, then smoothed into a deep ache. "… Except Stratt," he said, in quiet understanding.

The tension in Simon's shoulders eased, if only a little. There was a soft affection in his voice, the kind that Grace knew all too well. "Except Stratt."

"Yeah," Grace said with a sigh. "I mean, I used to be a middle school teacher. Well, I still am, that's probably what I'll go back to after all this is over."

Simon considered him. "I didn't know you were a teacher."

"I didn't know you liked me."

Grace regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth.

Simon let out a soft, shy chuckle. "Yeah… yeah I mean, you're… hot or… whatever."

They pulled into Grace's complex, the headlights illuminating a hedge bush. "I'm hot?" Grace scoffed as he shifted the car into park. "You're the one dancing on the pole, dripping fake blood down your-"

"You think I'm hot?" Simon murmured in a low voice.

Grace glanced at him, saw his eyes darken, glinting in the light. "Y-yeah, I mean, obviously."

"You think it's hot the way I touched you?" Simon leaned towards him, his hand finding his thigh, fingers splayed. "The way I sucked you off?"

Grace gulped, felt himself drawing closer, close enough that their lips touched. He meant for the kiss to be a light brush, but Simon pressed himself in, crushed their mouths together in one hungry, desperate moment.

Gasping, Grace pulled away. If they kept kissing like that, they were never going to make it out of the car. "Upstairs," he said, handing Simon his emergency cardigan from the backseat.

Simon gave him a quizzical look.

"Tie it around your waist," Grace instructed, indicating towards Simon's stained shorts. "Just for the walk up. My neighbors can be a little… nosey."

As they ascended the steps, the door beside Grace's cracked open, even though it was nearly one in the morning. An older woman peered out from behind a door chain and a suspicious frown.

Grace put on a genial smile, waved. "Hi, Mrs. Seavers."

"It's late, Ryland," she said in a thick southern accent, narrowing her eyes at Simon, who followed Grace up the stairs. "Much too late for a… gentleman caller."

Grace instinctively stepped in front of him, refusing to budge both his stance and pleasant expression. "Sure is, we'll keep it down. I know you've got to get your beauty rest for the art show tomorrow. Allie May won't know what hit her when you break out the egret watercolor."

Her expression softened, though she still wrinkled her nose at Simon. "3 PM, Ryland, you'll be there? I can write down the directions if you like-"

"I know where it is," Grace said cheerfully as he unlocked his door. "See you then, Mrs. Seavers."

She grunted in response to both Grace's words and Simon's curt nod, but did not close her door until they were safe inside Grace's apartment.

Simon blinked at him. "What the hell was that about?"

"Oh, she's a peach, really," Grace said.

"A mean peach," Simon scoffed.

Grace shrugged. "Mean people get lonely too. And she's not mean, she's just… rough around the edges."

Simon gazed intently at him, as if seeing something there that he hadn't noticed before. "A gentleman caller, huh?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow. "Get many of those?"

"Not at this apartment, no. You'd be the first," Grace sighed, then gasped as Simon pressed him back against the door, hand braced above his shoulder.

"Lucky me," Simon murmured, and kissed him.

Grace wanted to succumb to the pressure, wanted to drown in him all over again, but forced himself to focus. He had a hot, bloody guest in his doorway, and an apartment in desperate need of cleaning. "Hold on," he said. "Just, um, just… hold on."

"What's wrong?" Simon whispered against his ear, grazing his earlobe with his teeth.

"Give me a second." He placed his hands on Simon's chest, gently pushing him back. "Stay right here by the door. Don't go into the living room. Or the kitchen. Or the bathroom."

Simon rolled his eyes. "I don't care, Ryland."

"Sorry, I wasn't expecting…" He realized his fingers were still on Simon's pectorals, feeling the muscle there. "Company." He cleared his throat and stepped away, kicked off his shoes. "Just give me two seconds."

Way longer than two seconds passed, maybe two minutes. Grace re-entered the common area after rush-cleaning the apartment, holding a pair of sweatpants for Simon to wear, only to find that he was no longer standing in the entryway.

"Simon?" Grace called.

"How do you only have eggs and hot sauce?"

"Simon!" Grace threw himself around the kitchen counter, tried blocking Simon from the fridge. "I told you not to go in the kitchen!"

Simon cocked an eyebrow at him. He had untied Grace's cardigan from around his waist, wearing it over his t-shirt and shorts. He looked… adorable, actually. "I was hoping you had vodka."

"I keep it in the freezer." Grace tried to remove the bottle of vodka from the freezer as swiftly as possible, so that Simon wouldn't see that the freezer only had vodka. And an open bag of pizza rolls. "Why?"

"Figured we could do another shot." He stepped closer to him, placed his fingers over Grace's on the bottle. "Get you loosened up."

Several fantasies sprang to mind, their bodies against each other, moans exchanged between parted mouths.

But with the thrill came fear. Grace was afraid, afraid that he would either be too much or not enough. Despite Simon being so shy in person, he seemed completely at ease when it came to sex. Grace was… not.

He needed to buy some time, let the nerves pass.

"Here," Grace said, stepping back, holding out the sweatpants. "Let's, um… let's put a pause on the… fooling around-"

"Fooling around?" Simon repeated, giving him a wry look. "God, you really are a middle school teacher."

Grace chose to ignore that comment, raised his chin indignantly. "I uh, still need time to bounce back," he said, as a sort of half-truth, half-lie. "Just, change into these."

Simon blinked at him. Then his expression changed to a neutral impasse, his hand taking the sweatpants. "If you… if you're done for the night, Ryland, I can head out-"

"No!" He said the word a little too emphatically, pulled back a little. "That is, I… I don't want you to leave. I- can we just- hang out? For a second?"

Simon's frown deepened. "Hang out?"

"Yeah." Grace placed the vodka on the counter, searched the cabinet for two cups. "Here, the bathroom's that way. You change and have a seat."

Simon stood in the middle of the kitchen, sweatpants in hand, looking uncomfortable. Finally, he mumbled a quiet, "Okay," and made for the bathroom.

While Simon changed, Grace thumbed through his vinyl collection, which was egregiously uncool. He settled on an 80s mix, since it had one song by The Cure - goths loved The Cure, right? - and set it spinning in the player.

He met Simon at the couch, handed him a vodka neat before taking a seat on the other side.

They sat in silence. Robert Smith crooned in the background.

Grace cleared his throat. "You, uh, said you live with roommates?"

"Yep."

"How many?"

"Two."

"Are you, uh, friends with-"

"Nope."

Stupendous. Somehow Grace had made it more awkward than ever.

The song ended, the next one beginning in a fun synth beat. Simon sipped at his drink, eyes downcast.

"Can I borrow your phone?" Simon asked suddenly, and Grace handed it over without thinking.

"Why?"

"I'm gonna get an Uber. I'll pay you back," Simon clarified, "I just, uh. I think I should head out."

"No!" Grace leaned forward, vodka still in hand. "No, seriously."

"I appreciate the change of clothes," Simon said. Politeness seemed to come natural to him. "And it's okay, really. Just not our night."

Panic struck Grace. He opened his mouth to say something, anything to convince Simon from leaving.

But words failed.

There was that pesky logic again. If they weren't going to fool around, there was no reason for Simon to stay, and Grace couldn't force himself to put out, especially now. But he wanted him to stay, so so badly.

He didn't want this to be over, not like this. Not a rushed blowjob in the car then an awkward drink at the apartment. In any other situation, with any other guy, Grace would have given up, just let him leave.

Not this time. This time, it felt… different. He wanted it to be different.

Maybe it was because Simon had come on so strong. No one had ever shown Grace that kind of attention before, flirted so… loudly. He had thought that if anyone ever made a gesture like that, he'd feel put on the spot, or embarrassed.

But when Simon had danced for him, met his eyes, Grace had been too spellbound to care about anything else. He just wished he could show Simon the same interest, even if he couldn't match his intensity or confidence.

As Simon typed into the phone, something caught Grace's eye. Simon's foot was gently tapping along to the song, almost involuntarily. Maybe that was the dancer in him.

An idea struck Grace, a way to communicate without words, to show Simon how much he wanted him to stay. It was so obvious and stupid and… audacious.

Simon said it himself: Grace needed to loosen up. And what better way to loosen up than to move?

He was still scared, of course. But he had already taken so many leaps of faith tonight, and landed on his feet every time.

He took another sip of vodka, abandoned it on the side table as he stood.

Simon's eyes followed him, uncertain but curious.

Grace took a deep breath. And as the singer began, he started to dance.

You were workin' as a waitress in a cocktail bar

When I met you

Despite the alcohol, his limbs were stiff, his movements jerking. Grace so rarely danced, and he had never given someone a striptease. He started by shimmying, hands clenched into nervous fists in front of him as he brought them up and down.

Simon was staring at him, his frown deep, his brow furrowed. "What are you doing?"

"You know, returning the favor." Grace cleared his throat, sang along with the song as he began to unbutton his shirt from the top.

"Don't, don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me"

As he kept unbuttoning, he saw a glimmer in Simon's eye, the slight arch of his eyebrow. The corner of his lip turned up, as though he was fighting a grin.

At this new reaction, Grace relaxed a little, moved his shoulders in time with the beat as he removed the shirt.

"It's much too late to find

You think you've changed your mind"

Grace swung the shirt over his head, twirled it around a few times as he awkwardly thrust his hips.

"You'd better change it back or we will both! Be! Sorry!"

He tossed the shirt at Simon, who had lost the war with his smile.

"Don't you want me, baby?"

Grace ran his hands up his torso, still wearing a white undershirt. He grabbed the hem of his neck and tugged the shirt over his head, staggering slightly to the side as he did so. His voice was muffled through the tangled fabric:

"Don't you want me? Oh!"

He wrestled with the shirt for a moment, finally yanked it over his head and threw it to the floor.

"Don't you want me, baby?"

The fabric, he realized, had fought back, taking his glasses with it. "Ah!" he said then fell to his knees, digging around in the discarded t-shirt while he kept singing in a strained voice,

"Don't you want me? Oh!"

Grace's clumsy fingers found his glasses. His heart was pounding, his face flushed a deep red. He was a goofy guy, had only survived so many judgmental middle schoolers by being sincere and silly and uncool.

But this, being sexy… he was fumbling this so, so badly.

Or so he thought, until he placed his glasses back on his face and saw Simon, still clutching Grace's button down and grinning from his seat on the couch, shoulders shaking with restrained laughter.

Encouraged, Grace remained kneeling, changing the lyrics of the second verse:

"You were working as a Simon! in a vampire club!

When I met you"

At this point, Simon fell apart laughing, covering his eyes as he cradled his face. "Ryland, stop," he giggled, though it was clear from the tone of his voice that he wanted him to continue.

Besides, Grace was on a roll now, began crawling on the floor towards him as he sang along.

"Don't, don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me"

He pulled Simon's hand gently from his face. When those deep eyes met his, they weren't lustful or hungry. Just… adoring.

Neither of them could stop smiling.

Grace got to his feet again, took a few steps back as he unbuckled his belt, pulled it through the loops and discarded it on the floor.

"Don't, don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me"

He swiveled his hips, dug his thumbs into the hem of his slacks and began to shimmy them down, down his thighs and around his ankles, leaving only his boxers behind.

Don't you want me, baby?

Don't you want me? Oh!

Grace tried to kick off the pants, but his foot caught in the fabric. He lost his balance, yelped as he fell forward onto Simon.

"Woah," Simon chuckled, placed his hand on Grace's chest to catch him. "You okay?"

Grace had his hands braced on either side of Simon, lifted his face to meet his, glasses askew. "S-sorry," he said nervously. "You make it look so easy."

Simon grinned, leaned in close to press his forehead against Grace's. "I've had a lot of practice."

Thump thump thump!

Both of them started as a muffled southern accent yelled through the wall, "Ryland Grace! It is one in the morning! Get that racket down this instant!"

Grace rose quickly, yelled, "Sorry, Mrs. Seavers!" before he rose to his feet to turn off the record player. Or, at least he tried to, before he remembered that his pants were still around his ankles. If only he didn't remember halfway to the floor.

Thud!

Simon burst out laughing again, poorly stifling the sound as he went for the record player, looked it over and found the off button.

"What was that?" Mrs. Seavers cried out.

"Nothing!" Grace furiously kicked at his pants, freeing his legs from the fabric. "All good! Have a good night, Mrs. Seavers!"

A muted scoff came from the wall, followed by silence. Complete silence, now that the record player had stopped spinning.

Grace groaned softly to himself, putting a hand over his face. The night was ruined. There was no salvaging it now.

He sensed movement and glanced through his fingers to see Simon standing above him. But instead of grimacing in embarrassment, Simon was smiling.

Simon reached down, took Grace's hand, and helped him to his feet.

"I'm-I'm so sorry," Grace said. His voice sounded loud in the quiet room, so he whispered, "I- I was trying to-"

"You're fine, Ryland," Simon whispered back, then jerked his head towards the bedroom door.

Grace understood, led him from the main area and into the safety of his bedroom, closed the door behind them and sagged against it, sighing. "This is a disaster."

"Are you kidding?" Simon perched on the edge of bed, bracing his hand behind him. He was still smiling for some ridiculous reason. "This is great."

Grace winced. "I just- I didn't mean-" He rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. "That was my first uh, striptease."

"Mine too."

Grace shot him a questioning glance.

"That someone's given me," Simon clarified.

"Really?" Grace peeled himself off the door, joined Simon on the edge of his brightly patterned bedspread. "But… you just seem so… I figured you had plenty of uh…" He smirked slightly. "'Gentleman callers', as my peach of a neighbor would say."

"I… do…" Simon said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully. "But I'm usually the one… making the calls, if you get what I mean."

"… Yeah," Grace mused. It made sense, the way Simon had behaved all night. When it came to sex, he was used to being in charge. "I'm not really a… 'caller'. I've been single for a couple years now. Tonight would be the, uh, first time in a long time."

Simon studied him for a moment. "Oh," he said softly, then released a longer, relieved, "Ohhh. That's what's going on. Okay."

"What?"

"I thought-" He pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I thought you changed your mind about me, and you were trying not to hurt my feelings."

"No!" Grace turned to face him on the bed. "No, I just… all night, you've been so… sexy, and confident, and I'm… a mess."

"What? No, you're not." Simon cocked his head at him. "You're… you know. Lead scientist. Stratt's favorite. You're Dr. Grace. You're smart, and funny, and everyone likes you."

Grace blinked at him. If that was the impression he gave off around the lab, it was certainly news to him. He had always considered himself low-ranking on their workplace social hierarchy.

Simon continued, averting his gaze, "When I saw you tonight, in the crowd, I thought I really had to step up my game. You know, perform. I just wanted to… impress you."

A short, startled laugh escaped Grace's lips. "What? You thought you had to impress me? Simon, look at me!" He gestured around the bedroom, which was cleaner than it had been prior to Grace's tidying up, but still cluttered. "Yeah I'm lead scientist on this project, but that's because I had a stupid hypothesis that just so happened to be correct. Outside of this job, I'm just a clumsy middle school teacher who never gets laid."

Simon shot him a playful glare. "I know that now."

Grace paused. "Is that why you never talk to me at work? Because you thought-" He snorted. "That I was out of your league?"

"Shut up," Simon muttered, which all but confirmed it.

"Oh my God." Grace interlaced his fingers in front of his mouth, pressing the tips of his indexes against his lips. "Oh my God, Simon, you're out of my league. You're the hot goth burlesque dancer."

"What does that have to do with it?"

"Goth outranks nerd," Grace said sagely. It was only after he said the words that he realized they made absolutely no sense.

Simon stared at him. "Ryland, what the fuck are you talking about?"

Grace opened his mouth to explain, but the only sound he could manage was a laugh. A bright, absurd laugh.

Because it was absurd, this whole situation. He had been so worried about being sexy enough for Simon: it never occurred to him that Simon might feel the same way, might have the same insecurity.

At the present moment, Grace was still laughing, and Simon was still staring, though the corner of his mouth had quirked up. "What-"

"Sorry," Grace said, wiping a tear from his eye as he collected himself. "Sorry, it's just uh… Ah." He fell back onto the bed, fingers laced over his bare chest.

Simon rolled his jaw, then leaned back, lying beside Grace on the bedspread. "We… don't have to do anything else tonight, Ryland, if you're not comfortable-"

"No, I want to, I just…" He sighed. "I just wanted to be sexy for you. I didn't think I would be so bad at it."

"You are sexy." A gentle grin played on Simon's lips. "And as far as the stripteasing, you'll get better, with practice."

Grace cocked an eyebrow. "Practice, huh?"

"Sure." Simon's expression flickered, eyes widening slightly as if he'd just gotten an idea. "You know, I could… show you some moves. If you want."

Grace matched his grin. "You've been showing me moves all night."

"Yeah, but it's different in…" Simon leaned towards him, close enough that Grace could feel his breath. "Close quarters."

Grace swallowed hard. "I mean… I wouldn't say no."

Simon stood, dug in the pocket of his sweatpants and pulled out Grace's phone.

As he typed something in, Grace sat upright again, and asked, "By the way, what happened to your phone?"

"Olesya has it."

Grace blinked. "Why does Olesya have it?"

"Because I was in a rush," Simon muttered. "And the skimpy fucking… shorts didn't have pockets."

A song began playing from the phone speaker, a dark synth beat. Simon turned up the volume, quiet enough that the neighbor couldn't possibly hear, then set it on Grace's dresser, smirking at him. "Now pay attention."

Grace felt a swell of affection. Teaching was his love language, and whether intentional or not, Simon was speaking it. He couldn't have designed a more perfect, interesting person even if he'd grown one in a lab.

Simon stood before him, still wearing Grace's cardigan. One of the sleeves draped loosely over his left shoulder, and he hooked the thumb of his right hand into the front of his sweatpants.

The singer's voice:

This is not the way into my heart, into my head

Into my brain, into none of the above

"Start with your hips, match the pace of the song. You can make either a figure eight pattern-" Simon rolled his hips slowly as an example. "Or back to front." He switched, controlled thrusts in time with the beat.

Every movement was magnetic. With every pulse of the music, the tension in Simon's shoulders eased, his eyes darkening with power.

This is just my way of unleashing the feelings deep inside of me

This spark of black that I seem to love

"Don't take your clothes off too quickly," Simon murmured, running his fingers along the hem of the cardigan. "Think of it like… unwrapping a present, something fragile. Go slow." He peeled it from his shoulder, revealing the black fabric of the t-shirt, then the other shoulder. Simon held the cardigan to the side, let it fall to the floor, where it pooled with a sigh.

We can get a little crazy just for fun, just for fun

Don't even try to hold it back, just let go

"Don't rush getting undressed." Simon stalked towards Grace like a predator, kept his chest out as he leaned down, a finger tracing under Grace's jaw. He ghosted his mouth over Grace's, whispered, "Remember. The point is to tease."

Grace leaned in to steal a kiss, but Simon pulled away, smirking.

Oh, he was in for it now.

Tie me up and take me over 'til you're done, 'til I'm done

You got me feening, and I'm ready to blow

"When it comes to touching, that depends on the club and the house rules," Simon said as his fingers found the side of Grace's neck, spread out to cover as much of his skin as possible, thumb pressed at the crook of his ear. "But seeing as this is your place, you decide." He tilted Grace's head, exposing the other side of his neck, and pressed his lips against the soft skin. "So? Is this allowed?"

"Y-yes," Grace gasped, then whimpered as Simon sank his teeth in.

Push up to my body, sink your teeth into my

Flesh

There was no prick of fangs this time, no gentle hot tongue. This time, Simon bit down hard and sucked at the tender flesh, leaving his mark on Grace, claiming him.

Grace was so grateful that he wasn't currently working at a middle school: the tweens would eat him alive for showing up to class with hickies on his neck.

Bite into me harder, sink your teeth into my

Flesh

After a few brutal seconds, Simon released him, dragged his tongue over the spot to soothe the pain. When he pulled away, Grace leaned in again, but Simon refused to give him the satisfaction of a kiss, eyes glinting playfully.

"Not yet, Ryland," Simon murmured. "Be patient."

"Simon," Grace whined under his breath.

Hold me up against the wall

Give it 'til I beg, give me some more

"Don't reveal everything all at once, let it build." Simon hooked his thumb into the band of his sweatpants, pulled them down just enough so that the V-lines of his hips were visible. He cupped his bulge in his hand — he was right, he bounced back quick — and grinded against his palm, groaning.

Grace wanted to fall to his knees and suck him off right then and there.

Make me bleed, I like it rough

Like it rough, rough, rough

"When you do take it off, remember to go slow." Simon's words were breathier, more ragged. He tugged the hem of his shirt up, above his stomach, above his chest, over his head. He threw it aside, reached his arm behind his back to flex his tricep. He was still wearing the harness, and it stretched with him as he engaged his core, tightened his abs.

Hold my arms above my head and push my face into the bed

'Cause I'm a screamer, baby, make me a mute

From his spot on the bed, Grace leaned forward, fisted the sheets in his hands on either side. He couldn't take the teasing anymore, felt himself becoming unhinged. "Please," Grace whispered. "Please come here."

Simon grinned wickedly, sauntered forward.

You push your hand upon my neck and feel the pulse beat, beat, beat, beat

It's like a trigger get me ready to shoot

But instead of straddling Grace, he turned, lowered down, and ground his ass against Grace's bulge.

"Oh my," Grace whimpered.

Wanna wrestle with me baby, here's a sneak little peek

You can dominate the game 'cause I'm tough

"You want to keep your balance with this move," Simon half-spoke, half-moaned as he rolled his hips, slow, torturously slow, the muscles of his back flexing beneath the harness, his hand braced on his knee.

Grace settled his hands on Simon's hips, just above the hem of the sweatpants. "Can I touch-"

"House rules." Simon flashed him that stupid, sexy, cocky smirk over his shoulder.

I don't play around that often, when I do, I'm a freak

So you'd better believe I like it rough

That was enough for Grace. He seized Simon and pulled him down hard to sit in his lap. Grace spat into his palm and reached around, fingers dipping beneath the band of his sweatpants to touch him.

Simon gasped sharply, his shoulder blades drawing back. "R-Ryland-"

"How's this?" Grace whispered into his ear, stroking him.

"Ohh, fuck." Simon arched his back at the touch, the rolling motion of his hips staggered, unsteady.

"Ah ah, you said you need to match the pace of the song." He slowed his hand on Simon, matched the beat until Simon's hips were on tempo again. "There you go, good."

"Whose- ah. Whose teaching who, again?" Simon breathed.

"Just holding you accountable," Grace said with a sly grin.

Get undressed

T-taste the flesh

A thought crossed Grace's mind. "How long?"

"You can't- mmph. Feel that yourself?"

"No, how long have you liked me?"

Grace waited for an answer, but when he didn't receive one, he slowed his pace, so within seconds Simon hissed, "Since the first- the first day I met you."

He wished he could remember it more clearly. In his mind's eye, all Grace could see were those dark, mournful eyes flashing at him, the deep voice mumbling something as they passed by each other.

"That long?" Then Grace asked, almost purring, "In all that time, have you ever thought about me like this? Touching you?"

"… Y-yes."

"Is this what it was like? In your imagination?"

Simon let out a short laugh. "S-sort of."

Grace smirked to himself. "What, you thought the night would go differently?"

"The- hmm. Vampire fangs were a surprise."

Grace chuckled under his breath.

"Ryland… stop."

Grace obeyed, admired Simon's shoulders heaving beneath the harness as he collected himself. He'd gotten carried away yapping: of course Simon didn't want to cum in his pants again.

Simon stood and reached for Grace's phone on the nightstand, paused the song, then faced the still seated Grace, stepping towards him to stand between his legs. He gazed down at him, his hair falling in his face, lips parted with his breath. Simon lifted his hand to cradle Grace's jaw, calloused fingers brushing gently against the stubble along his cheek.

Simon's dark eyes searched his, as if seeing every facet of Grace, seeing deep into him.

Grace held his breath. It was intimate, so terrifyingly intimate. He settled his hands on the back of Simon's waist, if only to touch him, as if by removing his hands, some invisible thread between them might get cut.

Simon moved his fingers, settling his thumb on Grace's lower lip. "You know what's in my imagination?"

Grace tried to keep his voice steady, but he knew Simon could feel him shaking. "What?"

"I want you…" Simon pressed his thumb past his lips, into his mouth, slowly, slowly, until the pad of his thumb was set on the back of Grace's tongue. "Inside me."

Grace nearly choked on him, surprised. Based on how assertive Simon had been, he'd expected to bottom tonight. But the more he searched Simon's expression, the more he realized that he would do anything for him. Even take control.

Simon's thumb still in his mouth, Grace nodded, a soft motion.

When Simon withdrew, Grace jumped to his feet, grabbed either side of Simon's face and crushed their lips together. They kissed ferociously, all teeth and tongue, as if they might eat each other alive.

Grace's hands were everywhere on him: his shoulders, his arm, his chest, his waist. His hands couldn't find enough of Simon, hunting and digging in, nearly clawing him.

Simon's fingers, meanwhile, held Grace steady by the back of his neck, his teeth catching his lower lip.

Grace broke apart briefly, only to gasp, "Take your pants off," as he removed his boxers. He lunged for the cluttered nightstand beside his bed, which had been much more cluttered earlier in the night, but now at least was only slightly cluttered. He dug around in the drawer, found a bottle of lube and… condoms. Old, old condoms. He pinched one in his fingers and winced at the expiration date.

"Simon, are you-" He turned, jaw going slack as Simon stood there, wearing the harness, and only the harness. He hadn't seen him naked yet, since their first time had been crushed together in the car.

If he thought he was hot before…

Simon cocked an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth matching the tilt. "Am I..?"

Grace forced himself to focus. "Have you, um… My condoms all… went bad."

"Oh. Neither of us have tested positive for anything. If we had, Stratt would have told us."

Relieved, Grace threw aside the expired condoms, pausing as the weight of the realization hit him. "She tests us for STDs? Why? It's a… space project."

Simon rolled his eyes. "With a lot of hot people working on it. Now would you get your nerd ass over here and fuck me?"

A thrill went up Grace's spine at his assertiveness. When he returned to him, he took Simon's chin in his fingers, tilting his face just up slightly so that their lips were nearly touching. "Say please."

"Fuck you."

"That's a funny way to pronounce please." Grace reached around Simon with his other hand, pressing two lubed fingers against his entrance.

Simon inhaled sharply. "Fuck… please…"

"That's better." He moved behind Simon, pressed a teasing finger inside him as the other hand settled against the base of Simon's spine, guiding him towards the bed. "If you feel uncomfortable at all, you tell me, okay?"

Simon grunted in acknowledgement, his breath hissing when Grace added another finger inside of him.

When Grace was satisfied, he reached for the lube again, smeared some along himself, when Simon said, "Wait. Can you do something for me?"

"Anything," Grace said.

He glanced back at Grace over his shoulder, arm braced on the brightly colored comforter. "I know it's stupid, but um… can you press play on the song?"

Grace gave him a quizzical look.

"Just… trust me."

Grace shrugged and found the phone on the nightstand, pressed play. The song's second chorus continued from where it had stopped,

-up to my body, sink your teeth into my

Flesh

Simon murmured, "Like I said, hips in time with the beat."

Grace understood then, returned his smirk as he gripped Simon's hip steady with one hand, lined himself up with the other.

The song had slowed.

Hold me down and make me scream

Lay me on the floor

He pressed in, inch by sweet, agonizing inch. Simon was tight around him, so tight. Beneath him, Simon groaned, shoulders flexing beneath the harness.

Turn me on and take me out

Make me beg for more

More, more. Grace had to focus, to force himself not to drive inside of Simon all at once and take him. He went slow, torturously slow, and based on Simon's whimpers and grunts, they were both impatient.

The music was suspended, both men taking a moment to appreciate the feel of the other.

When the beat picked up, Grace began to roll his hips back and forth, following Simon's instruction. He took it at half-speed with the tempo first, getting comfortable with the motion after so long. Just like riding a bike. If that bike was super hot, and wearing a leather harness.

Oh right. The harness.

Grace reached out, gripped the lower band of the harness with his fingers, scraping his nails against Simon's skin as he did so. Simon keened, fist clenched in the bright comforter.

Push up to my body, sink your teeth into my

Flesh

With something to steady himself, Grace quickened the pace, his breath rushing out in harsh gasps. "Yeah?" he said, trying to sound composed. "You like that?"

"Yes," Simon whimpered.

"All night, you- mmph. It was for me, wasn't it? All of it?"

"Y-yes! Fuck, Ryland."

"You looked so, ah. Good up there, Simon. So sexy. I wanted you so bad."

"I- I've wanted you… for so-"

"Oh I know, and you've got me, Butcher." Grace leaned over him. He was getting close, dangerously close. "And you're mine, got that? You're in my bed, you've got my cock deep inside of you-"

To punctuate his point, he pressed in deep, held himself there for a few excruciating moments. They both shuddered, before Grace pulled back and began to thrust again.

"I'm… yours…" Simon breathed. "Fuck, Ryland, I'm gonna-"

"Yeah?" Grace moved faster, felt the pleasure rising in himself. "You gonna cum for me, Butcher?"

"Y-yes, fuck, fuck!"

It was as if the world was off it's axis. Grace felt it rise and rise, overcoming him with sensation. Beneath him, Simon groaned, his voice muffled by the bedspread.

Grace came with him, thrust a few more selfish, desperate times inside of him before he pulled out, catching his breath.

After a few moments, Simon rolled over, his eyes half-lidded in a haze. "Sorry about your… bed." He nodded towards the streaks of cum lining the bright patterned fabric.

Grace placed his hands on his hips, half-smiling. "It was due for a wash anyway," he panted. "You're doing me a favor."

Simon nodded slowly, peeled himself from the bed one vertebra at a time to sit up. "Can I, um. Use your shower?"

"Sure." Before Simon could stand, Grace stepped between his legs, ran his fingers through Simon's sweaty hair, pushing it back from his face. He gazed down at him, admired the flush of his skin.

"What?" Simon said, his lip quirking in a smile.

"Nothing." Grace kissed him, long and slow, unhurried. "I just… I like you too."

"You're such a dork," Simon muttered, pushing him away playfully.

Once Grace deposited the bedspread beside the washing machine, he joined Simon in the bathroom. He hadn't shared a shower in years, but bathing with Simon was weirdly comfortable. They teased each other, admired the other's body. Between brushed kisses and soapy fingers, they just… talked. About nothing, about everything. About work and their coworkers. About the project and different hurdles they were dealing with in their respective departments.

It felt… natural. Like they had always done this.

As they both dried off, Grace considered him. "So um. You're staying the night, right?"

Simon looked up from beneath his wet hair, toweling down his legs. "I don't know. Do 'gentleman callers' stay the night?"

"Probably not, but she's a miserable old biddie anyway."

Simon let out a short, shocked laugh. "Ryland!"

"I say that with love," he clarified, hands raised. "But forget about her. Do you want to spend the night?"

The deep eyes searched his. There was still a wall there, that guarded expression that he'd worn when they talked in the club bathroom earlier that night — God, had that all been tonight? It felt like weeks had passed.

Simon's face softened, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, sure," he said with a shrug.

Grace smiled back. "Cool." Then he wound up his towel, and playfully whipped Simon with it. "Sleepover!"

Simon cocked an eyebrow at him. "You don't want to play that game."

"Why, scared you might lose?" Grace teased, whipping him again.

In response, Simon tied his towel around his waist, lowered his head, and stalked towards Grace, eyes glinting mischievously.

Grace backed away, trying to speak between giggles. "No, hey, we're just playing, it's just a ga- ah!" He squealed as Simon tackled him onto the bed, pinned him beneath his weight. "Ahh, why are you so heavy?"

Simon propped himself on his elbow to smirk down at him. "All muscle."

"You're crushing me," Grace lamented, hummed in appreciation when Simon pecked him on the cheek and rolled off of him.

They lay there side by side, shoulders touching, fingers entwining.

Grace felt… peaceful, reassured. Definitely not just a hook-up. Definitely… something. What exactly, he wasn't sure.

But he knew one thing. They liked each other. They were, as his middle schoolers might say, in like with each other.

And that was enough for tonight.