x top male reader blog, writing for honestly whatever fandoms.
Rules
NO FEMALE READER
The only thing I'll never make an exception for. I'm really uncomfortable with it, there are a plenty of great fem reader blogs on Tumblr you can check out!
DNI: Basic + mlm fetishisers, darkshippers, culture fetishisers, people who read/write/support unironic rpf.
The masterlist
Request status: open only for ryan gosling characters
about the author:
Evgeny, 18+, Eastern European time; ukranian-polish;Aroace, agender. personal blog: @aneurysmuz
Synopsis: Ryland misses you so much it hurts, much to his own hopeless chagrin. Of course, when he can't have his boyfriend fuck him brainless and soothe his (sexual)frustration, comes the next best thing; jerking off to youโฆ and missing you the whole time.
WC: 4k.
AN: The smut monsters got me you guys... gulpgulp. "It's ok, Author, we love your filthy Ryland smut!!!" Awhh,.... thank you anonymous, body-less voice!! (PS: Not proofread).
Anyway. Male Reader.
Ryland's keys jingle weakly in his hand as he walks up the stairs, letting the loop of the key-ring hang limply from his index finger as he steps up to the landing, continuing on towards his apartment. Each step is careless, lacking the idle, comfortable laziness they usually holdโ he feels wound tight, his insides coiled together and too hot to be pleasant.
So far, his day had been awful.
Nothing big, nothing dramaticโ justโฆ bad. He spilled his coffee this morning two sips in, he used the wrong key twice to get into the School Building, embarrassed himself in front of a parent, and missed you so much he was re-listening to the voice notes you'd sent weeks ago in the teacher lounge.
Yeah. Just bad.
Sighing lowly, he stops before his apartment door, ignoring the longing in his gut as he shoves the key in and turns. The moment the lock clicks in its release, he turns the knob and shoves it open, closing it immediately behind him before he slumps back into it and closes his eyes.
It didn't help his body was sending signals you weren't here to soothe; both frustration, andโฆ well, a different kind of frustration. The kind that made his groin ache and his shoulder tingle with the memories of the kisses you laid there.
But you weren't here.
Nope. You were two freaking states away, fixing some stupidly-rich guys "collection car." Because, apparently, knowing models before the seventies and how they work is impossible for anyone other than you to care about.
He had a love-hate relationship with that. On one hand, it was awesome that you specialized in something that made you happy and that you were great at it. On the other, it meant that, sometimes, some drowning-in-money jerk would fly you out to Gosh-knows-wear for a week and he'd be stuck eating take-out and wishing you were here.
Now his apartment just feels empty. No you in the kitchen making dinner so he'd stop spending so much on take-out, no you looking jaw-droppingly sexy in just sleep clothes, no you for him to stick to and bury himself in your after-shower scent.
No you at all.
It feels like punishment, but he knows it's not.
He misses you anyway.
Sluggishly, he pushes himself off of the door, tossing his keys over to the table by the door and beginning to, rather roughly, pull his jacket off and set it on its hook. It falls off right after, and for a moment, all he does is stare at its limp, defiant form.
He's going to lose his mind.
But, instead of doing so, he leaves it there for another more patient day, toeing his shoes off by the door and kicking them next to where yours typically stayed. The spot was empty now.
He pulls his Teacher ID tag from its place around his throat as he steps further inside, setting it down on the island next to where the sticky note you'd left him was.
"I'm leaving now. Sorry for not waking you upโ yeah, I know you'll be annoyed, but you needed the sleep. I'll text you when I land to let you know I'm safe, okay? I love you. See you next week. :)
PS: don't forget the laundry from downstairs. It's in the third dryer on the bottom row, our usual one went out of service."
He's read it about a hundred times nowโ before he'd leave for work, when he'd come home, and whenever he was in the kitchen. You'd talked a lot since then, of course, but he'd still read it anyway. It was a habit now.
Sighing, he steps back, moving on towards the bedroom as he undoes his belts clasp; the noise, even though it's his own, makes his brain recall every time you'd roughly undo your own in times ofโฆ certain desperation.
Stop it, brain, He grumbles internally, pushing his bedroom door open, he's not here. You need to shut up.
The room still smells faintly like you, even though it's been three days since you'd left. As he gets undressed, he mindlessly wishes your scent would stay longerโ he misses being able to stick to you whilst in bed, to be able to hear your heart and smell you from the source rather than from anything lingering.
Is that a little pathetic?
Maybe.
Is he ashamed?
No, not really. You're his boyfriend. He's allowed.
He unbuttons his shirt first, shrugging it off and throwing it in the general direction of the clothes hamper before he continues with his jeans, holding a hand to the wall to keep him balanced as he gets the last pant leg off.
Letting those stay on the floor, he steps over to the bed, tossing himself down onto your side and groaning, rather loudly, into your pillow. His arms come up, circling around it and pushing it closer to his face as he shifts and inhalesโ the bunched-up blankets rut against a very sensitive place at the movement, and he stills like he was struck by lightning, his groan muffled from the fluff of the pillow.
It felt good, butโฆ not as good as he's sure you could make him feel with just a single touch alone.
Nothing compares to how you do itโ he can't ever mirror the way your rhythm falls, or replicate the feeling of your calloused hand around him (or holding his hand). Nothing works but you. Since you've come around, he's only been able to get himself to cumโฆ what, twice? With a lot of time and patience.
And you double that in a single night with half the effort.
It was unfair, your absence. He's stuck here like a longing, painfully-hard house wife, while you work hard over twenty hours away. Probably sweating, and covered in various grimes and greases, and grunting whilst you fight to get a bolt offโ
He flips over onto his back, yanking the pillow from his face and letting it drop to lay across his stomach. If it didn't feel disrespectful to use the same pillow you slept on most nights to jerk himself off, he'd be clambering on top of it and rutting into it like a freakin' dog, but... It does, so he won't.
Tonight, anyway. He's not sure if he'll have the same restraint another night, if he stays this worked-up and without you. He'd be one-hundred percent okay with buying you another pillow case if that ends up occurring this week.
For a second, all he does is lay there, half-panting and staring listlessly up at the blank ceilingโ he wants you, so bad it hurts. Everywhere. His shoulder where you'd kiss (and sometimes bite, when you'd cum), his hips where you'd keep him steady, his hands where you'd tangle your fingers together (and where he'd bury his hands in your hair and pull, just to hear the broken groan that'd spill from your lips like honey).
He needs you. Like, now.
Shoving your pillow off of him, he kneels over to the side of the bed, hanging off the edge as he grabs his jeans and digs around in his pocket for his phone. The moment he has it, he's pushing backward to lay down, scooting back to rest half propped up against the headboard.
He's panting as he fumbles to unlock his phone, mis-inputting your birthday once, then twice, finally steadying his hands enough to get it right on the third time. His teeth sink into the fat of his bottom lip as he reaches over, his glasses slipping down his nose as he presses your pillow against his chest.
He wants to call you, to see your face, to hear your voice talking to him, to have your attention.
It's not rude to interrupt if I say it's an emergency, he thinks, staring down at your contact photo, is it?
Calling someone just to jerk off is weird.
No, it's notโฆ when you're dating, anyway, right? This is totally normal. People do this all the time.
Nevermind, yes, it is.
He's unsureโ so, to distract himself, he scrolls upward a little and re-reads the last messages you'd sent.
"Yeah, it's not going too bad. You'd like it here. Very cute geese. One of them squints like you do when your glasses are off. Anyway, I miss you. I'll call when I'm done and we can talk tonight, is that alright?"
That one was around lunch, but you'd sent one more before saying byeโ just asking about work, if he'd eaten, that stuff. Caring stuff.
Stuff he would've enjoyed hearing you say in person.
His chest aches.
Dipping his head down a little, his glasses shift as he squishes his nose into your pillow and inhales the left-over scent of your soap. He does it again, and again, before locking one of his arms around it and bringing his legs upโ it's not warm like you are, and it doesn't have the body he likes to mindlessly trace with his fingertip late at night, or the heartbeat he falls asleep fastest when listening to.
But it smells like you, and, for the moment, it'll work.
After a minute, he pulls back, his tongue poking at the side of cheek as his thumb slips down the screen of his phone. He exits the Messages app, instead going to his gallery; the photos there are random. Some science memes, random pictures of the pond with all the geese he likes to feed, more pictures that'd either you'd sent of yourself or he'd taken of you.
After scrolling back a few weeks, he stops, clicking on the video there before adjusting his grip on his phone to have it laying sideways. He presses his face into your pillow again, feeling his groin throb when the edge of the pillow shifts with his movement and grinds against his dick.
The video starts with darkness and some noises of shifting, before you finally pick the camera up and steady it.
"Okay, uhโฆ I think I've figured it out." Video-yous nose scrunches, the sharp points of your teeth just slightly visible behind your lips. His attention latches onto it immediately, before shifting to pay some focus to your face.
Video-you is filthy, slick with sweat in a way he can recall a few moments about during a separate time. Your breathing is heavy, too, no doubt from just crawling out from under the car you'd told him about then. It was, apparently, a difficult one.
Not that he cares. He'd thank that friggin' car any day now for this video of you alone.
"Umโฆ Yeah, okay. Anyway," The cameras point of view shifts as Video-you moves, and his heart-rate ticks up a littleโ he's watched this video of you showing him around your shop way too many times. He knows what's coming.
"Let me take you somewhere I can talk first without getting droned out from all the noise, yeah?"
He huffs lowly as he shifts, moving forward to lay back completely as the video continues. He brings the pillow with him, circling his arms around it and making it more comfortable for it to hold his phone.
"This is the 'Main room.' Just put quotes around thatโ meaning, it's the only room with AC that everyone crowds like bees. 'M a little surprised it's empty now; my day is finally getting lucky, hah."
Finally, the camera view picks up again as Video-you shows him the room in an idle, lazy movement. He knows the room by heartโ a small table in the corner with four chairs around it, two of them broken, the only window filled with an AC unit, a few lines of counters with a few cabinets above them, a fridge tucked next to the end of it.
"Moving on," Video-you announces, moving over to the little thing of shelves out of camera view, "Gonna prop you up here for a sec, Ry. My hands are grimy 'n my phone keeps slipping." Your voice is slightly muffled when your hand covers the mic, but his stomach heats up at the nickname, however covered.
Ry. No one else calls him that; only you.
As the camera view changes again, the sharp points of his teeth dig into the side of his cheek, his breathing picking up a little as your expression shifts to focused again. This point of view is lower, giving full view of grease-covered you from your thighs and upward, and a full shot of your stomach when you grab the hem of your shirt and bring it up to wipe the sweat off your face.
God, you were hot.
Enough so for that one shot to be why he watches this video again, and againโ your voice, too. It always got a little more raspy when you were tired, a little more ragged. Closer to what you'd sound like when you'd cum; enough so to get him heavily distracted, anyway.
This was a piece of an immortal heaven. As long as his phone was charged, he'd be able to watch this, and get to see you all worn out and dirty and gorgeous.
His tongue runs over his bitten lips, a shaky exhale following right after as he pauses the video and sets his phone aside. As much as he loved this video of you (he's watched it three times yesterday), he hadn't everโฆ well, jerked off to it. He'd thought about it โ way too many times, actually โ but never had really done it, since you were always there to climb all over.
You're his boyfriend, so it's not like it's too creepy, right? It's not even weird. Couples record "Home Videos," (cough) and do all sorts of things with those, so, morally, he could jerk off to this and be okay.
He wished he didn't have to. He wantedโ needed, you here, all over him and fucking him until his brain turned to mush. Just you here in general would be nice. You didn't have to be on top of him, or behind him, or in himโฆ
He shifts, grumbling lowly at himself.
He can remember last Friday like it was yesterday.
How your lips felt against his, how you groaned into his mouth every time he'd pull at your hair, how your fingers would curl inside of him and make his vision go whiteโฆ He pulls the pillow from his chest, breathing through is mouth as his hand wanders down, taking the teasing path yours would always take.
His stomach twitches beneath his own touch, sensitive to the trail from his hip to his dick.
How your hand felt when your fingers would dig into his thighs to keep his legs open, the feeling of his side pressing into the edge of your knee when the bed would dip from your weight as you'd loom over him, peppering soothing, warm kisses from his jaw to his collarbone.
His imagination is so vivid he can almost feel you hereโ your breath against his neck, the callouses of your palm against him, the heat from your hand around the back of his thigh.
He swallows, sucking in an unsteady breath; he gasps as he palms himself through his boxers, his head tipping back against his pillows. Aimlessly, he tries to replicate your touch. How you'd press the heel of your palm into him and run your thumb over his tip through the fabric, how you'd say something silly just to get him to relax some more and get comfortable.
That latter part is something he can't get right.
What would you say this time, if you saw him? Would you gently tease him, say something softly like Just can't wait for me, huh? Or would you say nothing and just let him try to, hopelessly, get himself off?
It's alright, Ry, He settles on, imagining your voice in his head as his hand presses down a little firmer, I get it. Put on a show for me, yeah? I wanna watch.
His heart-beat stutters as he groans, his eyebrows drawing together when he shifts, pulling your pillow close again just to inhale needily.
Well? Your voice continues, Don't be shy, Ryland. We can stop whenever you want.
He drags the heel of his palm over his tip, his jaw settling at the pleasure of the fabric grinding against the sensitive, positively-flushed placeโ and, rather quickly, he lifts his hips up just to snag the hem of his underwear and yank them down, kicking them off to lay uselessly somewhere on the floor.
For that, you'd probably soothe him; make sure he was alright, that he wasn't too antsy to the point of being overwhelmed. He'd say something like, No, just in a hurry, or something silly and bratty like, What, I can't want my boyfriend?
But you aren't here, and he's pinned fantasizing desperately. It's better than nothingโ imagining you rather than lamenting your absence is more pleasurable.
The tip of his tongue pokes his top lip as he lifts his head up, watching his own hand as it carefully wraps around himself; he sucks in a breath, his groan grumbled and muffled within his throat. His doesn't look the same around him as yours doesโ not stained enough, lacking the little scars littered across the flesh there.
His eyes slip shut as his thumb teases the crown of his dick, this time without fabric in the way. He can picture how you'd look; legs crossed, leaned back on your palms as you'd watch him work himself up, eyes half-lidded and shadowed as you'd stare at his hand.
So, this is how you do it, huh? You'd implore, voice strained by arousal, head tilting. Maybe you should let me watch you more.
"Iโ I wish you were here," He gasps, talking to no-one but himself and his imagination of you. "I hate thisโฆ I want you."
His fingers curl around himself, tightening just slightly as he huffs, shifting in his place on your side of the bed. He draws your pillow closer again, breathing in a short, quick, unsteady rhythm of your scentโ desperately, he reaches up with his free hand, his other stilling idly as he yanks his glasses off and tosses them over to the bed-side table.
As soon as they're off, he buries his face in your pillow, panting into it as his hand starts up again, trying to find the rhythm you'd always use.
Unsurprisingly, he can't. Every attempt is just a weak, pathetic mimicry. He just couldn't get it rightโ every spot you'd hit almost seamlessly every time to make him see stars, he seemed to miss with skill.
It's frustrating.
Still can't get yourself off? You'd tease, but, he could imagine you wouldn't let him give up yet; no matter how obvious he could picture your want would be then. Want me to help you?
"Pleaseโฆ" He whines, his hand curling into a fist around your pillow, voice muffled by the very thing he's clinging desperately to; it's lost some of your scent due to the fact he's been cuddling it to sleep every night, but some is still there, buried beneath his own.
His jaw sets as his hand shifts in rhythm yet again, his hips jerking instinctively when the edge of his thumb bumps into the sensitive spot below his tipโ he whines loudly, his inhale shaky and broken as he tries it again.
There you go, You'd ease, voice softening, that's it, Ry.
"I miss you," He moans, running his hand up, down, then up again, the side of his index finger bumping into the sensitive spot almost every go. "Iโ I don't want to do this myself, I wantโ- hmmg, I want you."
He breathes through his mouth, letting his head tip back into his own pillow so he can get more air. His pace slows just slightly to give his forearm a break, the pad of his thumb nudging against the underside of his tip, just to tease himself like you would.
You're doing so good, Your voice rings out in his head, guiding his hand. So, so good.
His teeth dig into his bottom lip so hard it stings, and when he runs his tongue over the ache, he tastes metallic. He adjusts again, wiggling in his place and letting his legs stretch out, only to spread to give himself some more room.
Starting up again, he tucks your pillow into his side, his fingers curled into a fist around the shirt covering itโ he may or may not have stolen a shirt or two from the dirty clothes hamper to put on it that still thickly held your scent.
His hand isn't as calloused, or as worn as yours, but if he tries hard enough, he can picture you behind him, keeping his back pressed against your front as you guide his hand. Your thighs would flank his hips, one of your arms circled around his chest to keep him in place, your hard-on pressed against his spine with your warmth and your scent swallowing him whole.
He spreads his legs a little wider, moaning open-mouthedlyโ he'd squirm just to hear your groan and your shaky breathing when the friction would press against your dick, then proceed to act like he wasn't doing anything on purpose.
You'd laugh and pretend to believe him, only to litter punishing kisses and little bites around his shoulder and tell him, We've only just started, Ry. You can't come just yet, yeah?
"Mnnghโ" He swallows, feeling that coil start to heat up in his lower tummy, pulling taut.
You're so lucky you're not here, he thinks, tightening the grip of his hand when he gets closer to his tip, Or I'd be jumping your darn bones right about now.
Whining, his head pushes back into his pillow, bearing his neck; if you were here, you'd take the invitation and mouth at his neck, graze the points of your teeth over his jugular in a way that has his thighs shaking now.
His stomach tenses as the string of his insides pull taut, not yet snappingโ he drags the heel of his palm over his tip as he drags the pillow up and over his face, forcing it downward and inhaling.
He cums.
He keeps up pace, slowing as his hips fuck up into his hand, easing himself down; he can feel his cum landing on his stomach, pooling in his bellybutton. The pad of his thumb runs over the underside of his dick as he welcomes the after-shocks, panting desperately into your pillow before reluctantly pulling it away from his face.
After a few moments, he pulls his orgasm-slick hand away from himself, dropping it lazily to rest on his stomach until he works up the energy to care about the fact he's covered in his own cum and the remnants of agonizing need.
His dick still throbs in a heart-beat adjacent rhythm, timing loosely with his ragged panting and the twitching of his stomach.
He jerks at the sound of his phone ringingโ his head lifting up immediately to look for it, only to spot it with your name and contact photo splayed across the cracked screen.
He reaches for it with his filthy hand, only to decide better half-way and switch, snagging it shakily off the bed and swiping to answer. He stares idly at his hand, making a slight face at the cum covering it.
"HโHello?" He croaks, still recovering from his orgasm.
"Hey, Ry. Finished up over here for tonight. Your day get any better?" You question, your voice slightly worn, yet still soft, gentle.
The same voice he was imagining talking him through his own masturbation.
The door is open, you barely even think- whether you should or shouldn't is not in question. And you're right- there's something you're sure was once a man, and heโs in your shower.
Sierra Six just canโt stay away, even if it ruins both of you.
warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written with a penis but no other appearance descriptions, no use of y/n, smut, blowjob (r!receiving), minor blood play, angst because itโs court, you shower together, there is sweetness in this one ! but also he yells at you
a/n: i didnโt really have plans to continue so soon. but here we are ^_^ i just <3 court so bad . also im posting this at 9am because i passed out whilst editing last night . allow it
Six had been right, of course. Your landlord was a piece of shit, and after several thefts in the building, you'd packed up and left.
You went quietly, moved to a new city, you told no one but your closest friends- you weren't entirely sure why, but it felt like a secret, and you were set on keeping it. It wasn't running away from Six, at least you told yourself that anyway. It had nothing to do with the fact you could no longer look at your own apartment without the memory of him, lingering on every surface.
No, you moved because your landlord was a piece of shit, and that's that.
Like the first two times, after Six had vanished once more from your life, you vowed to forget him. You promised yourself to live without hoping for something you know will never happen. Six is gone for good- dead probably. You spend countless nights trying to pretend it doesn't bother you, that you didn't spend weeks sobbing alone, staring at your phone and wishing it would ring again.
You've changed. You're new. You're doing it alone again. You can.
It's a cold November night when you come home from work, hellbent on ordering a shitty pizza and watching an even shittier movie on your tv, before passing out on the sofa. Your favourite ritual. It kept you sane- almost.
But the universe has a funny way of derailing your life, because when you walk into your apartment, there's water running.
You check your kitchen sink first of course, for nothing but the sake of your sanity. Yeah- Yeah! It'll be your sink, you left it running after filling up your water bottle before work. That's exactly-
The sink is dry, and the tap is off, just as you know you left it. You try desperately to ignore the feeling creeping up your spine, and your hand seeks out the kitchen knives you keep on the counter, grabbing the largest one on there.
You make a move to walk to your bathroom, where the light so obviously pours out from under the door, but some semblance of self preservation stops you. You're hardly versed in self defence, your chances against whoever is currently using your shower are slim to none- knife or not.
You pull back from where your fingers were ghosting the handle, and step away, you're going to do something smart for once.
Until you're not.
You see it now, the bag laid beside the door. It's black and military, covered in pockets and loops to carry god only knows what. You know immediately, and it's only affirmed by the pistol sat atop of it all. It's reassurance, and you know exactly from who.
You should leave, you should get the fuck out and call the cops, book a redeye and disappear with nothing but the clothes on your back. You should disappear like he does, and spend the rest of your days cursing him for the loss of your first chance at a new life.
The door is open, you barely even think- whether you should or shouldn't is not in question.
And you're right- there's something you're sure was once a man, and heโs in your shower.
"You moved." He speaks first, and you can't decide if you're grateful for that or not.
"You're in my shower." You may as well follow his lead and point out the obvious.
"I told you to move, and you did." He doesn't turn, and you let your eyes drag over the new scars detailing his back. They're bad. You tell yourself it doesn't worry you.
"You followed me."
"You uprooted your entire life because I told you you should." The audacity of his actions should do more than piss you off, but a deeply traitorous part of you is just glad.
Glad he's in your house. Glad he's alive. Glad he came home to you.
"I didn't move because you told me to." You step inside the cloud of steam in your bathroom, and pull the door in behind you. You know it's only the two of you, but you both feel safer behind closed doors. "I moved because my landlord was a piece of shit." It's childish, the way you're snapping at him as you lean back against the wall, doing little more than staring at him with your arms crossed over your chest. You want to hide away from him, even when he's not looking.
"I told you that." There's an amusement to his voice you don't expect as he shifts about under the stream of water. "Now, you gonna join me in the shower, or what?" Finally, he turns, head cocked as he smiles at you. In that moment you decide you want to kill him, but not as much as you want him in your arms again. Fuck you, Six. Whoever the hell you really are.
"Wow, what the romantic proposition." You set the knife down on the counter. Your boots go next, kicked to the floor, then your shirt, your jeans and socks, and you hear his delighted whistle when you shrug down your boxers.
"I'm glad you think so, I do have a way with words." He pauses, cocking his head to the side. "Were you gonna gut me with that?" He muses, and you roll your eyes at him.
"Shut up, Six."
All of a sudden, things are easier. Six is smiling at you as if it's something he's always done, as if this is completely normal.
At least for now, you can pretend it is.
His hands seek your skin out the second you're close enough, digging tight into your hips, pulling you to meet him in the shower. "You're running up my water bill, you know that?" God, you're like a breath of fresh air for him, some sort of haven he doesn't truly deserve now, and never will.
"I'll pay." He drags you flush against himself, crowding over you to immediately mouth at your throat. "I can look after you." He doesn't know why he says it, it's hardly a truth, looking after someone is the opposite of almost everything he's ever done. But he wants it to be true. He wants it so badly that he can do little more than suffocate himself against your skin.
"Six." He listens to you groan, back against the cool tiles, and his scalp burns when you dig your fingers into his short hair, yanking him back. "Hold on." You're gabbing at him, despite your words, pulling him closer and pushing him away. "I thought you were dead." He just laughs, nuzzling back into the curve of your shoulder.
"Listen- I needed you to." He doesn't want this conversation, and he knows you don't want to hear it either. Non of his excuses and barely-there explanations will ease what's become of the two of you. Whatever's happened, is something that just doesn't get fixed.
"Will you accept it if I just tell you it's for your safety?" He'a dizzy with the feel of you, always so soft in comparison, if he could crawl under your skin and live there, he would. Even the sharp scrape of your nails as you drag them across his scalp barely break him from the haze of your warmth.
"Will you disappear again?" He sighs, you both know the answer, Six disappearing is completely inevitable, nothing either of you say or do can prevent that.
"You know-" He trails off, he can't bring himself to say it, and he's grateful he doesn't have to when you stand on your toes to muffle his mouth with yours.
"I know. I know I know." His arms circle around your waist as you pull back and press your forehead to the hollow of his throat. When your hands grab at his back, he bites back a pained groan, and instead he dips his head down to graze his teeth into your shoulder. He wants to hide in that moment, being vulnerable is not something he's well versed in, even less-so with you. He bites harder until you mewl.
"You're hurt." You gasp out as he gnaws against your collarbone. He's being defensive, trying to steer you away from what needs to happen- from the conversation neither of you want to actually have.
"I'm fine." He barely lifts his head, and instead pushes you back against the wall, harder this time, until you hiss and hang your head to rest against his. "I'm fine because I have you." It's the most honest thing he's said in months, and he regrets it as soon as the words leave his mouth.
He can't be this careless. He cannot afford to slip into the daydream of what you two could've been in another life. It's selfish to drag you along, he knows that, and yet it doesn't stop him. Not when he grips at the back of your neck to yank you back. He can't be so soft. He can't be soft he can't be soft.
He's spinning you around and pushing you into the tile before his own brain catches up. This is what he's good at, shoving you away like you're just another one of his targets.
"Six." He hates the way you yelp, and the way your hands fly up to brace yourself as if he's going to slam your head into the wall. "Six." He staggers back, breathing ragged until he himself slams into the other side.
"Don't look at me." He's snarling, running hands through his hair before dragging them over his face. You're nodding like the sweetheart you are, so accepting of the way he runs hot and cold- he doesn't deserve you, he knows that, yet it doesn't stop him from doing what he does. From forcing himself back into your life, destroying the new place you had run to.
"We can't ever be more than this, do you understand that?" He's under the stream of water now, and part of him is thankful it's obscuring the sight of you, he feels like he's going to suffocate inside your tiny shower in your shitty apartment. He could get you a nicer one. He shakes his head, trying to blink the water out of his eyes, he's grateful even more for it now, because he feels like tears are moments away from boiling over.
"Six." He can barely hear the sigh over the shower, but he can see it in the way your shoulders drop.
"We can't- We fucking can't and you need to understand that, alright?" He's yelling at you, but he can't stop it. He's showing himself for who he is, you need to understand who he is. "We aren't going to be some little couple, okay? No fuckin' dates, there will be no life for us together."
"Then-Then why do you keep coming back?" You have your arms wrapped around yourself now, forehead pressed to the cool tile. He wants to soothe you, trace patterns over your damp back, massage the knot he knows sits at the base of your neck. He copies your stance instead, digging his blunt nails into his skin.
"I can't- I don't fucking know." The way he speaks sounds like a child having a tantrum, he's never felt so small in his life, lying to you like a kid who can't admit they've done something. He does know. He knows it's because you make him feel whole, you make him feel like a real man, more than just a fucking concept. When he's with you, The Gray Man is nothing more than a ghost story.
"Is this the last time? Will you come back after you leave?" His feet drag, the last rational part of himself trying to keep him at a distance, as he steps back to you.
"I shouldn't." He presses into you, crowding over your form, but he doesn't reach out this time.
"You will though, right?" He pushes his forehead into the space between your shoulder blades, kissing the skin there. "Even if I leave, you'll come to me?"
"I hunt- it's what I do." It's the closest he's ever given you to an explanation, but he'd guess you've already pieced that together. He's never been a saint in your eyes, and he never will be. And yet you lean back into him.
"What do you want me to say to you, Six?" You're choked up, and he wants nothing more than to wipe away your tears- but he cannot allow himself, or you, that comfort. "I-I'm not gonna sit and beg for a life with you when I know I can't have it, but I can't just agree to accept that whatever we have now is all this is."
He doesn't respond, and you don't continue, like everything in Six's life, it's just another fight- your relationship was dead before it even began, and no amount of arguing will change that fact. He will always leave, because he has to, because he knows he loves you.
"Want me to-to help wash you?" Neither of you comment on the crack in his voice, another break in his facade, it's dangerous to be this way, but he can't care. Not now.
"Sure."
And so, he picks up the bottle and squeezes some into his palm. He wants to go slowly, to treat you with the kindness and gentle touch you'd stupidly shown him. The act of care that doomed you forever.
"You know I've never done this for anyone before." He doesn't know why he's telling you it, but he feels he owes you some scrap of honesty tonight. "It's nice." His hands travel over your shoulders, thumbs pressing the soap into the tense muscles, working it in until you finally ease into him again.
Despite his fingertips roaming your body, there's nothing of the feverish lust as the last time he had you nude with him. It's sweet, and when he finally turns you to face him once more, there's a smile on your face again.
"You're good at it." He kneels down at your feet then, like you had done times before, and takes your ankle in his hands, lifting your leg up to kiss your shin. It's an unspoken thanks, and you fall into a peaceful silence as he cleans up and down your leg, pressing gentle kisses as he goes. It's what he imagines a lover would do, and despite it all, decides that is what he will be. For tonight.
He doesn't expect you to return the favour, he'd understood if you used him and then threw him out, but he doesn't deny you when you stare down at him with those eyes and offer to help him clean off.
You're gentle, even if he doesn't deserve it, careful over aching joints, light touches across healing wounds. You take time with it too, there is nothing hurried in the way you wash him, taking time to clean him just for the sake of having your hands on him again. It's a moment just for the two of you, and he wishes he could live in it forever.
But nothing can last, not for him, and you've both done all you can justify, and the waters beginning to run cold.
"Come on, you can borrow some clothes." You hum after you've dried off in the steamy room, and for once he says nothing, simply following you out. "You can finally take me to bed." You laugh, and he just barely echoes it.
"How romantic." He doesn't know why you're joking, and he doesn't know why he's doing it back, non of this is funny to him anymore. It never has been.
You never make it to putting your clothes on, he sits, and pulls you down with him. "I want to hold you like this." He has you in his lap, saddled sideways as he drags your face to meet his. "Just for a little while, will you let me?" You nod, and mumble something incoherent into his mouth, and he wastes no time turning with you in his arms, rolling you both till you are laying down.
"Will you stay tonight, will you do that for me?" He doesn't flinch back as you lift a hand to brush stray hairs back across his head, smiling at him in a daze.
No. No because that makes all of this seem to real, you're both pushing the boundaries back into something you can't have. You cannot live a life of pretending. He knows that better than anyone. He's been pretending since Fitz picked him out of that hole he'd ended up in, pretending that non of this affected him. That he could work like a machine and cut back everything that once made him human.
"I'll try." He will, for once. That much is true. Regardless of how the night ends, he has no intentions of disappearing before sunrise- yet nothing ever went his way.
"Okay, Six." Your hand falls away to ghost across his collarbones, tracing the scars you find there.
Little talking happens after that, he falls asleep first this time, probably the only time he ever will. He trusts you, that much is clear, and he sleeps peacefully as you watch over him.
He lets your fingers trail over the grooves and scars of his damaged body, and you linger over the one in his abdomen. The way you marked him, entwined your lives forever. Part of you will always live within his skin, you changed him, and he can never come back from it.
He stays the night this time, and you wake to find him crowded over you, pinning you down to the mattress, and you decide not to think too hard about the way he's blocking you from the door.
You attempt to wake him up slowly, hands pressing into the dip of his lower back, kisses dancing across his temple and cheeks until his eyes flutter open. "Baby." His face cracks into a smile, and his voice is sleepy and barely there. "Hi." He dips to kiss your nose, and then your mouth, shuffling until he's braced over you properly, held up by his forearms either side of your head.
"Hey." Another kiss. "You want breakfast?"
He couldn't remember the last time someone cooked breakfast for him.
"That'd be nice, baby." He rolls off you, grinning at the sight of your back as you dig through drawers to grab two shirts and two pairs of boxers. He bites back a quip about how he prefers you as-is, but he doesn't dare ruin the peaceful moment.
"You gonna come help?" He doesn't hesitate before following, trying to take in each detail of your new house- of your life. He knows you only moved a few months ago, and he's charmed by how much you've already made it a home. Photos line the walls, people he recognises from his time watching you. When he walks into the kitchen, polaroids decorate the fridge.
"You got one? One of those cameras?" He nods towards the little photos, and you laugh softly.
"You'd let me have a photo of you?" You place a carton of apple juice on the counter and tilt your head at the cupboard containing glasses, which he happily grabs for the pair of you.
"We could work something out."
He doesn't know what he's doing- you're making him stupid again.
"Here, baby." He pours you a glass and beckons you over with a finger.
"Yeah?" He presses the glass to your lower lip, urging your mouth to open.
"God, you're a sight." He tips it just enough to pour the drink down your throat, and he watches the way you gulp it down. "Why don't you fetch me that camera, hmm?" He cocks his head to the side, lifting the cup away.
"What about breakfast?" You laugh as he pats your cheek.
"It can wait. Go get the camera."
When you return, he takes it from your hands immediately. "Will you give me a pretty smile?" Something stirs in his chest when you do so without hesitation, grinning up at him like the lovesick idiot he hates that you are. "Perfect." It is, all of it. You, your smile, this apartment where you can make pretend happy families together. He wants to play forever.
His thumb probes against your lower lip until you open up, and his other hand lifts the camera to his eye. You simply laugh when the flash goes off, and he nips his teeth into the corner of the photo to pull it from the camera.
"Can I have one of you?" You talk around his thumb, much to his enjoyment.
"You can have part of me, okay?" He uses the hold to pull you forward by your lower jaw until you're flush together. "Why don't you keep the part of me you've already changed?" His tongue sweeps across your lower teeth before his hand moves away. He mouths at you sloppily for several moments, then pulls away with an amused chuckle when you gasp. "Here." He steps back, pulling up his shirt to expose his lower stomach, the marred skin where you'd stitched him back together clear as day.
"Perfect." You beam at him, moving slowly to kneel in front of him until you're eye level with it, taking the camera from his hands to snap a photo. "Just like you." You reach to place it on the counter, hands sliding to his hips instead to pull them towards your mouth.
"Jesus christ." He hisses when your tongue trails across the scar, wet and heavy. "Let me-" He trails off, snatching the camera back as his other hand clings to the side of your head, holding you steady. "Stay still." He angles it down, taking a photo, but he places it back down before it's even finished printing. He's got more important matters at hand now.
"Up on the table, baby." He doesn't wait for you to stand fully before he's hooking arms under your thighs to haul you up and onto the table. Your breakfast is discarded before you even start.
"Are you gonna fuck me?" You're out of breath already, panting into his mouth, fisting your hands into your shirt as it clings to his large form.
"Not today- not today." His teeth graze your lip, and he feels the way you shudder against him.
"Make-Make me bleed, it's okay." Your foreheads press together, you're both feverish already, sweat mixing like your spit. "I trust you, I trust you." He hates each time you say it- how often you say it. You both know you shouldn't.
"Good boy." He chooses to move on, snagging your plump lip between his teeth until it splits, and he moans openly the second the metallic taste hits his tongue. "You always taste so good." His fingers wrap around your lower jaw, pinching it to drag your head down, appreciating the way you're just so pliable, open to his whims as he licks across your temple. "Now, let me look after you."
A broken cry comes from your mouth when he lowers himself to his knees, hands seeking out your thighs once more to shift you forward on the wood before slinging your calves over his shoulders. "You gonna be good?" He muses, biceps curling around your thighs until he can settle his hands over the waistline of your boxers, toying with the fabric there.
"Yeah-Shit, Six- I'll do anything." You're not sure where you should put your hands, and it shows with the way you hover them over his- you're waiting for him to tell you what you're allowed to do.
"That's my boy." My boy. Mine. It's too much- he's in no position to claim you as his, and yet he already has, and this isn't the first time. You've belonged to him since that night in the hotel. "Here." He tries to move on, and you're sweet enough not to read too far into his words past clouded lust, and he carefully nudges his head towards one of your hands. "Put the other behind your back." You move at a speed that would have him laughing in any other circumstance, but it just spurs him on this time, and he's leaning forward to mouth at your boxers before he says something stupid again.
He immediately feels your muscles tensing, thighs sandwiching his head in. "You like that?" You barely manage to get out a moan before he's pulling your boxers down just enough until your cock springs up and hits against your tummy. "You do." He has a cheshire cat grin, and you can barely contain yourself as you stare down at him, hips already twitching. "You said you'd be good," he scolds lightly, "keep still." His fingers anchor your hips steady as he leans forward to take you in his mouth.
Six is hardly experienced in this business, yet it doesn't slow him down. He's devouring you like a man starved.
His tongue swirls across your tip, and he listens for each moan, each whine and shift of your hips, each movement that has you tensing. He's nothing if not observant, and once more his training pays off in unexpected ways. Who knew being a contract killer would benefit you performing oral sex? Not Six, that's for sure.
"Oh my god-" Your fist is clenching tight in his hair, and he groans against your length in his mouth at the feeling, and clearly he's not the only observant one, because it simply spurs you on to grab at him tighter.
For the first time, he allows himself to give up control, and does little more than hollow his cheeks and urge you to thrust into his mouth.
"Shit-Fuck, Six!" He peers up to see your head thrown back, eyes screwed tight shut as you rut into him as much as you can, and he takes it as well as he can manage. He wishes he could live forever, just to see this a million more times.
Only he could see performing oral sex as some sort of salvation- the way you're so eager to give him everything you need, to be selfish for once when you've done nothing but be patient for him. He gives up his autonomy every day of his life, he lets people use him as a vessel for their own violent desires, he's something to be controlled. But it's different with you, he decides in that moment, cock down his throat. It's different because when your head hangs down, eyes half lidded, you're smiling at him like you're in love.
"Six-Six.." Your hand cradles his jaw, so tender and sweet despite it all, you ease up just a fraction. "Is this-Is this okay?" He nods, as muchย as he can. No one ever asks if he's okay- everyone just takes and takes, and then there's you. You.
He drags his mouth back just enough to talk, "I'm fine baby, this is about you." He punctuates it with a kiss to the head, grinning against it when you mewl, and his thumbs begin to massage your hips slowly. "Just let go, I'm here." He hums, flattening his tongue to slide back down to the hilt, holding you steady once more, just sitting with the sensation of you in his mouth.
"Can you-Can you move?" He's letting you get desperate again, because he knows you like it that way, but he gives in at another sharp tug of his hair, locks bunched in your fingers. It's all rewarded when he lets you set the pace, breathing through his nose and swallowing to take you deeper down his throat.
"Fuck-Fuck Six!" Your hips stutter as one of his hands snakes round to cup your balls, and you're all but trembling in his arms. "Please, please." He wants to tell you to look back at him when you close your eyes, that he wants to see you when you come undone. He wants that moment of connection, the knowledge that it's nothing but him that makes you feel this way. He needs you to know it's only him.
It shows in the way he moves at a punishing pace even for himself, and there's tears rolling down his cheeks as he forces his head to bob until you're hitting the back of his throat repeatedly.
"Six." You're practically sobbing, losing all rhythm to your thrusts, shaking on your own kitchen table. Then you're grabbing at his face again, with both hands this time, and he wants to tell you to stop, to leave the tears leaving tracks down his cheeks because he's earned them. But you're too kind, too gentle and loving, everything he's not, and you're smearing them away with your thumbs, jaw slack as you cry his name out. He wants to eat you whole.
"I-I'm gonna-" Your voice cracks with a choked moan, and his hands dig back into the flesh of your ass, keeping you tight down his throat as you come, trying your best to look down at him as you do so. If this is the last time you see him in this way, you never want to forget a single detail.
"Shit-okay-" There's a little hiccup as he nurses you through your aftershocks, pulling back slow and steady, dragging his tongue along the underside to finish with a kiss to your throbbing tip, all red and sticky and swollen. "Six." Your hands move to his, linking your fingers and squeezing tight, tears rolling down your cheeks again.
"You were so good, baby." He hums, delighting in the way his voice is rougher now, a little scratchy as he pushes himself to stand. "Perfect." He nuzzles your foreheads together and lets you curl into him as much as you can, legs looping around his waist as your arms pull him down by his neck.
"Let me-" You nod down towards his own cock, straining hard against your boxers, a small wet patch forming where the tip rests in the fabric.
"No-No it's okay." He knows he doesn't have time, that the pair of you today are nothing more than a ticking time bomb. It's not long until the phone in his bag-still sitting by the bathroom door- rings. Always at someone's beck and call, he's living in the gaps between missions. "I'll be fine-I just want to be with you." He kisses your damp cheeks, his own still wet with tears he hopes you now ignore.
"You're leaving soon." You sigh, and everything comes crashing down once more.
"I have to- I go when they call." You nod, but he knows it's no accepting gesture. He can see it in your eyes when you look back up at him, teary again, there's no spark he once saw. "But I'll come back." It's a panicked response, despite his level tone, and he hopes you believe him all the same, even if you know that neither of you have any control over it all. "I'll come back." He drops his head down to your shoulder, pressing light kisses over the marks from the night before.
Synopsis: When Rocky drops off some lingerie with the Ceremonial clothes for the Saving-Erid celebration as a "Mating Gift," For the two of you, wellโฆ It's only fair that it gets used, right? It's rude to decline a gift, after all.
WC: 11.4k
AN: People. This was NOT supposed to be this long!! I just... had an accident. Yeah. And don't just like writing pornography of my favorite science teacher. You have to believe me!
Male Subtop reader, Confident/Dom!bottom Grace.
Pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose, he sighs, clicking his tongue against his cheek as he checks the time, again.
What's this time? The hundredth-millionth-bagillionth?
He's lost count, butโฆ
It sure felt like it.
The two of you were supposed to get the Celebration clothes todayโ made specifically by the "Best Garment-makers on Erid," according to Rocky, set for two weeks from now. He's known about the celebration for awhile; Rocky and Adrian had brought it up millions of times since a month ago, when it was officially scheduled.
And, yeah, he's done the same. Sue himโ It was alien culture, of which he's been actually dying (or pretty close to it, on the way here) to know more of. Who wouldn't be shaking in their bones to see what their clothes-making skills were? How'd they'd adapt to the Human physique and create something for the two of you to wear that's connected to everyone and their history?
Especially when it was for celebrating work he'd been a big part of.
Saving Erid, and โ hopefully โ Earth. Their stars, too.
Big stuff.
Amazing stuff.
"Elevated Stress Levels Present," Armando calls from the other room, stating what he already knows. "Advising Relaxation Protocols for Doctor Ryland Grace."
He grumbles.
"Yeah, buddy, I know," He huffs, tugging his glasses from his face only to sink down and cross his forearms over the table, nudging his forehead into his arms. "I know. I'm just excited. I meanโ come on! Getting to try clothes made from a separate species on their planet! What's cooler?"
"Elevated Heart-rate Present, Advising Relaxation Protocols for Doctor Ryland Grace." Armando dead-pans, emotionless and cruel. "Advising Contact with Crew matesโฆ Requesting Captainโ"
Huh. Looks like Armando still has some old programming from the ships system; you and Rocky missed that part.
Or left it in on purpose.
Who knows.
"Whaโ You're no fun." He interrupts, groaning. "You're ruining my vibe."
Ruining my vibe? He questions internally, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he picks his head up from his elbow at the sound of the bathroom door. Wellโฆ It works. I didn't even think I'd remember thatโฆ Just Another lingo to steal from my probably-now-adult students.
Catching your form in the corner of his eye, he perks up, his gaze flitting over to you to watch as you come in. Instinctively, his shoulders droop a little, along with his gazeโ his attention slips from your face, shower-messy and damp hair, to your shoulders, to your tummy, to the low slope of your hipsโฆ
"Who's ruining yourโฆ 'vibe'?" You question casually, slipping your arms through the arm-holes in your shirt. "Armando?"
He swallows.
Forcing his gaze up, he nods, grabbing his glasses from in front of him. "Yeah. They threatened to tattle on me," the arm of his glasses poke at his bottom lip as he brings them up, loosely crossing his arm over his lower stomach as he continues, hoping to avoid explaining why. Nonetheless, by the look on your face, you can likely already tell. "The shower work okay?"
Even as he's talking, his brain loses traction on his thoughts. Instead, they change course and latch onto you, never lessening in their intensity.
And By gosh, do you look goodโ even now, on a random day on a completely different planet than your shared home one, you look awfully amazing. He has to mess with his hair in the mirror for ten minutes every morning to get it looking even somewhat okay, yet you can wake up or shower without all of that and still be as beautiful as ever.
It was unfair, really.
"Mhmn," You nod, bringing your arms up and shoving your head through the neck hole of your shirt, dragging the fabric down roughly. You leave it as is, though it's not all the way down, leaving just a peek of your happy trail. "Have you just been obsessively checking the time, orโฆ?"
Shoot.
He fumbles, flushing. "Wโ Wellโฆ No? Maybe?"
On habit, he reaches up, messing with his hair as he chews on the end of his glasses arm.
As you step forward and lean against the counter, his focus naturally shifts to track the movement, knowing already that you know him all too well. You could practically read his mind.
You had him figured out; knew that he could cry he was so excited and overwhelmed, that he was antsy and likely couldn't take another hour waiting.
He'd been like this for days now.
"Maybe?" You echo, raising a brow and tilting your head.
He presses his lips together around the tip of his glasses' arm, looking away to look right back.
If anything crawled on his face โ it didn't even have to settle โ you'd have deciphered and came up with a solution before it even left, always evolving around what he'd end up liking most. And as much as he enjoyed it, it freaked him out a little that you could just... do that, so simply.
You knew what he wanted way before he did.
It was as aggravating as it was helpful.
"Yeah, maybe." He repeats, more confidently this time, digging his fate a little deeper. The points of his teeth dig into the plastic earpiece on his glasses, adding to the littering evidence of past repeat offenses.
"So you haven't been pacing and thinking about it the entire time?"
"Nope. Totally not. Iโฆ would not do anything like that. Ever!" He lies.
He's not smooth at all.
It's obvious.
"Then why's your hair all messed up?"
Pausing, he lifts his hand and runs it through the front of his hair againโ he doesn't even have to see it to realize it's got I've been stress-messing up my hair, all over it. His fingers catch on a small knot before they're even halfway through the crime.
He crumbles.
"Okay, okay, fine. I was pacing and losing my mind a littleโ But just a little! Nothing major. Justโฆ casual, completely normal nerves!"
Sighing, he sinks into the edge of the counter, finally pulling his glasses away from his mouth and tucking them into their home on his face. He gnaws on the inside of his bottom lip, his hands dropping to curl and mess with the edge of the countertop, just to give him something to fiddle with.
After a moment, he lifts his gaze โ not quite unlike a guilty puppy โ and drags his attention to the look on your face; expectant, unyielding, but also strangely knowing. It's a weird mix, but it makes honesty bubble up between the spaces of his ribs, fighting their way to his mouth.
"Okay, Iโฆ" He exhales, digging his teeth into the fat of his bottom lip anxiously. The nail of his thumb picks at the edge of the counter; an output of his over-abundant energy. "I amโฆ slightly nervous about the clothes. Garments. Whatever it is they're called."
At the sound of you moving, he glances up, watching you push away from the counter and come over. He forces his hand away from the countertop, opting to pull his glasses from his face again and mess with those.
"Becauseโฆ?" You nudge, settling into place beside himโ not quite touching, but close enough to.
"What if something goes wrong?" He questions, staring down at the hinge of his glasses as he opens and closes the arms, folding them up only to drag them back out. It squeaks slightly with every repetition, warning of their impending doom.
They are old, after all. Slightly. This is his last back-up.
"What if there's a problem and we don't get them in time? Orโ or somehow we can't make it to the ceremony? Or I get sick again and can't see it?" He rambles, letting his nervousness tumble from his mouth without restraint; it feels both good to get it out and bad, because he's putting these thoughts out into the ether.
Who knows. He could jinx it.
It's happened before.
"I don't want to miss it," He mumbles. "This is once in a life-time. I'd regret it forever."
His shoulders drop weakly, and he sucks in a broken inhale, blinking quickly to calm himself downโ and to further achieve that, he steps over to you, lowering his head and resting it on your shoulder.
You're warm, and you smell a lot like your soap; it's a good thing. It always smells a little different on you than him, for some reasonโ better.
"It'll work out, Ryland," You press a kiss to his temple, and his back tingles where you rest your hand there. "It'll be fine. These people are geniuses. If anything does happen โ which it hopefully won't โ they're smart enough to work around it. It'll be alright."
"I know," He grumbles, his voice muffled from your shoulder. He reaches around you, ditching his glasses on the counter to bury his nose further into you, exhaling slowly. "I can't help but think about all the possibilities anyway."
"Think about it from their perspective," You continue, "This is bigger than anyone here. You saw how Rocky and Adrian would chitter and do their little jazz-show when they sung about itโ it's more than just a celebration to them. They wouldn't let anything get in-between it and its success, so, you bet your ass it'll work out perfectly fine."
Sinking into your side, he repeats what you've said in his head, letting it sink in. It was likely that you were right, per usualโ you didn't quite wallow over the bad rather than the good like he had a habit of doing. Anything good he'd achieve, it'd get soiled by his brain automatically shifting to attach to his mistakes, or what big thing would have to happen next that he'd have to do.
Yeah.
It'll beโฆ okay. It'll work out.
Hopefully.
"You're probably right," He huffs, pulling his head up from your shoulder to let his gaze roam your face. Your eyebrows are drawn together in seriousness, your expression settled like you were both trying to reassure him and get him out of his own over-thinking at the same time.
It works, even just a smidge.
He continues, managing a shaky smile at the feeling of your hand running up his spine, dropping and repeating to create a rhythmic motion. "Like usual. You're the clear thinker hereโ" He pauses, his expression scrunching. "Clear-er thinker. Yep. That's the one."
"Jeez," You laugh at him. Something in his chest untangles at the noise, steadying his grin. "Glad to know where I stand as the 'clear-er thinker.' That's what you think of me, huh?"
"Well, if we're being truthfulโ"
The sound of the doorbell interrupts him mid-way, and he stiffens, making a split-second of eye-contact with you before he's shoving himself back, his socks sliding on the floor in his urgency. Your laugh rings out again behind him, and he mirrors it breathlessly as he opens the door and stares down at whoever is beyond it.
It's Rocky, of course, in his own little xenonite sphere. With the garments.
Heck yes!
"Why Grace laughing, Question?" Rocky implores, chittering lowly. "I bring the Ceremonial Clothes! They have finished their 'detox,' statement. Ready for use!"
"Hey, Rocky," He greets, leaning against the doors threshold to catch his breathโ it wasn't necessarily the sprint over to the door that got him, but more of his elevated Heart-rate. "What took so long?"
Okay, and maybe a little of the running. He hasn't been doing much of that lately.
Maybe he should.
"Grace too impatient, statement. Not take long at all!" Rocky argues, knocking into his leg as he pushes past him to get inside. "Bad bad bad trait."
Ryland's eyebrows raise as he steps out of the way, a shocked, small giggle being pulled from his throat. It wasn't too surprising, not really. He's heard more than enough "Calm down, you're being impatient,"'s in this lifetime.
Gosh, and to think he's said that same thing about a million times to his students back at Cleveland middle.
Yikes.
"Yeah, yeah, yeah," He huffs, pushing the door closed and trailing after him towards the kitchen. "You say that so much I think I've gotten the point by now."
"Have not, statement." Rocky defends. "Grace still Impatient. Grace no understand point."
Scoffing lightly, Ryland scrunches his nose at the back of Rocky's carapace, sticking his nose out at himโ when Rocky suddenly turns, Grace straightens up, acting like he wasn't doing anything at all.
"Grace-friend, Grace make a stinky face at Rocky, statement!" Rocky tattles, clambering over in his sphere to stand beside you before he sets the Ceremonial clothing down.
"Whaโ Hey, how do you know?!" Ryland huffs, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. He continues on into the kitchen, stopping at the curve of it and glancing between the two of you. "I was behind you, there's no way you could've seen me. I was just walkingโ I wouldn't do a thing as suchโฆ It's childish!"
You don't have time to say a thing before Rocky continues, his carapace vibrating lightly. "Grace lie, statement. Rocky saw stinky face. Rocky knows. Rocky has better vision than stinky Grace."
"Grace is not lying." Ryland argues, scrunching his nose at his perpetrator; the Eridian two feet to his leftโ but once he remembers he is, in fact, not wearing his glasses, he snags them off the counter and shoves them on his face. "And I don't stink!"
Rather desperately, Ryland looks over to you, making a lazy, clumsily hidden "you're supposed to take a side," gesture with his hand as he shifts on his feet.
In return, all you do is shrug, making a face that just yells "No thank you."
He exhales.
"Rocky saw Grace move hand, statement. Grace bad at hiding."
"We're moving on now," You interrupt, breaking eye-contact to look down at Rocky. "Tell us about the clothes, would you?"
Ryland perks up, stepping closer to peer down at him and the clothes too. They're all sorts of different colors, shining in various hues of the overhead lights, and they make small noises when the fabrics shift against one another. "Yeah. What're they made of? Will they hold temperatures well? Are they breathable?"
"Rocky is an Engineer, not ceremonial garment-maker. Knowledge of these is beyond Rocky's capabilities." He chirps, fiddling with the clothes with the smaller, "touch-stuff" part of his sphere. He grabs one with his claw, holding it up.
Quickly, Ryland grabs it, assessing the feeling of it. It's both smooth and firm, oddly enough. Like it was a recreation of their own, more fire-resistant, fabrics.
So awesome!
"How long do these typically take to make?" He asks, turning it over in his hand before he holds it up in front of him. It's far from a full-body pieceโ there's many gaps with little sewn-in gems or sigils tied between them. The biggest breaks are around the ribs, the stomach, and the back.
More markings and symbols are imprinted into the fabric itself, telling stories he can't quite understand yet.
"Two Earth years," Rocky states, handing you a different piece for you to look at one too. "Not very long."
Glancing over, Ryland looks over your expressionโ and, as usual, you look silently intrigued at what's in your hands. But yet again, you let him blabber out all of his questions instead of voicing your own. When he'd brought it up before, you'd said it didn't bother you any and that you were content to sit back and let him talk, but still.
He looks away.
"Huhโฆ" He hums, turning back to Rocky. "These are amazing, buddy! Do you know how they made the fabric? What is it exactly? Is it like yours?"
"Rare plant fibers, statement. Many many many. Take long time to dry."
Plant fibers? He thinks, Rare plant fibers to make ceremonial clothingโ I wonder which ones. The blue plant? The pinkโฆ aphrodisiacโฆ one? The thick red plant? So awesome!
"Okay, what do the markings mean? I keep seeing all these little sigils 'n stuff. What're they about? For good luck? History-related? Experience or event-related?"
Rocky sings a low tune, adjusting in his Xenonite ball. "All of the above, statement. Little ๐ โฉ ๐ ๐ means success. Other โฉ โช ๐ means bravery. Too many to explain, statement."
"Okay, cool," He says, looking over the garment in his hand again. "I'm seeing lots of empty space. Is there any reason for that, orโฆ?"
When you lean against the counter and set your piece beside you, he glances over briefly, only for his brain to tug him back to his curiosity. He wanted to knowโ for these guys, almost everything seemed to have certain meanings. It'd taken awhile to log all of the ones he's seen before, and that was a quarter of what's sewn into the clothes in front of him.
He's in for a long night tonight.
"Standards," Rocky replies. "You are mated, so gaps are to woo mate. When not mated, no gaps! No point to show off for no mate, statement."
What?
"Matedโฆ?" Ryland echoes, feeling his cheeks heat up as he pausesโ on instinct, his gaze jumps back over to you to see what you're thinking, more interested to know your opinion on the matter than the word mated being tossed around by Rocky so casually.
I mean, sure, he's not wrong, Ryland thinks, staring at your face, per-say.
Your expression shifts every so slightly, and he catches the change the second it happens. Your head tilts faintly and you straighten up a little, but that's about it. You don't look over once, as if it doesn't make you perk up any; like you were more than comfortable with the term.
His tummy heats up at the thought.
"We call it dating on Earth," You pipe up, adjusting in your spot. "Or marriage, but not all of us are monogamous. We often go through bunches of people before we find ours."
For the first time, Ryland keeps his mouth firmly shut, quickly looking between the two of you.
"Uhโฆ It's more of a lifestyle choice. Some marry early 'n stick with their choice, some bounce around like a ball. Most don't pick one and stay, but a lot do."
"And this is Standard, question?"
Ryland clears his throat, speaking up for you when you make little move. You weren't quite the teacher like he was, but he didn't mind it anyโ in fact, he kind of liked it. "Yes. Very standard."
"Gross gross gross. Rocky like Adrian. Rocky not want anyone else... No one compare."
"Cute," He nods, setting the garment in his hand down beside yours on the counter. "We're happy for you, Rocky. You deserve it."
"Yeah," You agree, exhaling slowly.
"Yes, yes, yes," He says. "Rocky understands. Rocky very lucky. Happy happy happy."
A soft laugh tumbles from Ryland's mouth, calming and shifting to a small, comfortable smile. It was always great to see Rocky and the others so secure in their bonds, so sure in themselves and their mates.
It was very adorable.
Rocky perks up in his sphere, his carapace swaying just slightly. The Xenonite of his ball clicks quietly against the flooring with each one of his movements, keeping it from true quiet in the brief lull of conversation. "Garment-makers add mating gifts, statement!"
Grace's eyebrows tick up. "Gifts? For what?"
"Yes, gifts. As thank-you!" Rocky pauses, excitedly chittering as he grabs the other two garments off the floor and hands them to you, revealing two others beneath them. "For Grace and Grace mate!"
Oh my God.
"Take!"
"Whaโ what are these?" Ryland sputters, slowly accepting the two clothing pieces forced into his hand. One looks suspiciously like the bottoms of a Lingerie set, and two looks awfully like a matching top. "Rocky, where did you come up with this?"
It's even got a cute little bow.
Quickly, Ryland tilts his head toward you, making eye-contact the moment you register what the actual frick it is. Heat swallows his face, covering his cheeks and the back of his neck in a hot, probably horribly obvious blushโ he goes to toss the two onto the counter to get it out of his hands, only to realize right before that it might look like rejection towards the gifts.
He swallows, reluctantly keeping them close.
"Found similars on Human Technology! Adrian said would make nice gift before big ceremony for mates," He says. "Garment-makers accepted good idea, statement. Gifts!"
"Why were you look at Lingerie on the laptop?" He blurts, slightly exasperated, slightly scared.
"Why was it even on the laptop?" You add, shooting a questioning look to the (arguably) pretty clothing set in his hands, to his face, then down to Rocky.
"Where did you even find it?" He continues. "I didn't think anything like it was even on there."
"Grace worry too much," Rocky muses, his carapace resuming the little happy swaying motion. "Do you like your gifts, question?"
Okay.
Okayโ well, shock asideโฆ no, shock not aside. This is crazy.
"They're, uhโฆ" Ryland pauses, clearing his throat in a poor attempt to focus. "They're awesome, buddy. Thank you."
In his peripheral, he catches as you turn your head away and bite your bottom lip; like you were flustered and/or about to laugh.
He huffs.
"Rocky glad. Yes, yes, yes. Garment-makers too! And Adrianโ Adrian!"
Suddenly, Rocky turns in his sphere, bolting towards the door. The Xenonite has no traction against the flooring of the house, so he slips once or twice, only to sing chords Ryland hasn't exactly heard before once he gets to the door.
"Why not open?! Rocky need to tell Adrian good news!" He chitters angrily, pushing his ball into the door repeatedlyโ until Ryland's brain kicks into gear and he moves over, quickly opening it for him before he damages anything or hurts himself.
"Slow down, Rockyโ You have plenty of time to tell Adrian before you bust a hole in our door!"
Rocky continues his pace even as he stumbles down the few front steps and into the gravel, practically running towards the exiting door and ignoring what had been said to him in favor of repeating alternate versions of Adrian needs to know!
"That's one way to drop off Lingerie," You mutter, "Force it over and book it for the hills. My kind of guy, really. Saves the embarrassment."
"Not funny," He grumbles, shutting the door with his foot before he makes his way back into the kitchen. "What are we gonna do with this now? Put it on Armando?"
Admittedly, it was a little funny.
Maybe a bit more than that.
"Is it for Chicks?" You snicker, the heels of your palms pressing into the counter beside your hips. He can feel your eyes track every single one of his movementsโ and normally, that makes him flustered enough, but with lingerie in his hands?
Just turn him back into stardust.
"I don't know, I didn't check," He responds, trying and failing to ignore the inferno making home of his faceโ it's not only embarrassing, but, oddly enough, humiliating. In a weird way. "He didn't give me the chance before running off."
He did not want this in his handsโ or anything sex-related, really. That was bedroom stuff. Notโฆ kitchen stuff. Or "anywhere outside the bedroom," stuff.
It just felt wrong, plain and simple.
When he spots the gimme it gesture you make, he quickly tosses it over, exhaling shakily once it's out of his hands. He stares as you catch it, watching as you toss the top part down on the counter next to the other non-sex related clothes.
"What are you doing?" He questions, licking his lips nervously.
"Looking?"
"Youโฆ know the difference between male and female lingerie? Why do youโ how do you tell?"
"It's obviously for women 'cause it comes with a lacy bra, baby. I'm just seeing all the symbols on itโ these are different than the ones on the ceremonial stuff."
Why would they make it for ladies if neither of you are women? He thinks, What the heck does that even mean? What does it entail? Do they think one of us is a girl? Huh? I'm so confused.
He clears his throat, shifting his weight on his feet. His eyes flit from your face, down to the lingerie, back to your face, back downโฆ
"What do you think those mean? Goodโฆ fertility?" He winces, running his hand through his hair and lightly pulling on it. "Good bonding? Long relationships? Iโ I mean, we do know that reproduction for Eridians is quite dangerous if not done carefully. Maybe they're wishing us, uh, luck?"
"Maybe," You shrug, rather careless about the whole thing. "Wanna try it on?"
You grin, holding the lacy, see-through panties off of the edge of your finger, out to him.
He chokes on his spit.
A rope of heat knots in his stomach as he shakes his head rapidly, coughing into his elbow before swallowing harshly. "No!"
He's not sure which is more dominant: Embarrassment or heat. Both suffocate his insides and his face, making his heart-rate tick up a few notches and his breathing fall out of rhythm.
"Why not?" You muse, stepping back only to hold the panties over his lower half, closing one of your eyes like you were picturing him in it. "You'd look good in it, you know. Like you do with everything, soโฆ There's no need to be nervous, Ry."
"Quit," His voice cracks awfully in his desperation as he moves to hide behind the counter, his face aching with the embarrassment latched onto it. "Thatโ That's not amusing. I'd look terrible in thatโ Iโ I doubt it'd even fit! I mean, look at me!"
Casually โ and not looking at him โ you lean your weight on your hip, looking down at the equally lacy and see-through bra on the counter, only to look back after a secondโ He's got a feeling he knows what's going on in that brain of yours, and none of his ideas make the flush in his body go down any.
"I gave them your measurements for the ceremony stuff, remember? They're guaranteed to fitโฆ if you wanna try it."
if.
"That's if they were made for me," He defends weakly, letting his gaze drift back over to you. You're just standing there, panties in hand, with a mildly teasing look on your face. When he looks longer, he finds a few more things; all of which have his stomach twisting with a concoction of emotions. "They could've thought you were the one who would wear it instead, not meโ You'd look better in it, anyways! I don't wear lingerie!"
Wordlessly, you raise a brow, putting the underwear flush against your crotch over your jeansโ and it becomes blatantly obvious that you, in fact, were not the expected recipient.
Awh, crud.
"See?" You hum, tossing it down on the counter next to its companion. "All yours."
His attention follows as he stares down at itโ it's slightly taunting, the stupidly pretty little markings and sigils. It's obvious how much effort was put into it; the thin (but arguably soft) lace, the patterns within it, the detailed waistband. It's even got a little drawstring in the place of elastic.
Oh, gosh.
He's stuck.
If you just tossed in the back of the closet and forgot about it, he'd feel bad for not using a gift that was given to him and made with effort. If he did try it on, even just once, he doubts he'd get those feelings out of his head; whether good or bad.
But, for some reason, the moment wrings an old memory out of his brainโ the one time he'd gotten caught by his mom with a certain magazine when she'd randomly cleaned his room as a teen.
He was so embarrassed then.
Quite similarly to now.
"Itโฆ It's kind of pretty?" He mutters, glancing back up to your face. "But I don't know. I've never worn anything likeโฆ thatโ or, uh, tried to."
Truth be told, he'd never even thought about the concept. He understood the point, yeah, but didn't find it worthwhileโ he was often attracted enough by his partner alone (cough: you) to not need anything else to nudge that along. You alone were more than perfect; way more than anything else he'd need.
"You don't have to wear it, Ryland. I was kidding. If you don't wanna, you don't wanna," You pause, adjusting in your spot. "I don't care what you wearโ pretty lingerie, normal clothes, nothingโฆ"
He coughs, looking away.
"I, uh, I think I get the pointโ please, stop talking for justโ just a second."
"โฆAlright."
Like with a lot of things, he wasn't sure. He's tried skirts on, yeah, on the Mary. Even dresses, again, on the Mary. But never panties. Even just the idea was questionable; he's never worn panties, never even worn lingerie, and didn't even know he was down to try. To wear โฆitโฆ would just be to see how it was.
An experiment. Yeah.
Gosh. He's told his students many, many times, that if you're unsure about something, you've gotta try it out to figure it out!
Look at him now.
"OโฆKay," He finally relents, looking away from the aforementioned set on the counter.
"Okay?" You echo, tilting your head.
"Yeah. Okay." He affirms, nodding slightly before he leans forward, his palms pressing into the counter, like he's trying to stand up to the rather intimidating, lacy, colored set of clothing. "It can't be that bad, right? I mean, it's just underwear. Forโฆ sex!"
"Yeah, Ry," You laugh a little, a small smile crawling onto the sharp corners of your mouth. His focus slips downward to the points of your teeth until he forces his gaze back up, swallowing the saliva that'd pooled in his mouth.
God, youโ you look so good just standing there. It's torturous, even more-so thanks to the topic at-hand; he's embarrassed beyond belief.
His cheeks hurt.
"That's kind of their entire purpose, sweetheart," You continue, "But we don't have to have sex, especially if you don't want to. You can just try 'em on in your own time, for fun. Nothing has to come of it."
He pauses.
"You don't want to see me try them on?"
"Not if you don't want to show me."
โฆOh.
That wasn't even the problem at all; he didn't even think aboutโฆ well, not showing you. Butโฆ
He wanted to; his want and his interest are settled somewhere in his gut, buried deep and swallowed by his embarrassment so well he'd barely noticed it was there.
Until you brought the idea up, anyway.
Ughโฆ
It could be nice.
Can't knock it 'til you try it, right?
He couldn't just not try it on 'cause he's nervous. That'd be hypocritical.
Finally, he clears his throat, slowly shaking his head. "No, Iโ I want to. I think it could be, uhโฆ fun? Or enjoyable? At least a little?"
Coming out from behind the counter, he exhales shakily, attempting to change the topic before he ended up dying of embarrassment. "Anyway, moving on! Let's see what's going on with these ceremonial clothes, huh?"
Gently closing the bathroom door behind him, he inhales harshly, forcing it out within the same pace as a feeble attempt to slow his heart-beat down a little, and hopefully make his feelings simmer with it.
It barely works, but it's good enough for him.
Not really.
Tossing the lingerie down on the sink, he stares down at it and messes with the hinge of his glasses. Then, he steps back, crossing his arms over his chest nervously and internally hyping himself up.
People do this all the time, he thinks, chewing on the earpiece of his glasses, It's nothing to worry about. It's entirely coolโ he doesn't even care if I wear it or not, anyways!
No pressure.
He was justโฆ making himself nervous. There was no edge to perform, no one but himself to impressโ but he still felt like he should try to impress you, just because. It was a natural instinct; to prove himself, to woo you, to make sure you didn't have doubts.
It's not like either of you can exactly get away from each-other, here. He couldn't mess this up like his last ones.
โฆBut, again, you were nothing like the people he'd been with before.
You never got irritated when he'd get overwhelmed or miss his students and get himself all upset, never cared when he always wanted it to be foggy outside, never minded when he'd keep you up talking about random stuff all the time (even when you really wanted to sleep) or when he'd take way too long in the shower.
You were his saving grace. Literally.
Soโฆ He could do this for you.
Yeah.
He exhales. "โฆOkay, I can do this. It's no biggie."
Setting his glasses down on the counter, he drops his hands to his waist once they're empty, carefully grabbing the bottom hem of his shirt and pulling it up, over his head, and off. Gaining a little more confidence, he goes for his jeans buttons next, quickly fumbling to get those undone before he loses his momentum.
He yanks the denim downward as soon as the buttons pop open, accidentally pulling his briefs down a little in his rushโ he kicks the fabric off once its down to his calves, fighting a bit to get his other foot out of it and steadying himself with a hand on the sink counter.
He could do this one thing for youโ he will do it for you. You expressed an โ albeit teasing โ interest in it, and he feels like he doesn't give you enough, so this is nothing compared to what you end up silently doing for him.
And, heck, he'd be lying if he wasn't even slightly curious about it; the two of you couldn't wear the ceremonial clothing until two weeks from now, and he wanted to know how the fabric interacted with his movements and his body.
It was a win-win. You get to see him in girly lingerie, and he got to be the first human in history to try out alien fabrics.
Of course, no one would know that but you and him, seen how there's no way to transfer information this far out in space away from the NASA transmitters and receivers, but still. He'd know it.
Nudging his jeans aside with his sock-clad foot, he glances back over to the widely-colored set splayed out carelessly on the counter, feeling himself get slightly flustered again.
He slows down a little, not yet pushing his briefs down in favor to justโฆ think about it for a second longer.
You were busy in the living room fiddling with Armando's movement ranges; not at all in-the-know of what the heck he was doing in hereโฆ hopefully. He tried to be as quiet as possible, but he did knock his hip into the sharp corner of his dresser coming into the room and ended up groaning pretty loudly.
You hadn't said anything, though.
He's probably fine.
If he got too embarrassed, he could just pretend he wasn't doing anything but messing with the shower-head again (it had quite the habit of having a few straying streams that always, somehow, ended up directly in his eyes no matter where he stood).
He could shove the lingerie into a dresser drawer somewhere and hide it foreverโ or, heck, even pretend he lost it, if he got to that point of desperation.
There were many options.
Butโฆ He's curious, as any Alien-interested man would be.
And he's also flustered beyond belief.
Aw, heck.
Carefully, he hooks his thumb around the elastic of his briefs, shuddering slightly when the sewing seam ghosts over a sensitive spot on its descent. Once they're down, he steps out of them, using his foot to nudge them over with the rest of his clothes.
He feels bare.
Well, technically, he isโ but in a vulnerable sense.
He's putting on lingerie, for the person he loves (and totally not for the fabric), and they're gonna see him in said lingerie. At least until he runs away to go hide.
Uuuugh.
Snagging the panties from the counter, he looks them over for a minute, until pushing past it and leaning down to put them on. He steps through the leg holes first, quickly tugging it up until the waistband circles around the low of his hips.
And Jesus.
It feelsโฆ strange. In a weird wayโ they're comfortable as all fudge, and they fit perfectly, like you said. They're also slightly warm for some reasonโฆ but now that he thinks about it, all of the Eridian fabrics he's touched hold some sort of heat on their own.
It actually feels really good.
"Umโฆ"
He reaches up, messing with his hair awkwardly as he tries to settle into being comfortable in them beyond their natural feel. Once he adjusts a little, they feel better, but it takes a few more moments for his shoulders to sink and for him to acclimate.
They'reโฆ not that bad.
"Oโฆ Kay. This isn't that awfulโฆ I think I was being a little dramatic before."
The bra, though, is out of the question. He's got no true need for thatโ no breasts for it to support or cover, so he's more than happy to ignore its existence and move on to grabbing his shirt. He slips that back on, just to soothe some of the I feel very naked right now sensations and recuperate for a minute, avoiding the reflection of the mirror.
He had very different ways to go about this from here.
One: Just ignore the fact he's wearing them and behave at least somewhat normally to get used to it.
Two: Put his clothes back on and do the same as number One, but try to manage the reveal casually later on. Maybe before bed?
Three: Call you back here now, so he can step over that hurdle and deal with what comes next more smoothly, and not be flustered and nervous and half-hard thinking about it the rest of the day.
Three sounds pretty good.
Abandoning his dirty clothes to rest on the floor, he pulls the door open, getting halfway out of the bathroom before he back-tracks to turn off the light. He keeps one hand over his groin, trying to save a least a little dignity until you come in andโฆ do whatever it is you'll do to him.
He swallows, clearing his throat as he steps over to the bedroom door, calling out into the hallway for you.
"Hey, uh, [Name]? Can you bring me my glasses? I think they're on the kitchen counter!"
He knows he has his glasses; they're in the bathroom where he accidentally forgot them.
He thinks the excuse will work fine.
"Hold on," You reply, "I'll be there in a second, baby. Gotta fix this first."
What are you working on? He wants to ask, but settles on an "Okay," instead, stepping back from the door to sit on the bed. His thighs press and rub together as he sinks into the mattress, thanks to the fact he's not wearing his briefsโ he spreads his legs a little to avoid it, softly clearing his throat.
His hands worry over the lower hem of his Star-trek shirt, fiddling with the old and frayed threads slipping from their stitches as he, rather impatiently, waits for you. He both wants you to show up now and also take way more time than you need; just to give him enough time to settle.
But you don't.
This time, when you speak, you're way closerโ somewhere in the hall. "Hey, uh, they're not there. Did you lose them somewhere else? Have you checked the bathroom yet?" You push the door open a second or so after, stilling in the threshold.
At your silence, he nervously glances up, his teeth sinking into the fat of his bottom lip as he runs his gaze over your face. Your eyebrows are raised, mouth slightly parted, hands falling away from the door and back to their home next to your sides.
His face flames, his body-temperature kicking up a few degrees. He doesn't move his hands away, but he can see the look on your face; you know exactly what he's wearing without needing to have him move them.
His shirt didn't cover everything, after all.
"โฆSurprise?" He manages, voice weak; shy. "And, um, I know where I, uh, left my glasses. Sorry. I justโฆ needed you to come."
You lick your lips, adjusting your weight between your feet. "So youโฆ didn't lose your glasses?"
"โฆNo."
You exhale.
"Jesus, Ryland."
The expression on your face makes his stomach curl in on itself like a Black holeโ it makes all of his nerves and everything else well worth it.
Your gaze leaves hot blooms of heat along his body everywhere you look, succeeding in doubling his flustered-ness and faint embarrassment for tricking you. Though, he can't miss the way your expression changes; The way you overcome his little ploy and realize what he was doing, how your eyebrows furrow just slightly as your gaze drifts downward to his thighs before back up to his face.
"It's, um, surprisingly comfortable, if you were wondering," He mutters, wiggling in his spot to find his comfort, and to give his body something to expel even a little bit of his nerves. "โฆVery soft."
"Yeah? It fits okay?" You implore, staying in the doorwayโ he's not sure who you're doing it more for, yourself or him. "It looks good on you."
Either way, he doesn't like it. Nerves or no nerves, he always wanted you close. It felt alike a crime to have you be out of arms reach, even when he was secure in everything else. Having you closeโฆ it felt nicer, made him relax. His brain would know that you were there, away from any further harm that could make its way to you.
He nods, gaining some lost confidenceโ enough to pull his hands away, instead using them to help him carefully stand up. He feels better now, less like he should runaway and hide.
You had a tendency to make that feeling disappear.
Like now.
He swallows. "Yeahโ pretty much, um, perfectly, actually. You were rightโฆ per usual."
This time, it's your turn to nod. You keep your eyes up near his chest and his face โ no doubt to allow him to feel less seen, even though, for you, that's all he wants โ and around that area, never dipping downward for more than a second or two.
Your chest rises and falls in steady, deep breaths, but it's your hands that tattle on you. Your hands flex at your sides and mess with the loose strap of your belt; he knows what that tick means. He knows most, if not all, of your ticks and tells.
He takes a lot of pride in that.
Clearing his throat, he shifts on his feet.
"You, uh, you know you can look, right?" He asks, tilting his chin up a littleโ almost all of his embarrassment is gone, or close to it. The knot of warmth in his stomach, though? It never lessens, not even slightly. "I mean, um, I did put it on for you. I don'tโ I want you to look. It's for you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He echoes quietly, licking his lips.
He stands up a little straighter when you finally move to step inside, away from the door, and closer to him. Forcing his hands to let go of his shirt, he lets his arms drop to rest at his sides, watching your every moveโ and, again, your expression gets him. Bad.
"Soโฆ?" He pipes up, shifting on his feet. "Do you like it? You're beingโฆ too quiet. It's freaking me out."
Whilst you stay quiet for a little longer โ like in the way you do when you're focused โ your eyes stay locked onto what is exposed of the lingerie, not covered by the length of his shirt. He allows your silence to stick around a little longer, staring at your face, your expression.
You've got that look in your eye; the one that has his breathing picking up a notch, that has his heart-beat fall out of rhythm with his breathing.
You look like you want to tear him apart. Respectfully.
"I'll, uh, take that as a yes, then," He mutters, standing up a little straighter for you once you stop in front of him. When you finally lift your gaze and make eye-contact, electricity sparks up his spine, making goosebumps rise along his arms.
"Shit, Ryland," You breathe, breaking your silent streakโ the sound of your voice has saliva pooling in his mouth, forcing him to swallow. "You look perfect."
"'Perfect,' Is a little much," He mumbles, licking his lips again. "I, uh, don't know about all of that."
He glances down to your lips once, twice, then three times, before you move to circle him to get the full picture. His head turns to follow you, but he ditches the attempt half-wayโ he doesn't need to see you to know where you are, or where you're looking. His body, his brain, is tuned to wherever you are, constantly searching.
"Noโ You look amazingโ Better than thatโฆ and it isn't at all thanks to the lingerie." You pause, rounding out to stand in front of him. Your focus flits to his face, the panties, his thighs, then back up. Your voice lowers. "fuck me, shit."
His face feels like It's on fire.
"Um, thanks," He manages, his voice cracking weakly. "I, uh, I'm happy you like it."
He watches as you nod, only for his focus to drop down to your mouth, staring as you lick your lips.
He wants to kiss youโ pathetically badly. His tummy is in tangles, twisting and turning, making his brain turn into a muddled, distracted mess; he wants you to kiss him, to guide him back onto the bed, to touch him 'til it hurts.
His want hurtsโ no, need. Want is too weak a word for this; he wants you eternally, like an old history story that continues decades beyond its time.
His eyebrows furrow as he lifts his gaze, panting shakily as he calls your name. His hands curl into fists at his sides as he inhales shakily through his mouth, desperate. "โฆPlease."
He barely gets a gasp in before you're curling your hand around his hipโ you don't even get him halfway to you before you're stepping forward to close the gap, cutting his inhale off with a kiss.
Instantly, he moans into your mouth, his arms finding solace around youโ one moves to grab at your hair to keep you in place, and the other sinks around to your lower back, to keep you close. Your knee bumps into his thigh as you guide him backward, pushing him back to sit on the edge of the bed.
The proximity to his dick has him twitching, whining lowly as you break apart; the dissatisfaction is soothed when your hands roam his sides, jumping over his ticklish spots as you reach for the hem of his shirt.
"Can Iโ"
"Yes, yes," He interrupts, nodding quickly. The backs of your fingers brush his stomach as you grab his shirt, and he lifts his arms for you, making it easier for you to yank it upward and toss it aside somewhere he doesn't truly care about now.
"Hurry." He grumbles, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you back down to him to reconnect in a kiss. The moment you do, he spreads his legs, giving more space for your knee; he feels pleased by how quickly you take the hint, pushing his legs a little wider to fit you before your weight sinks the bed between them.
Now shirtless and only in the panties, he leans back a little, forcing you to loom over him a bit more. His hand tangles in your hair, warmth spreading like wildfire from his tummy and upward as your breath fans across his face; And when you adjust, his already-hard dick grinds against the front of your jeans, making him jerk and twitch, moaning into you.
"Good?" You pant, one of your hands keeping you balanced, the other on his waist as you lean over him, your weight deepening into the bed as you chase another kiss.
"Yes," He repeats, nodding against you. Upon the added weight, his thighs close around your leg, the lace of the lingerie rubbing against the flushed tip of his dickโ his hand tightens in your hair as he whines, his other ditching its spot to grab needily at your hip, trying to keep you from moving. "Mnnโ Fโ fudge, just like that, pleaseโ"
When he feels you nod, his grip on your hair loosens, letting you sink down to mouth at his throat without a fightโ and just like he asked, you stay right where you were, planting little popcorn kisses to the underside of his jaw, his throat, his shoulders, as his hips weakly grind against your leg.
Until he pulls your head back up by your hair, smushing your lips together as he pants harshly; his stomach caves in a twitch when your hand drifts down to hold the back of his knee, widening the space between his legs to make it more comfortable for yourself to move.
"Wanna move up the bed? I'm slipping," You question, asking in-between quick, short kisses. He can feel your breath against his face, catch the little, faint noises tacked onto the tail of each one.
He nods against your mouth, humming a broken "uh-huh," automatically.
When you break apart, he inhales roughly, trying to straighten his muddled brain outโ but when you lean down, grab him by the hips, and push him further up the bed for him, every attempt is instantly destroyed; he moans lowly, propping himself up on his elbows to stare as you hurriedly pull your shirt off.
"You're so pretty," He whines, licking his kiss-bitten lips as his gaze drifts from your face, down to the scars littered along your form, to the belt and jeans keeping you from him, then back to your face.
Tossing his head back, he groans, feeling his dick throb against the laceโ his heart was beating so fast he could hear it in his ears, but the raised temperature of his body doesn't swallow the ache from the loss of your touch.
His brain feels fuzzy.
When the bed dips with your weight, he picks his head back up, watching you crawl up to him until you're settled on top of him, his thighs pressing into the front of your own. He pushes himself up a little higher, catching your lips and dragging you down with him until his back is pressed against the mattress, feeling your weight settle beside his head as you hold yourself up.
Now that he's not the only one shirtless, one of his hands roam down to rest over your ribs, settling over a small burn scar thereโ his fingers dig in lightly, trying to pull you down to lay on top of him. When you finally relent, the clasp of your belt is cold against his cock, even through the thin fabric of the panties. His hips jerk weakly, a small groan sticking in his throat as his thighs tighten around your hips, the same going for the hand in your hair.
He always liked it when you'd lay completely on top of him; for a reason he's yet to figure out, it always felt the best, and it's not like you'd purposefully crush or hurt him. It felt better because he knew he could trust you to figure out what he needed, even if it's not what he wantedโ you'd put his well-being over his pleasure, even if it'd break his high.
You'd make it better by giving him a greater one, anyway.
"Shit," You breathe, pushing yourself up a little with the help of the hand beside his head. He lets the disconnect happen, panting in bliss below you and letting you do whatever it is; his hand slips from your hair to rest on your hip again when you nudge yourself up further to kneel, and the sound of your belt buckle coming undone has his brain snapping to full attention.
"Still good?" You ask breathlessly, checking in while you undo your belt and pull the worn leather from the loops.
He nods against the pillows, breathing in through his mouth as he stares shamelessly at your crotch and your hands, his dick twitching faintly. "Mhmn."
Hooking a finger in one of your now-empty belt loops, he tugs on it lightly, reaching to undo the buttons and open the fly to your jeans. While he's busy doing that, his brain splits between the task and the feeling of your hand gently tracing down his thigh, your fingers sinking lightly into the flesh there.
Yanking the buttons open and unzipping your fly, he laughs a little as you pull back and flop down beside him on your back, but he focuses more on the lift of your hips as you shimmy out of your jeansโ as soon as they're off, he sits up and moves to straddle you, muting the moan that was going to escape at the feeling of your warmth alone as his hands find station on your stomach.
"These really are nicely made," You pipe up, kicking your jeans off the bed as he settles on top of you. Your forefinger ghosts over the sensitive skin of his hip as you slip it beyond the waistband, pulling it out only to let it go and gently snap back into place around his waist.
His stomach jerks, and the breath is tugged right out of his mouth; it's broken, barely noticeable, but the way you look up and smile slightly means you heard it more than well enough. His dick strains against the lace of the panties, pre-cum slicking up some of it in small, desperate spots.
"Yeah," He agrees mindlessly, licking his lips as he nods again. He can feel your hard-on from underneath him, easier than before, thanks to the fact your jeans are off nowโ he sinks to sit completely, sucking in a breath as it pokes against him.
The way your eyes flutter and you inhale sharply has another little glob of pre-cum slipping from his tip, adding to the other tiny spots staining the lace pressed against his dick; he wiggles a little like he's trying to get comfortable, but all he's aiming for is a repeated reaction.
And, of course, you catch onto him quick, narrowing your eyes at him as you moan lowlyโ he gets no time to respond before you're sitting up, dragging him back with you when you move to lean back against the headboard; thanks to the position, the panties rut against him with every one of your movements, forcing a whine from his lips.
But he can't say he minds too much with the change when your hand settles at his hip, pulling him closer until you distract him with another round of kisses. Every time you inhale, your stomach bumps into his cock, steadily tightening the rope in his tummy.
He grabs at your shoulder, shifting until he's as close to you as can be, grinding against your stomachโ the rough sensation of the lace against the dichotomy of the smoothness of your stomach has him groaning into your mouth, exhaling harshly.
Your arm is warm as you hook it to rest beneath his ass, setting him at a slight angle that has his hips stuttering and muffled, broken whines, whimpers, and huffs being yanked freely from his throat; he adjusts on his knees, tightening them desperately around your hips and swallowing the moan that slips from your mouth and into his.
"Hnngโ hah, [Name]โ Pleaseโ"
His hand snakes to rest behind your head, fingers twisting in your hair as his hips continue their sloppy, careless, pleasure-chasing rhythm, pushing your face more into his so you can't pull away too quickly. He feels your other hand drop from his hip to slip between his dick and your stomach, allowing him to thrust up into the palm of your hand until you pull the panties down, coiling your hand around him instead.
The pad of your thumb runs across his pre-cum slick tip, making his stomach jerk as his rhythm breaks into needy, small thrusts, chasing the skill of your handโ then he breaks your mouths apart, groaning within his throat as his fingers tighten in your hair, pulling your head back a little.
"Mmhngโ Iโ I'm gonna cum, wait, please," He pants, his eyebrows furrowing deeply as his head drops, spine curving as he nudges his forehead into your shoulder. His other hand pulls away from your side only to curl into a tight fist, spread wide, and close again, his voice muffled as he moans open-mouthed into your neck.
All you do is briefly adjust the arm below him, panting loudly as your hand continues its path on his dickโ his thighs tense and twitch, his breathing breaking weakly in between each inhale and exhale as he lets go of your hair, instead hooking his arm around the back of your neck to pull him as close as possible.
It still doesn't feel like enough.
"[Name], Iโ" He gasps, his voice cracking as he pushes his nose further into the crook between your neck and your shoulder, feeling the points of his teeth gently ghost over your pulse-point on accident. "Pโ Please, wait, Iโ mmng, don'tโ I don't want to cum too fast," He whines.
"Rโ Relax, Ryland," You huff, grinding your palm against his tip; your fingers bump into the sensitive spot just below there when you curl your fingers around him again, making him squeeze his eyes shut and try to ignore the taut rope of his insides. "I, ah, I want to make you cum. Thatโ that's the whole point of this: To make you feel good. That's all I want, I don't care about anything else."
That's all I want.
It echoes in his head once, then twice, before getting overlapped and ruined by pleasure, shoved aside to try to focus on not cummingโ if he came too soon and you didn't, then he'd just feel bad; you'd have to wait at least five to twelve minutes until he'd be okay with doing anything else and not cry from oversensitivity. And even though you've, quite literally, never cared about anything but getting him off, doesn't mean he thinks the same way.
He wants to make you cum.
Plain and simple.
Quickly, his hand coils around your wrist, forcing your hand to quit movingโ which is a good thing, because he was way too close to cumming that If you'd kept going a second longer, he would've been canned. He straightens his spine, breathing through his mouth as his heart thuds against his ribs like it's trying to escape.
His hips continue to twitch and jerk weakly into nothing, making his expression scrunch; he'd just edged himself, forcing himself not to cum so he could make you cum first.
It was a little strange, he'd admit, but it's what he wanted.
He hangs his head, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip hard enough for it to hurt, only to distract him from the sound of your ruined panting and how warm you are. If he doesn't find something other than you to focus on, he'll one-up himself and cum without you even needing to keep touching him.
"Whaโ What's the matter?" You ask, your fingers instantly releasing him; like you thought you'd done something. You pull your arm out from underneath him, too, giving him space. "Ryland?"
"Yโ yes?"
"What's wrong? Did I hurt you? What'd I do?"
Now he just feels guilty.
"You didn't do anything," He mumbles, shaking his head and spreading his knees a little so they'll stop suffocating your hips. He hadn't even realized they were, just moments ago. "I, umโฆ I wanted you to cum first?"
"What?" You breathe, confused. Your free hand presses into the bed by your thighs, still not touching him.
It kind-of aches that you're not.
He clears his throat awkwardly, and his hand โ that's not around your wrist โ droops from the back of your neck, sinking to rest on your bicep. His thumb takes a back-and-forth motion over the scar there, giving his hands something to do.
"I want to make you cum first," He repeats, slightly more confident this time. "You always get me off before I can do you, Iโ I want to make you cum. Before me."
"But you were close," You grumble, letting your head lull back against the headboard. A small smile fights its way onto his lips, and he gives into it, a small breath of a laugh following at your dissatisfaction.
"Yeah," He agrees, one of his thighs twitching absently. "I was, but I don't really careโ Not that much, anyway."
His hand finally lets go of your wrist, moving to gently grasp your pre-cum slick hand instead; he doesn't lace your fingers together, but he does let the back of your palm rest in his, his fingers easily curled a little into your palmโ until he adjusts, sinking back to lay on his tummy between your legs.
You catch on to what he's doing pretty quick, picking up your head and sighing lightly.
"Rylandโฆ You don't have to do that. Seriously. It's gross."
"Making you cum isn't gross," He huffs defiantly, wiggling a little to get comfortableโ he exhales shakily when his dick grinds into the bed through the lace of the panties, only to clear his throat to re-focus. "And I want to. You're not forcing me to do anything; I'm doing this of my own volition, like an adult."
"You're a germophobe, but you want to suck me off. Baby, that makes no sense."
"Yeahโ germs are grody, but you aren't. Justโฆ be quiet. Please. I want this."
He adjusts on his elbows, reaching for the waistband of your underwearโ when you give him a lazy nod, he returns the gesture, pulling your underwear off once you lift your hips and allow him to. He tosses them aside carelessly, not bothered by wherever they could land on the floor before he crawls upward, laying a little on top of you so it'll be easier on him.
Wordlessly, you spread your legs to give him more room, but he catches the way your breath stutters in your chest, even just faintly, when he comes closer.
"You're sure you want to do this?" You mutter, reaching over and pushing his bangs out of his face. "There are other ways to make me cum, you know that. You don't have to do this."
"Yeah, I know," He affirms, nudging his head lightly into your hand before he takes your dick into his hand, inhaling slowly before he takes you into his mouth. Immediately, your thighs tense around his sides, and the groan that spills from your mouth has him moaning around your dick.
Admittedly, sucking you off has always been something he wanted to do, even if it seldom came upโ he had an oral fixation, sue him, and he liked the weight of you in his mouth; you weren't thick (or rough) enough that'd choke or gag every time, meaning you were perfect to soothe that need.
Really, you were just perfect in general.
Pressing the tip of his tongue to the underside of your cock, he inhales roughly as he comes up, mouthing lazily at your tipโ you pant above him, each breath tacked with a faint, barely-there moan, all of which have him grinding against the bed to get rid of his need for friction.
His teeth graze you accidentally as he comes up for air, and he hums an apologetic noise around you, feeling your stomach twitch when he does; in replacement of his mouth, he wraps his hand around your dick, licking his lips as he catches his breath.
"Sorry," He breathes, swallowing the spit gathering in his mouth. "That was an accident. I didn't mean to do that."
"Youโ You're fine, Ryland," You ease, sucking in a shaky breath as he runs his thumb along the crown of your tip. He leans back into your hand when you thread your fingers through his hair, going back to sucking you off as you scratch lightly at his head.
One of his hands come up, gripping idly at your waist as he takes you deeper into his mouth, gagging slightly before coming back up a little and licking at the underside of your tip. You moan a little louder that time, and the way your fingers pull at his hair accidentally have him groaning as he does it again, grinding against the bed to give well-needed attention to his dick; which is still wildly sensitive.
"Jesus christ," You gasp, and he glances up when he hears your head thump against the headboardโ your expression is scrunched together and your eyes are squeezed shut, your mouth parted as you whine and moan, your other hand a fist around the comforter.
Oh my God.
He drags his tongue over the underside of your dick as he comes back up, only to force himself back down right afterโ he pushes your legs open wider with his forearm when they try to jerk closed around him, making sure he has enough room to keep going without interruption.
He continues rutting into the bed as he sucks you off, choking on his own breath when he rights just the right spotโ he pulls off of you just to gasp and return, his hand tightening around your hips desperately as he closes his eyes, repeating the weak grind of his hips and whining around you.
When your hand gets a little rougher in his hair and your stomach caves in a twitch, he knows you're close; your noises change, too, getting a little more raspy and broken when he pays special attention to the places he knows you're sensitive.
All he has to do is hold out until you cumโ it's simple enough, but with the way each thrust of his hips into the bed and the feeling of you in his mouth feels, it's sure going to be a close one.
He adjusts in his spot, whining lowly when you pull your hand from his hair; when he glances up, he can see you bite into your forearm, your fingers curled into your fist as you pant, and your chest heaving as your thighs twitch around him.
The sight has him rutting desperately into the sheets, choking lightly around you when he hits the sweet-spot that has him closing his eyes and tightening his hold on your hip.
Your dick twitches in his mouth, and he hums a moan around you, exhaling quickly through his nose.
"Sโ Shit," You moan, voice broken in a way he understands almost immediately. "Ryland, Iโ"
This time, when he comes up, he times his rhythm with the jerking of his hips, feeling your stomach tense and thighs twitch around him when he takes you down to your baseโ he holds himself there as he feels you cum, finally thrusting his hips.
He cums right after you, his brain filling with cotton as bliss crashes down onto him, making a tangled string of whimpers and moans spill out around you as you cum into his mouth; its an odd, but also weirdly pleasant sensationโ he made you cum just by sucking you off.
It makes a certain kind of ego and pride well up in his brain.
Coming down from his high, his finally registers that you're gently pulling him off of your dick, and he lets it happen. The moment you're out of his mouth, he swallows and gasps for air, coughing lightly and wiping his mouth.
The cum on the lingerie makes it stick wetly to him, and he winces as he sits up, laughing breathlessly.
"See?" He pants, curling his hand around your calf idly. "It's not too bad."
Hey, instead of posting "there's too much of x" or "there's not enough y" in the x reader genre, why don't you take this opportunity to boost writer engagement instead? Compliment their work then ask if they're taking requests. (Please be respectful if they don't). You can't really expect your tastes to be met if you don't politely engage with others. If you're not gonna write what you want to see, you might find someone here who will. I'm sure there are some writers who would appreciate more interaction on their pages. I'm not saying that they are obligated to cater to others, but the thought that someone liked their work enough to make a request can be encouraging. (This is also just my perspective as a reader AND writer).
Synopsis: When observing a new plant species of Erid's goes awry, both you and Ryland get spores spewed all over you-- and they certainly have anโฆ effect. AKA: Ryland's fib gets both you and himself covered in what has the same effect of sex-pollen.
WC: 5.3k.
AN: Baby's first time writing smut... I got carried away, can you tell? Hah. I also wrote this in one sitting-- sorry, everyone, I'm a repeat offender. Sue me.
Not proofread, we die like Commander Yao.
Male Reader!
"Huhโ I think this is actually how they reproduce, rather than dropping seedlings," Ryland hums, shooting a glance over to you before he looks down at his notepad, jotting a few of his observations down.
This species of plant isn't one he's ever seen before on Erid; thus, when the little pebbles started singing about it, he'd gotten curious as any science nerd wouldโ you two are the only humans to ever be on Erid, let alone live here! It's an amazing thing, and he enjoyed it quite a bit.
Even the Me-burgers were heaven compared to coma-sludge, or worse, starvation. It took a little getting used to, yes, but it was great.
"So it only looks like seeds," You pipe up, leaning back on your knees and resting your gloved hands over your thighs, "Quite fascinating. Maybe there was an evolutionary purpose to it?"
"I'm not sure," He admits. "Adrian did say it offered someโฆ unique, functions to an Eridian systemโ it could be that they used it to achieve a bodily high?"
Tilting his head, he leans forward and runs the tip of his pencil over the underside of one of the leaves, watching the connected branch curl up and, seemingly, die immediately. He winces. "โฆOops."
A second later, the branch turns almost a radiant pink, and falls down to rest finally on the rocks in the biodome.
It's strangeโ he's unsure how a plant so sensitive to touch survived this long on the surface โ even moreso how it still lives in human conditions โ where even the harsh winds of Erid made it difficult for it to thrive. Sure, yes, it was mostly found in deeper systems where movement wasn't as common as the surface, but the question still stands.
Erid biology was amazing.
"So much so to change its propagating system to be less farmable?" You question, and when he glances over, your nose is scrunched in confusion, "Maybe Rocky left some information out."
Shrugging, he moves to kneel alongside you, letting his gaze flit back over to the offending plant. Some of the petals around the bud of the flower have wilted, changing from pitch-black to a pretty, dead pink; proving how little time you both had before it'd completely wilt.
"Only one way to find out," He muses, feeling a grin slip onto his lips as he digs his gloves out of his pocket and gets them on, "I meanโ Distant observation can only get you so far, and it hasn't killed us yet or proved to have a scale of toxicity to humans."
Handing his pen and notepad to you โ and blatantly ignoring your faint, disapproving grunt โ he shifts closer to the flowering plant, leaning down a little to glance over the underside of the leaves and the flower, before he straightens up.
He continues. "Is this a bad idea? Maybe. But we could also learn from it, so there is a light at the end of the tunnel!"
"Rylandโฆ"
Your voice is low, and not exactly approvingโ but he shoulders on anyway, straightening his spine and wincing at the ache, spreading his knees to give him a wider sense of balance. Only a few bad things could happen, either way; One, he gets a face-full of poisonous spores and ends up kicking the bucket, and Two: the plant fights back and he gets ill for a few days, but is otherwise OK.
Two sounds optional, but he has some hope for nothing bad to happen.
Are those famous last words?
Maybe.
Is he going to continue anyway, for science?
Yes.
"I've got this, It'll be fineโ we did survive space," He nudges his glasses back up with the back of his wrist as he peers over the flower, "Let's not forget that part. Space? Scary, but great. Alien plants? Awesome!"
Is he getting slightly nervous and talking to calm himself down? Also maybe.
Upon hearing your noncommittal grunt, he exhales slowly through his nose, carefully reaching over to the core of the life before himโ he knocks into another branch with his elbow on accident, and it dies immediately. A little disheartening, but that's pretty normal for his life, so he continues.
Gently, he wraps his hand around the bud of the flower, softly prying the petals openโ
He jerks back as spores shoot upward and all over his face, coughing up a fit as he waves his hand in front of his face. His other digs into the rocks below him, keeping him off of his back.
He starts talking before you have the chance; just to save himself from your impending I told you so. Even when he deserves it.
"Wellโ" He coughs, pulling his spore-ridden glasses from his face, "That was totally, one-hundred percent, completely expected! I did that entirely on purpose. You know. For science. Gotta test it somehow, right?"
Laughing awkwardly, he avoids looking over at you as he sits up, shaking his head to be-rid himself of the shock. In spite of his obvious embarrassment, he feels your hand curl around his shoulder, then the warmth of your body next to hisโ for some odd reason, it feels a lot more present than before.
Like, fever-adjacent warmth.
Was he getting sick already?
Your voice cuts through a haze in his brain he wasn't even aware was thereโ Yeah, he's totally getting sick.
Darn it.
"You alright? Ingest any? Get any in your eyes, your mouth?"
Blinking rapidly, he shakes his head again, humming a low mm-mm as your face comes into view, your eyebrows furrowed in concern. Your hands warm his already hot face as you brush some of the colored spores off, and all of a sudden, saliva puddles in his mouth at your touch.
You'd removed your gloves? When and why did you do that?
Sure, sue him, his mouth would water a little any time you did something remotely attractiveโ but not this much.
"That'sโฆ. weird," He mutters, swallowing, "I think I'm getting sick."
The rocks shift beneath your knees as you adjust, and he can't help but watch your expression, to stare at your face. The little scar that marks the flesh from below your jaw to beside the corner of your mouth, the way you huff and tilt your head when you're confused, the way your jaw clenches and your mouth curls back when you're angryโฆ
Your mouth is moving. Are you talking to him?
Who is he kidding. You don't talk to yourself like he does.
"Rylandโ Your pupils are blown to high hell," Your grip shifts down to his jaw, tightening as you turn his head however you please, "You're confident you didn't swallow any?"
โฆWait a minute.
Oh, no.
"Iโ I think we were wrong," He gasps, quickly shoving you away the instant his brain makes the connection; not because the touch or your proximity hurt โ quite the friggin' opposite, actually, because he already feels like he's dying now that you're not touching him โ "It's contact triggered, not ingestion; Iโ uh, I already feel hot. Super hot. Not-Good hot."
You stumble to regain your balance, falling backward onto your rear into the rocks below next to the abandoned pen and notepad. Guilt pools in his stomach as he observes as it happens, but heat instantly suffocates it at the faint show of your teeths points from behind your lips, and the way your shoulders move as you push yourself back up.
He watches the unreadable expression leave your face in favor of something more restrainedโ he knows this one, though. You always look like this when you're focused, or you let your past training take the reins for a minute.
Now that he's staring, he finally notices the spores that are on you.
Shoot.
"Any other symptoms? Headaches, nausea, uh, loss of feeling or motor-function?"
You continue rattling off important questions, but he's not really listening. He should be, but it feels like he can'tโ his eyes stay glued to your mouth, then flick away only to land on your hands as you quickly get out of your spore-infested jacket.
You've got such nice hands. Very sturdy. Very masculine. Very reliable. Veryโ
Suddenly, his brain kicks back into gear; he's supposed to be doing the same thing.
"No, negative, not at allโ I, um, I just feel kind of toasty, andโฆ"
Well, he'll be honest โ with himself, anyway โ and think that he did not want to say that last part. Instead, he focuses on setting his glasses aside and getting himself out of his cardigan, of which has the most spores clinging to the yarn.
"And?" You continue, tossing your jacket over the offending plant to avoid any more spores escaping, "And what? Rylandโ We know fuck-all about this plant, we don't have time to waste; hell, we could grow another goddamn limb and be utterly clueless to prevent itโ so, I'd really like to know what the hell you're feeling before I feel it too!"
He swallows.
If he was a braver man willing to test your patience, he would've said something like, language, Captain! but, he knows he's not. And, well, he'd rather enjoy keeping his fingers. You threatened to cut them off the last time he royally pissed you off.
โฆBut there really is no way to lighten up the word aroused, is there?
He opens his mouth once, then twice, only to close it shut right after. It doesn't help you're less than four feet away, gorgeous as all heck, breathing just as heavy as he is.
He can't bring himself to look at you; your silence was enough, and it only makes your out-of-sync breaths seem louder. It doesn't help his brain, which, if you were curious, felt like sludge that could leak out of his brain if he thinks too hard.
The symptoms must've finally kicked in for you, because your silence continues, where he knows you would've questioned his wording were youโฆ. uninfluenced.
At the sound of your throat clearing, his gaze flits over to you, and instantly, it's obvious you're feeling the same things he is.
Which, truly, helps his brain avoid functioning altogether.
"Shit," You finally announce, panting through your mouthโ sweat slicks the front of your hair as you run your hand down your face, and his thoughts catch on the movement of your Adams apple as you swallow.
"It's kind of awful, right?" He breathes, laughing awkwardly; his voice cracks mid-way, not unlike how it often did when he was going through puberty. Embarrassing. "It's, uh, really bad for you too, huh?"
He wiggles in his spot, trying to get comfortable enough to calm down a littleโ but all it does is make his jeans grind against a rather sensitive spot he'd hoped to avoid. Quickly, he stills, trying to avoid a repeat offense as he runs his tongue over his bottom lip.
"Yeah," You mutter, nodding slowly, "We shouldโฆ"
You pause mid-way, your voice trailing off like you'd either gotten distracted or completely lost what idea you had of what you were going to say; and, yeah, he wholeheartedly agrees. He was only trying to keep a brave face, but he felt so strongly he could cryโ he wanted so badly it was painful.
"โYou, you go inside. Strip before you enter and leave your clothesโฆ outside, by the door. I'll, uh, I'll handle them while you shower and cool off."
"What are you going to do?" The question tumbles out of his mouth automatically, but its concern is true. "We don'tโ We don't know how long this stuff lasts. We can't be separated forever,"
He's unsure if that last part is him, or the spores' effect talking. Truthfullyโ he can't bring himself to care a freaking lick (God, if he could lick Youโฆ). Swallowing, he continues, "At least not without some difficulties."
"Doesn't matter," You wave your hand in front of your face as you shake your head, as if to brush him off, "Justโ just go. I needโฆ to log theโ the symptoms, and get rid of the goddamn plant."
He listens, feeling his mouth curl back in slight distaste of the idea. He didn't want to leave; he didn't even want to be this far away from you, let alone so much more he couldn't even see you. It didn't feel rightโ the idea stung, like physical pain.
"Whaโ You can'tโ you can't touch it!" He blurts, ignoring the fact his voice is in a higher pitch than it usually is, "โNot, uh, without gloves. It's dangerous. And we don't have any fresh ones out here. You should come. Inside. You knowโฆ to get new ones? It's bad to reuse them. Very unprofessional."
Why is he saying this?
Okay, yeah, his brain is practically screaming at him to crawl over to you and just do something so he'll stop feeling tether-less, but he doesn't mean to say it. Or imply anything. It justโฆ slips out, on accident. Completely. A complete accident. Yeah.
Yeah.
inhaling slowly through his mouth, he swallows again, crawling backward to put some distance between the two of you, preferably before anything shifts and you both end up in the gravel. Also preferably with you on top of him, with your hands on the back of his neck andโ-
"Then I'll figure something outโ Ryland, please, just go. We don't know what this stuffโฆ does."
โฆRight. He probably should get all the spores off of him, huh? They don't seem to be helping. At all. Like, any.
"I'm going," He finally announces, forcing himself to stand even when it's the last thing he wants to do; his knees feel weak, and so does his brain. His mind feels fuzzy when it's not thinking about you or anything to do withโฆ well, he knows what. "I'm going. I, um, promise I won't take too long. Like last time. And the time before that."
"Graceโ"
"Okay, okay, I'll stop talking now."
Will he really?
Probably not.
Nonetheless, he puts one foot in front of the other, unable to ignore the heat that gathers in his stomach as he walks past youโ your breathing is wrecked, and the sight of your clenched fists and slight shaking do nothing to help his want to stay; for some reason, his brain finds wild comfort (And interest) in the fact you feel a similar, if not the same, way as him.
As he walks, he sucks in an unsteady breath, roughly wiping the spores off of his glasses and onto the bottom hem of his shirt; the further he gets from you, the more it all hurts. The heat gains, and it feels like an invisible iron against his every being, only mounting to the headache now clawing behind his eyes.
I can totally take this, he thinks, using a shaky hand to slip his glasses back on, If he can, I can, right?
Who am I kidding. He's, like, three times stronger than I am.
He runs the front of his palms down his jeans as he steps up to the front door, trying to wipe some of the sweat off of them before he reaches up to undo the buttons of his shirtโ this doesn't feel good, either, so he sticks close to the wall and prays no one looks this way.
Even now, with his body temperature wildly higher than It needs to be and under the influence of some strange spores, the humiliation doesn't go away. The pain doesn't, either, instead running the opposite direction and only continuing to mount.
Dropping his shirt, he jerkily undoes the clasp of his belt, roughly yanking it out of the denim loops and letting it join his shirt. He can't decide whether the lack of fabric grinding against his skin feels better or worseโ he's so sensitive it feels like he's on fire.
He toes off his shoes, kicking them off to the side before he reaches down to the button of his jeans; unable to help it, he shoots a look over the scars of his left shoulder, letting his gaze naturally find you. You're handling the plant now, moving it over to the entrance of the Bio-dome so Rocky or Adrian can take it out when they come over next.
Even from this distance, thanks to his glasses, he can see the ragged rise and fall of your shoulders as you breathe.
He has to force himself to re-focus. Peeling his jeans off, he steps out of them, quickly opening the front door and stepping insideโ as the door slams behind him, he winces, slowly letting go of the knob and moving forward, past the kitchen, the screen room that Rocky refused to not add, and finally into the bathroom.
Stepping over his dirty clothes from yesterday he forgot to pick up, he sinks down to rest on the side of the tub to catch his breath, reaching over to turn the cold water on, andโฆ
Nothing.
"You've got to be kidding meโ Seriously, shower? Now is the time you decide to break? When I need you most?"
Dropping his arm, he hangs his head and squeezes his eyes shut. The shower had a habit of refusing to work; something about a hose kinking somewhere within the fresh-water system and here, both you and Rocky had explained. More than once.
He groans, but with how broken and defeated it is, it's more like a ruined whine or a grumble.
Deciding for the next best thing on the how-to-stop-overheating list, he, rather quickly, makes his way back to the kitchen and pulls the fridge open. And laying inside, limply against a frozen thing of Me-burgers, is his Holy Grail.
The bag of ice.
Yanking it from the fridge, the closest the fridge door, reaching up and pushing the coolness of the ice against his too-hot faceโ then, he steps over to the kitchen island, moving the thing of ice to rest on the back of his neck as he drapes himself over the cold counter-top.
It's heaven.
Pushing his forehead into the counter, he stretches his arms out in front of him, forming desperate parallel lines of cold-seeking embarrassment. Sure, the shower was dramatic and temperamental, but it doesn't mean he's screwed. At least for nowโ his tummy is still searing hot with want, even in spite of what he tries to do to prevent his brain from controlling him any more than it is.
He tilts his head, panting against the surface of the counter as he presses his cheek into the cold; the bag of ice slips, and he has to reach back and fix it before it falls. Before laying his arm back down, he lifts his head just high enough to pull his glasses off, setting them aside and returning to his earlier positions.
He squeezes his eyes shut, trying to calm himself down.
It does nothing.
All he can think about is you.
If your groans sound different when you feel good, if he could make you feel good, how nice it'd be if you just come back and fuck him senslesโ
His head pops up immediately at the sound of the doors hinges whining as they open; he makes eye-contact with you just as fast, and you both pause. You're stripped down to your underwear like he is, panting like you just ran a marathon, face dusted pink in a blush he's sure he matches on his own face.
"I thought you were supposed to be in the shower?" You blurt, your voice breaking weakly.
He blinks. "It decided toโฆ quit working."
"Again?" You question, leaning back against the door and squeezing your eyes shut, just like he was moments before. "Shit."
"Yeah," He nods slowly, straightening out and sliding the back of ice over the counter, a free offer. "The, uh, the ice helps. Some."
As you step forward, drop the pen and notepad onto the counter and snag the ice, his gaze slips southward, to your stomach. You've a few scars there; a jagged, wide one from your front to the side, a few smaller ones in clusters, a medium sized one that cuts down below your underwear's waistband.
You're still muscular, though. Where he'd, admittedly, gained a few pounds back after regaining access to food upon the touchdown on Erid, you still held yourself pleasantlyโ that, or he hadn't noticed much of a change, if at all.
You were good-looking. Always had been, really, but after years together on Mary โ and the VERY close proximity that came with โ and seeing you handle stressful situations with a sexy amount of controlโฆ well, you might as well be a Greek God.
An Adonis, if you will.
"My eyes are up here, you know. I can practically see the thoughts in your head."
He raises his gaze instantly.
"Sโ Sorry," He fumbles, his mouth opening silently, but he finds no valuable excuse to defend himself with. "โฆSorry."
"I'm kidding," You laugh, but it's breathless, and not all there, like you didn't truly find anything funny. He knew, feeling like this, he couldn't. He watches you pull the ice from your throat, then as you slide it back over to him, rest your forearms on the counter, and sink down to rest your forehead against the tops of your arms.
Your voice is slightly muffled when you continue. "โฆHaven't exactly been an angel myself."
"What's that mean?" He questions, swallowing the saliva pooling in his mouth at the free sight of your scar-littered, muscular backโ he presses his lips together, leaning against the cold edge of the counter to try to feel like he's regained Some control of himself.
He hasn't.
You say nothing as you straighten back up, instead, you wordlessly make eye-contact with him; but you break it as you look down to his lips, back to his eyes, his lips again, then down his front and over to the burn scars over his forearm and upward on his left side.
Heat blooms everywhere he can feel you look.
It should freak him outโ he was under the influence of hormone-altering spores, he should be running away screaming and locking himself into the bedroom and keeping distance from you. So you could both rough this out on your own and pretend it didn't happen.
Butโฆ It's not.
Quite the opposite, really.
"What'd you do to the plant?" He questions breathlessly, pulling the ice away from his face and leaning over the counter to hand it to youโ he's not sure what gets him more; the touch of your hand brushing his as you take it, or the cold lick of the counters edge right above his crotch.
He wants to grab you, to yank you over to this side and kiss you so hard it hurts, but he refrains.
It's a feat within itself, really.
"Put it by the door," You mutter, raising the ice to press against your cheek, "With a note for Rocky."
He nods, chewing on his bottom lip as he drops his hand, pressing the heel of it against the edge of the counter. His fingers curl, gripping it tight in an attempt to clear his head from the thoughts running rampantโ What it'd be like for you to fuck him here in the kitchen, in the living room, in the bathroom, in the showerโฆ
"Andโ And the clothes?"
"In a spare storage tub... 'Cept for your belt, and mine. They're still by the door."
He nods again.
Sure, it's wildly risky to just be conversing like it's a casual Thursday when you're bothโฆ like this, but the pain is goneโ almost completely, aside from the ever-present inferno of his body temperature. He doubts that's going to go away today, but as long as it doesn't hurt, he'll try not to think about it.
He doesn't think you want to be in any more pain, either.
It really stings. Moreso than the ache in his gut, or the throbbing between his legs.
He glances up when he catches you move in his peripheral, accepting the bag of now-slightly-melted ice and watching you move around the island, over to the fridge.
God, your back is insane.
"How long do you think this'll last?" He murmurs, pressing the ice against his tummyโ he twitches, sensitive. More than usual; it feels like every part of him has heightened receptors to touch, even his own.
Hm. He tacks it into his brain to record as a symptom, later.
You shrug, prying the fridge open and pulling two waters out from inside of it, "I'd have a better shot at getting back to Earth than figuring that out, G."
"Wellโฆ" He laughs awkwardly, licking his lips, "At least we're in it together, right? I doubt this wholeโฆ 'having odd reactions to an alien plant species that totally wasn't my fault' thing would be as fun if we weren't? I mean, that's a bright side?"
You shake your head, nudging the fridge door closed with your knee before you turn, handing him a cold water bottle as you push yours against your neck. "I don't think I ever want to have 'fun,' again in my life. I've had enough for one lifetime."
"Whaaat? You don't want to get sick on an unexplored planet in another life? That's awful, [Name]. A complete insult to me and my alien affections!" He accepts the water with a small nod of a thank-you, inhaling slowly at your proximityโ it's the closest you've been since he shoved you off of him earlier, and he can't help but notice it.
But he's being sarcastic, of course. If he isn't, he doesn't think he could bring himself to look away from you.
Not that he can anyway.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Rylandโ I'd love to get stranded with you every lifetime, I was just kidding!"
Now it's your turn to be sarcastic; and he can't say it turns him off any. Actually, the mock sympathy only makes his heart beat a little fasterโ the way your mouth curves down into a pitying, fake frown, how your eyebrows draw together and your head tiltsโฆ
And the way you say his name?
Stick a fork in 'im. He's done. He's over his head.
Yeah, he can't get it out of his brain.
His lips part as he swallows, feeling the volcano roar in his stomach; he continues staring, influenced and suddenly shameless with need, staring so intently he watches your expression changes the second it happens.
You go from mocking, to curious, to unreadable.
He watches every single one of them have their turn.
He gets two seconds to gasp until you're crossing the kitchen and cutting it off with a kiss.
The warmth blooms upward from his stomach to his chest as you groan into his mouth, and he fumbles to set the ice down as he kisses backโ it's clumsy, hot, and quick; it's a physical need rather than a want. He can barely hear the sound of the bag of ice slipping off the counter and onto the floor over the rush of blood in his ears, but he doesn't care.
You continue moving even as you're connected, forcing him to walk backward as he kisses you until a shudder wracks his spine at the cold edge of the counter bumps into his lower back, but whatever chill there was is instantly staved off the moment your hands find his waist, fingertips digging into his skin.
Kissing has never felt so fucking good.
It's like a full-body satisfactionโ whatever warmth or pain he had before is synthesized into pleasure, then doubling that into euphoria.
He returns the passion as you tilt your head, making his head tilt back a little until he pushes back, feeling your chest rise and fall in an out-of-sync rhythm against his own; though it's instantly forgotten as his body shivers, his chest tightening pleasantly as you grind against him.
Whining into your mouth, he chases you as you lean your head back, barely registering as you pull his glasses off of his face and set them aside.
God, you feel good.
"Thisโ This is," He pants, swallowing harshly, "Really, really unhygienic."
Your arms box him in as you pull them from his waist, settling them on either side of him on the counter as you pull back, slide a leg between his own, and come closer. An open-mouthed, choked gasp is yanked from his throat at the friction, and whatever care he has disappears.
It's not like you answer, anywayโ you just duck your head down and kiss him again, nudging your knee further between his own to, apparently, give him more pleasure as you move your arms to coil around his middle.
And to heck if it doesn't work.
His hand slides up as he hooks an arm around the back of your neck, keeping you in place; if you moved away now, he'd cry. Literally. His other drops to grip along your hip, his fingers brushing a scar thereโ it must be sensitive, too, because you hum into his mouth and push him further into the counter.
It doesn't hurt; you'd moved your arm down, so your forearm pressed into the counter instead of his back. It didn't snake any lower, but it makes you lean down a little more; and when he grinds his hips again, it feels like heaven.
Actual heaven.
"Don'tโ Don't move," He gasps, panting into your mouth as his hand tightens around your hip, "Right there, please, don't move,"
He's never felt so sensitive in his life.
You seem to realize that, too, because you prey on it; as he ruts against your leg and yourself, your arm tightens around his lower back, pulling him even closer. You moan into his mouth as he kisses you back with fervor, and it only eggs him onโ he arches his spine just slightly, making you chase him and lean over him more.
This feels even better. You doโ whether it's the spores or you making him feel so good โ like he hasn't ever before, with anyone else โ he doesn't know, but he doesn't care about it much now.
"mmngโ Iโ"
He can barely talk in-between kisses; sometimes they're deeper, sometimes they're more superficial but within rapid fashionโ he doesn't care. They all work him toward that edge, tighten the coil in his tummy he's chasingโ
"Don't stopโ"
The moment you pull away to catch your breath and mouth at his neck, the coil snaps.
A broken whine is yanked from his throat as he ruts his hips, squeezing his eyes shut and leaning forward to nudge his nose into your shoulder. His hold on you tightens as he breathes in short, heavy inhales, continuing and tailed by ruined groans and whimpers, his thighs tightening around yours when you move.
You're panting against his neck, whatever noises you're making being muffled by the fact you've got your teeth in himโ the sting feels better than he'd ever thought he'd be into, so he lets it happen, slowly relaxing in sync with you as he comes down from his high, but he still lets his hips roll experimentally.
You moan.
"Did yโ?"
"โฆUh-huh."
That's hot.
You're still breathing heavy by the time you retreat into his neck, not allowing either of you to come down completely or catch your breaths until your pushing your mouths together again, and he can faintly sense the feeling of your nose bumping into his as you tilt your head.
"Wanna go again?" You murmur, pressing a little kiss to the side of his mouth.
He nods, only to clear his throat. "Yโ Yeah. The, uh, the bedroom this time, though? Please."
Is he going to last the entire night?
Maybe not. He's not the mostโฆ sexually active guy in the world, but God could you make him be.
Is he also sure you'll stop one-hundred percent the moment he's done?
Completely.
"I love you," He mumbles, leaning forward and dropping his face into your shoulder. "Love you."
BTW i see these posts all the time like "ohhh i dont know what to comment on fics.." and every response is "keysmashes! or hearts!! anything works :3" and thats GREAT!! thats helpful!!
but: consider. if u genuinely like analyzing writing.. do u know ur just allowed to go through and quote your favorite parts and ramble abt what they mean to u and the author will LOSE IT WITH HYPE?
genuinely. i felt SO WEIRD the first time i did it.. but like. holy shit authors love it. its crack for authors. the first time i did it, it was on a fic that hadnt updated in half a year, give or take, and the author made 3 updates that month BECAUSE OF MY COMMENT.
LIKE. as an author every comment is INCREDIBLE!!! but also, dont feel like your comment has to be short or otherwise ur invasive or smth!! authors ADORE long comments more than ANYTHING.
Just get in, leave the cash on the table, and get out
You come home to find a painfully familiar man on your sofa, and heโs come to โthank youโ for your help.
warnings: 18+, NSFW MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. reader is written with a penis but no other physical descriptions. no use of y/n. blood mentions, minor blood play, frotting, coming together, dom!court, belt as handcuffs, court is still an asshole out of fear. lots of mentions of spit/+ other bodily fluids. touch-starved court gets a little fucking weird with it. finally. vaguely happy ending (but just for tonight)
a/n: i could write for HOURSSS about how i see courtโs relationship with intimacy. itโs so special to me. tried to show how he uses his training as a buffer so he doesnt have to think about what heโs doing. oh tortured man whoโs not even sure heโs fully human and capable of love anymore. being an asshole because itโs the only way he feels in control and safe. oh bud. .. as usual not fully betaโd (but shoutout to my bf for checking the first half! love u!!!!) i wrote most of this on a beach, and then the rest on the train home. scenic fic writing is my favourite. if thereโs issues anywhere please let me know. i struggle with bad brain fog that makes me mess up words sometimes, and my disability makes typing difficult. spell check wasnโt working on the train so excuse any mistakes for now, ill fix them in the coming days , i just wanted to get it out <3
"We've gotta stop meeting each other like this." You'd barely locked the door when the voice sounded, and your heart leapt out of your throat as you turned, seeing an almost familiar body draped across your sofa.
"Get the fuck out!" Your hand instinctively wretches the drawer by the front door open, only to find it empty.
"Did you start keeping a knife by the door before or after you met me?" His head tilts to the side with a small smile, and you have to narrow your eyes at him to realise who he is. Holy shit.
"Jim?" He falters a little at the name, wincing almost, and for a moment you see the pained man you'd met.
"Six." He corrects you now, and you just nod, it seems irrelevant in the current situation, there are more pressing matters at hand as far as you're concerned.
"Why are you in my house?" His grin returns, and he gives an amused shrug.
"I was in the area, thought I'd drop by and say thanks." He speaks all too casually, slipping the knife in his pocket and reclines back, throwing his arms on the sofa behind himself.
"Yeah-Uh-" You glance back at the door, you'd spent so long convincing yourself that it was all some insane dream spurred on by a lack of sleep, so the fact he was once again in front of you was proving to be more than a little overwhelming. "How did you get in?" You think back to a minute beforehand, the door had been locked, and you stare down at the keys in your hand.
"Oh, here," He roots around in his pocket for a moment, before tossing you another set of keys that hits you squarely in the chest and drops to the floor. Your heart thumps so hard you can feel it in your throat, and you really need to leave this time. The man sat like he owns the place is hardly the same wounded one you'd barely been safe with before, and you really doubt you'd get a home field advantage in this fight.
Innocent men don't typically get stabbed and then go anywhere but a hospital. Innocent men don't typically demand the shirt with their blood on it and then sleep with a gun under their pillow before disappearing in the middle of the night.
"Your landlord really doesn't give a shit, I just said I was your boyfriend and I'd lost my set of keys and he gave me a replacement- you need to find a new place." He narrows his eyes at you. "There are much more dangerous men than me that could use that to their advantage."
"You seem dangerous enough to me." You regret the words as soon as you say them, and he gets a flash of that anger you'd seen before, his eyes darkening as his jaw locks in a grimace.
"I'm not here to hurt you." He hisses, and he nods towards the coffee table as if he's pointing out the obvious.
There's a wad of cash on the table, more than you'd ever seen in one place in your life. "You might wanna spread out depositing it, they'll flag it as fraud if you do it all at once." He relaxes again, smiling- he seems to be the king of hot and cold reactions.
"Six I-" You debate leaving, calling the police maybe, but you know that that wouldn't stop him, he'd be gone before you finished dialing.
"Come here." He curls a finger at you. "Please." He tacks on, head tilting to the side like he's sizing you up again, but this time the smirk tugging at his lips suggests it's a different type of dangerous.
"Six." You can't deny you feel some sort of way towards him, and you're instantly reminded of sight of him as you knelt in front of him. The way he'd looked at you, the way he'd cradled your head and then your hands, keeping you in that position- below him.
"What?" His lip quirks up again, voice playing innocent, in a way that's painfully charming.
Six stares at you with a look he hoped conveyed some sort of hunger, and internally fought with the fact he had no clue what he was doing. He'd intended on doing a quick in and out, dropping the cash on the table before dipping back out, maybe scribbling a note to warn him about his shitty landlord before pushing the keys under the door. But he hadn't. He'd become entranced. Watching you for the last few months had been a hobby he couldn't quite afford, but had scraped through anyway. It had been just his luck getting a job in your city, and it had only furthered when Sid had allowed him a short break from work, he deserved it, apparently. Knowing him, it was some setup for a job that would no doubt end as awfully as all the others. He couldnโt trust the man as far as he could throw him, but at times like these, heโd take the odd act of kindness when he could.
โI donโt-โ You stumble over your words, and he watches the nerves twitch across your face. He finds it cute, and immediately reprimands himself for finding attraction in your fear- heโs trying to be moral here. โFuck it.โ The way you relax makes the stress melt from his shoulders, and the kick drum beat of his heart ramps up to 10 as you approach slowly.
Six isnโt particularly good at the song and dance to tempt someone to be with him, but the second theyโre hooked he moves like a well oiled machine. Heโs not -trained- in seduction, but based on how you reacted last time, the standard rules of his usual business apply. He knows how to be in control, he knows how to guide people into exactly what he wants.
โThere we go.โ He hums, a lilt of praise that makes you grin bashfully. โHere.โ He sits up just a fraction, getting himself close enough to hook a boot around your ankle, drawing you forward until his hands can find your hips, though he doesnโt drag you down to his lap like he so wants to. โTell me I can.โ His gloved thumbs dance slowly under your shirt, watching as you shiver at the cold leather against your skin. You just nod at him, and his chest burns painfully as he shakes his head back. โUse your words.โ
โYeah-Yeah. Please.โ The way you ease into his hold has his spine thrumming, and he decides to allow himself to fully give in to the cravings that have been building since the night he met you. It feels stupid, he has no business experiencing such carnal desires for anything other than personal gain, but something about you makes his brain too buzzy. Youโre too soft and gentle and too sweet to him that he wants you all, to hell with his training.
"You want to be a good nurse and check on your work?" He teases, and he hopes you don't notice the wince at his own comment, but he can hardly regret it when a second later youโre nodding, already moving to take your place between his knees.
It feels unnatural to him, to be in this situation, but the thrill of someone submitting to his whims so easily makes him dizzy. Having someone under his command without even using a weapon is a power he loves to wield on occasion, and it does help when they were as easy on the eyes as you were.
โJi-โ You go to say, before quickly correcting yourself with wide eyes. โSix.โ He nods, allowing himself the luxury to bask in the mild panic on your face. Youโre someone who wants him. Despite it all.
โYeah?โ There it is again, the falter of a sudden wave of insecurity. He rolls around a few pet names on his tongue, so rarely used when encounters to cater to his own desires are few and far between. He wants to call you something that will draw you out of your shell, have you eating out the palm of his hand and crawling into his arms. He wonders then what you might call him, how you might react when he orders you about. Itโs a dynamic he knows all too well, but seeing it in this context is electric, and each touch of your gentle hand against him as you settle to your knees has his skin sparking.
โBaby.โ He settles on- sweet and normal, so painfully human and almost domestic, everything he didnโt consider himself to be. But tonight? He was allowed to pretend. He could do away with the bravado and act that he carried as The Gray Man. All the violence and biting anger that had him feeling more machine than man melted into something burning deep in his chest. A fire was lit, and he was determined to keep it aflame.
โCan I?โ Youโre asking him now, all gentle as you fiddle with the hem of his black shirt. It makes him feel insane, crazy with the high of being treated like a person. In a field of work like his, autonomy was hard to come by, his body was simply equipment, and no one cared for the brain piloting it. He was a machine, something to own, as much as his heart fought that he was a man of flesh and blood, his handlers had never quite shared the same sentiment.
But there you were, waiting with tender hands that brought no violence, your touch would arrive soft and pleasurable. It was something he seldom had, and heโd started to believe he didnโt deserve.
โYeah, go ahead.โ His hand gravitates to you like he got a mind of its own, and he wraps his fingers loosely around yours as you shove his shirt clumsily up his abdomen. โHere, let me help you.โ Pulling away almost feels painful when heโs so near to your warmth, but he does so for the sake of yanking his shirt off and tossing it somewhere off to the side. He knows your apartment now, this isnโt the first time heโd been inside it, and the simple act of seeing his shirt lay on the floor like it belongs there almost has him doubling over with a painfully sick feeling- though it stems from nothing but the desire for a normal life.
He ends that train of thought before it could continue, Courtland Gentry will never have a normal life, he will never be free, and he will never know such tender care outside of these fleeting moments. So for now he cannot dwell, he cannot do anything past what his body is aching for, he simply succumbs to baser instincts and watches with a buzzy delight at the way your hands twitch nervously before flattening against his thighs.
โYou did so good.โ He praises, watching your sweet face as your eyes settle on the scar, uneven and jagged in his abdomen. Another person may have been annoyed at the mess of it all, the way the stitches were uneven and carved a mess into what was once- a long time ago- smooth pristine skin. But to him it was a reminder, and he often found himself seeking the feeling of it out, tracing the hacked lines, just to affirm to himself that sometime, somewhere, someone found it within themselves to be gentle with him.
His brain short circuits as you suddenly make a move to lean closer, pushing his legs open wider to get to an angle where you can crane your head down, dipping it low towards his hips. โFuck.โ He feels painfully easy now, and he should be embarrassed at the way his brain stutters at the sight, and practically melts when your lips press to the skin there.
Heโs once again overtaken by the desire to taste you, and in turn make you taste him. He wants to bring you up to his mouth until youโre both panting, breaths mingling and spit swirling together on your lips. He wants to watch it drip down your chin, mixing with the sweat beginning to bead across your face.
Your mouth is hot and wet against him as you pepper gentle kisses to the sensitive skin, and moments later your tongue slips out past the seam of your lips, the tip of it warm as it traces back and forth along the length of the scar, pushing into the ridges of the uneven tissue, following where youโd once hastily stitched him up.
Youโre probing at him, tasting deeper than what should be comfortable, and part of his brain screams at the sensation, still prickly and on edge where his nerves continue to knit together, but the way spit is slicking across your chin and down to your jaw has any sort of complaint swallowed easily.
โSix.โ Youโre barely audible with the way your lips are practically fused to his abdomen, and the slow rumble that echoes through his body as the name vibrates against his skin almost has him bucking up into nothing. Self control. He allows instead for his hand to push to the back of your head, drawing you impossible closer, enough that a foot can shift and bully its way between your thighs, parting them just right.
Heโs obsessed with how malleable you are, he decides then, and wonders what other ways he could bend you just the way he wants. The first willing participant in his games in a long time, you donโt seem to mind the way he toys with you. After all, youโd stuck by him even through the night in the hotel. He still remembers the feeling of your forehead beneath his lips, the way that even asleep, you leant into his touch.
Youโre lapping at the scarred skin without instruction, and he groans heartily above you, fingernails scraping into your scalp as a warmth settles in his lower stomach. โSo good, savinโ my life like that.โ Your eyes flick up from where theyโd previously been blissfully closed, and he wants to openly moan at the sight, rolling his head back on his shoulders. โCome up.โ He expects you to sit normally, but you trail your tongue up his chest as you move, licking a stripe up to his collarbones, shuffling onto his lap. โFucking hell.โ He feels like his breath has been knocked from his lungs as you settle your knees either side of his broad thighs.
โLet me thank you.โ His method of thanks was admittedly very selfish, because it involved drawing your mouth to his own as a hand cups the back of your neck, the other snaking down to your waist. โYou want me to, baby?โ Heโs moving to hold your cheek now, his thumb pushing against your lips, probing past them just enough to have your jaw falling slack in his hold. You nod quickly, probably too fast, and he has to bite back a groan at the way you shift on top of him, palms pressing to his chest.
You feel so soft, too gentle again, and he wants to spiral into the feeling, pull you into his arms and stay there forever, pretending that just for once, he was safe. He canโt feel such an attachment to you, but he was already too far gone- heโd passed the line when he committed your identity to memory for โinsurance purposesโ but then immediately used that information to find you. Heโd spent too many nights stalking you like he would any other mark, and a sickly feeling had built up. You were too pure and unaware, but he felt so good to be the one to look after you. He meant in the best way, at least he tells himself he does, you were just too sweet to be out there wandering alone, without him there to care for you, to pay you back for all your help.
โSix?โ Your voice cuts through his tangent, and he blinks at the confused expression on your face, brows tugged gently together, lip pierced between your teeth. โHave I done something wrong?โ Heโs not sure why youโre asking, and itโs his turn to frown, tilting his head to the side.
โNo, no you havenโt.โ He has that hazy look you remember from before, but thereโs no blood loss to cause his spaced out attitude.
โYou-You zoned out there.โ
Something about your observation makes him feel panicked, and his heart kicks into gear like a caged animal. He canโt look weak-not here, not with you. He doesnโt even care that you wouldnโt be able to hurt him even if you tried, but his training forces him to spike with a sudden aggression. As much as he tries to fight it, heโs reminded again what- and who- he is, he canโt afford to let his soft emotions show.
His teeth grit, and he doesnโt even notice the way your eyes widen before heโs moving, arms tightening around your waist to haul you up into the air when he stands. โSix!โ You yelp, wrapping legs around his hips as he pivots, your hands practically clawing at his back to keep you upright. He debates internally what in the everloving fuck heโs doing for a moment, before settling on spinning to drop you down onto the sofa where heโd just been sat.
He lays you across it, a large hand finding your wrists to push them above your head, holding them against the armrest as he swings a knee over your hips, pinning you down. Itโs a painfully familiar position for him to be in, and he hopes you donโt notice the way his empty fist clenches at his side as he resists the trained urge to slam it into your face. Youโre too prone beneath him, too easy, itโs unnatural for such a man to have someone submit for anything other than a beating. Heโs out of practice- but the argument could be made that he never was in the first place.
โSix.โ He canโt help but notice your pupils are blown, glassy eyes wide as you blink up at him.
โItโs okay.โ He overcorrects his outburst with an unnatural softness, and once again he winces. It all sounds so unfamiliar to his ears.
โAre you sure-โ He canโt stand to face the question, and instead cups your cheek with the hand that had previously been balled into a tight fist, hoping the tender action could counteract all the evil heโd done, before he leans down to kiss you.
The sensation almost burns him, your lips so soft and gentle against his own, his last encounter this delicate had hardly been recent, and until now, he seemed to have forgotten the feeling of it all. He had to bite back the monstrous feeling when you relax in bliss beneath him, his brain sparking in response to the prone body as if heโd just completed a successful mission. But no, the way you writhed under him just moments later, blood pumping hot under your skin where he holds your wrists reminds him that he is capable of much more than just hell and violence.
The familiar taste of copper floods his mouth, and panic pricks at his heart as he pulls rapidly back, heaving breaths as he stares down at you. โIโm okay.โ Your eyes are still closed, and a small smile tugs at your bloodied lips, plump and splitting.
โFuck.โ Is all he can pant, licking across his own lips with hunger, and he can only imagine how crazed he must look, eyes settled solely on the small stream of red running from the corner of your mouth. He wants to lap it up, your blood just seems that much sweeter. Itโs an injury born of passion and some warped version of love- the taste is addictive, he wants to pierce your swollen lips with his teeth until youโre both a mess of gore. โYouโre so pretty like this.โ He realises how insane it sounds as soon as he says it, but he can hardly care, not when he dips down to slide his tongue across your chin and back up to your lips before you can even mumble a response into his open mouth.
Your body reacts under him like youโre a man starved- as if you havenโt been touched like this in years. You whimper his name, only for it to be swallowed by his mouth passing over yours. His fingers bite into the flesh of your wrists, pulse thumping a feverish rhythm against his palm. He mumbles what sounds like praise between your tongues mixing, and the hand on your head begins to slide a dangerous path down your chest. He curses as your hips jolt involuntarily into his, the mere friction maddening.
Deft fingers travel as far as he can reach, blunt nails scraping at the soft skin of your navel before snatching at your shirt to drag it painfully slow up your torso. He moves away to pull it off over your head as if the loss of contact physically pains him, a deep whine vibrating in his throat in the second it takes before he can latch onto you again. โYouโre so fuckinโ soft.โ His words are muffled as spit slicked lips trail down your chin, palm smoothing up and down, from your ribs to your hips and back again, as if heโs trying to commit your body to memory. โCome here.โ He moves quicker than you can even process, a tangle of limbs as he pulls your arms down and wraps his own around your chest again, and you brace to be hauled up into the air, lifting your hips to grab at him with your thighs.
But he has other plans, and as soon as your back is off the seat youโre both crashing to the floor in a way that almost knocks the wind from your lungs when you land on top of him, but Six appears to remain unphased. Heโs just as rabid as he was moments before, tugging you down tight until your chests press together, moaning at the skin on skin contact it rewards him with, grabbing at any part of you he can reach, squeezing flesh in his thick fingers.
โYouโre so good, baby.โ He hums, hands pressing harsh at your lower back to keep you steady as he slowly grinds up into you, as yours brace against his scarred shoulders. Everything melts away, his anger seeps into the floor of your shitty apartment beneath you both as your sweat mingles with a mess of spit on your skin. He feels dumb with lust as he fulfills what he considered one of his greatest wishes, and tilts his face just enough to lick a stripe up across your cheek, up to your temple where sweat is beginning to dampen your hairline. Fuck. He feels insane as he does it, and heโs so clouded and buzzy that he barely registers it. โYou taste so good.โ
An animalistic greed takes over as he wants to devour you whole, he wants to spend the rest of his life with you pressed against him, all soft and malleable under calloused hands- he wants to kiss and lick and fuck you like a man starved. He doubts heโll ever be satisfied with another drop of any drink in the world now heโs tasted you.
โSix-โ You break through his haze, pulling up just enough to rest your foreheads together, his hair now damp and sticky against yours. โI need-โ Youโd happily spend the next few hours being slowly pulled apart by the man hellbent on marking your entire body with his spit, but the coil in your lower stomach is becoming too overwhelming to feel anything other than burning, and each swipe of his tongue sets your skin alight. โI need- please just do something.โ You whine, and you would be ashamed of your pathetic tone if it didnโt draw such a n immediate reaction from him- because heโs pushing you upwards in order to reach your belt buckle before you can even catch your breath back.
Skilled hands make light work of getting your trousers open, and he wastes no time in pushing them as far down your hips as they will go in the odd angle before pulling the belt out. โHands.โ You sit back on his thighs, and thoughtlessly hold out your wrists towards him, much to his enjoyment. The belt is looped around your wrists and tightened in a way that tells you heโs done this a million times, and you try desperately not to dwell on that in favour of giving yourself up to him wholeheartedly. You shouldnโt trust him- and you doubt many people do- but youโd hazard a guess that youโre the first person to look past whatever persona heโd built up in whatever line of work he was plagued by. The man beneath you is hardly the demon heโs convinced he is. And so you watch him work with a feverish anticipation, rutting gently against his black cargo trousers. Addicted to the way he tries to bite back groans, his scarred abs tightening as he attempts to hold himself back.
Having you tied up allows him to sink fully into his new role, silencing the thrumming of deeply engrained defence that takes hold each time you move in a way he canโt predict. Itโs safer this way, he reasons with himself, and it does help that you seem to be as into it as he is, attempting twice to pry your arms back open, sighing contently when the leather simply squeaks and holds its restraint.
One of his broad hands settles at your waist, and yours ball into fists when the other presses a thumb over the wet patch that had formed on your boxers. โCan I?โ Heโs seeking out your permission again, as if your answer could absolve him of all the times heโd grabbed and bruised despite screams and cries. If he can just be gentle with you, if he waits for your nod and cried permission, then he isnโt the monster people say he is. A contract killer on a moral streak- itโs almost comical, and heโs sure any other man in his profession would not offer the same grace. If heโs kind to you, then maybe thereโs good in him after all- maybe part of his soul is redeemable.
โPlease-โ Your voice cracks as you keel forward, already overwhelmed as he begins to massage the tip. โFuck, Six.โ Heโs overtaken again by the desire to tell you his real name then, and his head spins as he thinks about the way it would sound from your puffy lips, the way youโd choke it out through a moan. He wants to beg for it then, for someone to make him human again, to do away with codenames and address him like heโs something more than just a killing machine, an object to do their bidding. He wants the control of an identity that had been so violently stripped from him under the guise of helping him.
โYeah? You like that?โ He forces out a line that makes him want to recoil, but it appears to have the desired effect as you nod with a desperate need, attempting to tilt your hips to chase the friction of his hand. โGood.โ He hums, and he means it now.
โPlease.โ You repeat your desperate cry, and he wants to be taunting, to play with you until you bend fully under his will, but as you blink down at him with teary eyes, he reminds himself why heโs here. Heโs thanking you now. Some part of him that he should kill quicker than it forms, eases his desires with a promise to himself that it wonโt be the last time youโre like this under his hands. He shouldnโt. Finding you out a second time was more than he ever shouldโve done. He knows better than that.
โOkay, baby.โ He grins wickedly, complying to your wishes with his fingers probing into your boxers, pulling them down enough to release you properly, listening to the chorus of whines and whimpers you can barely control. โThere?โ He taunts, and you canโt even speak as you nod desperately, drool pooling in the corners of your mouth before you clamp down with sharp teeth to your lower lip. โHarder.โ He orders, and his eyes settle solidly on the puffy pink skin, and he watches in delight when you do so without question, scraping your incisors into the cut as you tug your lower lip into your mouth. He groans shamelessly when blood pools to the surface. This is insane, heโs sure your mind supplies when he catches a flash of panic in your eyes as it beads up and drips down against your bound wrists, but the sight seems to make Six feral all over again.
โGood boy.โ He hums, beginning to jerk you off slowly, whilst using his other hand to pull your hips forward to settle once more over his own. โYou wanna do something for me?โ He groans at the awkward angle his head tilts at, the action pulls at sore muscles all across his shoulders. He allows himself to wonder, for a brief moment, that if this were a relationship, you would offer him the comfort of a massage. What a world it would be if he could come home to your tender touch each night. Fuck.
Whether itโs to ease the discomfort, or just to stop his mind from racing once more, he begins to change position. He wants to be on top of you again, pin you down to the floor to watch you lay vulnerable beneath him. He can keep himself in check, if he just falls into place- if he becomes the man the world believes him to be.
He manhandles you without a care, brows tugging deep into a frown, jaw clenching as he forces you onto your back, bullying his way between your thighs before you can even process whatโs going on. โHands above your head.โ Itโs nothing short of a snarl, and you do exactly as he says, flinging your bound arms up to rest on the carpet above you. You feel more open and vulnerable this way, and Six allows himself to revel in it. Heโs at his best when thereโs someone at his mercy. Context seldom matters.
โIโm gonna jerk us off together, yeah?โ Once more he doesnโt wait for a response, not that your hazy brain could supply one past a quick wide-eyed nod. โGood, glad you agree.โ His grin is wolfish, and lacking almost all of the warmth it had previously held, but it didnโt stop the coiling heat in your stomach. The fear youโd initially had of him had melted away into white hot desire.
He leans back, just enough to unzip and shimmy down his trousers to mid thigh, though his eyes donโt leave your body, assessing the way your chest is rising and falling. Fuck. Pathetic is too kind a word for the way youโre writhing about, hips bucking up into the empty air above you, desperate to seek some sort of friction. The sheer sight does wonders for his ego, and heโs glad to find that such honest desperation can come from something other than the will to stay alive. Youโre fighting and crying out for his touch, a release only he can give you.
The second your cocks bump together as he spreads your thighs wider with one hand, youโre practically a mess, and he laughs at the pre-cum already dribbling down. He wants to hiss something about desperation, but he doesnโt trust his voice to stay level, not with how violently his heart is thumping in his throat, so he settles for a groan of your name. โFuck.โ He follows it up with, reaching one hand to collect the spit and blood from around your mouth before pushing the fingers inside, basking in the heavenly feeling of your tongue swiping across the digits.
With a spit slicked hand he pulls back, just enough to wrap it around both of your cocks at once, beginning a slow taunting rhythm. โSix!โ He watched the way your back begins to arch off the floor, ankles coming to link at his lower back.
โYou want it faster?โ You nod desperately, and for that moment heโs grateful for the training heโs suffered through, because he so effortlessly sets a punishing pace that has you mewling and shaking on the floor.
โFuck- Six.โ Youโre way too easy, and he almost wants to laugh at how quick youโre brought to your peak, and he offers a small mercy of allowing you to lift your bound wrists back up in an effort to grab at him, leaving scratches across his chest where your nails find purchase.
โIโm gonna-โ He cuts himself short to rattle off a groan, head hanging low to watch where your cocks thrust together, both wet with a slick mix of spit and pre-cum, your tip seeping and red. โIโm gonna let you come- as a thank you.โ He pants out, slowing down just enough to rub his thumb along your slit, collecting as much as he can to smear across his own. โMy perfect little nurse.โ His hips continue to snap up almost in time with your own, and the feeling becomes so overwhelming you clamp down again on your lip, and the sight alone is almost enough to send him over the edge.
โCome on, come for me.โ He orders, his free hand that has previously steadied itself on your shoulder came to cradle your cheek. Almost tender, again, and he hopes you donโt notice the way he softens just a fraction. โCome on, come on.โ He repeats, collecting the blood dribbling down your chin on his thumb, before pushing it back into your mouth, groaning at your muffled whimpers.
โFuck-โ You gasp around his fingers, body spazaming as you cry, tears streaming down your cheeks. โSix-God, Six-โ You can barely keep up with his pumping fist before youโre coming over your joined bodies, spurts dribbling down his hand and wrist, mixing with the spit and blood in a way that makes his head spin.
Fuck. He comes alongside you with a surprisingly controlled cry, his movements continuing for several moments until your cuffed wrists push at his shoulder to stop. โSix-โ His brain had gone hazy, and he felt like he was outside his body as he pulled apart through his aftershocks. โSix.โ He barely notices the way youโre practically sobbing now, and it isnโt until you dig your nails tight into the flesh of his arm that he snaps back again.
โOoookay.โ He soothes quickly, suddenly terrified at the possibility of causing you any type of pain. Itโs ironic, for a man of his profession, but the thought of hurting you makes his chest tighten, and he once again overcorrects into a part of him heโd never seen before. โIโve got you, itโs okay baby.โ One hand gently pats your cheek, wiping away the tears that collect under your eyes with his knuckle. โItโs okay, itโs okay.โ He repeats like a mantra, and heโs not quite sure if itโs more for you, or himself. โIve got you.โ He makes quick work of unbuckling the belt around your wrist, and he feels a rare pang of guilt at the angry lines cutting into your delicate skin. โThere we go.โ He hums, smoothing a thumb across the marks, and he surprises even himself when he drags them up to his mouth to press a gentle kiss there.
In that moment he doesnโt care about the life he leads, whether or not heโs just broken the one rule of leaving no trace, he simply cares for the way you soften around him, allowing him to reveal a tender side of him that heโd once considered gone.
Courtland Gentry isnโt a monster in this moment, heโs not a killer or a violent man, heโs a lover, sweet and kind, hellbent on keeping you safe and happy. Court Gentry is a protector- not of money or property, but of you. Right now as he hovers above you, lips dragging across your wrists, he feels your pulse thrum against them, and heโs human again. Heโs no machine, heโs no asset to order about- to set on a stranger like a rabid dog. Heโs gentle, and kind. Everything he had once been in a time long gone by.
So he revels in it, the way you don't flinch away, you donโt pull back like heโs some sort of evil you want to escape from. You seek him out, leaning into his touch, shuffling in an attempt to get into his arms. You want him for all he is, scarred and battered, you donโt care as you sit up, linking your arms once more to loop around his neck. โSix.โ Youโre still panting, your hot breath dancing across his throat. Heโs human. Heโs human. Heโs human. He repeats in the back of his mind. Flesh against flesh, heโs clawing his humanity back with you in his arms.
โIโve got you,โ Itโs unnatural, but not unwelcome he decides, and it all comes crashing down as he realises that this cannot happen again. Never again can he seek out your gentle touch, your caring eyes and tender words. He cannot allow himself to soften, he cannot become weak and fickle, he cannot sink into something so vulnerable. Heโs not permitted to. Heโs not trained. โjust for tonight." He whispers into your scalp where heโs sure you canโt hear, and he promises himself he will be gone by morning.
Heโll allow himself just this night. Just this night.
Hihi itโs me again .. Henry seems to be inhabiting my mind as much as colt now I fear ๐
Would love, love maybe an aquarium date blurb with Henry Letham (this is really js based after that one scene where he presses his head against a glass n a walrus(I think? Not entirely sure, I may have forgotten ๐) kinda slightly crashes into it too) if youโre up for it? ๐ค
WHISPERS - henry letham x male reader
tags: fluff, established relationship, m!reader (no physical description)
a/n: two fluff fics back to back damn henry's never seen this much joy in his life.. might have to balance it out w some angst later on.....
w/c: 1.2k
โ๏น๏น๏น๏น๏น๏น๏น๏น
It was a wise choice to come here when you did: in the middle of the week right around noon. You don't frequent the aquarium as often as Henry does, so you trusted his judgement when he insisted on the time and day. For good reason, you were quick to learn, as the winding corridors of towering glass are as peaceful and deserted as ever. It's only the two of you and a sparse smattering of mostly elderly folk, quietly strolling past the massive tanks and paying no mind to the two young men weaving past them, brushing shoulders and sharing whispered comments at every exhibit.
It didn't take long at all for you to understand why Henry likes it here so much. It's easy to lose track of time, of the world outside here; it's dark and serene, cool beneath the blasting AC, everything a calming blue in the marine wing and warmer, earthier green tones in the freshwater area. The speakers are quiet, but the soft ocean soundscape they pour into every room only amplifies the dreamy sensation of walking through the vast, ancient ocean floor.
It's in the time it takes you to read a list of fun facts on clownfish that you lose him. You turn to where you'd left him across the room, peering intently at a school of striped fish whizzing around, but find the spot empty. You sigh, tucking your hands into your pockets as you head down the wide hallway to your leftโa wooden sign overhead indicating it as the way into the walrus exhibit.
You recall something about it being his favorite, so you figure if he's anywhere, it's probably there. The corridor isn't very long, but the light dies down significantly along its length, the black walls on either side of you growing dimmer with every step until it seems the deep navy exhibit is floating in an endless void.
Henry's familiar figure soon comes into view, a stark silhouette against the murky blue. Beyond him, shape misted and blurred through the water, a walrus drifts nearer, neck extending outward toward the glass.
His name withers on your tongue when he plants a tentative palm on the surface, as if creating a landing pad for the walrus' approaching snout. Endearingly, the creature redirects in response, and knocks softly against the glass behind Henry's hand. From there, its smooth body curls, propels itself along the glass. Henry's hand follows, though merely grazing it, surely so as not to smudge it with palm prints.
A fond smile curls at the corner of your mouth, warmth blooming in your chest, somehow both light and tightening at once. Henry walks alongside the walrus, his palm hovering just behind the breadth of its whiskers against the glass. Then, it withdraws, rolls over, and paddles gracefully back up to the surface, far above the ceiling.
You take this moment to finally approach, footsteps near silent on the carpeted floor. You allow your hand to find him before speaking, landing heedfully on his shoulder and then smoothing up to the nape of his neck.
"You never told me you're a walrus whisperer."
Henry's face is terribly soft like thisโbearing that soft, private look reserved only for you, tinted with amusement by your joke, and painted in shifting hues of deep ocean blue. His smile is slight, showing no teeth, but no less genuine for it.
"Never came up," he murmurs, mouth slanting fondly. He turns back to the glass, watching a second walrus drift past in the hazy distance. You watch him, instead, and the absence of tension or worry lines in his face, the soft sweep of his freshly-washed hair. Your thumb circles the base of his skull, twirling a dark lock around the fingertip.
"I came here all the time as a kid," he says, quiet, like he's afraid of shattering this fragile moment. Above, the walrus reappears, sinking into view with the lazy wave of its flippers. "I would just sit here for hours. My mom would have to drag me away when they'd start closing."
You chuckle, imagining the scrawny, bug-eyed Henry you've seen in so many pictures standing at this very spot, breaths fogging up the glass, peering up in awe at the grand, majestic creatures floating on by.
"I can see why," you reply, forcing your gaze away from the line of his nose to follow his own. The walrus bumps against the glass again, a slow collision softened by blubber. Beside you, Henry huffs an airy chuckle, reaching out again to let a few slender fingers trace the length of the animal. "I like it here."
He turns to you at that, brows twitching upward ever so slightly. He's always been somewhat taken aback by your interest in him, though you can tell he's been working on it as of late. While not as common as it was in the first months of dating, you still see flashes of it whenever you earnestly compliment his art or how he looks. Flustered, a little dumbfounded; adorable for the most part, but dimly frustrating that he expects to be faced with cruelty in every corner of the world, evenโhowever subconsciouslyโin you.
"You do?" he asks.
"Yeah. It's beautiful. Peaceful."
Henry's gaze sinks, focuses somewhere between his feet and your own, lips pursing as though he's chewing on his inner cheek. Your hand remains cemented on his neck, thumb never ceasing its soft, unhurried circles.
His eyes remain low when he speaks again after a brief lull. "Thank you."
You loosely squeeze his neck, hoping to meet his gaze. He keeps it stubbornly downcast, but turns his body slightly to face you. "For what?"
Henry shrugs, mouth curling at the corner. "Humoring me? You can pick the date spot next time, promise."
Only when you give a lighthearted chuff does he look back up at you.
"What makes you think I don't want to come back?" you chuckle, something easing off of you when he laughs, warm and at ease. His hand leaves the glass, comes up to hook around your forearm. "You might have to drag me away."
"I think security hauling both our asses out might be the more realistic outcome here."
You shake your head, fond, and slide your palm around to his chin, where your thumb finds purchase in the dip beneath his lower lip and you pull him in for a kiss. It's chaste but long; his lips yield easily to the press of your own, releasing a pleased sigh through his nose. He palms at the center of your back, fingers flexing weakly against the material of your jacket.
His eyes stay shut long after you break the kiss, as you peck his loose mouth a few more times, unable to help yourself. He only jumps back into motion when you move to pull away entirely, stroking up your back to pull you into his front, free arm soaring up to trap you against him.
He peppers quiet kisses wherever he can reach while not releasing you; your temple, your ear, into your hair above and behind it. You laugh, feigning a struggle for freedom, but Henry just smiles against your cheekbone and tightens the circle of his arms. Eventually, you settle with a defeated huff, chin propped comfortably onto his shoulder, hands slid into his back pockets.
You breathe inโsmell his nice cologne, sandalwood body wash, and a hint of cigarette smoke no amount of washing can fully remove from his clothes. But you can't complain, not when it's all so fundamentally him.
You gaze out the glass at the walrus meandering back up to the surface, then crane your neck to press a kiss to his clothed shoulder.
Top male reader+ bottom Ryland Grace + you choke him a little + unestablished relationship, but y'all are fucking + Grace is a loser, and I need him carnally, and I wrote this at 3 am + possible grammar and spelling mistakes because I am so very sleepy๐ this is lowkey a nothing burger
Grace has his kinks; heโs aware. Heโs no saint, he knows this despite not having the number of people heโs laid beingโฆ rather low. But that was irrelevant.
He likes a little praise, and he likes being on the receiving end. Simple! Easy to understand.
But somehow, his traitor of a hand always seeks out yours when you're drilling into his guts, dragging your hand up to his throat and wrapping your digits around it.
Heโd give you that oh so desperate look, that if he knew how teary eyed and pleading he looked, he'd probably curl into a ball from sheer embarressment. Luckily that look was reserved for your eyes only.
It would be cruel to deny such a gaze, so youโd tighten your grip on his throat, feel his pulse flutter against his palm like a trapped bird, and how his wall constricted you impossibly tighter.
The choked gasp heโd let out and the way heโd bite his lip like it did anything to conceal the giddy smile that spread across his lips was almost intoxicating.
It was hardly enough to truly choke him, but it did enough to make him dizzy and his thighs quiver around yours.
A pity that if you brought up this little enjoyment of his outside of the bedroom, heโd clam up and scamper off like a spooked dog.
Youโll have to find a way to corner him and ask him about it furtherโฆ he clearly likes being choked, what other depraved things could be stewing in that mind of his? Maybe youโll have to reveal a few of your embarrassing ones for him to allow you to pick his brainโฆ
rewatched nice guys last night and realized how many scenes there are where march's ass is just right in your face and it pulled a wire in my brain. i don't have a concrete idea in mind all i ask is march x male reader where we get to throw him around a little, mess up his tie, all that good shit
UNDERGROUND - holland march x male reader
tags: smut, dom/sub undertones, age gap, frotting, incorrect use of tie winkwink
a/n: oh anon this request was like saying all of a dog's favorite words.... this is a long one!
MINORS DNI
๐หโง๏ธตโฟ๏ธตโฟ๏ธตโฟ๏ธต
All things considered, Holland thinks heโs doing a pretty fine job so far. So fine, in fact, that this case is looking like it might be the quickest theyโve ever wrapped one up. It was only yesterday that he and Healy met up with the clientโa feisty young lady who suspected her kid brother was caught up in some nasty drug business, with such vivid orange hair Holland couldnโt help but ask if it was natural before they parted. Healy had kicked him sharply under the table, and the woman had merely blinked at him, grabbed her purse, and said, โjust find my goddamned brother.โ
If the kid really is balls-deep in any sort of clandestine organization, drug-related or otherwise, then heโs doing a pretty poor job at it; they only had question two of his friends to find out he frequentsโwith a rather methodical consistencyโan underground club in the Eastside every Saturday. Though they only acquired this pivotal piece of intel from the second one, the first had expressed his own concern for his buddy, and after some coaxing gave them the address of his "business partnerโ, whatever that means. The guy wasnโt sure what exactly they did, either, but claimed the guy was creepy and filthy rich.
So, if only to kill two birds with one stone, and because this case wasnโt looking like one that would require any backup, he and Healy split up: Holland looking for their guy, and March seeing what he could dig up at this elusive business partnerโs place.
The club really takes its underground title seriously, Holland quickly learns. It takes him a good fifteen minutes to even find the alley, at the end of which an unassuming pair of steel doors led down a steep flight of stairsโand then heโs in it. Brilliant, colorful lights sweep across the crowded space in cyclical routes, cutting through the blue-tinted darkness. Music blasts through deliberately positioned speakers, low bass vibrating through Hollandโs sternum while he shuffles through sweaty bodies and makes his way toward the bar. The dancing multitude is certainly to blame for the warmth hanging thick in the air, so Holland doesnโt think twice about half of the male attendees being shirtless or near itโclad in haphazardly chopped or lightweight materials that hardly pass as clothing, in his book.
He finds a gap between chatting groups at the bar, and flags down the harried bartender. He darts up to Holland, planting his hands on the lower side of the surface and leaning in to listen over the music.
โIโm looking for someone,โ Holland starts, fingertips tapping restlessly over the sticky wood. โHe comes here often, Jason Stewart? Might know him as Sonny? Yea high, red hair?โ
The bartenderโs face stiffens, then cements in a dismissive frown. He glances past Holland, waving down some waiting customers.
โOrder something or go, youโre holding up the line,โ he bites, defensive. Holland gapes, glancing over his shoulder at the line in question: a pair of young women conversing and lightly bouncing along to the music. One of them meets his eye, her hair cropped short against her skull, and upon sharing a look with the barkeep furrows her brows.
Right. So, this might be trickier than he thought. Might as well acclimate. He tries to refrain from drinking too much on the job after the shitshow that was the house party they infiltrated last year, but Holland reckons skulking around an underground disco asking for a regular by name, and without even having a drink isnโt helping his chances at success. Partygoers, from his experience, often arenโt too keen on selling each other out, and if not that, are often too drunk or high to offer any lucid answers; these, however, seem far more skeptical than usual. They must get up to some pretty sketchy stuff down hereโbut far be it from Holland to judge them.
So, he gets a beer. It wonโt be enough to get him drunk, far from it, but it'll hopefully make him blend in more, even though his outfit alone makes him stick out rather sorely.
He weasels his finger into the knot of his striped tie and loosens it slightly, eyeing the brightly or barely-clad attendees. He makes room for the two women and nods in thanks to the narrow-eyed bartender, before shuffling down the length of the bar. He ignores the terse looks flung his way, growing strangely antsy under the curious stare of a lone, younger man sitting at a stool, his expression not so much hostile as it is alert, discerning. Taking a sip of the cheap beer, Holland finds a relatively sober-looking woman near the restrooms past the bar.
His attempts prove fruitless there, too. Either she truly has no idea who Sonny Stewart is, or she has a phenomenal poker face; as heโs about to ask if she knows any regulars who might be able to help him, another lady strolls out of the bathroom. The first greets her with a hand on the waist and a private smile, andโฆ
Oh.ย
Oh, yeah, well, that explains it.
They saunter back to the dance floor, leaving Holland gaping and feeling laughably dense. For once, he peers into the multitude, really looks into it, and it only takes a few seconds to notice the unconventional pairs dancing together under the strobe lights.ย
What the hell kind of a PI is he?
Well, now everybodyโs caginess makes a whole lot more sense.
He takes a hearty swig of beer and sighs, more frustrated with himself than anything else. If heโd known he would be gathering intel at a gay club, he would have gone about it differently from the start. Now, he just hopes word hasnโt gotten around that a possible cop is snooping among them.
โHey, pal.โ
Holland turns toward the source of the unfamiliar voice. His gaze locks on yours, and heโs quick to recall your face as the one thatโs been watching him since he first approached the bar. Youโre alone, still seated atop a rickety stool, nursing a cocktail and leaning back leisurely against the wood. The high hem of your tank top reveals a narrow strip of stomach, and the tight material across your chest leaves nothing to the imagination. Holland squeezes out a shallow breath, and floats over to you.
โYou sure you at the right place?โ you ask once he stops, eyeing him brazenly.
โWhy's that?โ
โIs that corduroy?โ You push yourself off the edge of the bartop, reaching out to catch the lapel of his suit jacket and laughing when you confirm your suspicion. Warmth prickles at Hollandโs cheeks. He swats your hand away, grinding his molars when your lips seek out the thin straw resting on the edge of your glass, cheeks hollowing faintly in a lazy sip. โThereโs a sports bar one street over, in case you missed it.โ
He ignores your teasing, steels himself. โI just need some information, and then Iโm gone.โ
Your brow furrows, expression hardening under the glow of a passing blue strobe.
โYou a cop?โ
โNo,โ he immediately replies. โI mean, I was, but thatโsโthat doesnโt matter. Iโm a PI, okay? I donโt give a shit what you get up to down here, in fact Iโm all for it, probably, so Iโm not going to rat anybody outโโ
โExcept for Sonny,โ you butt in, cocking an eyebrow while you chew on your straw. Hollandโs mouth clamps shut, eyes dipping fleetingly to the soft shape of your lips, curled around the plastic.
Jesusโfocus. And heโs not even buzzed.
โHis sister hired us. Sheโs worried about him.โ
โUs? Thereโs more of you?โ Your gaze leaves his, turning instead to the open expanse of the club, sweeping across it with mounting alarm.
โNo! Well, okay, yes, just one, but heโs not here. Honest.โ He crosses his heart over with one fingertip.
You look back at Holland, brow set, and then reach behind you without breaking eye contact to set your empty glass on the bar. The motion makes your shirt ride up a little, and Holland makes a truly monumental effort not to steal a quick look at the sparse trail of hair leading down to your belt buckle.
โHis sister hired you?โ
โThatโs right.โ
He watches your face in the chromatic lighting, losing its wary edges and eventually settling into something more genuine. You wipe the condensation from your palm off against your dark jeans, sighing lightly.
โWhatโs your name?โ
โHolland,โ he breathes out, stiffening unconsciously when you lean in, elbows on your parted knees. โMarch.โ
โAlright, Mr. March,โ you say, and for whatever goddamned reason it makes his gut sink into a pool of bubbling warmth. As you rise from the stool, movements smooth and unhurried, almost catlike, you say, โletโs go somewhere quieter, hm?โ
Then, your hand is on his tie, and youโre all but dragging him through the club, not looking back for a second at the way he staggers after you, apologizing mildly when he bumps into a drunken partygoer.ย
The club is far bigger than it looks, and he wonders what the original use of the space mightโve been before it was refurbished into a secret underground disco. He reaches up for your wrist, though halts before closing the gap. The mild pressure circled around the nape of his neck, herding him across the dance floor holds him at an unbalanced, hunched posture, wholly undignifyingโand yet, it makes his head spin.
Down a broad corridor, you stalk past a file of closed doors labeled VIP, and Holland isnโt certain whether he should be thrilled or terrified. You stop at the end of the hall, where a piece of paper is taped to the last door, reading โCLOSED FOR MAINTENANCEโ, and without a second thought, you haul him inside.
Immediately, his back is struck against the closed door, wincing at the force and reflexively raising his palms in a gesture of peace.ย
โYou know I still donโt trust you, right?โ you say, voice stern again, though clearer now with the music and clamor sealed outside, muffled through the walls. He opens his mouth to reply, but your fist tightens in wordless warning around his tie, so he simply nods, meek. The heat in the pit of his stomach refuses to dissipateโthough this is really not the time for his fucked-up libido to rear its ugly head. โThe second I suspect youโve lied to me, or are in any way up to something that would put a single person here at risk, Iโll see to it myself that you regret ever coming here. Am I clear?โ
โCrystal,โ he wheezes.
At that, you press on a flat, sardonic smile, and pat his cheek twice. You donโt release his tie just yet, but when you pull him off the door itโs a morsel less harsh than it was moments ago. You whirl him around the small room, and then spread your palm to push him back into the leather sectional sofa, which he collapses into with a yelp. Now freed from your iron fist and stifling proximity, he breathes outโa little shaky, strainedโand lets himself look around the interior. Itโs nothing too special, a dim room with elegant leather seating, a low table before him and a small, slightly elevated platform at the very front of the room. You switch a light on, which only partly succeeds in illuminating the space; thereโs no overhead bulb, but many smaller fixtures throughout the room, the largest of which being a warm-toned, almost orange lamp by the door.
He notices, then, rather belatedly, that by some miracle heโs managed to keep his beer, clutched tightly in one hand. As you shuffle up to him and sit on the edge of the table before him, Holland downs the rest in a massive gulp. Liquid courage, and all that.
โAlright,โ you say, โshoot.โ
Right. Right, the case.
He clears his throat, scrambles to get his wayward thoughts together. First order of business: get the intel. Then heโll focus on the warmth flooding his cheeks and, mortifyingly, his crotch.
As it turns out, Sonny isnโt secretly smuggling drugs in clandestine discos. He certainly attends them, but the way you put it, he hardly ever dips into anything stronger than an occasional bump or two. A few months ago he met an older guy in this very club and the pair have only been seen together since.
โMy guess,โ you say, prying the empty bottle heโs been absentmindedly playing with from his fingers and setting it on the table beside your hip, โis he hit the jackpot: found himself a hot older guy whoโs happy to spoil him, and his sister notices him being vague, always busy, suddenly able to afford all these expensive thingsโฆ First thought, 'heโs dealing drugs'.โ
Holland sinks against the backrest, hands falling limp on his thighs with nothing to fidget with. An incredulous huff escapes him, looking off in the middle distance as he turns it over in his head. It makes perfect, logical sense.
โHow do you know all this?โ
You shrug. โWorked here for two years up until a few months ago. Marty gives me a discount for drinks and I still like to keep up with the long-time regulars. Word gets around quick down here.โ
โIโm sure.โ He looks back up at you, and a thought strikes him. โSo, what are the odds I donโt get jumped outside for looking like a cop?โ
You pull a deeply pensive face, head tipping with a long hum. โNot too good. Donโt worry, Sherlock, I can walk you to your car.โ
When you go to stand, Hollandโs chest seizes with something akin to panic. His hands shoot out, but hesitate to touch.
โWait.โ
You pause, already half-turned toward the door, and raise an eyebrow down at him. Holland scrambles to his feet, swallowing hard against the sudden dryness in his throat.
โThank you,โ he chuckles, aiming for cool self-assurance. โPretty much did my job for me.โ
Your mouth quirksโa flash of motion you quickly tame into a neutral politeness. You nod once.
โNo problem, Mr. Holland.โ
When his eyes slip again, down to the elegant curve of the smile you canโt quite tamp down, thatโs it. He canโt look away, can hardly blink. His chest feels shrunken, thready little breaths whistling silently out of him. He tries, with every ounce of rapidly dwindling willpower in him to meet your eyes again, to stop gawking at your mouth like some sleazy asshole, but his body appears to have incited a mutiny against his brain, because his heart is hammering against his ribcage, his gaze fixed inexorably on your mouth.
โJesus, sorry,โ he manages, just barely succeeding in pressing his eyes shut, chuckling airily again. He rubs circles around his eyes, pinches crudely on the bridge of his nose. โIโmโI donโt know whatโฆโ
โItโs alright,โ you hum, and despite your words you sound amused, almost mocking. Holland flushes even further. He senses you step closer, and keeps his eyes valiantly shut. When your hand curls smoothly around his wrist, however, they fly open on their own accord.
โI donโt even know your name,โ he murmurs as you lower his arm from his face. โHow old are you?โ
Your eyebrows rise slightly, smile sharpening.ย
โDonโt lie, Iโll know.โ
โAlright, tough guy,โ you laugh, a sound that thrums through him like a peal of thunder. โIโm twenty-five.โ
โOh, fuck.โ His head sinks between his shoulders, hoping the subtle lighting masks the color that must be flooding his face. The magma-warm desire steadily rolling into his gut has begun to spill lower, tightening his flared slacks around the hips.
โWhat?โ you hum, tone dipping teasingly. โThat doing it for you?โ
He chances a look up; your hooded eyes bore into him, open and undauntedโso bold with your want in the way one only is in their youth, and Holland is no senior citizen but heโs lived a dozen lifetimes since he was your age. Heโs learned apprehension. Discretion. At least he thought he did.
You step closer, releasing his arm, only to regrip gently at his jaw.
โYou ever been with a man, Mr. March?โ
Youโre getting cocky, he can tell. You donโt even know how old he is and yet, his reaction must have revealed it is not a trivial number. Emboldened only by his frustration, rather than answering you, he rushes forth, kissing the smug smile right off your face.
Your sharp inhale reveals your surprise, free hand flying up to his shoulder to steady yourself, but the other only tightens, pointedly angling his head and deepening the kiss. His own slide around the curve of your waist, settling at your lower and mid-back. From there, he pulls you in flushโand regrets it upon realizing you can probably feel him, already half-hard against you. He supposes the satisfied hum you push into his mouth is a response to that; he burns.
Releasing his jaw, you reach over to sink your fingers into his hair and catch them in a stern grip. Holland hisses at the lovely little pinpricks of pain it summons, and bucks automatically against your groin, where he feels you beginning to stiffen up, too.ย
You regrip abruptly, from his shoulder to his hip, and hold him steady in order to repeat the motion, grinding shamelessly against him. A pitiful little hum emerges from his chest when your hands withdraw entirelyโthough itโs only for a second, before they splay across his waist, his stomach, smoothing up then to push his jacket off his shoulders. Spacey with want, Holland blinks at you, lets you strip it off, hardly registering the delighted sound you make when you feel the shape of his pack of smokes in the pocket and whip it out. You pluck one out and hold it between your lips while you search for a lighter. Once retrieved, you toss the jacket onto the table, and without looking up plant one palm to his chest and shove him down onto the sofa.
โOn your back,โ you mumble around the cigarette, instinctively cupping the flame to light it. Holland moves off the backrest, swinging his feet up to lie across the cool leather. You pause, then, driving one knee into the cushion by his hip, taking a long, thoughtful drag of the cig, and then gesture silently at his shirt. He doesnโt need to be told twice; immediately he reaches for his tie and damn near rips it off. From there, he moves to the uppermost button, undoing it swiftly and fumbling for the rest.
Heโs fully hard by the time he shucks it off, left shirtless and flushed under your cool scrutiny. Something gleams in your eye, though, something hungry and satisfied, and then youโre moving, straddling his thighs. The bright end of the cigarette bounces slightly between your lips as you shuck your belt off, then his, and yank open his fly.
โGod, youโre easy,โ you comment offhandedly, dragging your knuckles down the shape of his length through his briefs, at the end of which a puny spot of precum has bled through the material. Hollandโs whole body quivers, biting down on the wobbly groan that slips out of him. In a rare show of kindness, you offer the pressure of your palm, pressed firmly against him, but it soon hits him that, with your weight perched on his upper thighs, attempting to grind up into it is futile. He writhes, hips pivoting side to side in a desperate search for friction, the ineffectiveness of his struggle only making him harder. Needier.
You chuckle, airy and light, and pluck the cig from your lips. You turn it over and let your hand descend to his mouth, where his head flies off the leather to take a much-needed drag. As you observe, he notes the thinly-veiled lust that darkens your gaze, sucking in a hitching breath.
As you pull it away, your other hand slides higher, sinking two fingers into the elastic of his briefs. Ash plummets onto the floor beside you, but you only watch him as he steadily exhales, smoke clouding in the space between you. Your eyes sweep his bare, heaving chest, and after returning the cigarette to your mouth you reach down, drag a blunt nail over his nipple. Holland gives a strangled grunt, involuntarily arching into the contact, hyperaware of both it and your second hand, slowly easing his briefs down, just enough to free his cock.
โNo fair,โ he grits out, panting. You tilt your head in question. โYou take something off now.โ
Your grin turns wicked, circling the stiffened pebble of his nipple a few times before leaving it entirely.
โYouโre cute,โ you say dismissively. Holland canโt help but feel patronized. He squeezes the outer flesh of your thighs, letting his head fall back in defeat. At the sound of a zipper opening, however, heโs quick to perk back up. You offer him the cigarette again, only to use both of your hands to push your jeans a bit down your hips, readjusting so youโre lying on top of him, knees bracketing his on either side. Your underwear follows shortly thereafter, but Hollandโs view is mournfully blocked when you duck your head to mouth at his chest. Your teeth graze his collarbone down its sharp length, pausing at the inner end to bite down, and then latch your lips over it, sucking leisurely.
โOh, Jesus,โ he breathes to the ceiling, choking on his inhale and, in a frustrated impulse, tosses the cig onto the floor. He grips your shoulders, your neck, the back of your head, hands flighty and restless, wanting to feel every inch of you as you pinch his skin between your teeth and roll it sharply. Holland muffles a humiliating whine into his fist, bucking up into your hip. He can feel the weight of your own cock against his stomach, hot and hard.
โShit, shitโcome on, cโmon, can youโโ he cuts himself off, not entirely sure what heโs asking for, other than get me off or else Iโll blow my load like a horny teenager.
You shush him, planting a wet kiss to his sternum before drifting back up to eye-level. You frown.
โWhereโs the cig?โ
Holland looks down. Quietly mumbles, โdropped it.โ
You peer over the edge of the sofa and click your tongue. Your eyes dart to him, then to his mouth. Before he knows it, three of your fingers are bullying past his lips, coaxing his jaw open.
Heโs already sucking them down by the time you murmur the order. A ripple of motion catches your eyebrows, and then you smirk, pressing down on the back of his tongue, drool gathering around the digits.
โSecond nature, huh?โ
Holland flushes, ears burning. He shuts his eyes and sucks harder.
For a minute, he floats through the haze of his bliss, lost in the simple task of sucking your fingers down to the base, gag reflex be damned. Maybe all those years of vigorously trying to scrub the bitter taste of hangovers off his tongue proved more beneficial than he thought.
Your thumb, in the meantime, traces his chin encouragingly, scratching gently over the stubble in a way that makes his chest loosen, push out a long, low humโalmost a purr.
โAnd here I thought youโd be too green to take them,โ you say after another brief lull, anchoring your thumb by the corner of his mouth to slowly pull your fingers free. Hollandโs eyes crack open, brows knitting slightly with the loss. A string of spit connects your middle finger to his lower lip for a long moment, stretching and sagging as you bring your hand down between your bodies. When it snaps, Holland shudders as it lands, cold, against his chest and chin.
Both of you peer down at your cocks, hard, neglected, and his own sitting in a mortifying pool of precum, one that gets a groan out of you when you notice it.
โJesus, youโre soaked.โ
Tonight is quite the educational night, Holland is quickly learning, as the simmer of humiliation under his skin rolls into arousal, and coaxes yet another drop to surge out of his slit.
You wrap your fingers around your own dick, slick with his droolโthe image makes him squirmโand drop a groan into his shoulder at the sensation. Again, his view is blocked, but the sounds of your low, muffled moans against his skin and the softer ones of you working yourself over paint a clear picture. Hollandโs fingers curl into your back, writhing, fucking up into empty air. A choked whine weasels its way up his throat, not knowing whether he wants more to get off or watch you touch yourself.ย
โAlright, alright,โ you pant, and within seconds Holland feels your fingers wrap around him, and the weight of your cock press against his own.ย
Immediately, heโs thrusting up into your right fist, chasing after the swift pace you quickly set. His toes curl in his shoes, all that static amassed under his skin rushing down into his cock, and from there bursting outward in bright flares of pleasure. He clings to you, seeking an anchor point in your warm, breathing, blanketing body, curled fiercely over him. He feels, suddenly, very smallโlike something so intuitive and uncomplicated it could be pulled apart and pieced back together without issue. And thatโs what youโre doing: prying him open, extracting piece by delicate piece with attentive certainty, despite the severity of your teeth bearing down on his skin and the near cruel amusement in your tone.
You tighten your grip around the heads, thumb gliding firmly over his slit, gathering more precum, and the blinding flare that whizzes through him could put fireworks to shame. Whatever urges he mightโve previously had to shy away from your hot, weighted gaze are nowhere to be seen now, as you lift your head and watch his reactions; squeezing, twisting your wrist, grinding against him.
Heโs getting loud, he knowsโamdist the rumble of blood in his ears, the slick sounds of you both sliding against each other, he can catch his wanton moans, his shattered grunts and whiny bleats.
โShhh, you want us to get caught, March?โ you murmur, dropping your weight to an elbow in order to seal a palm over his open mouth. After a moment, the glint in your blown pupils turns knowing, almost chastising. โUnless you want that? For someone to find us? To see you like this?โ
Holland makes a sound shamefully reminiscent of a sob, muted against your palm. His head twists, not trying to displace the muzzle of your hand but unable to resist the animalistic urge to writhe and thrash. Despite the sweat across your brow, the uneven jumping of your breathing, you look terribly composed compared to him.
โWell, we canโt have that. I want you all to myself tonight, okay?โ
Holland moans in response, realizing his teeth had captured a bit of your skin in a gentle pinch, just to hold something. You pull your hand away, wiping spit off on his cheek, and lean over, torso straining off the sofa. He watches your free arm extend toward the table, pausing your motions over your cocks for a moment, and when you return, itโs bearing his tie.
โOpen,โ you instruct, balling the tie up, and Hollandโs understanding groan is promptly muffled halfway when itโs shoved into his mouth. The material instantly soaks up most of the spit in his mouth, making his tongue feel uncomfortably dry. He runs it in tiny circles against the bunched fabric in an attempt to salivate and rid himself of the sensation.
Your fist continues pumping, then, and now heโs far quieterโstrangely soothed by the feeling of something in his mouth again.
Heโll analyze that later.
For now, your forearm presses against his bare shoulder, fingers tracing sweet, mindless shapes, occasionally brushing against the chain around his neck, the ring hanging off of it. You donโt ask, and Holland eases. Not that he could answer any questions at all at the moment, dead-wife-related or otherwise.
You lean down, kiss the stretched corner of his mouth, and tighten your grip between your bodies. The pit in his lower gut grows and grows, a simmering heat threatening to swallow him whole as the precipice makes itself known in the near horizon. He emits a long, wavering hum, hips rolling wildly, cock twitching and weeping another trickle of precum.
You say nothing, but seem to sense his oncoming orgasm, picking up the pace, squeezing his shoulder once. Hollandโs eyes burn with the sheer force of his mounting release, not having realized how close he was until heโs almost reached it, pulse throbbing against his breastbone, surely visible in his sweat-sticky chest. He breathes in, sharp and forceful through his nose, trying to keep his eyes open as they grow leaden.
It only takes one more squeeze of your deft fingers, one more press of your thumb to his tip before heโs coming, whining long and low through his tieโheat erupting from his groin and barreling through him in a tingling tidal wave of pleasure. It has his legs drawing up on a reflex, thighs knocking against your ass, neck straining back against the leather cushion as the sound dies out on the material and gives way to silent bliss.
The seemingly endless ropes of cum his pulsing cock offers makes the continued slide of your fist all the smoother. You work him through it, though the pace hastens, grows sloppy and erratic, and when he pries his eyes open, blinking through the mistiness, watches your face contort beautifully around your own release, uttering a fractured sound into the air.
Your hips roll steadily with each wave, and the feeling of your load landing across his stomach, over the mess of his own gets another pitiful mewl out of him, head lolling to the side. Your hand catches his jaw, abandoning his shoulder, and with a deep sigh you release both of your dicks.
First, you sit up, towering over him on your knees while you tuck yourself back into your jeans. Then, you repeat the gesture for him, and finally pry the tie out of his mouth.ย
โHope this wasnโt your favorite tie,โ you say, finding a somewhat dry edge to wipe your hand and his stomach clean.
He grunts, smacking his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
You lightly pat his flank once, before getting to your feet. The tie falls with a wet smack to the floor, by the half-smoked cigarette.
โYou planning on getting dressed, or I gotta do it for you?โ
Holland grunts again, and scrapes up his voice. โGive me a minute, Jesus.โ
You snort, finding your discarded belt and beginning to work it through the loops of your jeans. โOne good orgasmโs got you incapacitated, old man?โ
โDonโt,โ he bites, but the rawness of his voice kills any attempt at sternness, โ...call me that.โ He watches your fingers smoothly buckle the belt, fingers that were moments ago effortlessly plucking away at all his seams, unfurling him.
โI need a drink,โ you announce, settling your hands on your hips. โYou?โ
Holland pulls in a Herculean breath, and pushes himself up to his elbows. He shakes his head with great defeatโoh, the burden of having responsibilities. He checks his watch; he still has to meet up at home with Healy to debrief.
โNo, I shouldโฆ probably get going.โ
โOh, right. The case, and all.โ
He grunts, again.
โWell, I had fun,โ you say, turning back to the table and fumbling for his jacket. For a moment, he expects you to pull out another cigarette, but with a hum of triumph you whip out his wallet, and he stiffens. You pay him no mind as you begin rifling through it.
โ...Please donโt rob me.โ
โHere it is,โ you chirp after a beat, whipping out one of his business cards. Holland sinks, sighing shallowly. You scan it briefly, then tuck it into your back pocket, grinning. Then, you lean down, grab his face between both hands, and plant a long, wet kiss to his mouth. โIโll see you around, Sherlock.โ
SUMMARY: A night-shift doctor and a microbiologist are matched on a dating app not knowing their lives are already intertwined.
# # TAGS: Chatfic, Epistolary, Emails, Text Messages, Transcripts, Single Dad!Reader, ER Doctor!Reader, Teacher!Ryland Grace, Miscommunication, You've Got Mail Type Beat, Romcom-ish, Marissa is Mentioned
## WARNINGS: Minor Suggestive Themes, Canon-Typical Dread, No Beta The Formatting Was Driving Me Nuts, Please Pretend You Like Batman If You Didn't Already
NOTES: I had an insane amount of fun writing this. I ADORE EPISTOLARIES. Don't you just love media that makes you feel like you're in other people's business? No background is specified as to why the reader is a single father. The reader's daughter is unnamed, but nicknamed 'Birdie'. No use of Y/N, no specification of reader's height nor form. 3.k words.
Thursday, 8:54 PM
PetriParker:
Hello
Sorry, I'm a bit confused
I was scrolling, then this chat box popped up
B4tman_26:
I think it's because we 'matched'.
PetriParker:
Ohh
How does one 'match'?
B4tman_26:
From my understanding, you swiped on my profile and I swiped on yours.
Saw something we both liked, apparently.
PetriParker:
Ohh
B4tman_26:
Yes.
PetriParker:
Sorry
I make it obvious that I don't use these apps, don't I?
B4tman_26:
That's alright.
I don't use them either.
PetriParker:
My friend Marissa set this up for me
B4tman_26:
Does she also think you need to be 'putting yourself out there' more?
PetriParker:
Haha. Exactly!
B4tman_26:
My daughter feels the same.
PetriParker:
Oh, you have a daughter
B4tman_26:
Yes, I thought I'd get that out of the way.
Wouldn't want any surprises.
PetriParker:
Haha, yeah.
Thursday, 10:42 PM
[ PetriParker is typing... ]
PetriParker:
So, Batman?
B4tman_26:
Yes?
Are you a fan?
PetriParker:
Hmm
No, he's okay
I'm not really into DC
B4tman_26:
I thought so, Petri Parker.
PetriParker:
Haha. Clever, right?
B4tman_26:
Petri, as in petri dishes?
You work in a lab?
PetriParker:
Yes
Well, I did, but not anymore
I'm a microbiologist
B4tman_26:
Impressive.
PetriParker:
And you?
What do you do?
B4tman_26:
I'm an ER doctor. I work the night shift.
PetriParker:
Woah. Very cool
And intense
Ohh
Batman, because you work nights
B4tman_26:
You got it.
PetriParker:
Haha. I like that
I'm actually a bit surprised that you matched with me. I didn't think anyone would be interested because I don't have a picture of myself on my profile
B4tman_26:
I don't have a picture on mine, either.
And I thought me having a daughter would throw you off.
Yet here we are.
PetriParker:
Yet here we are
B4tman_26:
Why'd you swipe?
PetriParker:
Well, I didn't see your face
But one of your pictures was the best-looking casserole I have ever seen in my entire life
B4tman_26:
Are you a homecook yourself?
PetriParker:
The opposite, really
I kinda suck
But I'm willing to learn
Why'd you swipe on me?
B4tman_26:
The beach in one of your photos looked familiar.
PetriParker:
Woah. Really?
B4tman_26:
Really.
It looked like Baker Beach.
PetriParker:
No way!
It is!
B4tman_26:
Baker Beach in Cali?
PetriParker:
Yes!
B4tman_26:
Small world.
PetriParker:
Are you from the Bay Area?
B4tman_26:
Around there, yeah.
PetriParker:
Veeeryy small world.
Friday, 5:42 AM
New message from: Birdie ๐ชถ
Birdie ๐ชถ:
warmest greetings, father
You:
Morning, sweetheart.
You're up early.
Something on fire?
Birdie ๐ชถ:
no we're all good for now
i just wanted to ask you if you could pick up some eggs before you get home
You:
We're out already?
Birdie ๐ชถ:
yes i was baking last night
You:
What'd you make?
Birdie ๐ชถ:
just some cupcakes
oh and pls don't forget that you have that PTA meeting today
You:
Ugh.
Birdie ๐ชถ:
YOU HAVE TO GO
you've missed so many of those already
and mr. grace wants to talk to you
You:
Why? You're in trouble?
Birdie ๐ชถ:
no im not!
he just wants to talk to you so he can tell u how much of a cool and intelligent student i am
also because i was recruited into the academic decathlon team. i'm representing the science department
You:
Holy moly, really?
That's freakin awesome.
I'm so proud of you!
Birdie ๐ชถ:
thank you please refrain from saying holy moly
or freakin
You:
Which one's the teacher that needs to talk to me?
Birdie ๐ชถ:
mr. grace
he's the science teacher
he has to talk to you because of permission slips and stuff like that i think
You:
Which teacher is that again?
Birdie ๐ชถ:
the one with the glasses
You:
Not ringing any bells.
Plenty of your teachers have glasses
Birdie ๐ชถ:
uhhh
OH OH
remember like, two months ago
during the bake sale
he tripped over some boxes and stuff and you caught him in your arms and the whole school was talking about it for weeks?
You:
Oh
That Mr. Grace
Birdie ๐ชถ:
yes
You:
He's kinda cute, isn't he?
Birdie ๐ชถ:
WHATTTT
You:
I'm just teasing.
I won't miss the PTA.
Love you, Bird. Be home in an hour.
Birdie ๐ชถ:
love you too
don't forget eggs!
WAIT DAD
DAD
DAD
DAD
You:
What happened??
Birdie ๐ชถ:
did you get any luck from that dating app i set up for you
You:
Young lady, that is classified information.
Birdie ๐ชถ:
what the heck!!
i have the right to know
i am your daughter also i made the account
You:
I matched with a guy named Nunya.
Birdie ๐ชถ:
real mature
You:
Nunya business.
Birdie ๐ชถ:
that's not how the joke works. i have to ask you who nunya is then you say nunya business but otherwise the joke DOESN'T work and you are just lame
You:
It's genuinely too early for this.
Go away.
Birdie ๐ชถ:
DONT FORGET THE EGGS
Friday, 6:32 PM
Contact added: Mr. Grace
You:
Good evening, Mr. Grace.
Sorry about the whole fiasco earlier.
Mr. Grace:
Hi, good evening!
I'm glad my number works, haha
Oh, don't mention it
It's totally fine. It wasn't yours or your daughter's fault at all
Parents can be quite competitive when it comes to their kids
You:
You can say that again.
Mr. Grace:
Either way, nothing they could've argued was going to make me change my mind
Abby is a bright girl, but your daughter is an exceptional student
I can't think of anyone more fitting to represent the science department on the academic team
You:
Science has always been an interest of hers.
Mr. Grace:
I could tell
I appreciate you contacting me
It'll be easier for me to give you updates
The academic decathlon requires some time and training away from the school
You:
Of course. I don't mind.
I trust you, Mr. Grace.
Mr. Grace:
I'm glad to hear it
You:
Still stuck in the PTA?
Mr. Grace:
Oh, yes. I'll be here all night
You:
All night? I thought the meeting ended at 6.
Mr. Grace:
It should
But some parents tend to show up still
And if you're not available, they will be very angry at you
You:
How unfair.
Mr. Grace:
It is
And above my pay grade
But at the end of the day, they just care about their kids
At least they want to show up, you know? It's worse the other way around
You:
That's nice of you, Mr. Grace
Mr. Grace:
I should get going
I hope you get some rest yourself
I'm glad we were able to speak today
You:
The pleasure's mine.
Though I did have a few more questions about the training routine.
Mr. Grace:
Oh! By all means, please ask me anything
You:
I was hoping to ask you in person.
My hands are a little too full for texting at the moment.
Would you mind if I stopped by tomorrow afternoon again?
I'll be there to pick my daughter up.
[ typing... ]
Mr. Grace:
Yes, of course!
Nno problem at all
Come by anytime
You know where to find me
I mean, you don't
But I'll be in the faculty
You:
Alright.
Do you drink coffee?
Mr. Grace:
I like
[ typing... ]
I like caramel macchiatos
You:
That's cute.
โ Not Delivered.
Have a good night, Mr. Grace
Mr. Grace:
Good night
Saturday, 7:32 PMย
PetriParker:ย
What's for dinner?ย
B4tman_26:ย ย
Nothing special. Orange chicken.ย
PetriParker:ย
Oh wowย
That looks really goodย
If that's nothing special I can't imagine what you'd cook for an occasionย
B4tman_26:ย ย
And you?ย
Dinner?ย
PetriParker:ย
I spend an evening of champions
Noodles and night time telenovelasย
B4tman_26:ย ย
Sounds like my kindaโ night.ย
PetriParker:ย
Speaking of night, are you heading off to work?ย
Gotham isn't going to save itselfย
B4tman_26:ย ย
You're one to talk, Spider-man.ย
But yes. I'm heading off soon.ย
I eat dinner with my daughter before I start my shifts.ย ย
PetriParker:ย
That's niceย
B4tman_26:ย
How was your day?ย
PetriParker:ย
Oh boyย
Are we at the โhow was your dayโ part?ย
B4tman_26:ย
Awful, isnโt it?
I bet you've got a whole roster of guys asking you how your day was.ย
I, a mere fish in your sea.ย
PetriParker:ย
Hey, I wouldn't say โrosterโ
You make it sound like I've got them coming left and rightย
That sounds wrongย
B4tman_26:ย
So you have been talking to other men?ย
I thought I was special.ย
PetriParker:ย
Har-har. Very funnyย
This is a dating app, after allย
B4tman_26:ย
You're right. Fair enough.
That said, I've only had time for you.
PetriParker:ย
I bet you say that to all the other guys
B4tman_26:ย
I mean it. I'm a busy man.
How was your day?
Saturday, 7:40 PM
New message from: RYLAND
RYLAND:
I think I have a type
MARISSA:
Which is a miracle in and of itself
I'm guessing the dating profile's working out alright?
RYLAND:
Yes
I mean I get one or two matches a night, but there's this one guy
MARISSA:
Send me a picture before you say anything else
RYLAND:
He doesn't have a picture on his profile
MARISSA:
What
Rookie mistake, Ry
He probably works at a gas station
RYLAND:
No he doesn't!
Also I don't have a picture on my profile either, so we're even
MARISSA:
Then are you here to tell me that your type in guys are the ones you can't see
RYLAND:
No
Worse
[ typing... ]
I think I'm into single dads
MARISSA:
Oh my GOD Ryland
I mean I knew you had issues but
???
RYLAND:
Okay, listen
I worded it wrong
I don't like dads
I think I just like that they're responsible?
MARISSA:
So you've been on that app looking for dads ??
RYLAND:
No!
No it just so happens that the guy I matched with is a dad
And
I might be crushing on my kid's dad
MARISSA:
You're hopeless, Grace
You've got TWO?
Had fun at the PTA, did you??
RYLAND:
Hey it's not like I'm two-timing!
The other one's just a crush
MARISSA:
Jesus christ
We're in our 30s
We don't CRUSH on people anymore
Make a move for god's sake
If he likes you, he likes you
If he doesn't, NEXT
RYLAND:
I will NOT make a move on my student's father. That poor girl
But I have been flirting with the online guy if it's of any comfort
MARISSA:
It's not
But hey, at least you're out there
Tell me how it goes
RYLAND:
Oh god
MARISSA:
What
RYLAND:
I just realized something
Is this one of those apps where guys chat and eventually hook up?
MARISSA:
That's how a lot of dating sites go, but it's not always the case
You scared he's gonna book you a hotel?
RYLAND:
I just
Hadn't thought of it till now
MARISSA:
Relax, Ry
He can't make you do anything you don't want to do
Now that I'm thinking about it, it's a good thing you didn't put your picture on there
Just have your fun, yeah? That's the beauty of being anonymous on the internet
Saturday, 11:21 PM
PetriParker:ย
Can I ask you something?
B4tman_26:ย
Still awake?
PetriParker:ย
Yes
Oh, sorry
I forget you're on the clock
B4tman_26:ย
It's okay, I can talk.
What were you going to ask me?
PetriParker:ย
It's about your work, actually
What sort of doctor are you?
I mean I know you're an ER doctor, but do you take specific cases?
B4tman_26:ย
You don't really get to choose which cases to take when you're in emergency med.
My job's to get people stable.
I specialize in whatever comes my way.
Why? Need a diagnosis?
PetriParker:ย
No, just curious
B4tman_26:ย
Got it.
You're simply in an asking mood.
PetriParker:ย
It's for the Daily Bugle
B4tman_26:ย
What about you?
PetriParker:ย
Me?
B4tman_26:ย
Yeah, Mr. Microbiologist.
What's your specialization?
PetriParker:ย
Molecular Biology.
But right now I'm a teacher.
B4tman_26:ย
Like, a professor?
PetriParker:ย
No, I teach middle school.
B4tman_26:ย
Huh.
PetriParker:ย
What?
B4tman_26:ย
Nothing
I just
[ ... ]
What are you doing teaching kids with a degree in molecular biology?
PetriParker:ย
Felt like a higher calling, I guess
B4tman_26:ย
I see.
Saturday, 11:30 PM
New message from: RYLAND
RYLAND:
Is it unattractive to be a middle school teacher???
MARISSA:
What??
RYLAND:
Is that a thing that throws guys off??
MARISSA:
Maybe you got him imagining Miss Frizzle
Did you tell him you're a teacher?
RYLAND:
Yes! But I also told him I have a degree in molecular biology!
Shouldn't that cancel out??
MARISSA:
Heck if I know, man
OH, tell him you have a doctorate. That'll get him back
RYLAND:
Should I?? I don't wanna sound like I'm bragging
What if he thinks I'm trying to one-up him as a doctor?
MARISSA:
You might be overthinking this
RYLAND:
Mayb
WAIT HE SENT ME SOMETHING
Sunday, 12:01 AM
B4tman_26:ย
PetriParker:ย
Looks quiet over there
B4tman_26:ย
Oh god.
Now you've done it.
PetriParker:ย
What?
B4tman_26:ย
Don't you know you're not supposed to say that in an ER? It's like saying Macbeth at a play.
You've jinxed it.
PetriParker:ย
I'm sorry!
B4tman_26:ย
It's on you, Parker.
You're gonna owe me if my night goes bad.
PetriParker:ย
Oh, gosh
What ever will I owe you, Mr. Wayne?
B4tman_26:ย
I'm yet to decide.
PetriParker:ย
Seriously though, I hope nothing goes wrong
I didn't mean to say that
B4tman_26:ย
I know.
Just wanted to scare you.
What are you up to this late?
PetriParker:ย
Paperwork
None of which are due
I just like to keep busy
B4tman_26:ย
Looks like we're both relatively occupied, then.
PetriParker:ย
Relatively
Hey, you like Batman, right?
Do you also like Superman?
B4tman_26:ย
He's alright.
PetriParker:ย
He's alright, he says, in true Batman fashion
B4tman_26:ย
Batman fans are not famously Superman fans.
PetriParker:ย
What would you say is your 'kryptonite'?
B4tman_26:ย
Getting shot.
PetriParker:ย
Huh???
B4tman_26:ย
Kryptonite is the thing that kills Superman, right?
I don't respond particularly well to bullets.
PetriParker:ย
No, it's his weakness!
B4tman_26:ย
Okay well my weakness is getting shot.
PetriParker:ย
Quit it! You're teasing me
B4tman_26:ย
What's your weakness, then?
PetriParker:ย
Dads, apparently
ย โ Message Not Sent.
I dunno! I'm weak to a good jelly donut
B4tman_26:ย
Lame answer.
PetriParker:ย
How is that lamer than getting shot!
B4tman_26:ย
What is the context of this 'weakness'?
Like, is it a physical weakness? A mental weakness?
PetriParker:ย
I don't know
Maybe like
Things that you like in people? Things that'll have you wrapped around someone's finger?
B4tman_26:ย
Why didn't you just say that?
Okay, I'll give you a real answer.
Glasses.
PetriParker:ย
Are
Are you serious
B4tman_26:ย
Yeah. Guys with glasses.
Super cute.
PetriParker:ย
Hahaha
B4tman_26:ย
You?
PetriParker:ย
Guys who like Batman...
B4tman_26:ย
Do I have news for you.
Sunday, 1:34 AM
PetriParker:
Hey
B4tman_26:ย
Still awake?
PetriParker:ย
Sorry
Are you busy?
B4tman_26:ย
No. But you should be asleep.
PetriParker:ย
I can't sleep
No school tomorrow, anyway
B4tman_26:ย
I'll keep you company, then.
PetriParker:ย
My hero.
[ ... ]
You know about the Petrova Problem, right?
B4tman_26:ย
Pretty sure everyone does.
Why?
PetriParker:ย
I don't know
I'm just thinking about it tonight
B4tman_26:ย
Is it making you anxious?
PetriParker:ย
I think it makes everyone anxious
Still, does it ever feel weird that the world is just
moving on?
I mean, the apocalypse was announced and everyone's just going about their days
B4tman_26:ย
I know what you mean.
The danger isn't imminent, so people aren't losing their heads I suppose.
Everyone trusts that a solution will appear.
PetriParker:ย
Do you?
B4tman_26:ย
Trust in a solution?
Yes. I have to.
One way or another, it'll turn up.
Your professional experience and prior research history have been identified as relevant to an ongoing international initiative.ย
Our records indicate your participation in multiple research programs concerning human physiological resilience, including co-authorship on NASA-affiliated studies. Specifically, your contributions to the publication โEffects of Prolonged Circadian Misalignment on Cognition in Simulated Spaceflight Conditionsโ and supporting data analysis for simulated isolation environments (HAB-3 Cognitive Retention Trial) demonstrate direct relevance to current mission-critical human performance modeling.
Additional involvement is noted in data collection for the โโโโ Habitat Study on sleep fragmentation and cognitive task retention. In light of recent developments, these experiences warrant further evaluation.ย
You are requested to attend a consultation with representatives of the Petrova Taskforce.
Transportation arrangements will be provided upon confirmation of attendance.
Please note that details regarding the nature of this consultation cannot be disclosed through unsecured communication. A representative will contact you directly within twelve hours.
0:06โ โ โSTRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ This is Eva Stratt.
0:07โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Hello, Eva Stratt. No, I am not interested in selling my property at the moment. I keep telling my daughter to unlist our number from your site but she keeps forgetting to do it. Kids these days, am I right?
0:11โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Doctor.
0:11โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ And if you're not here to ask me to sell my property, then no, I am not interested in purchasing any of your products. Actuallyโunless you're selling washing machines. Mine just broke and I could use a new โ
0:15โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Doctor, I'm with the Petrova Taskforce.
โ โ โ โ โ I am not here to buy or sell you anything.
0:15โ โ [ SILENCE. ]
0:17โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Oh.
0:17โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ You are a very difficult man to reach.
0:18โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ I have a busy schedule.
0:18โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Not at the moment though, yes?
โ โ โ โ โ You've just finished your shift.
0:20โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ I don't like that you know that.
0:21โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Let me reintroduce myself.
โ โ โ โ โ My name is Eva Stratt, I am the Head of the Petrova Taskforce and I am calling you regarding a certain offer you've declined.
0:25โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ If you already know I've declined, why are you calling?
0:26โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ I thought I might try to convince you.
โ โ โ โ โ Change your mind.
0:28โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ [ BACKGROUND NOISE.
โ โ โ โ โ SCREEN DOOR OPENING,
โ โ โ โ โ DOGS BARKING IN THE DISTANCE. ]
0:30โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Doctor?
0:32โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Look, I've had this conversation before.
โ โ โ โ โ I've already spoken to one of your representatives. I attended the briefing, I read the files.
โ โ โ โ โ I am not interested, Miss Stratt.
0:39โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ No.
โ โ โ โ โ I called to help you understand the urgency of the situation; and why what will be done, must be done.
0:41โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Birdie.
โ โ โ โ โ Get down from there โ
0:42โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Your offer is no longer an offer and is now a mandate.
โ โ โ โ โ It is crucial that you comply.
0:51โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Is that your daughter?
0:55โ โ [ SHUFFLING. ]
0:56โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Yes.
โ โ โ โ โ Get inside.
โ โ โ โ โ I know, baby. I'll make breakfast. I'm just taking a call, alright? What do you want? Pancakes? Okay. Head upstairs for a bit, get your things ready.
1:01โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Do you love your daughter, Dr. โโ?
1:02โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ What?
1:03โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Your daughter.
โ โ โ โ โ Do you love her?
1:04โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ What kind of question is that.
1:05โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ You know what it is that we do.ย
โ โ โ โ โ You know what the Taskforce is for. You know what we're trying to resolve.ย
โ โ โ โ โ To avoid.ย
1:07โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ I do.
1:08โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Then you understand the urgency of the matter โ why I cannot settle for your refusal.
1:00โ โ [ SILENCE. ]
1:13โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ [ SIGH. ]
โ โ โ โ โ I can't be the only person qualified to do this.
1:14โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ You're not.ย
โ โ โ โ โ You are among a team of ten physicians.ย
โ โ โ โ โ All of whom will oversee medical protocol for astronaut training, including pharmacological management and physiological maintenance for long-duration transit.
โ โ โ โ โ We need to make sure our astronauts can make the trip in comas. Your research covers a good portion of this. The way I see it, you have what we need to get started.
1:21โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ That's ten physicians.
โ โ โ โ โ I say no, you've got nine more to spare.ย
1:23โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ No. Redundancy exists for failure tolerance. I need an efficient team and I do not have time for setbacks.
1:30โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ [ STOVE TURNING ON. ]
โ โ โ โ โ [ BRIEF STATIC. ]
โ โ โ โ โ [ RADIO IN THE BACKGROUND. ]
โ โ โ โ โ Well, I've got a problem, Miss Stratt.
โ โ โ โ โ Two, it seems.
1:34โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Do tell.
1:38โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ The first one is I'm out of butter.
โ โ โ โ โ The second is that I am my daughter's only parent.
โ โ โ โ โ I do not have any immediate family that I can entrust her with. And Iโm not leaving her with a rota schedule of babysitters while I disappear into Timbuktu.
1:41โ โ [ POTS AND PANS SHUFFLING. ]
1:56โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Joining the taskforce requires me to semi-permanently reside in the headquarters, correct?
1:58โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Correct.
1:59โ โ โโโโ:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Which is, from my understanding, a government facility the middle of the ocean.
2:11โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ Option one: she remains in San Francisco under full state supervision, including education, housing, and guardianship provisions.
โ โ โ โ โ Option two: she accompanies you under taskforce protection and receives equivalent care within parameters.
2:22โ โ STRATT:ย
โ โ โ โ โ I am not much for jokes.
โ โ โ โ โ Take the girl to the ship or leave her at home.
โ โ โ โ โ She will live either way.
โ โ โ โ โ The only circumstance where she will not is if you do nothing and aid in the end of the world.
โ โ โ โ โ Her world.
was wondering if youโd be willing to write something with ryland grace? iโm a sucker for angst + smut and u write both so well ๐โโ๏ธ maybe some post-breakup sex, or an established fwb situation where theyโre trying (and failing) to break it off? idk just spitballing, no worries if not :-)
ahhh!!! i'm very down, you're my first ryland grace req!! how do we feel about divorced ex's in the midst of trying to break off a weird fwb at the beginning of the probable end of times? because that's where your request took me
i'm glad you enjoy my writing/how i write angst is affective for you be i always worry about that coming across. and i hope it comes across here too - if not let me know, i take no issue with taking another stab at this! enjoy!
also i had a specific idea for a banner, so i made one - idk if i like it enough that i'll make a habit of it.
the weight of us
ryland grace x masc reader
cw: angst, sex (m/m, brief), unresolved requited feelings, pre-launch, slight spoilers for the book (a specific convo that happens in chp 1), abrupt ending (again, sorry, im bad at them)
taglist: @not-so-normal-wh0re
want to be tagged?
you never asked for the key back.
despite the heated words or snippy comments grace is usually greeted with, you never really thought to ask for it back. not until recently.
feels inconsequential now. grace will find himself himself back in your house, pouting and pathetic. looking for comfort in you. in the house he also called home for the better part of decade.
or he won't.
there's only nine, maybe ten hours left until it's announced. maybe less. you haven't bothered keeping track. you'll know when it's real in a way that holds weight. your phone will go off, flooded with emails and texts. from work, from loved ones. and then this will be real in a way that takes away all the weight held by that key. those packets you served him not too long after you separated. the litany of papercuts against your relationship that came before.
you're never surprised to hear ryland around the house. and you aren't surprised to hear him stepping out to your backyard, now. you just tip the bottle in your hand up to your lips, only about half ready for whatever trouble he wants you for. ready to endure the listening part, because that's about all you can give.
closing the sliding door behind him, trying to temper the snapping of the door against the hinge, ryland notes, it's disceptively serene out here. dark and cool with two of those old lawn chairs he hasn't seen since you first moved into this house together. bottles scattered around the legs of your chair, most still have the caps on, two don't. the one tipped over, a few feet away, like you'd tossed it and the one in your hand. something ugly twists in his stomach seeing you drinking alone.
then you glance back at him from where you sit. seeing you, that look. glassy and solemn. there's some joke there, that ryland figured only he could bring that out in you. it's a bitter part of him. the part that never really accepted it when you presented him with that stack of papers that meant the end of your marriage. that look accompanied them, though.
he can't bring himself to make any snarky comments when he sees the lazy flick of your wrist. a half hearted offer for ryland to take the chair next to yours. it's the closest thing to an invitation you've extended to him since before those papers. he wishes it wasn't with a "do you think this is the end?"
and for the first time since he sat down with her a few hours ago, ryland knows what marissa said is real. he knew it then, when she said it. she's not the joking type, but the sun dying? losing luminance. whatever.
it's.
it's a little out there. feels like it should be. and there's a gravity to that knowing, one that was offset when she mentioned you. replaced by that lurch in his stomach at hearing your name. that you were working on this. one of the first in the u.s. to volunteer.
certainly sounds like you.
ryland should've won an award for not leaving then and there. for not coming home immediately.
he doesn't take the seat, steps closer though. just behind your chair, squeezing your shoulders because it's familiar. the gravity of knowing is starting to hit him. "marissa says 'hi'," is all he can think to say, trying not to stare down the bottle in your hand.
"no, she didn't."
no, she didn't.
if she had a message, she'd tell you herself. you see her more than grace does with their weekly dinners. though, it hadn't occurred to you until now that ryland's isn't here for some petty grievance you have to bare through.
you lift a bottle to him, he slips in out of your hand. sets it down instead of drinking it. "let's head in, you seem tired."
one of your free hands goes to his, squeezing back. "i think it is."
and there's nothing.
there's nothing to say to that.
not a thing ryland can come up with. nothing more than a kiss to your head, like he used to. ryland cringes into it after he's leaned down, too late to stop muscle memory from taking over. "come on"
part of him expects a fight. or at least a line about boundaries. how he can't do that shit anymore. same ones he hears when he comes over, needy and far too desperate to think of anything but your skin on his. that he shouldn't keep coming to you to comfort all the anxiety and dread. all the lows that seem to flood his life. that it's grace's fault.
the petty arguments that'll stay forever unresolved and the rough sex that takes the place of any resolution. the late calls that used to feel so heavy, the simple questions about health. if he got that thing on his back checked out. if you've talked to anyone about that weird cough that started a few months ago. vague inquiries about work neither of you cared to answer (your vagueness leaves a pit in his stomach to think about now). and the awkward silences broken up by little details about friends or family or the news. that used to be the longest you'd talk to him. it was everything to grace.
still is.
he hangs onto those conversations, as infrequent as they are, as much as he can. sates some masochistic need in him.
that's all you and him are and grace knows that's his fault.
another part of him almost expects one of those lascivious thoughts shared from a flirty smile. always made him flush something horrible. encouraged something sadistic in you. back when you were that young outrageous couple. when he would've joined you without a second thought. when most monday mornings were spent waking up in the grass, hungover and still coming down from your highs together.
it doesn't come, this isn't like it used to be. you and him aren't like you used to be. you aren't twenty-something and tipsy on a work night.
there's just barely a nod. a quiet, "i wouldn't have," that ryland doesn't bother asking about. just hopes you catch yourself. that you don't continue that thought.
for a few moments you don't.
he pulls you to your feet, gets a step past the sliding door, into the kitchen before "if i had known, then-"
"but you didn't," he interrupts, "you couldn't. no one did."
there's another few moments. more than before. long quiet moments where it's easy guide you back to your room. not the master, not the one you used to share. that one's been locked, as good as exiled. you haven't been in there for about as long as ryland hasn't. you never told him that, but he's slept in your bed about as much as his own since the separation.
he brings you to the old guestroom that you haphazardly moved into. it's far too bare to feel like you really live in this room. that you exist in here. if he didn't tug you down this hallway, catching every half-assed complaint from your mouth in his more than a couple times a month, he wouldn't believe it.
"i wouldn't have made you leave, if i had-" you cut yourself off, suddenly. ryland doesn't have to look you, doesn't want to, either. he can hear it, he can hear you urging away the pressure behind your eyes. you've always been a little steadfast. the more resolute of the two. and selfishly, he doesn't want to see you like this. it's why he came, why he counted the seconds until that dinner was over. why he was quietly thankful when marissa called it early. and now that he's here, he can't face it. you.
your hands finding his is what does it. makes a glance last longer than he intended. you've always look so out of place in here.
now might be the first moment you don't. all those hushed words, "ryland." in your voice. there's that clinical sound that's always been there. it was there in grad school and it was there the day you went down to the courthouse, said those vows you both wrote, to a room of three. "stay the night."
it's there now. with something somber in it that makes your name drag out of his mouth, all too soft and pleading. ryland has never been strong-willed.
he'll never turn down that offer when it's from you. not when your skin is warm and ryland doesn't want to talk about any of this. not now, maybe not ever. not that it stops you. doesn't stop you from pulling him down into a kiss so plain. something without passion. with no energy behind it. something that's just a plea, as clear as his was. 'baby, please stay."
ryland's a very weak man.
a weak man that wakes up in your bed, reminiscing about how good your weight over him felt the night before. burning with shame over how much he's missed that, you, even in your more dysfunctional moments, you felt good. grinding into him, slow. deep. left him groaning out high and pathetic.
it shouldn't have been a thought in his mind, but he reveled in how earnest you fucked into him, how lethargic the pace is compared to what he's become accustomed to. loved being able to curl his legs around you, being able to savor how stretched taut around you he was, ryland's red. you've always liked him like that. it's never been hard for ryland to get more than a little rosy. your gentle graze over ruddy skin used to ease some of the shame that accompanied his blush.ย not now, though. there was the trace of your fingers down the lines of his face before you pulled him down. before any heat was pressed to that begging kiss.
ryland mimicked that. hands rested on your face, trying to sooth tension from it. it was the only thing that kept you from hiding away, from mourning along the flush along his collar bone. glossy eyes make him second guess if trying to hold your attention, to pull it towards himself is as much a mercy as he means.
your "i still love you," wasn't, you know that. but it was sincere. real.
that kiss that followed was too.
it was as much as an 'i love you,' as he could muster. it was a 'please don't say anymore,' too. you seemed to catch on that time, content to follow ryland's quiet lead. commands expressed in squeezes and gasps. in groans against your lips.
and for a moment, there was some peace. a thinly veiled and hiding tension, but a peace nontheless.
it's not one that lasts through the morning.
one that grace can't direct you back to when he wakes up to you more than half-dressed and rushing out the door, despite how badly you want to fall in line again. how badly you want to slip into old habits when your phone starts up. all those messages you knew would come, filled with problems and questions and hypothetical deadlines that only serve to confirm it's real. the sun, the petrova line. it's unavoidable and impossible. and real.
so he watches. watches you try to pull yourself together, watches you struggle through pretending not to notice he's awake.
there's so much to say. so much to explain. so little time and grace isn't wholly sure he wants to talk about any of it with you. it makes it easy to accept your awkward, "you have a key," before you leave.
PERIAPSIS. ( PART 3 ) โ RYLAND GRACE x Male!READER
SUMMARY: Murphyโs Law states that everything that can go wrong, will go wrong. Ryland Grace would like to have a word or two with Murphy.
# # TAGS: Semi-Canon-Adjacent, Longform, Male!Pilot Reader, Eventual Rocky (No Rocky Here Yet), Hurt-Comfort, Caretaking, Injury, Slowburn-ish, There's Only One Med Pod, Part 3 of ??
# # WARNINGS: Canon-typical Space Dread, Graphic Depictions of Pain and Injury, Broken Bones, Mechanical Surgery, Bordering on Medical Gore (?), Medical Trauma, Angst, Strong Language, Inaccurate Space Science, Not Beta Read
NOTES: Thank you thank you thank you! I have no words for all the love and support I've gotten. I am so very grateful. Like, WOW! As an apology for taking so long, this chapter is relatively chunky. I'm so glad you guys are enjoying this fic as much as I enjoy writing it. As always, thank you for your patience! 6.4k words.
PART ONE, PART TWO.
TAGLIST: @screechingphantommaker, @whoislio4
The outer hatch sealed behind you with a heavy thunk. The silence that came after was horrifying to Grace. He'd scrambled to get to the intercom, nearly missing the console as he rushed to a seat. He didnโt bother buckling himself in. He put his glasses on, eyes darting around the monitors as he searched for you on the ship's external feed. Eventually, he landed on a small moving figure on one of the panels. He gripped the console, leaning in.ย
Telemetry scrolled down the right side of the screen. Suit pressure nominal, oxygen nominal, heart rate slightly elevated. Grace heard himself sigh in relief. โThatโs comforting,โ he muttered. โYouโre only mildly terrified.โย
Your voice crackled through the comms. โI heard that.โ
Grace nearly launched himself into the ceiling. โJesusโ!โ
The tether uncoiled behind you in loops, its faint clinking traveling up the steel braid and vibrating into the chest plate of your suit. Beneath you, the hull of the Hail Mary stretched out like the white belly of some prehistoric deep-sea leviathan. Overhead, the infinite empty void of space yawned open.
Back in the control room, Graceโs eyes scrambled over the main console until they finally locked onto the small microphone. โHello?โ he said, quite frantically. โCap, can you hear me? Hello? Copy?โย
You smiled behind the glass, though your brows furrowed at the obtrusive volume of Graceโs voice. You were using a handrail to orient yourself as you began the slow hand-over-hand crawl along the ship's spine. โI copy. But turn your mic down a notch, you're practically inside my skull.โ
โRight! Sorry. Adjusting. Is that better?โย
โMuch.โย
โEverything okay out there?โย
โYou tell me, Doc. Youโre the one on the screens.โ Your laugh was accompanied by static. โSโjust dark as far as the eye can see over here.โย
โOh, god. Right. Okay.โ You heard him shuffling across the panels. โOkay, everything looks normal. And thereโs this radar here with a bunch of little green dots. None of them are near you. Well, there's one, but it's moving away. Itโs moving very fast. Wow, space is terrible.โย
โYouโre doing great.โ
The damage to the Petrova scope's antenna array was exactly as the diagnostic had described. The primary bracket was sheared through, looking like torn foil. The relay coupling, which was the little yellow case's counterpart, was warped. Its ceramic housing cracked open to expose a nest of severed fiber-optic filaments that floated like tiny transparent hairs.ย
โIโm onsite,โ you reported, hooking your safety tether to the anchor point. โThe bracket is compromised. I'm going to have to manually realign the housing before I can seat the new coupler. It's going to take some muscle. My telemetry might spike a bit; don't panic.โ
โCopy that,โ said Grace. You could hear him impatiently tapping against the console. โHey, can I tell you something?โย
โTalk to me, Goose.โ You unclipped the tool bag from your thigh and pulled out the pneumatic wrench. The work was tedious, frustratingly restricted by the pressurized bulk of your gloves.ย
There was a brief crackle of static as Grace took a breath. โIโm terrified of heights.โย
A soft chuckle huffed out of you, echoing inside your helmet. โIf it makes you feel any better, thereโs no up and down out here. Technically, no such thing as โheightโ either. Thereโs no floor to catch you and no floor to fall from. Weโve got a trillion miles of absolute nothing in every direction.โย
It took a while for him to respond. โYou seriously thought that would make me feel better?โย
Every action required an equal and opposite reaction; if you turned the wrench too hard without anchoring your hips, your whole body would swing around the bolt like a pendulum. For five agonizing minutes, the only sounds were the rhythmic whir-snap of the tool, the steady hiss-click of your suit's oxygen regulators, and Grace's occasional, anxious updates.
โDebris field is clear,โ he said. Heโd begun chewing on a Twizzler that heโd found floating over the panels. โHull pressure is rock solid... You've got a slight temperature spike in your left glove, is that normal?โ
โYeah. Friction from the wrench. Keep watching.โ
โCopy.โ
You pulled the cracked coupling free. It drifted away on a short wire lanyard until you clipped it to your tool belt, replacing it with the pristine, yellow-housed component Grace had retrieved for you. It slid into the slot with a gratifying mechanical clack.
โCoupler is seated,โ you grunted, bracing your knees against the hull as you reached for the locking lever. โEngaging the primary seal now.โย
As you worked, the cause of the damage became clear. The tricky thing about traveling at the speed of light was that any loose debris you met had the calibre of a bullet. The ship's primary defense was its massive sacrificial bumper, designed to absorb the brutal kinetic energy of cosmic dust. But with the ship now in orbit, (or settling into orbit) there was hardly a need to be wary of such dangers.ย
Unless of course, instead of the ship propelling towards the debris, the debris was coming at you.ย
โSomethingโs wrong.โ Grace sat up from his chair. โIโm getting alarms, Cap. Foreign objects detected? This wasn't here before. What the โ Oh, god the green dots in the radar earlier โ thereโs a cluster of them now. Heading to you!โย
Your head snapped up. You didn't waste time looking at the void; you wouldnโt see projectiles traveling at kilometers per second until they were already tearing through you. โHow long?โ you barked, having already abandoned the wrench.ย
It didnโt make sense to Grace. How was it coming so fast? How had Mary not seen it sooner? โFive seconds! Fourโ!โย
You unhooked your knees from the cleats and threw your weight downward. You tried to tuck your body behind the thick, reinforced structural rib of the Petrova scope's primary housing. It was the only substantial piece of shielding within arm's reach. You pulled yourself in, curling into a tight, desperate ball against the hull. But you were a fraction of a second too late. A soundless flurry of violence erupted around you. A spray of cosmic gravel shredded the space where you had just been floating. It didn't make a sound in the vacuum, but you felt it โ a series of sharp, rhythmic thuds vibrating violently through the metal hull beneath your chest. Bright sparks danced across your visor as particles vaporized against the ship's skin.
Then came the impact.
A blinding spike of agony caught your trailing left arm. One of the larger fragments slammed directly into your sleeve. Your dutiful EVA suit refused to breach, and as a result, trapped the force into your forearm and shattered the bone under your skin.ย
The strike spun you against your tether until your helmet snapped against the hull. You couldnโt tell if you were screaming. You were deaf to the world, hearing only the sharp singing of your broken arm.ย
You gasped for air, spots dancing in your eyes. You clutched your shoulder and pulled your wrist toward your chest. The pain was a sickening, throbbing white-hot fire radiating towards your entire torso. You forced your eyes to focus on the flashing HUD data overlaying the dark void.
SUIT PRESSURE: 14.7 PSI (STABLE)
O2 SUPPLY: NOMINAL
INTEGRITY: 100%
The ringing in your ears gradually subsided. In its place, came Graceโs frantic calls.ย
โCap! Cap!โ He was screaming into the microphone, his voice slightly distorted by the volume. โI lost your vitals โ no, wait, your heart rate is at 180! The suit sensors โ is there a breach? Tell me there's no breach. Talk to me!โ
The multi-layered Kevlar and reinforced polymer weave of the sleeve had held, absorbing the brunt of the hit without puncturing. But the sheer force of the impact had transferred straight through the insulation.ย ย
โNoโฆ no breach,โ you squeezed through gritted teeth. You pressed your forehead against your visor, sweating profusely. โSuitโsโฆ suitโs whole, Grace.โย
Grace didnโt realize he was already crying. He angrily wiped his tears away with his fist. Now was not the time. โOkay.โ He sniffled. โOkay. Come back. Forget the antenna, come back now.โย
โMy arm,โ you groaned. A choked sound escaped your throat as the throbbing intensified. Inside the rigid, heavy suit, you tried to move your hand and immediately regretted it as a fresh wave of agony made your stomach churn. โMy arm's broken. I canโt move it.โย
Grace paled.ย
It took everything in you not to vomit. In zero gravity, a broken arm wasnโt a weight-bearing problem, but a physics problem. Every time you hauled your weight forward with your single good hand, the lack of a counter-stabilizing grip sent your lower body swinging. You kept your injury as close to your body as possible, but the shattered bones under your skin felt as though they were grinding together with sickening, wet friction. You had to time each pull, slowly dragging yourself along the handrails, knowing that one missed grip meant hurtling into the void.
โI see you.โ Graceโs trembling voice snapped you out of the haze. โI-I see you, Cap. Youโre doing great. Youโre past the thrusters. Just six meters to the airlock.โ He was lying. It was eight meters. But he needed the distance to be shorter, if only to keep his own lungs from seizing up. He felt completely and utterly useless.
โTell meโฆ tell me about the radar,โ you panted, your voice cracking as you reached for the next magnetic cleat. You needed a distraction. You needed him to talk. โAnyโAny more debris?โย
Grace snapped his eyes to the screens. He blinked back the tears that blurred his vision. โNo. Nothing. Itโs clear. Youโre safe, I promise.โย
โGood.โ You laughed weakly. โBecause I donโt think I have another dodge in me, Doc.โย
โDonโt talk, just focus on the rails,โ Grace pleaded. His breath shuddered. โYouโre almost there. Just come inside. Please, just come inside.โย
When you got closer towards re-entry, Grace abandoned his station and rushed to the nodes to get you.ย
The internal airlock door hadnโt finished its depressurization but Grace was already throwing it open. The sudden rush of cabin air swirled around your helmet. You barely registered it. You were slumped against the bulkhead, your right hand locked onto an emergency handle in a death grip while your left arm hung weightless.
โโOh my god, oh my god, Iโve got you,โ Grace lunged into the airlock, his hands trembling so violently he could barely get a purchase on your suitโs latches.
โHe didn't bother with the full decompression protocol. With a frantic grunt, he popped the seals on your helmet and yanked it free. The sudden rush of cool, recycled ship air hit your sweat-drenched face, but the relief was instantly swallowed by a wave of vertigo. The cabin was spinning.
โโCan you talk? A-Are you going to pass out?โ Graceโs face was inches from yours, his eyes wide and panicked behind his crooked glasses.
โโDon'tโฆ don't touch the left sleeve,โ you wheezed, your voice a ragged whisper. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. โJust get meโฆ out of the suit.โ
โIt was anything but careful. In microgravity, maneuvering a dead-weight human body out of a rigid multi-layered EVA suit was an Olympic sport. Doing it while trying not to jostle a shattered forearm was competing in the finals. Grace worked like a man possessed, unclipping the torso restraints and peeling the heavy material down past your hips, steering entirely clear of your left side.
โWhen your left arm finally slid free of the inner lining, a sharp, ragged gasp tore from your throat. Without the stiff structure of the suit to hold it, the arm deformed โ bending at a sickening, unnatural angle between the wrist and the elbow.
โGrace let out a small, horrified squeak, the blood draining from his face. โOh, Jesus. Okay. Don't look at it. Just look at me.โ
โHe grabbed your right hand and draped your good arm over his shoulders, anchoring his arm around your waist to keep you from drifting. โWe need to get to the lab. The med bay. Hold onto me, okay? Just hold on.โ
โThe journey through the narrow, cylindrical corridors of the Hail Mary was an exercise in pain. Without gravity to keep you grounded, every movement required momentum. Every shift was an enemy. Grace used his free hand to pull both of your masses along the guide rails, but he wasnโt a trained astronaut; his movements were jerky and frantic.
โWith every forward lurch, your lower body drifted, and the momentum transmitted straight up your torso to your dangling left arm. The shattered ends of your bones shifted and ground against each other inside your swollen skin.
โโWaitโGrace, stop, stop,โ you choked out, your eyes squeezing shut as a violent wave of nausea hit you. Your stomach convulsed, and you had to swallow down the bitter taste of bile. If you vomited in zero gravity now, youโd choke on it.
โโStopping! Iโm stopping!โ Grace slammed his hand onto a handrail, bringing both of you to a sudden, jarring halt.
โThe abrupt deceleration sent a searing shock of lightning straight up your arm and into your brain. Your vision completely blew out into a roaring haze of grey static. You felt your knees buckle into the empty air, your chin dropping against Graceโs shoulder as you shivered from deep, systemic shock.
โโHey, hey! Stay with me!โ Graceโs voice sounded like it was underwater, echoing from the end of a long tunnel. He was panicking, his grip tightening around your waist as he began hauling you forward again, much faster now, his breaths coming in ragged, terrified gapes. โWeโre almost there. Come on, don't pass out on me yet. I can't do this by myself!โ
โYou couldn't answer. You could only press your face into the fabric of his jumpsuit. Your right hand clutched his shoulder so hard your fingers cramped, riding out the humming aches as he dragged you through the hatchway of the infirmary. For what it was worth, it felt good to be held. You kept your cheek against Grace's shoulder, relishing in what little relief his presence brought.ย
โโOkay, okay.โ Grace set you down on one of the cots. Under the infirmaryโs fluorescent lights, the unnatural color your arm was turning became impossible to ignore. He did his best not to look at it as he strapped you down.ย
Your head lolled as he moved. โGrace,โ you called weakly.ย
His eyes snapped to you. โYes? Yes? What's wrong? It's gonna be okay, we're gonna fix this, okay? Hang on. I'll fix it, I promise.โย
You couldn't even remember why you said his name. You supposed you just wanted to see his face. Dazed and weakened by the deafening pain, you sought comfort in having his attention. At least you weren't alone, you thought. You couldn't imagine going through something like this by yourself.ย
As the final strap clicked into place, securing you firmly against the cot, a chime sounded overhead. Mary's perfectly modulated voice echoed through the small room.
โโWarning. Biometric anomaly detected. Commanding Officer: heart rate: 178 beats per minute. Respiration: elevated. Severe localized trauma identified in upper left extremity.โ
โโYeah, no kidding!โ Grace yelled at the ceiling, using the back of his arm to wipe a mix of sweat and tears from his face. โUhโฆ Uh, initialize medical assessment protocol!โย
โWith a heavy hydraulic hiss, a panel in the bulkhead beside the cot slid open. Out glided Armando, the ship's sleek, segmented contraption of aluminum and white polymer, tipped with a precise multi-jointed hand.ย
โArmando didn't have a face, but the way its optical sensors whirred and clicked as they focused on your left arm felt intensely invasive. The robotic hand hovered a mere inch above your swollen, distorted forearm. A thin line of green laser light swept down from your elbow to your wrist, mapping the grotesque S-shape of the fractured bone beneath the skin.
โYou hissed through your teeth, flinching away even though the machine hadn't actually touched you.
โโAssessment complete,โ Mary reported. โDisplaced compound-adjacent fracture of the left radius and ulna. High risk of compartment syndrome. Radial artery compression detected. Peripheral blood flow to left distal extremity is critical. Immediate manual reduction required to prevent permanent tissue necrosis.โ
โGrace stared at the diagnostic monitor, his face losing what little color it had left. โNecrosis? No, no, no... Okay, uh, Mary, initiate automated analgesic protocol? Give him the good stuff, knock him out!โ
โโRequest denied,โ Mary responded instantly. โMechanical failure detected in primary intravenous delivery valve. Fluid line pressure: insufficient. Administered dosage of localized analgesic: 0.05 milligrams. Maximum threshold reached for current capacity.โ
โโWhat do you mean threshold reached?!โ Grace slammed his fist against the medical console. โOverride it! Bypass the valve!โ
โGrace,โ you choked out. โSomething's blocking the valve. It's not gonna work till you fix it.โย
โThe infirmary lapsed into a terrifying silence, save for the rhythmic, high-pitched beeping of your spiking heart rate. Armandoโs robotic hand retracted slightly, twisting its joints into a waiting posture, as if acknowledging its own inability to fix the mechanical jam.
โGrace turned his head to look at you. โOkay, so I'll fix it. I-I'll fix the valve.โย
โFix it later,โ you told him. โRight now you have to activate the centrifuge. We need gravity for the rest of the infirmary to be operational. C-Can you do that for me?โย
Grace nodded. He asked you to stay still, then he was gone.ย
Grace had been out of your sight for no more than two minutes, but it was hard to gauge time with how incessantly your arm was burning. It felt like forever. It felt like he'd never return. You breathed shallowly in your cot as you stared up at the ceiling and did your best to stay conscious.ย
Then, the world shifted. You held your breath, thinking it was another wave of vertigo. But then your hair fell over your face and you realized that gravity was making a cautious return. Up and down were re-established in a slow, careful descent.ย
It felt good to be oriented, but worse to feel pressure against your broken arm. You let out a strangled, breathless cry, your right hand instantly locking onto the metal frame of the cot as the extra weight crushed you into the mattress. Your vision, already swimming with static, began to fade into darkness.
โโI know, Iโm sorry, Iโm sorry!โ Grace yelled, stumbling as his own feet slammed into the newly formed floor. He nearly ran into your bed upon his return. His glasses slid completely off his nose, dangling from one ear. โI did it. Gravity stable. What now?โ
โShit.โ You gasped. โShit, shit, shit.โ You inhaled a deep, unhelpful breath. โGrace, you have to set my arm.โย
โWhat?!โย
โYou do. You have to do it. Armando's not going to with that broken valve. You need to set my arm before he can operate.โ You held your good hand out as if to stop him from bolting. โYou just โ i-it's just one big snap into place, okay? Then I'll pass out, then you can fix the valve.โย
โYou're insane!โย
โI'm out of options, Grace!โ You were hyperventilating by then. The monitors next to you were going haywire. โYou can do this.โ
Grace tugged on his hair. He was going to be sick. โCan't I just fix the valve first?โย
โNo!โ you yelled. He hadn't heard you yell that loud before. โNo. Please. Set the arm. I want this over with. It hurts. If you take any longer the injury will be irreparable. You have to do it.โย
Grace froze, momentarily shaken by the desperation in your voice. โHe looked at your face, streaked with sweat, pale with shock, twisted in an agony he doubted he could comprehend. He inhaled a deep, steadying breath. This was the least he could do.ย
โโOkay,โ Grace breathed, his voice suddenly losing its frantic pitch. He swiped his dangling glasses off his ear and shoved them into his jumpsuit pocket. He didnโt want a clear view of this. โOkay. Iโm going to do it.โ
โHe stepped to the side of the cot, his boots slamming heavily against the floor. He positioned himself over your left arm. Up close, under the harsh infirmary lights, the distortion was stomach-turning. The sharp, jagged edge of the radius was pushing so hard against the underside of your skin that the tissue was white and bloodless, a mere breath away from tearing through.
โโHold onto the rail with your right hand,โ Grace commanded, hands hovering over you. โDon't let go. Donโt move.โย
โYou locked your right fingers around the cold titanium frame of the medical bed. You closed your eyes, squeezing so hard your face creased. You took one last ragged breath. โDo it.โ
โGrace didn't give you a countdown. He knew if he paused, heโd lose his nerve.
โHe clamped his left hand firmly just above your elbow, pinning your upper arm against the mattress to anchor it against the crushing centripetal force. With his right hand, he gripped your wrist, his fingers locking tightly over your cold, purple-tinged skin. โThen, with a guttural grunt of exertion, Grace leaned his entire body weight backward, pulling your wrist down and away from your shoulder with everything he had.
โThe universe fractured.
An ungodly wet grinding screech echoed within the flesh of your arm as the overlapping, shattered ends of the radius and ulna were forcefully dragged back past one another. The sharp shards of bone plowed through muscle and fascia. โA raw, piercing scream tore from your throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated torment that vibrated through the metal frame of the bed. Your spine violently arched off the cot, fighting against the padded restraint straps as every nerve ending in your upper body flared into a blinding nova of pain.
To Graceโs horror, the job didnโt end there. He felt the horrific, structural resistance of the bones, and with one final, agonizing heave, he gave the wrist a sharp, aligning twist.
โSNAP.
โA heavy, sickening thud reverberated through your arm as the two main shafts of the bone finally slid back into their parallel tracks. Instantly, the pressure on the radial artery released, and a hot, throbbing rush of restricted blood surged back into your fingertips.
โAt the exact same moment, the automated splint on the counter sensed the alignment. With a sharp hydraulic click, it shot forward, wrapping around your forearm and clamping down to lock the newly straightened limb into place.ย
โBut you didn't feel the splint. The overload to your nervous system was too much. Your eyes rolled back, your grip on the metal rail went completely slack, and your head fell heavily to the side. The world mercifully went black, plunging you into deep, silent unconsciousness.ย
โOn the monitor, your heart rate plummeted from its frantic peak, settling into a steady thumping.
โGrace let go of your wrist, stumbling backward until his back hit a wall. He slumped down against it, sliding to the floor, his chest heaving as he stared at his trembling, sweat-slicked hands. He was hyperventilating, crying, tugging on his hair again. He wanted to throw up. But he also wanted to be sure you were alright.ย
โAbove him, Maryโs voice chimed with a serene indifference. โVascular occlusion resolved. Distal blood flow restored to 100%. Bone alignment within acceptable parameters.โ
โGrace sat there for a moment longer, timing his breaths to the steady beeping of your heart rate.ย
โโRight,โ he choked out, aggressively wiping his cheeks as he forced himself back up. โNot done.โย
Compared to the horror of setting your bones with his bare hands, fixing the valve was a walk in the park. Mary had been there to guide the repair, and soon enough the rest of the medical systems were operational. More hands protruded from the cot. They snipped your shirt off and injected you with needles and tubes. Armando wore an oxygen mask over your peaceful face. They whirred and hummed and then a scalpel was slicing through your skin.ย
Grace did not do well with blood. Back on Earth, he felt dizzy at the sight of a drop. But he could not look away from you. He held himself as he stood over your unconscious body and watched as mechanical arms operated on yours. He didnโt leave until the process was done. It had taken hours, and the balls of his feet had ached and numbed, but he wasnโt satisfied until he had confirmation that you were stable.ย
When the tension finally bled out of him, it hit his knees first. Grace sank straight into the floor, head dropping to his hands. He cried into the ground and stayed there until he could cry no longer. His lungs burned with a weariness that felt heavier than any force the ship could pull.ย
He didnโt think about going back to his quarters. Instead he dragged his blanket and pillow from his bed and pulled them through the corridors, clumsy in his exhaustion. He laid them out on the floor beside your cot and collapsed there. He wedged himself into the tight gap between your bed and the diagnostic console. The space was cramped and ridiculous for a man of his size, but it was the only place he could bear to be.ย
Lying there on his side, his cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pillow, he stared up at the underside of your cot. The position was devastatingly familiar.
It brought him right back to those terrifying first weeks. The fog of his amnesia had been so thick and suffocating, and you had been nothing more than a stranger with a stable heartbeat on a monitor. He remembered watching you until his eyes could no longer do so. Now, he would do it again. He would wait for you to wake up no matter how long it took.ย
The hours blurred into a disjointed montage of isolation.
Grace lost track of the ship's artificial day-and-night cycles. He lived in the increments between your medical readouts. Every three hours, the overhead console would hum, cycling a fresh dosage of targeted analgesics into your IV line. Grace would instantly sit up at the sound, his eyes scanning the data, verifying the diagnostics and checking your skin temperature before allowing his head to drop back onto his pillow.
He tried to pass the time. He brought your navy moleskine notebook into the bay, holding it under the dim tertiary lights. He traced the crude, jagged diagrams of Astrophage membranes and Petrova formulas he had scrawled just days before. He filled the empty margins with frantic sketches and lists โ anything to keep his brain moving. But the science felt flat, and the math was useless. He felt as though the universeโs worth had shrunken down to the hitching breaths of the man on the bed next to him.ย
He ate his space ramen cold, sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes never leaving your resting profile. The plastic mask obscured the lower half of your face, fogging slightly with every exhale you took.
The twenty-two hours of orbital settling had long since passed. Outside, Tau Ceti held the Hail Mary firmly in its gravitational grip, spinning the ship through the silent, perfect curve of its new home.ย
It was late.ย
The world outside was dark, and cold, but the lab was warm and lit by the steady hum of monitors.ย
A desk lamp cast long shadows across the tiled floor.ย
There was so much work to be done and so little time to do it.ย
The edges of the room were washed out like an overexposed photograph, but the feeling in your chest was heavy and whole. You were focused on a task, hunched over a surface, pen in hand, scrawling something down into your familiar navy-colored notebook.ย
Something was distracting you.ย
Someone was distracting you.ย
Everything sounded far away, but you could hear the unmistakable cadence of Rylandโs voice. He sounded lighter โ softer. He had nothing to be afraid of here.ย
Since when did you call him Ryland?ย
Hands.
Fingertips.
You could feel him breathing on the back of your neck. You could hear the smile in his words.ย
That's enough for tonight, Captain.ย
How annoying. Couldn't he see that you were busy?
Stay on your side of the lab, Grace.ย
Slowly, deliberately, the tips of his fingers trailed an agonizingly gentle line up the sleeve of your shirt, tracing the curve of your bicep, sending a wave of electric heat straight to your spine.
You snapped. With a low laugh bubbling in your throat, you dropped the pen.ย
You caught his wrists and surged forward, using your weight to pin Ryland back against the edge of his desk.ย
A pile of folders shifted beneath him, but neither of you cared. He let out a breathless, triumphant gasp, his hands instantly wrapping around your neck to pull you down.
A kiss.ย
Warm.ย
Familiar.ย
Secret.ย
Beep.ย
Beep.ย
Beepโฆ
Your eyelids felt like lead.ย
You moved your good hand first, fingers twitching against a rough but thin sheet. The sensation of friction jarred your brain further into consciousness. A dull throbbing ache pulsed in your left arm, muted and distant under a heavy blanket of narcotics.ย
Slowly, your eyes blinked open.ย
You felt good, all things considered. You were sure you had the morphine to thank. The ceiling of the medical bay took shape above you. You sluggishly turned your head. The plastic straps of the oxygen mask shifted against your cheek. Your arm felt like a distant object. Curious, you commanded the limb to move. It rose with a heavy reluctance, floating up into your line of sight. You blinked, attempting to draw your swimming vision into focus. Your forearm was encased in a thick, rigid medical cast. It locked the limb straight, while your exposed fingertips looked slightly pale against the stark white bandages.ย
You felt good. Wait, you thought that already. Boy, those meds sure were working.ย
You sat up, tugging the oxygen mask from your face.ย
Grace was on you in a millisecond. โWhoa, whoa, whoa! What do you think youโre doing? Lay back down!โ his hands were on your shoulders before your head could even clear the pillow.ย
โNarcotics,โ you mumbled, your voice sounding like it had been dragged through gravel. The oxygen mask was dangling uselessly around your neck, puffing a gentle hiss against your collarbone. You had a dazed look in your half-lidded eyes. โThese are. Good. You should try.โย
โOkay, thatโs nice. Please lay back down.โ Grace was crying again. His warm eyes glistened with tears.ย
You reached your good hand out to touch his cheek.ย
โIโm so glad youโre awake,โ he whispered. Despite his emotional state, he was still making sure you werenโt hurting yourself. He let you sit up, but kept a close eye on the needles and thin tubes that poked out of your skin.ย
โIโm fine,โ you insisted. To prove your point, you craned your neck, which triggered your vision into a slow, dizzying spin. Your hand shifted on Graceโs face, thumb clumsily catching the edge of his crooked glasses and shoving them further up his nose.ย
โDon't move, justโplease, donโt move,โ he begged. He didn't pull away from your hand on his cheek. If anything, he leaned into the touch, verifying that you were actually warm; actually alive.
โIt'll take more than just a couple of rocks to keep me down,โ you slurred. โHow long was I out?โ
โThree days,โ Grace muttered. The answer broke out of him like a sob.ย
The resistance in his posture completely collapsed. His forehead dropped against your mattress, landing next to your good arm. His fingers slid down from your shoulder to lock tightly over your right hand. His shoulders shook as the last 72 hours of terror finally gave way to a wave of relief. His tears soaked wet circles into the sterile sheet of your bed.
โYou did good,โ you muttered.
You ran your functioning fingers through his hair, petting his messy oil-slicked curls. You didnโt know what else to do to comfort him. The sight of him so thoroughly broken by the thought of losing you was doing funny aching things to your chest. These, the painkillers couldn't numb.
โYouโre a terrible patient,โ he mumbled into the mattress. โAn absolutely terrible patient.โ
You hummed out a laugh.ย
His hand blindly reached for yours. When he found it, he didnโt let go. He squeezed every time his chest hitched with another shuddering breath. He stayed like that for a long time, letting the weight of the universe bleed out of him onto the edge of your cot.ย
โCโmere,โ you said. You shifted your torso to the side, wincing slightly as the automated splint on your left arm gave a tiny, protective whir to adjust for the movement. You tugged at your blankets with your right hand. You made space for him on the bed; which was hardly any space at all.ย
Grace lifted his head from the sheets, staring at you, bewildered. His eyes were red-rimmed and swollen. โWhat?โ
โLay with me.โ
He looked at the tiny gap of mattress youโd cleared. โWhat?โ he repeated.
โCโmon, Grace,โ you slurred, your eyelids drooping as another wave of warm drowsiness rolled over your brain. You gave his hand a clumsy, insistent tug. โWhoโs gonna fuckinโ see? Lay with me here โ Iโm cold.โ
He couldโve gotten you another blanket. But he had to be numb to reject the offer to be held. Tired and sleepless himself, Grace crawled into your cot. He was hesitant and careful not to touch your broken arm, but he was also embarrassed at how little convincing it had taken him to lie down next to you.ย
The rest was automatic. Grace somehow knew that he laid with his back to your chest, and you somehow knew that your good arm went over his waist. Your chin rested above his head. The mattress was entirely too small for the both of you, but it was impossible to feel uncomfortable when the warmth of another body was there to cushion your every ache.ย
You slotted against each other like you'd done it a hundred times before. Grace was too exhausted to have realized this. And before he knew it, he felt himself drifting closer to proper slumber.ย
โHow did you figure out how to activate the centrifuge?โ Your voice had gone low and sleepy. It made Graceโs stomach flip.ย
โIt just came to me,โ he whispered.ย
You smiled. โThatโs good.โย
โI did this to you,โ he muttered, now loopy from his own sleep depravity. His fingertips traced idle shapes on your good arm. โI didn't watch the monitors. I should've been able to tell you there was incoming debris.โย
โWrong.โ You nuzzled into his hair. โThe Petrova scope wasnโt the only thing damaged. The housing sits right over the main radar antenna โ the shipโs main computer couldn't see the debris because the broken scope was blocking its eyes.โย
You felt Grace curl into himself.ย
โMary couldn't have known,โ you insisted. โThe radar itself was broken. Didnโt even transmit to my suit. You didn't mess up. You gave me four seconds of warning in a total blind spot. If you hadn't been there, Iโd be dead.โ
Grace went entirely still against you.ย
โYou saved my life,โ you whispered, your eyelids feeling heavier by the second. The morphine was pulling you back under. โDon't do it again. Bad for your heart.โ
A tiny, breathless huff of a laugh shook Graceโs chest.ย
Grace drifted the rest of the way down until his cheek was against your pillow. His breathing fell into a slow rhythm, matching the steady beeping of your heart monitor. One of his hands remained loosely tangled in your right fingers. You were a protective dead-weight anchor that kept you both pinned to the bed.
The medical bay faded around the edges. The harsh fluorescent lights dimmed in your consciousness, replaced by a thick, safe silence. You didn't think about the four light-years you had traveled, or the memories yet to return, or the dying suns, or the extent of your new injury, or the difficulty it would add to succeeding in your mission. You held onto the warm man beside you and let the momentum of the Hail Mary carry you both into a deep dreamless sleep.
โฌ warnings: some freak shit with henry, but nothing nsfw
โฌ notes: there's sort of an established relationship between you and the guys here! can you tell i don't really write a lot of kissing scenes... don't answer that
๐๐๐ง
โข the first time ken tried to kiss you, it was quite possibly the most awkward thing in the world. a combination of too much teeth, and an odd amount of smacking noises to accompany it. if you hadn't known any better, you would have thought he was trying to replicate something off of a cartoon show.
โข actually. knowing ken, thats exactly what was going on.
โข he gets better at it, the two of you make sure of that. you had originally introduced kissing lessons as a joke, but ken had been so damn excited about learning that you couldn't find it in you to say noโ even if your face felt like it was on fire the whole time. thankfuly the doll didnt seem to mind.
โข its a lot for him to remember at first ("don't rush into it, the other person may be caught off guard," "some teeth is okay, but too much and you'll get hurt," "take care of your dental hygiene," "make sure that they aren't trying to pull away before,") but youre a good enough teacher that he can't bring himself to care.
โข really the whole thing is a charade merely disguised as lessons in order to spend disgusting amounts of time together. but when both of you are sitting on your living room couch, one hand on ken's chest and the other cupping his jaw softly while you plant a sweet kiss on his lips, you can't help but think it was the greatest idea you'd ever had.
you pull away from ken for the first time in nearly a minute, tongue coming out to dart at your swollen lips as you looked at him.
the blond was sitting against the far side of the couch, chest heaving and eyes scruntched up at the corners as he looked at you. his shirt (a tasteful hawaiian flannel, with striped shorts and flip flops to match) was wrinkled and unbuttoned. he looked, for a lack of better words, dumbstruck.
"is it always like that?" ken asks after recovering a little, scooting towards you more as he asks the question. his tone is one of excitement and wonder, and you cant stop a grin from breaking out on your face. "can we do it again?"
"woah woah, hold your horses cowboy." you huff out a small laugh, not missing the way his head perks up at the mention of horses. "give me a second to breathe. i don't know exactly how your lungs work, but i need at least a minute to recover after a kiss like.... that."
"was it not good?" came the next query. you heard the blatant insecurity in his tone, and read even more of on his face. you couldn't stop your chest from seizing a bit at the sight, immediately doing your best to reassure him.
"it was amazing ken, really." you spoke with a broad smile. you weren't just saying that, either. compared to the first kiss he had given you, this was worlds ahead. better than some of your past partners, if you said so yourselfโ not that they provided any real competition. none of them had tasted like fruit or whimpered when you ran a thumb over their jaw. god, you could listen to that sound all day...
"there are different kinds of kisses is all." you continue your explanation, weaving your fingers with kens in the meantime. running your fingers over his pulse point, you feel it jump a little. "some are shorter, some are rougher, and some are more intense. doesn't mean one is better than the otherโ that decision is up to you and your partner."
"that's you, right?"
"yes buddy, that's me." ken preens at you, doing a little arm pump at the confirmation that he was right.
"so which one do you like more? 'cause i could do all of themโ can we do all of them? i mean, if you want to!"
right, back to the task at hand.
you feel a mischevious grin tugging at the corner of your lips, reaching out to grab the proverbial opportunity that had been given to you.
"i don't know ken, i've never thought about that before. you know, we may just have to try them all. what do you think?"
the giggle he lets out is a good enough answer for you.
โข theres a certain charm to the way that ken goes about asking you for a kiss after he gets the hang of it (or about as much "hang" that a living doll can get). sort of akin to a child who wants to ask for something, but is too shy to speak up. more often than not, you'll find him hovering around or behind you. never close enough to touch, but definitely close enough to crowd. he barely registers it either, only stepping back if you ask aloud, and always with a bit of a crestfallen expression. its those moments that you have to take the extra time to explain 'no ken, i'm not mad, i need you to move so i can reach the stove'
โข you've, essentially, created a monster. a tall, beach blond monster who can only be satiated with a kiss. good luck trying to explain the do's and don't of PDA to him... you're going to need it.
๐๐๐ง๐ซ๐ฒ ๐๐๐ญ๐ก๐๐ฆ
โข with henry, the kiss always comes from a sense of desperation. a crushing need to be close to you, to grab you as tight as he can and not let goโ almost like he's afraid you'll dissapear into smoke if he doesn't.
โข his favorite place to kiss you, aside from the obvious, would be your hands. he positively preens when you run your hands through his hair or dance them across his face as gentle as can be, so it's no surprise that he takes a special interest in them. henry always leans into them with a careful look, placing a slow kiss to your palm or knuckles before saddling closer by your side to plant more. they're never less passionate than the ones he pressed to your mouth, just.. different.
โข henry likes knowing that he's yours, and vice versa. a kiss reassures him, in a way, that you're still thereโ wherever there happens to be that day. often times it's your appartment or walking down the streets together. occasionally a shop or two if no one seems to be around to complain.
โข theres a deeper part of henry, a darker part of him, that yearns for the taste of copper during a kiss. the urge to bite at your lip until blood spills into his mouth, tongue immediately soothing over the mark in reassurance, is constant. even in the sweetest moments those feelings will show their ugly head, prompting a shudder to roll through his body at the very thought.
โข occasionally, he imagines you doing the same to him.
henry is burning up. he can hardly breathe as his hands search for purchase on your clothes. he's panting heavily, pupils blown out to the point where you could barely see the ring of blue around them. his head feels like it's full of staticโ his lips even more.
a stray drop of blood drips onto the floor unceremoniously, barely staining the tip of his shoe. a few more lie beside it, having fallen just moments before. a testimony to the teeth-shaped indent on his bottom lip that tasted like you.
you're in no better shape than henry is, really. you're breathing just as hard as him, and there's a splotch of red smeared messily by the corner of your mouth, ("like lipstick," henry thinks faintly) although he knows it isn't yours. did he want it to be? no, that was for later.
"was that okay?" you have the audacity to ask him that while he struggles not to beg for more. you, staring at him with a curious expression and that worried look in your eyeโ as if you hadn't just given him everything he wanted.
henry doesnt answer you; not verbally anyways. he doesnt need to when he's already back to kissing you again, practically moaning into your mouth as he tastes the tangy salt and blood between you all at once. you reciprocate the action, your tongue occasionally poking at his wound in what he hoped was an attempt to tease him. it was filthy and quite possibly derranged, but that made him love it even more.
โข freak to the max about that kind of stuff, what can i say. "always the quite ones," as you once put it. he had just taken another drag of his cigarette at that, blowing the smoke to the side as he grinned that small grin of his. the one he knew you loved.
โข any sort of relationship with henry letham of all people is going to be weird and sort-of-macabre, and by extent the kissing, but the two of you make it work. he'll ramble on about the work of the late-great tristian rรชveur while you lie there next to him patiently, a little bit of his blood still clinging to the corner of your lips. it's not perfect, but it's undoubtedly and irrevocably the two of you, and that's all that matters.
๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ซ๐ข๐ฏ๐๐ซ
โข okay. we've all seen the movie. there's no sense in pretending that this man would kiss you with anything less than the passion of a thousand supernovas. that's just a fact.
โข whether you believe it comes from a place of self-confidence and heat, or a much more desperate part of him, driver will always give you his undivided attention. thats just who he is. methodicalโ obsessive, even. every word and small touch to your back as he pulls you closer is carefully planned out beforehand.
โข it's a sign of trust to him, really.
โข he's no stranger to soft pecks on the cheek or lips, don't get me wrong, driver just prefers the ever-encompasing feeling of your mouth on his, tongues dancing around each other as you both take your time mapping out each individual detail. everything about you is intoxicating to the point where driver wants to drown in it.. sometimes he thinks he just might. wouldn't be the worst way to go.
โข he definitely uses chapstick. nothing too flavorful, (unless you like that, then he'd reconsider) just enough to keep them from cracking or drying out. he finds that it makes for a much more enjoyable kiss either way, and you agree.
โข it's also my strong belief that driver has definitely forgotten to take his toothpick out once or twice before going in for a kiss, resulting in a little poke. you always wave it off, but the first time it had happened he'd looked positively mortified (or about as mortified as he could get). thankfully, driver's been pretty mindful about it since then, always making sure to toss the thing or settle it behind his ear before pecking you.
โข in spite of the rest of his fast paced lifestyle, driver is not really a big fan of PDA. it's simply too much attention on somebody with too many criminal ties, and he'd rather die than risk your saftey. but on the off chance that he's feeling risky, it's usually after a nice cruise through the streets with you.
driver's steady hands are cradling the sides of your face as the two of you stand beside his carโ a new one he just picked up from sharon. you had asked to tag along that day, always jumping at the opertunity to be in the front seat with him. his favorite habit of yours was how your hand always seemed to find his on the road, fingers interlocking as you let him whisk you away on whatever road he had in mind.
the flickering white light from above casts an irregular shadow across driver's face while he recalls all of this. it draws out the intensity of his eyes as his gaze darts from your eyes to your nose and to your lips. even here, standing in a dingy underground parking garage, he can't help but think that you looked stunning.
your own arms were wrapped around drivers middle, squeezing lightly as you admired him back. the two of you often had moments like this. moments where driver seemed incapable of doing anything but soaking you in, almost overwhelmed with the realization that you loved him just as much as he loved you. living on one's own for so long takes its toll on the importance behind human touch, and driver had been deprived of it (of you) for far too long.
nothing was said as you craned your head slightly upwards, lips carefully capturing his own in a soft kiss. nothing had to be; it was a familiar motion between the two of you by now.
driver accepts the display of affection with a barely audible hum, showing his appreciation as his mouth begins to move in tandem with your own. he can taste the faint remnants of the toothpaste you used this morning before he picked you up, and it brings him comfort. everything about you to him is comforting. safe. the one part of his life that he's been allowed to really, truly enjoy. and enjoy himself, he would.
eventually you had to break away, much to driver's disappointment. if he had it his way, he'd be glued at your side at all times, there to angle your lips towards his at any point. but then again, if he had it his way, nothing would end up getting done. your appartment had seen enough evidence of thatโ you'd lost count of the amount of times you'd shown up late to something because driver couldn't keep his lips (or hands) off of you.
you reach to press one last kiss to his lips, an unspoken promise for more. "come on, let's get inside before someone complains."
"let them." came his only response before dipping back down for another. he ends up chasing your lips instead, mouth twitching into a barely-there smile as you pull away with a teasing laugh. you're already making your way towards the elevator, grinning at him as if to say 'catch up'. you barely make it there before he's got you by your wrist, interlocking your fingers and pulling you into his chest gently.
"sucker." you mummble against his jacket, but driver hears the unmistakeable smile in your tone.
as he leans down for yet another kiss, he can help but think that you're right.
Would you maybe be willing to do a part 2 to the Colt Seavers fic where reader like takes him home to make it up to him?
Could possibly contain overstim, maybe some more edging?
If not, itโs totally fine, thank you!!
colt seavers x male reader (pt 2)
tags: smut, bottom colt/top reader, a lil ๐ค more edging, overstimulation
a/n: hi anon u might be psychic i was originally going to include overstim in the first part but cut it cause i got lazy ๐ญ... no complaints here he is Exactly where he wants to be!!
part 1
- MINORS DNI -
ห-หห โธ หห-ห
"You're insatiable."
"Mhm."
"I'd suggest a chastity belt but you'd probably be into that."
Colt barks a surprised laugh against your collarbone, breath warm against the dampened skin there. He cranes his neck up, blue eyes crinkled with mirth, and digs his chin into your sternum. His beard stratches the thin skin there, but you pay it no mind.
"I'm not hearing a refusal," you add, feigning shock. Colt rolls his eyes but foregoes an answer. Instead he turns back to your chest, peppering kisses across the bare expanse.
Sighing, you drop your head onto the pillow and let him have his fun. You'd barely gotten through the front door after an agonizingly contactless drive back from the wrap party before Colt damn near jumped you, and within seconds you'd ended up sprawled laterally across the bed. He'd tried to kiss you once you'd both settled into the car, but the Uber driver had shot a look so stern through the rearview mirror neither of you had the nerve to even stray from your sides of the back row.
He pulls away from sucking a faint bruise into your pec only so he can shuck his shirt off, and when he resettles, the press of bare skin-to-skin makes you hum with satisfaction. Your fingers automatically seek out his head, sliding into his hairโnot pulling just yet but twirling longer strands around your knuckles. A wordless reminder that despite your positions, youโre still the one calling the shots, and at any point you could easily guide him wherever you want him.
He hums a long, throaty sound at the sensation, nipping your skin once more with playful levity, and skirting his broad palm up your shifting ribcage. It comes to a stop a mere few inches from your armpit, where he swiftly flicks his thumb over your nipple.
Clambering back up to your eye-level, Colt draws up a slanted smirk, the tips of your noses brushing. Heโs so close his face is faintly out of focus, but the rapidly-rooting desire gleams starkly in his eye, impossible to miss.
โHi,โ he hums, gaze trained low on your loose mouth.
โHi, handsome.โ
Much to your delight, Colt goes pink within a matter of seconds, mouth shifting and twisting with bashfulness. One of your hands slips down to his cheek, feeling the blooming warmth there.
โWhat do you need?โ
Coltโs eyebrows furrow, ever so faintly, eyes darting low for a split second. โYou know.โ
At that, you mirror his expression, albeit with a far more dramatized edge. Your head tilts against the comforter in mock confusion.
โHm, I donโt think I do. Youโre gonna have to tell me. In great detail, preferably.โ
Coltโs head wilts, lands roughly onto your shoulder with a defeated puff of breath. You scrape your blunt nails against his scalp just to feel the suppressed tremor that lances through his shoulders.
โYouโre a sick man, you know that?โ he bleats. โA sick, evil man.โ
"And yet, here you are," you counter, folding a leg up to press your inner thigh to his hip. The pressure of his half-hard cock is impossible to miss with this angle. Self-satisfaction blooms in your chestโit's hard not to get a big head when it comes to Colt, such an eager little thing, wrapped right around your finger.
He plants a brief, wet kiss to the knob of your collarbone, blindly drawing one arm back to paw at your raised thigh, hips driving down to press clumsily against yours. It knocks a lovely, low groan straight out of him, reverberating through you as he finds a jerky pace.
"Come on, sweetheart, you've got no problem humping me like a dog but you're too embarassed to use your words?"
Colt, fully hard now, freezes against you, fingers fixed like claws into the meat of your thigh and his free arm holding some of his body weight off of you, forearm trapped under your upper back.
"Unless you want to get off like this," you taunt, tone loose with indifference. Colt's head shoots up straight, almost knocking into your chin in his haste. His pelvis rolls again, though a movement so shallow and brisk you figure it was more of an automatic impulse. His hand beneath you wriggles up your back, curling around the curve of your shoulder to prod at the nape of your neck.
"Fuck me? Please?" he breathes into your mouth, brows pinched and hair askewโthe image of need.
"There you go," you murmur with delight, soft despite the thrill of heady arousal his face and quiet plead have roused under your skin. "Was that so difficult?"
You don't give him any time to reply, hastily tipping him over onto his back. This strong thighs catch your hips instinctively, grinning up at you like the cat that got the cream. Little does he know you were always bound to end up like thisโdespite your far superior capacity for concealing your own arousal, you've been near dizzy with the urge to fuck him senseless since you hauled him into that tiny bathroom well over an hour ago.
You both shed your pants and briefs, and while Colt battles with his pair caught on an ankle, you retrieve the lube from your bedside drawer. With this, you waste no time, pumping a generous amount onto the pads of three fingers and smearing it around with the same hand's thumb, while you toss the bottle aside and settle on your haunches in between his thighs. His legs are bent and draped over yours, feet planted on the mattress behind you.
Hard and leaking already against his toned stomach, bathed in the yellowish light of your bedside lamp, flushed all sorts of pink and red, Colt is gorgeous. You say as much, rendered a little breathless as you skim your dry palm up his flank and watch it quiver with a sharp intake of breath. You draw it back down, settle your thumb in the crease where his thigh connects to his body.
Your first finger goes in with little resistance and a contented sigh from below. At first you simply press in and pull out to the last knuckle in steady, cyclical motions, gently working lube and looseness into him. Colt's got his head perched on one folded arm, the other lax on the mattress, loosely extended to draw mindless patterns into your kneecap.
It's when you work a second finger into him that you start having some fun. You crook your fingers sharply upward, testing. Colt sucks in a shuddering breath, jolting as though suddenly shocked.
"Ooooh, boy," he says, a little strained. His gaze abandons the ceiling to peer at you down the sharp line of his nose, mouth slanting with dazed amusement. He must read something in your eyes, because suddenly, his own narrow pointedly. "Don't be mean."
"I didn't do anything!"
"I can see youโ" he waggles a finger at you. "Scheming."
"Alright, settle down," you dismiss, swatting his hand away as you scissor your fingers, and then snicker when he grits out a low moan, head straining back against the bed. Your free hand drifts to the bend of his knee, drawing it up, closer to his chest. "Hold here."
Breathing out hard through his nose, Colt hooks his palm under his thigh, dutifully securing it in place.
During the press of your third finger into him, you clasp your hand over the back of his, watching his face tighten around a half-swallowed sound. You keep pressing in deeper until you can't, fingers angled unward and drawing firm circles with them that make Colt's hips jump, his arm soar up to cover his eyes.
Alternating your motions, scretching and pressing and circling and retreating, you watch him crumble at your fingers. Something like awe captures you, gawking at the massive swelling of his broad chest and the surges of precome leaking out of his slit, pooling in the dips and valleys of his straining abdominal muscles.
"Jesus," you breathe out, releasing his hand to grip the base of your own cockโhard just by watching him. It hits you then that you haven't come at all tonight; no wonder you're so pent up. Keeping a firm ring around yourself, you pick up the pace of your fingertips, itching to reach for his dick as well but mostly wanting to see how far you can push him, just like this.
Colt's low moans are cut short by a blurt of your name, snipped with pleasure. You watch his nails fade into a ghostly white, curling fiercely into his thigh.
"Hm?" you ask absentmindedly, refocusing again on the way your fingers disappear into him, blood thrumming through your head, joined only by his fractured groans and the wet sounds of your ministrations.
"Wait, waitโssshhit, 'm really close."
"Hold on, hold on baby."
"No, no wait, I'm ready, 'm gonna come, I can'tโ"
You curl your fingers up again, and reach over with your thumb to press it flat against his perineum.
Just as his hips drive up, grinding sloppily onto your fingers in a raw instinct to chase his orgasm, you slide your fingers free entirely, watching as his cock dribbles onto his skin and he sags, moaning feebly into the crook of his elbow.
You soothe the tremors caught in his extended thigh, using both the remaining lube on your fingers and scooping up some of his pre in order to slick yourself up.
โI said don't be mean,โ Colt grouses, peering mournfully up at you. You slide your palm over your tip a few times, grasp tightening over the muscle of his thigh, and an airy chuckle slips out of you as you line yourself up.
โYou said stop, I stopped,โ you reply with innocent lightness, lowering your torso to peck his ruddy cheekbone. His exasperated sigh rolls into a deep hum when you finally press into him, inch after steady inch.
Pleasure fizzes and thrums under your skin, dizzy with the tight heat around you, clenching spasmodically. You muffle a long sound of your own into his chest, rolling your hips deeper even once youโve bottomed out.
โOh, fuckingโJesus,โ you grit, stuck to his chest with your mingling sweat. Colt is mostly silent beneath you, save for the hitching irregularities of his breath, catching and stuttering with every lazy grind of your pelvis. Heโs released his leg at some point, and now both hands are clinging to you, one planted on the small of your back and the other strewn across your shoulder blades.
โYou feel so good, Colt,โ you murmur once the initial flare of bliss has ebbed into a steadier constant. You nose at the hollow of his throat, pulling out a few inches and feeling his cock twitch against your stomach. โSo tight, perfect for me.โ
โNo need for flattery, baby, youโve already got me in your bed,โ Colt ribs, but his voice is a little wheezy, a little dazed, so it falls somewhat flat. You push back into himโnot quite a proper thrust but something approaching it. You lift your head just in time to see his face crumble, pushing out a stilted huff. Unable to tease any further, you settle into a deep, steady pace, though not yet rough.
โI know, but you love it.โ
His brows furrow and swiftly release, gazing up at you with his half-lidded eyes a little bashful. โI wouldnโt say loveโฆโ
โOh, come on. Thereโs no shame in this bedroom. You love being good for me. My good boy.โ To punctuate, you give a particularly firm thrust, letting your whole body roll with it, angling yourself deeper into Colt. He responds as expected: jolts and utters a wavering moan into the ever-narrowing space between your faces, fluttering around you.
You're struck, suddenly, with a fondness so potent it nearly makes the climbing rhythm of your hips falter. Colt clings to you and shakes and moans so beautifully, fitted to your body as though tailored to it. He digs one heel into your ass and involuntarily scrapes his nails down the soft arch of your spineโmarks which he'll later kiss and mumble apologies for. He's so perfectly tight on your dick, taking you with such ease and enthusiasm you can only bask in the gales of simmering pleasure that rip through you with every deep thrust and clench of his spongy insides.
"You're staring," he manages after an indecipherable stretch of time, head pressed back against the comforter, a vaguely Y-shaped vein bulging in his throat. You tamp down the urge to bite into it, in favor of leveling his gaze.
"Can you blame me?" you huff, shifting your weight onto one forearm in order to bring your other palm to his jaw, propping your thumb up under his chin to keep his head held back and lovely throat exposed. He rolls his eyes but otherwise ignores your comment, and instead you watch in steady increments as his orgasm approaches.
His brows warp and pinch closer, blinking unevenly until his eyes eventually stay screwed shut; his breath hitches, his throat bobs.
"Close already?"
"Shut up," he groans, though any attempt at frustration is cheapened by the high-pitched quality of his voice. "You shouldn't'veโteased so much... earlierโshit..."
"Mhm," you hum, reluctantly releasing his jaw in order to reach blindly behind you, finding his knee and hitching it up to your ribs. The new angle has Colt yelping, squeezing around you like a vice, hips lurching up to meet yours.
He's so loud when you fuck him, it's addictive. Even more so as he's approaching his release, when whatever scrap of dignity he has left flies out the window and he gets particularly whiny. You lean down, drink them all in, hips not relenting for an instant despite the quiver of strain in your thighs and arms.
"It's okay," you murmur into his cheek, dazed, warm and buzzing all over, "it's okay, baby, come on."
He sounds almost suffocated when he comes, shuddering harshly beneath you, clamping down on your cock and spurting across your stomachs. You can feel the tremors in his arms on your back, in his inner thighs where they're pressed against your bare skin. You fuck him through it, only slightly decelerating. He continues to tighten and spasm, even as he begins to come down, and your head spins.
He finally sags beneath you with a cross between a groan and a deep sigh, nails relenting on your poor back, swiftly replaced by sweat-sticky, circling fingertips.
At some point during his orgasm, your face sunk into the crook of his neck, breathing in his musk and just barely keeping yourself from picking up a harsh pace, in search of your own release. Still, the steady, even rolling of your hips soon makes Colt whine.
"Gimmie aโs'too much, give me a minute," he gasps, though his pelvis gives weak, tentative twitches against your own. You don't answer to that, sunken deep into your long-neglected pleasure, now that you've taken care of him. You release his knee in favor of palming at the rising and falling width of his ribcage; it's mostly unintentional, the way you begin pounding into him harder, movements rushed and somewhat snipped with urgency.
Colt grunts, fingers tensing on your skin again, into the indents his nails have surely left. He appears split on whether to grind down onto you or attempt to writhe away from the stimulation, bordering now on painful. The breathless cries of your name, uttered just above your ear only amplify the heat surging through you, condensing in the pit of your gut.
"Too muchโs'too much," he repeats, thrashing beneath you, breaths coming in so quick they stumble over each other.
Despite it, he's still hard between your bodies.
"Want me to stop?" you manage through your own trance, between lazy licks and bites to his pulse point. From this close you can hear the tiny huffs each harsh thrust knocks out of him, and when he gives a rather telling wet sniffle your cock twitches.
Colt hums and moans and whimpers, makes all these addictive little noises that draw you further to the edge, but he says nothing. You take it as what it is, and let animal instinct take the wheel. Your thrusts grow sloppier, arhythmic, jackrabitting into him and fueled only by your approaching orgasm and Colt's cries of pleasure-pain.
You come with a low moan that feels ripped straight from your chest, wavering at the tail end as you dump your load into his twitching insides, near overwhelmed by pulse after pulse of warm pleasure. It lasts agesโat least it feels that way to you, and by the time you surpass the peak and roll through the aftershocks, Colt tenses and follows right after you. You crane your neck down just to see the pitiful two, three surges of come his dick offers up, and pull out when he starts to hiss with true discomfort.
You sit back on your knees, palms holding his own apart in order to watch your come trickle out of his hole. You certainly can't get hard again, not this fast, but you feel your dick give a weak jolt at the mind-numbingly erotic sight.
With a curse muttered under your breath, you reach over the side of the bed and pull up the first thing your fingers grazeโwhich turns out to be your discarded boxers. You clean up his stomach first, then some smears on your own, and finally his ass.
Despite the weight of exhaustion enfolding you and the general achiness in your legs, you shuffle off the bed to grab some water from the kitchen, an opened bag of chips held shut by a plastic clip, and once back in the bedroom, two pairs of underwear.
Colt chugs most of the water, but stops himself before finishing it, smiling bashfully up at you when he offers the few sips left. You thank him anyway and down the rest before crawling back in beside him.
He hisses when he tucks himself into your boxers, legs drawing up slightly.
"Dude, I think my shvantz might fall off," he solemnly says, rolling into your side and propping his upper body onto one forearm. You snort, eyes shut but hands easily seeking him out.
"Your what?"
"Totally worth it, though," he says in lieu of an answer. You feel him pepper soft kisses along the side of your face, leading ultimately to your mouth. "Didn't even know I could do that."
He settles agaisnt your shoulder with one palm pressed flat against your stomach, thumb sweeping lazily.
"The more you know," you hum, sinking your fingers into his sweaty hair. You probably should've showered. Oh well, you can do laundry tomorrow.
"We are doing that again, though, right?"
"Oh, absolutely."
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