Take it Slow - BloodyMary comfort fanfic
I wrote this in 2 days... lawlz
obviously bloodymary (iron lung!Simon x Project Hail Mary!Grace)
lots of silly little trauma bonding
MUTATED SIMON!! RAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!
(attempt at) Book accurate Grace<3
probably slightly out of character?? whoops!
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The ship was quiet in the way only deep space could be quiet. Simon had gotten used to the silence. The SM-13 was anything but quiet. C.O.I was anything but quiet. The chaos of surviving was set aside into this new comforting silence.
Not silent, nothing truly ever really was on The Hail Mary. Rocky was always chirping somewhere on the other side of Mary. Reverberating off the walls through the translation system. There was always the hum of machinery, the faint vibration of the astrophage engine moving, the clank of his ball rolling around along with the occasional metallic creak of the ship.
Simon rests sat back pressed against the cool metal rim of the port window in the bedroom part of the ship. Wrapped in one of Grace’s cringy scientific shirts, he didn’t quite understand. Grace called it "peak fashion” and “earth humor.” Though Simon was fairly certain he'd been joking. Through the port window in the dark, the stars burned. His head still hadn’t wrapped around the fact that they were real. He couldn't stop staring at them. Back in Eden after The Quiet Rapture, beyond the various stations it was nothing. Life beyond their planet vanished in an instant moment.
But now somehow, he was looking at them. Thousands of them. Millions, maybe. His throat tightened, thinking about how long he craved to look at them shine. He felt it close while the various gills on his neck vibrated together. Every point of light was impossibly far away. Every one of them was real. The universe was bigger than he could understand. He remembered Grace attempting to explain it when he first woke up. That conversation is distant in his memory. He rested his forehead against the glass, cold to the touch.
For a moment he imagined all the years he'd spent in captivity. All the plans of escape. All the rules. All the blood. The blood he waded through to be here. It felt so small now. A tiny life inside this tiny room beneath a tiny world in a large plan he had no control over. The thought should have frightened him. Instead, it made his chest ache. Because if the stars were real, then everything he'd been taught was a lie. And if everything he'd been taught was a lie... What did that make him? Being sent on a raid, caught for a job he never planned and sent on a sacrificial mission for it not even to matter in the following week? His reflection stared back at him in the window. Flesh twisted and warped beneath his skin, pulling his features out of shape. A second, misshapen jaw jutted from the side of his face, crowded with jagged teeth and protruding tusks that curled past his cheek. Almost poking into his hazy eye due to the boils. His ear now molded into a fin. The mutation looked less like a wound and more like something molded into him, as though the creature had been caught halfway through clawing its way through him. His scars and flesh melted back onto him, replacing delicate skin with a rough sandpaper texture rubbing under the shirt. Phantom pain still haunting him as his stub hits the glass by lying with his side. The remaining nerves throbbed for movement. The pain reverberated off the metal. Making him suck a quick breath before pulling it back off the glass. He knew he wasn’t human. He looked like an imposter. A siren attempting to lure in an unsuspecting sailor and crew. The others belonged here. Ryland could explain how Mary’s engines worked for hours without taking a breath. Mumbling all the way about side tangents that don’t apply. Rocky could build and create anything for the mission, making it impossible for them to fail.
They had skills. They had lives. They had made the most of their situation.
To save their worlds for the humanity.
Simon had simply been rescued from a bad choice. He abandoned sending his people to ruin as far as he knew for a possibility of peace on some other planet. Leaving his home forever to die. Again...
His hand tightened in the fabric of the shirt. Pulling it off the wound.
‘Any day now,’ he thought, ‘they're going to realize they made a mistake.’
The thought came so naturally that it barely felt like a thought anymore. It felt like a fact. Any day now they'll see what I am. The stars blurred. Simon blinked hard.
He refused to cry over something so stupid. That was weak. And cowardly, if you’re going to die, you will. Suck it up. Yet he couldn't look away from the window. Because no matter how much he told himself he didn't belong here, the stars kept shining anyway.
Along with his own reflection, Grace was sitting behind him, stretched out on a bunk with a various papers scattered on his legs and bed. Holding an old book taking notes on the paper on his knee. Chewing on the pen while whispering something scientific and muttering terms and equations under his breath. Erasing something quickly before writing again.
Simon subconsciously watched him. Distracting himself from himself. He was so peaceful. Watching his little quirk of a smile while reading or writing science books / papers he had discovered. Recently he found some panels that opened in the captain’s quarters that were blueprints and sketches of the ship. Along with a few smaller pieces from earth, keepsakes of sort that Rocky went to test. Both were immediately enthralled and haven’t put it down since. A small smile built on Simon’s face.
Simon had never been a religious man. Not really. He knew some prayers, knew parts of the motions. Faith was something distant, something other people seemed to possess effortlessly. And somehow, in the middle of the panic and the fear and the endless uncertainty, there was Ryland Grace. Simon would have laughed if someone had told him that one awkward middle school science teacher would become the center of his universe. Ryland was too human for that. Too clumsy. Too prone to rambling. Too excitable at the thought of you asking a question about his work. Too willing to make terrible jokes to lighten the mood. But that was exactly the problem. Gods were supposed to be perfect. Ryland wasn't. And yet Simon found himself watching him the way people stared at colorful stained-glass windows. Because every time things got worse, Ryland kept going. Every time Simon attacked him, Ryland was patient instead. Every time Simon would scream and curse burning swears into Rocky’s vocabulary forever, he still helped.
The sight should have been ridiculous. Instead, Simon felt something untwisted in his chest. His savior’s hair puffed and curled so perfectly. The way he moved it out of his eyes only made Simon crave it more. He fantasized about touching his hair. Lying beside him as he worked, playing with his hair, his fingers, knowing how he got those burns on his arms, those doughy arms touching him, playing with him as their lips would touch-…
Ryland looked over to the window suddenly. Or had he been staring for a while? Did Simon zone out? As if he could read Simon’s mind their eyes met briefly. A dark chocolate brown mixing with a dark oceanic blue. A pause filled the room. Simon watched as Ryland’s face flushed, making his own match. His eyes were still slightly watery from the star talk as it boils over with the heat beginning to build up in his stomach. He looks away first. ‘What a coward.’ The motion was automatic, years of habit, forcing his gaze back toward the stars. A few tears escape his attempts to hold them back, wiping them quickly.
A moment later he heard socked feet hitting the metal flooring. Papers rustling together with a book being slammed closed. Pushing towards the head of a bed. The footsteps got closer. Standing closer to the right side of the porthole. Hovering before an speaking.
"Hey." His voice was soft. Calm that matches the stars outside. Simon didn't answer, he was afraid to be honest.
"Hey, Simon~?” saying it more of a singy-songy way that made Simon’s heart flutter. The floors creaked under his pressure. Rocking back and forth from his toes to his heels. Stopping as he walks closer. A pair of socked feet appeared in the corner of Simon's vision. Sitting on the other side of the circle window. Their feet almost touching.
"You alright, big guy?" The question was simple. Simon hated it. Not because of the words. Because Ryland asked like he genuinely wanted an answer. Simon swallowed. Letting out a breath, briefly fogging up the window before replying.
"I'm fine." His voice raspy and rough.
"You've been staring out that window for three hours? Are you enjoying it?" Grace placed his head on the window see Simon’s face. A soft expression formed on the teacher. Looking over at Ryland, forcing them to have eye contact. Ryland sits cozy in his nation’s blanket. All the patches and embroidery brighten up the sad, white corner of the room. A small comforting smile continued to grow on Grace’s face.
"I'm looking at the stars." Breaking eye contact quickly.
A pause. Grace turned his head to look out. Nothing he hadn’t seen before. But he knew it was important to Simon. That’s all that mattered.
"I’m going to be honest here, but you look upset doing it. At least from the distance I was at. I don’t know, maybe you have an RBF." Grace chuckled to himself. Picking at his cuticles. ‘When did he get nervous?’
Simon felt his eyebrows furrow, ‘did he look over when I wasn’t looking?’ Scratch that, Simon decided to focus on how confused he was by the abbreviation. “I have a what?” Grace stopped, his hands going up and shaking around as he began to try and explain what an RBF is. “It’s not a bad thing! It’s just…hmm…Okay. My relaxed face I look super focused, but for others it might be different! Like an RBF is a resting...” He paused. Looking for a nicer word. “It means you look mad even though you’re relaxed.” Pulling his glasses up to his head looking defeated in the process.
Simon huffed a laugh despite himself. He didn’t know why he laughed; he just did. Seeing his mutation in the window click together with his smile growing. Ryland smiled faintly at the rare sound. Fixing his glasses back onto his nose. “If you say so.”
Neither spoke after that. Looking out at the situation they found themselves. 2 humans abandoned by humanity for a suicide mission to save said humanity. And both had survived somehow. The ship hummed around them in appreciation. Rocky's still distant chirps continued through the walls. He sounded like he was in the lab still doing series of tests.
Simon smile fell as he looked down at his wrist. The seed tied around it. The crack still prominent but contained. It had somehow survived everything. One of two remaining things of Eden. He rubbed his thumb, following the crack before eventually he said quietly, "Do you ever feel small?" Ryland blinked.
"Constantly." The answer came so quickly Simon almost faltered. Simon looked over at Ryland. Feeling some sort of worry. He examined him carefully with his socks old and well loved; another space pun decorated them. Unable to be read due to wear and tear. His ‘CATS’ shirt overtop a pair of gray sweatpants. Ryland didn't seem to notice. Or maybe he did and didn’t mind. Either way he didn't look uncomfortable with the attention.
"I mean," Ryland continued, "look at all that." He gestured toward the stars. His finger tapped on the glass. "The universe is huge. Terrifyingly huge." His smile softened. "But I kind of love it." Simon continued to glance at him. "Why?" Simon’s voice sounded like a needy child. ‘So pathetic.’ "Because it means none of us have to be perfect."
Simon felt himself frowning. Ryland leaned his head back against the metal. Pulling his knees into his torso. Simon moved into a ‘crisscross’ position. His left knee hit against the glass. "When something's that big..." he said quietly, "being human is enough." The words hit harder than they should have. Simon looked away, he knew that only applied to one on this ship. Simon unconsciously moved his hand onto his broken shoulder. Ryland's gaze followed, his head twisting to do the same. The movement stopped for a second, Simon regretted it. Then Ryland scooted closer. Practically sliding down the windowsill. Almost sitting on Simon’s feet. Knees still tight around his chest. Carefully and slowly, he placed a hand on top of Simon’s. Simon’s body twitched, waiting for some pain to follow.
Grace stayed there softly for a while. To provide comfort he recognized. Simon’s body stole his cold quickly. Grace constantly complained about the ship being cold. Always being found in his blanket or jacket. Simon stared practically radiating heat. His blood somehow stole the heat in the ocean melding his own body emit warmth. He realized just how long it had been since someone touched him. Grace had been that helper with his bandages when he had first arrived. No matter how many threats Simon threw, Ryland would help without obligation. The realization hurt, the comfort began to burn. Ryland seemed to notice his expression softened further somehow. Glasses slowly drifting off his nose. "You know," he said quietly, "you are basically a living heater." Ryland placed his other hand on the humanoid side of Simon’s cheek. He tenses a bit at the shock of the freezing cold, trying not to make it insanely obvious how many backflips his stomach was doing right now. Everything felt like it had stopped. Neither commented on how close they were now. Neither seemed to truly mind.
Grace went back to resting his side against the glass. His hand remaining on Simon’s cheek. Soaking up Simon's warmth like a man dying of thirst. One of his hands was still resting over top Simon's.
Neither of them seemed willing to move.
The silence settled around them again. Comfortable and safe silence. That should be the motto of The Hail Mary at this point. Simon wasn't used to being solemn. He found himself staring at Ryland. His beautiful rich eyes softened by warmth and kindness, the slight curve of his smile. the way his glasses had slipped down his nose again. Dark circles carved beneath his eyes from the nights he stayed up sciencing, the assortment of arm scarring, the slight stubble growing on his chin. His wonderfully kind, and mesmerizingly soft looking lips. So close yet, so far. These little things, these little human things. Things Simon had memorized without realizing it. Ryland never stopped him. He watched as Simon examined him. Caught him staring. But he said nothing. Both watched the other in silence for a while before something shifted. Not physically. But the universe seemed to shrink beyond the glass. Just them in the bunks, by themselves. Ryland's expression softened as he began to scootch himself closer to Simon. Not removing his hands, he gets comfortable again in the middle. His blanket almost falling off his shoulder, the closer he got the more of his cologne Simon could smell. It was fresh sweet scent mixed with spice. Some sort of wood mixed with fruits. An addicting smell Simon wouldn’t get out of his head after this. ‘Does his hair smell like this?’ Grace’s thumb brushed against Simon's knuckle again. A tiny movement. Accidental, maybe from getting comfortable. Or maybe not. Simon's breath caught. He didn’t mean it to happen, but he was happy it did. His face reddened more. As it appears, Ryland is moving closer. The smell getting stronger and stronger.
The two men stared at each other for a while. Both blushing like a tomato and lost on what to do next. Not wanting to get mixed signals on the other. For a second Simon thought Ryland would pull away but he moved closer. Only slightly as Simon uncrossed his legs, his right foot now touching the cold metal below. With Ryland forcing his way between his thighs. Pushing himself close enough so he could feel the warmth of his breath. Simon wrapped his left leg around Grace’s torso. Trying to pull him in as much as possible. His savior’s gaze flickered downward briefly, Ryland swallowed. Then immediately back up. Like he hadn't meant to look. The sight made Simon's stomach drop more.
"Ryland..." His voice came out rough. Barely audible over their matching heavy breaths. Ryland's cheeks flushed embarrassed while trying to save face. "Y-yes, Si?" Neither said anything else. Only their heartbeats echoing off the sad walls. ‘Which were definitely beating faster right now. Rocky could probably hear them. This was a bad idea. They should go back to … to whatever they were doing before this.’ Neither seemed capable of it. Simon couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at him like this. Or even held him like this. Not for The Butcher. Not for Convict. For him. For Simon. Like he was something worth being gentle with. Ryland must have seen something on his face. Because his expression immediately softened. ‘How does he keep getting softer?’
Concern replacing nervousness. "Hey." The word was quiet. A careful word in peace. Ryland said it like it was a reassurance without consequences. His face was tender, awaiting his next move. Yup, Grace was still stunning. His blonde waves crashing against his forehead in a perfect way. His hands were so cold, like an ice bath. The ache in his chest became unbearable before he could think better of it. Removing his own hand from his own shoulder. Feeling the cold of Grace’s palm hitting his muscle. Moving his hand to his angel’s cheek matching the movement he had done. Placing a rough, calloused hand on soft stubble. Beginning to play with soft sideburns, right before his ear. Simon leaned forward only a little. Just enough to give Ryland every chance to stop him. Every chance to move away. But Grace didn't if anything, he leaned in too. Meeting him halfway.
The first kiss barely lasted a second. It was with the kind of hesitation that made it feel even more intimate slow, careful, and calculated like they were both handling something fragile. Grace’s thumb brushing softly along warm skin, and that tiny touch sent a shiver through the moment. The kiss itself was gentle, a little unsteady, but full of feeling; the kind that made their chest ache and their stomach flutter all at once. Grace’s lips were soft. Welcoming his own rough lips, getting moisturized by his savior. It felt warm and breathless and impossibly close. More comfort than desire. It felt tender, an answer to the future. When they pulled apart, neither got very far. Their foreheads remained almost touching. Breathing the same air. Looking down at each other’s torsos terrified up. And for the first time all night, Simon felt something inside him go quiet. Somehow, they instinctively looked up at the same time. Rough coconut coloring mixing smoothly with an exciting electric blue eye watched each other wheeze. The boys smiled at each other not because the fear was gone. But the other was here. And they weren’t pulling away from this.
Ryland was still smiling when Simon flew in for another kiss. And again. Grace’s hand migrated up towards Simon’s sideburns, and up to his tied black hair in the process. Taking out the ribbon that held it, Simon’s hair fell passing his shoulders while Grace began brushing the ends. The first few kisses had been hesitant, careful things. Questions disguised as affection. Now they were becoming answers. Testing the waters on what the other could get away with. Neither of them seemed willing to put any distance between themselves. Ryland's hand slid back down to Simon's shoulder, fingers bunching in the fabric of his own shirt along with the bandages underneath. Simon could feel the slight tremor in his grip. He felt blissful. Trying to be careful of the scars healing but still wanting to remain affectionate. This realization made something warm bloom in Simon's chest. He leaned forward and pressed another soft kiss to the corner of Ryland's mouth. Kissing the stubble he loved. Grace attempted to follow him immediately when Simon pulled away. The movement was so unconscious that it made Simon freeze. Ryland paused too. For a moment they simply stared at one another. Then Ryland's face turned bright red. "Oh God." A rough laugh escaped Simon. "What?" Grace panted. "You saw that."
His embarrassment only made Simon smile wider. Ryland groaned and buried his face against Simon's shoulder. Hiding his head in his hands. This action should not have affected him as much as it did. Yet suddenly Simon was painfully aware of the warmth pressed against him. Of Ryland's hair brushing the gills on his neck. Of the trust in this simple act. Slowly, cautiously, Simon lifted a hand. His fingers found Ryland's hair finally. Soft. Much softer than he'd thought about. Each strand felt like spun silk, brushing softly against torn skin. A clean breeze from the vents, brush his hair forward closer into Simon’s grip. Twirling the ends together as Ryland went still. His eyes closed then a quiet sound clawed at him. Not quite a sigh. Not quite a hum. Something of a whisper. Simon's breath caught.
"...You like that?" Ryland's face remained hidden. "No." Simon gently ran his fingers through his hair again. Grabbing the same short section and twisting it slowly. The response was immediate. Another matching soft sound.
This one is impossible to deny. A laugh rumbled through Simon's chest. "You are never allowed to tell anyone about this." Grace muffled into Simon’s shirt, embarrassed.
“I mean you’re the one that tells Rocky everything…” Simon murmured.
Ryland made an offended sound against his shoulder, but he did not lift his head. If anything, he seemed to settle more fully into Simon, like the warmth and the weight of him had become something difficult to leave. Simon kept his hand in Ryland’s hair, cautiously at first, then with growing confidence when the only response he got were quiet, helpless little noises.
It did something dangerous to him. The great Ryland Grace, savior of worlds, his rescuer from drowning in the blood of his own people, reduced to that by his own fingers in his hair. Simon could have lived in that moment. He let his hand drift again, combing slowly through the soft blond curls. Twisting a strand around one finger, then letting it fall free. Ryland exhaled shakily. “Ah~ mm..” Simon said softly. “So it is that bad.”
“Shut up,” Ryland muttered.
“You sound very commanding right now.” Tilting his head slightly down towards Grace still buried in his shoulder.
“I am. Extremely. I’m commanding you to-” His voice caught when Simon lightly scratched at his scalp. “Mmm~, okay never mind.” Grace leaned deeper into his shoulder turning his head to face Simon’s neck. Simon smiled despite himself. “Thought so.” Ryland finally pulled back enough to look at him. His glasses had slipped crooked again, his face still pink, hair already more dishevel than usual. He looked thoroughly ruined by so little, and Simon found the sight almost unbearable.
“You are enjoying this way too much,” Ryland accused.
“At least you’re honest.”
“I do not see the point in lying when the evidence is so obvious.”
Ryland squinted at him, then huffed a laugh. It was softer this time. Sleepier. Safer. Simon felt it against his skin like something precious. For a little while they stayed there, folded into each other beneath the blanket, with Simon’s fingers still moving through Ryland’s hair in slow, absent strokes. Outside, the stars burned on in their impossible silence.
It was Ryland who broke the quiet first. “I think,” he said into Simon’s shoulder, “this may be the nicest thing anyone has ever done to me.” Simon stilled. “Hair play is that tragic for you?” Ryland groaned. “Please Si, do not call it that.”
“I don’t know. Something with dignity.”
Simon considered, then ran his fingers gently along Ryland’s scalp again, earning another involuntary shiver. “Neh.” Ryland laughed, helplessly putting his face back into Simon’s shirt. “You’re evil.”
“I’m making a brave sacrifice.”
Simon’s smile softened. His hand slowed, fingertips brushing over Ryland’s temple before moving back through the tousled curls. A strange hush settled in his chest. He had spent so many years being used only to be controlled, restrained, hurt. To discover that his hands could do this instead soothe and comfort, to make someone melt against him with trust felt almost unreal. ‘Was he dreaming?’
Ryland must have sensed the change in him, because when he spoke again his voice had gone quieter.
Simon looked down. “Hmm?”
Ryland hesitated, then tipped his head back just enough to meet Simon’s eyes. “You, okay?” The question should not have been difficult. Simon looked past him for a moment, toward the black stretch beyond the porthole. “I don’t know.” Ryland waited. Simon had come to realize that was one of Ryland’s most dangerous qualities. The patience. The awful, impossible patience. He would sit in silence and hold it open until Simon either ran from it or stepped into it. This time, Simon stepped.
“I keep thinking,” he said slowly, “that any moment this will stop.” His fingers tightened slightly in Ryland’s hair before relaxing again. “That you’ll look at me properly and see who I am.”
Ryland’s expression changed at once. Not pity. Never that. Just something pained and unbearably tender.
“I know.” Simon said, voice rougher now. His free hand moved unconsciously to his own face, hovering near the warped jaw that didn’t belong to him along with the scarring to match.
Ryland gently caught that hand before Simon could draw it back. Then, with all the same care Simon had given his hair, Ryland pulled himself back to his knees and brought Simon’s hand to his chest holding it there. Simon’s throat tightened. Grace’s heartbeat softly, comfortably thumping.
Ryland held his gaze. “I see someone who survived things that should have killed him.” His thumb brushed slowly over Simon’s knuckles. “I see someone terrifyingly competent, annoyingly self-sacrificing, and way funnier than he thinks he is.” A tiny smile touched his mouth. “I see someone warm, and stubborn, and kind in ways he tries very hard to hide.”
Simon let out a weak breath that might have become a laugh or a sniffle to hold back tears. Ryland’s hand lifted, tentatively only for a moment before it settled against Simon’s cheek again. This time, instead of stopping at the familiar lines of his face, his fingers traced deliberately over the uneven skin.
Over the edge of the second jaw.
Over the edges of the tucks.
Over the places Simon had always thought had made him monstrous.
Ryland Grace did not hesitate. His gaze stayed soft with curiosity.
“These,” Ryland said quietly, fingertips grazing the line where altered flesh met scar tissue, “are fascinatingly incredible.”
Simon blinked. “Incredible?”
“My face is ‘fascinatingly incredible?’”
Ryland gave him a look. A startled sound escaped Simon before he could stop it. A half laugh, half something more helpless. Ryland smiled faintly and continued.
Grace leaned in like Simon was the most astonishing specimen she had ever seen not in the cold, clinical way but with something closer to awe. The kind of focus that made it obvious her mind was already racing through possibilities, assembling hypotheses, tracing evolutionary branches, imagining gene sequences and pathways and impossible mechanisms. He was a biologist after all, a man with a PhD in molecular biology, and every visible mutation Simon carried seemed to light up that part of him even more.
"I mean it," he said, and there was no teasing in his voice now, only earnest intensity. His eyes moved carefully over him, cataloging and admiring him all at once. "Your gills are beautiful. Do you understand that? Beautiful. The structure of them, the adaptation - God, Simon, do you have any idea how extraordinary that is?" Her breath caught as she moved up to look at the tusks, her expression bordering on reverent wonder. "And your tusks are unfairly cool. Completely unfair. They're fascinating from a developmental standpoint, but... visually? They're incredible."
He lifted one hand and gestured toward his face, vague and almost worshipful, as if she did not quite trust herself to touch what she was so clearly tempted to study. "You're fascinating to me, Simon. Every part of this mutation, every adaptation, every deviation from what shouldn’t have been biologically possible is captivating." His voice softened, but it did not lose that bright, hungry intelligence. If anything, it deepened it. "I want to learn everything about you. I want to learn from you experiences how this happened, how your body changed, what pathways got rewritten, what that ocean had within itself for these infectious agents or genetic triggers to be made."
His gaze sharpened with the familiar fire of a scientist staring down the edge of an impossible question. "I want to know how the eel got infected with you - or how you got infected through the eel, or however it happened. I want to map it properly, trace it back to the origin, understand the mechanism of transfer, the mutations that followed, the way your biology adapted instead of collapsing." He smiled then, still talking with his hands, every so often pushing up or moving his glasses. Ruffling his own hair or pulling at the hem of his shirt small and breathless, like the mystery of Simon was too much but he loved that. "I want to dissect everything about you," she said, then winced just slightly, realizing how that sounded. "Metaphorically," she added, though her grin turned crooked. "Well. Mostly metaphorically. If you’re up for it. Armando doesn’t have to do it."
Again, his hands moved in that helpless, reverent gestures at his face. At the gills, the tusks, all the visible signs of what he had become. "Even if you have them for the wrong reasons," he murmured, and now there was something gentler beneath the fascination, something that acknowledged the cost of it. He was still captivated, still curiosity, but not oblivious. He knew these changes were not trophies. They were wounds, consequences, survival written into flesh.
“That was not a compliment.”
“It sounds like you found me in the lab.”
Ryland’s mouth twitched. “It was more of a sub.”
Ryland’s fingers softened against his skin. “Hey. I’m serious.” His thumb brushed beneath Simon’s eyebrow, careful around the boil-clouded haze. “I know you don’t see what I see yet. But I’m not lying to you.” His hand drifted down, tracing the shape of Simon’s altered jaw with heartbreaking gentleness. “You’re beautiful.”
The words landed harder the second time.
Perhaps because Ryland was touching every part Simon hated while he said them. Perhaps because he sounded so certain. Simon’s eyes stung. He looked away on instinct. Ryland let him, for all of two seconds. Then his fingers slipped beneath Simon’s chin and turned him back with ridiculous tenderness. “No hiding,” he murmured. Grace’s hands quickly were covered with wet tears. Quickly being wiped away. Replacing them with soft, loving kisses as Simon swallowed, sniffling. “You ask impossible things.” Ryland’s smile was small and sad but fond all at once. His cologne still prominent in the room, like a drug Simon couldn’t get enough of. “Yeah. Sorry. It’s a bad habit.” Simon leaned into the touch. The answering look on Ryland’s face was devastating.
Simon had called him a savior in the privacy of his own mind so many times it had begun to feel less like metaphor and more like fact. It was not that Ryland was perfect. It was that he wasn’t. But he still kept choosing gentleness. Kept choosing Simon. Back in the ocean, Simon had thought salvation would look like freedom. The metal door to the sub prying open as he gets blinded by fluorescent white light before his chains cut loose. He had not known it might also look like this. A man with a crooked smile, glasses and ink-smudged fingers, sitting against him in a blanket, touching the ruined parts of himself as if they were worth everything. Simon reached for him before he could think too hard about it. Ryland came easily.
This time, the kiss was softer than the ones before. Slower. No uncertainty, just warm and breathy presses of mouths that were learning how to fit together. Simon felt Ryland smile into it for a heartbeat before the expression melted into something more fragile.
When they parted, Ryland did not go far. His forehead found Simon’s shoulder again, breath warm through the thin cotton of the shirt. Simon resumed playing with his hair on instinct alone. Ryland made a sound so embarrassingly content that Simon’s mouth twitched. “You really do like this,” Simon murmured. Ryland groaned. “Please stop narrating my humiliation.”
“It is not humiliation if you enjoy it.”
“Incorrect. It can be both.”
Simon’s fingers threaded slowly through the curls at the nape of Ryland’s neck. As Grace turned into his neck, placing delicate quick kisses on Simon’s gills. Both Ryland and Simon shivered hard enough that the other felt it through their joined bodies. Both expressing a soft moan on contentment that made both pause as the air shifted.
Enough to turn the softness between them into something warmer, heavier. Simon became aware all at once of Ryland’s thigh hooked under his own, the weight of Ryland half in his lap now, of the hand still resting against Simon’s chest. Ryland seemed to realize it at the same time, because his breathing caught.
Their eyes met. Simon’s hand, still in Ryland’s hair, drifted down to the back of his neck, holding him. Ryland swallowed. “Simon,” he said quietly. It was not a warning. Not quite. Simon gave him every chance. He moved slowly, leaning in just enough for their noses to brush. Ryland did not pull away. His lips parted slightly. One hand tightened in Simon’s shirt.
A faster kiss. Their faces smooshed together. Tasting each other taking turns between breaths. Then another, attempting to add tongue with both softly moaning into the other. Ryland shifted closer between them before seeming to realize he’d done it. His fingers slid from the top of Simon’s chest inching down to his side, clutching there as if he needed something solid to hold onto. Simon’s hand had moved carefully down to Ryland’s waist pulling him in, then lowered down to his thigh, feeling the hitch in Ryland’s breath. Ryland hadn't realized how close they'd gotten until there was barely any space left between them.
The fabric of Ryland’s shirt brushed against his own every time either of them breathed. It was a simple thing, but it made Simon painfully aware of everything. The warmth radiating from Grace’s body, the faint scent of soap lingering on their clothes, the way his heartbeat seemed loud enough to fill the room. His hand rested against Grace’s thigh. Beneath the soft fabric of the sweatpants. His fingers shifted slightly, catching on the uneven texture of old scars hidden beneath them. They were faint, softened by time, but still there. His thumb brushed over them absentmindedly, and Ryland’s breath groaned ever so slightly. His fingers curled under Simon's shirt. Beginning to rub circles on his back. Simon moved closer. His angel moved closer too without thinking.
The kisses became less hesitant, neither of them pulling away quite as far between them. Shared breaths mixed together. Every touch felt magnified. A nervous laugh escaped Ryland, immediately swallowed by another kiss. The simple affection of it made Simon’s chest ache as they tasted each other. Ryland tasted faintly of mint and coffee, the flavor lingering between. The warmth of his mouth and the softness of his lips were far more noticeable making it difficult to focus on anything else. Tightening his grip on his thigh. As Ryland continued to whisper. Then Ryland come back into the kiss, just enough to break the heat it, breathing a little too fast, eyes soft behind his glasses. Simon got one last minty taste before a flush spread from his cheeks all the way down his throat. Simon’s stomach dropped looking down, his hand had begun to move upward towards Ryland’s crotch. He pulled it back immediately. As he pulled his hand away from Ryland’s thigh. “I’m so sorry.”
“No- no!! Don’t do that.” Ryland shook his hands around, as Simon pulled his arm back into himself still pink, still breathless. “You didn’t do anything wrong!” Simon searched his face. Ryland laughed once, weakly, and dropped his forehead. “I think,” he mumbled, “My brain and the rest of me are not operating at the same speed right now.” Breathing heavily between words. Simon blinked as Ryland made a small, mortified noise. “That was the least suave sentence anyone has ever spoken.” Ryland tried to sound tough after this make out session. Though he thought it worked very well until his glasses fell off his nose, hanging off an ear in defeat.
Despite the knot of worry in his chest, Simon felt a laugh pull at him. “Probably.” Ryland pulled his face up enough to look at Simon again. Embarrassed, yes but not regretting anything.
“I want this,” Ryland said softly. Moving his hand onto Simon’s heart. “Very much, actually. Maybe... too much.” His ears went red. “I just-” He exhaled shakily. Fixing his glasses before saying “Can we go a little slower?” Something tender cracked open in Simon’s chest. All that fear, and this was what it was? Just Ryland, honest to a fault, asking to breathe. Simon moved back over and cupped the back of his neck. “Of course.” The relief on Ryland’s face was immediate. He leaned into Simon’s hand like he could not help it.
Simon tugged him closer again, slower this time, until Ryland was tucked securely against his side. Using the empty spot where Simon’s arm should’ve been as a resting point. Being careful not to hit the actual muscle itself. Along with the blanket being gracefully pulled around both of them. Ryland went willingly, curling into him as though he had been built for exactly that position. Simon’s hand returned to his hair. Small hums from the blonde below him.
After a moment, Ryland spoke again, voice quieter now. “Can I ask you one last thing?” Simon nodded against his temple. “Back there. Before… this.” Ryland’s fingers traced absent little patterns against Simon’s shoulder. “When you asked if I ever feel small.” He hesitated. “Was that what you meant? That everything feels too big?”
Simon was quiet for a long moment. Looking up into the metal working of the ship. Then he said, “The reason I was sent in the sub, was because we were prisoners. We were sent out because it did not matter if we came back. I was a prisoner.” His fingers paused in Ryland’s hair. “The point was observation. Samples, and exploration mostly. 8 were sent out before me.” He swallowed. “All died in the process, forgotten by C.O.I and Eden.” Ryland went very still stopping the shapes and staring off back into the room.
Simon looked back down and over towards the stars. “Different missions. Same grave.” The words sat between them, heavy and honest. Ryland’s hand tightened on him. “I didn’t know that.” He said, and Simon knew he probably wouldn’t open up like this for a while. He was mourning something old and cruel that he could not undo. Simon shrugged one shoulder faintly. “You understand.” Ryland laughed without humor. “Yeah. Turns out being shoved into space by people who decided your life is worth spending does create a weird sense of kinship with another.” Simon glanced down at him. Ryland’s smile was small and crooked. “Mine was with less blood, granted. More drugs but same basic principles.” Something in Simon’s chest felt uneased. Yes, they were similar but that’s not always a good thing. Not because it made the past better because Ryland truly did understand that shape of the wound.
“I hated them for it,” Ryland admitted quietly, he knew Simon understood that hate. “For a while, I hated everybody. Earth, the project, all of it. And then...” He tilted his head just enough to look at Simon. “Then I met a rock alien who needed my help, and an angry space mutant with an attitude problem.”
Simon stared at him. “An attitude problem?”
“I threatened to kill you.”
“You were very committed to the bit, yes.”
“And attitude problem is all you got?”
“I mean what do you want me to say?”
Simon’s mouth twitched. “And this was charming?”
Ryland’s answering smile was impossibly soft. “No. You were terrifying.” His hand slid up carefully, until his fingers rested near Simon’s gilled neck again. Rubbing his knuckles against them as they fluttered. Simon let out a quiet breath as Grace continued. “But you were hurting. And you were still trying to protect yourself.” His thumb brushed up and down lightly. “I think I started caring about you before it was a good idea.” Simon looked at him in silence. Then, because there was suddenly too much in his chest to hold, he bent and pressed a kiss to Ryland’s forehead. Through the beautiful messy curls. Kissing his gorgeous brain. Grace melted all over again. “Oh no,” he whispered.
Simon frowned slightly. “What?” “That was...” Ryland pressed his face into Simon’s shoulder to hide the way he was smiling. “That was unfairly nice.” Simon resumed stroking his hair. “You survived?”
Simon, to his horror, did not have a rebuttal. Ryland laughed softly against him, clearly taking the silence as victory. Then he shifted, just enough to get comfortable, his leg tangling more firmly with Simon’s beneath the blanket. Simon tightened his arm around him automatically.
Neither of them spoke for a while after that.
They simply sat together by the window, trading warmth in the cold glow of the stars. Ryland’s shapes gradually slowed Simon’s shoulder moving back to his neck. Thumb tracing gills with a softness Simon still did not know how to survive. Simon kept his hand in his hair, smoothing it back repeatedly, each press rewarded by a tiny, sleepy lean into the touch and or hum of delight. But he was learning. “Simon?” Ryland said at last, voice nearly gone with drowsiness.
“Yes, Angel?” Simon startled himself with that nickname.
“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?” Simon’s chest ached. Ryland didn’t wait for an answer. He just tilted his face up enough to look at him once. Truly look at Ryland Grace. Laying against him, allowing him to touch and play with him, while they both dozed off to sleep. He kneeled down his neck and kissed him softly once more. Then settled back against him as if the matter had been decided. Simon looked out at the stars again. They were still too large. The universe still too vast. Everything beyond this ship still uncertain.
But Ryland was warm in his arms.
His angel.
His savior.
Terribly human, and all the more miraculous for it.
Simon rested his head against the cold metal frame of the window. For the first time in a very long while, being alive did not feel like a punishment. It felt like being held.
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