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“Angel,” The word slipped passed out of his mouth, the mumblings of a delirious man, the weight of a prayer on his tongue. He couldn’t help himself, he doesn’t think he’s ever been this comfortable before in his life. His stomach was full, almost uncomfortably so, and his skin was clear of grime and sweat. Resources had been given to him haphazardly, as if Simon was ever worth.
Simon has been awake on this ship for a good month now. The original anxieties had melted away, in fact they seem so silly in hindsight. The thought of Grace ever being with C.O.I seemed so ridiculous, it would never fail to make Simon huff with laughter. Grace was too good. Too nice. He reminded Simon of the old pictures of Jesus that Father would have framed in the church of Eden. This ethereal man haloed in a light that no longer exists, his head tucked down, arms outstretched, as if he was being humble as he performed his miracles. Sometimes, when Grace looked at him, Simon would have to pull away. He was too good for Simon to touch with his mortal hands.
He believed it was hallucination for the longest time, believing this was all too good to be true. It is too good to be true, too good for Simon to ever deserve. But, Simon’s brain could never come up with someone like Grace. Could never imagine a life where Simon wasn’t hungry, wasn’t cold, wasn’t tired.
This gratefulness poured from him so much, it hurt. He had to do something other than bite at his hand, his too sharp canines digging into the soft flesh of his knuckle. The urge to show that Simon was useful, could be useful, to whatever Grace could ever want from him. Something primal, something indescribable burst from him every time Grace looked at him. Every time Grace would hand him a meal, or water, as it cost nothing at all, a warm smile on his face. Simon would feel restless. Feel useless, the urge to do anything, anything at all pulling at his muscles.
Usually, he would swallow it, shove the tension away as he took the offerings with a sense of beholden. Then he would stuff the food in his mouth, chewing slowly, occupying his mouth so something stupid wouldn’t slip out under the guise of savoring his food.
Today was different.
He couldn’t help it.
The words slipped past as he was handed the warm container, the heat seeping into the tips of his fingers,
Then Grace looked at him, face aflame with a blush, rushing down his neck, slipping into the hem of the neckline of his graphic t-shirt. His lips were parted, glasses slipping to the tip of nose, as his eyebrows rose. And Simon couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Not when Grace looked so surprised to be called what he was.
Simon was on his knees in a flash. Hand coming up to the waist band of the sweatpants Grace was currently wearing.
He gasped, flinching back slightly, surprised by Simon’s sudden intrusion. But he didn’t let him get too far. Thumb brushing against the skin right where his shirt ended, his calloused pads rubbing against smooth skin. He could feel the man breathing above him, his stomach expanding and contracting, quickly as if he was trying to catch his breath, silent for once.
Simon lifted the hem of the shirt, a trail of golden hair starting below the belly button, and retreating downwards. His fingers brushed over it, the skin underneath his hand shuddered as he moved his hand upwards, finally finding a home on Grace’s hip, the shirt out of his way.
He let his tongue fall out, tracing over where his fingers had been just moments ago, letting the salty taste of skin fill his mouth, feeling the familiar texture of thick hair. Grace shuddered, and Simon could practically hear the blood rushing south, the warmth running underneath his fingers and tongue.
“Si…” Grace finally spoke, as Simon placed a kiss right at the edge of his waist band, the soft grey fabric slightly damped when he ran his tongue over for good measure. There was a hand in his hair, and Simon spared a glance up, looking through his eye lashes in the way that he knew people liked.
Grace’s other hand was on his lips, teeth biting the knuckle of pointer finger, skin turning white under the pressure. His face was somehow redder than before, tips of his ears a cute shade of pink. His blue eyes hazy, like his mind has gone completely blank.
The man was easy on the eyes, and something about the way he fell apart so easily in Simon’s hands made pride swell in his chest. It wouldn’t be hard to pretend to enjoy this.
When Grace didn’t tell him to stop, Simon continued.
There was an unmistakable bulge in his pants. Simon leaned forward, placing a kiss, tongue slipping out to swipe it away. Grace gasped again, and the fingers in his hair tightening. His mouth opened slightly now, tongue lapping at the fabric until a dark stain was soaked through. Then his lips were placed over the stain, and Simon hollowed out his cheeks as he sucked.
Grace choked out a moan, fingernails scraping his scalp, but Simon didn’t let up. He moved down more, finding a dry spot before repeating the process. His thumb was still rubbing circles into Grace’s skin, feeling the shuddering muscles as Grace struggled to breathe.
When Simon pulled away again, there was a small wet stain forming towards the crotch of the sweat pants. Leaning in, Simon pressed his nose into fabric, and Grace practically jumped, as he inched his way upwards, more moans slipping past the man's lips with every exhale of his lungs.
He was on that patch of hair again, tongue leaving a wet streak, slow and steady up to the belly button. Then his teeth were on the hem of the sweat pants, and Grace let a shuddering gasp as Simon practically tore the pants down to his mid thighs.
Simon was lapping at this new layer of fabric now, a growing stain towards the crotch of man’s underwear, more prominent now. He peppers kisses down the length of the bulge before he lands on the stain. He opens his mouth, tongue licking at the saltyness, before his lips lock around it and he sucks again.
Fingers tighten on his scalp, and the man pushed Simon into his length, nose shoved against the hardness, feeling the scrape of fabric as Grace rutted forward.
Simon moved up again, pausing only to leave kisses, and dark stains of saliva with his tongue. He could feel Grace shaking underneath him, like he was trying to hold back. He didn’t understand it, this was for Grace, all for Grace. This was for Grace to take what he wanted from Simon, to understand that Simon could be useful.
His hand brushed down the man’s side, ghosting his fingers over the skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. They pushed past the hem of Grace's boxers, pulling slowly, letting the friction brush against Grace’s most sensitive parts, until his bulge was free.
Grace moaned as the cool air hit his growing erection.
Simon dove in, his nose coming to the base of his cock, golden hair brushing against his cheeks, and Grace huffed above him. His tongue slipped out, raking through the hair and into the little crook at the base of his balls. He flattened out his tongue, trailing up from the bottom, and he could feel Grace’s knees shake below him. He came to the tip, letting the cloudy drops fall, the salty taste spreading. His lips wrapped around the tip and he hollowed out his cheeks again, sucking the liquid gently.
The man threw his head back, other hand finding itself on Simon’s shoulder as he let his moan fall past his lips. He bucked forward, and Simon let him, the member pushing into his mouth as he parted his jaw so his too sharp teeth wouldn’t scrap his skin.
His tongue went to work again, swirling at the intrusion in his mouth, lapping at the slit of man’s cock as more salty liquid dripped from it. His tongue flattened out, pushing at the bottom of the member.
Grace moaned again, as Simon teased at ridges at textures, the hand digging into his hair pushing him further onto the cock. He didn’t push all the way, despite the fact that Simon could tell he was fighting to, with the twitch of his hips as if he wanted to buck into the mouth, but wouldn’t.
He must want Simon to do all the work.
That seemed fair, if not unusual. He was used to fast and brutal. Used to quick moments hidden away in bathrooms and closest, as the men over him would be so focused on chasing their pleasure, not caring about the bruises they left behind. Simon didn’t mind it, in fact, it made the whole thing quicker, over with so much faster than when Simon had to pull the orgasm out of them. He’s had his fair share of that too. Those that liked to watch Simon swallow down their length slow and steady.
Grace must be the ones that liked to watch.
Simon stared up at him through his eyelashes. Grace’s head was thrown back, eyes screwed shut, but, as if he sensed Simon looking at him, his head turned down wards eyes cracking open.
“...Si,” He moaned again, and Simon inched forward, letting the tip hit the back of his throat. “Simon…holy-” Simon swallowed around the tip, letting the muscles contract against the sensitive flesh. Grace’s fingers tightened in his scalp and on his shoulder, a sudden weight on them as if Simon was the only thing keeping Grace on his feet right now.
Then something changed in Grace’s eyes.
Simon didn’t notice at first, letting his tongue continue to lap at the bottom of the member, practically sucking more liquid out of him.
“Si-” He moaned, a hand tightening on his shoulder. “Si, Si, wait-”
Simon paused looking at the man, but he didn’t pull Grace out of his mouth.
“You-you’re-” Grace keened, as Simon instinctively swallowed around him. “You’re n-not,” Grace was looking past him, below him, eyes fixed on the ground. “You’re not hard,” Grace pushed out, as if he was embarrassed to say it out loud. Simon raised an eyebrow, finally letting the cock fall out of his mouth. He drew in a breath, swallowing down the saliva that had built in his mouth.
“So?” Simon asked. Did Grace want him to be? Honestly, it’s not something Simon thinks he’s capable of. He doesn’t like giving blow jobs, to him it was nothing more than a skill, a negotiation tool to help get something he needs. He doesn’t like the way it makes him feel, especially not when the man fucking his mouth would spill degrading insults from their own. It made him feel dirty, and gross.
Maybe when he first started, his technique was sloppy but the touch of another human was too good to pass up, there was some pleasure. But those days were long ago. To him, this was just another chore to do. Another thing to cross off his list.
When Grace didn’t respond to him, only looking at him with wide eyes, lips parted in shock, mirroring the face he had given when Simon first threw himself at him, he continued.
His mouth was wrapped around the cock once more, tasting his own cooled saliva in the heat of his mouth. His tongue was teasing at a vein that Simon felt earlier. Grace moaned above him, nails digging into his shoulder.
Then, in a blink, he was back to his senses.
“Simon…” he breathed, trying to gently pull the man off of him, his palm pushing into his shoulder. “Wait,” Simon didn’t move, tongue continuing to tease him, as he took more of him into his mouth. Grace could feel his tip pressing into the back of Simon’s throat again, and couldn’t help the moan that left as the man swallowed.
“Wait,” He blinked, drawing in a breath. Simon ignored him again. “Simon,” There was a warning in his tone now. The man blinked up at him but didn’t move. Grace watched as Adam's apple bopped up and down as he swallowed yet again. He shuddered, feeling the tight heat of his throat. Simon seemed to take that as permission to push another inch.
“Simon!” Grace shouted, his self control coming back to him in a snap, and he pushed the man off of him. He scrambled back as if he had been burned, stepping out of his sweatpants as they tangled around him, and stuffing himself back into his boxers.
When he looked back at the man, Grace had to swallow down the guilt forming in his stomach. Mismatched eyes were looking at him, wide and somewhat glossy with tears, his swollen lips parted with shock, hand still raised in the air like he was frozen in time.
“Simon,” He flinched despite Grace’s gentle tone, hand falling to his side. There was a war going on inside his head, eyes stormy, as he glanced at Grace, examining him like there was something about him that he missed. Like there was something on Grace that would explain what was going on.
“Was…” Simon finally spoke, swallowing with a lick over his cracked and dry lips (and Grace had to shove down the memory of those very same lips on his cock not even a moment before.) “Was I not good?”
Grace blinked. Oh god, how did one even go about this.
“No!” The response was quick, and the resulting cringe was quicker as his own word hit his ears, “Fudge, I mean-yes!” No, that didn’t sound right either. “I mean-” He gave up with a groan, instead, placing himself on his knees so that he’d be on Simon’s level. The man looked like he wanted to say something, but decided against it, as he settled on his bent knees, sitting on his ankles.
“Simon,” He drew in a breath, and the man was no longer looking at him. He could see the strom of guilt of self loathing from where he was sitting. “Did you want to do…” his cheeks flushed again, and he had to clear his throat. “Did you want to do that?”
The man snapped his head towards Grace, brown and red eyes meeting his blue. The nod was quick, instant, no doubt on his face.
“Of course,” he said.
“Right,” Grace sighed, “Let me rephrase the question. Why did you do that?” Simon paused, looking at the man in front of him like he had grown two heads. Like Grace was the one being ridiculous in this scenario.
Then his confusion melted, his shoulders lowering, chin tucking into his chest, shame replacing his features. “I…” a flick of his eyes as he gathered his thoughts, trying to form a sentence. “I thought it's what you wanted.”
What? Grace had to pause to gather his own thoughts, trying to think back onto all their interactions, every moment, deciphering at one point where his words may have been misconstrued. When his actions may have been misinterpreted. But there was nothing odd that came to his mind, there was nothing he could think of that would lead to this. Had it been the movie nights? Those nights spent curled next to each other, huddled underneath so many blankets they were usually kicked off within a couple hours. Had Simon been thinking that Grace wanted something from him this entire time?
Something about it made his stomach do flips, bile raising in his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Simon spoke up again after a beat of silence, assuming that Grace’s silence meant he was angry. His chin was still tucked, refusing to look anywhere except for his knees, his arm crossed in front of his chest, grabbing onto his stump like a life-line. “I’m sorry-” His voice was thick, tears in his throat, he had to swallow before he drew in a breath. “I just…I just wanted to show you that I could be useful.”
Grace’s eyebrows shot up, hands coming down on the man’s shoulders before he could think better of. Simon flinched, eyes scrunched up as if he was expecting Grace to hurt him, expecting the hands to turn on him.
“Simon, I would never ask you to do something like this!” He shouted before he could think better of it. Realization hit him just as quickly, and he pulled his hands off the man’s shoulders. Especially when the man still refused to look up, refused to move, refused to do anything other than look at the ground as shame radiated from him. In fact, he pulled inside of himself more, like Grace refusing him was Simon’s own failures, his own fault.
Grace reached his hand out again, gentle this time, slow and calculated. Fingertips brushed along his jaw, and Simon flinched back.
“Simon,” Grace sighed, he reached out again, following the man. This time the man didn’t pull away. “Simon, look at me please,” his fingers curled around his jaw, palm cupping his cheek, as he gently applied pressure so Simon would turn. He followed, the black hair he used to curtain his face falling away, as he turned to look at Grace. “I am so sorry,” he swallowed, his own lump of tears forming his throat as he noticed Simon’s still functional eye, liquid spilling past his eye lid, leaving streaks down his cheeks. “I am so sorry that I made you think I wanted something like this from you.”
He blinked, the confusion back on his face, but the self loathing stayed. He could see it swirling in his eyes as he examined Grace’s face, analyzing it there was something he wasn’t understanding. Grace knew the feeling.
“But…” He trailed off, words refusing to form. He went to look back down, but the gentle pressure of Grace’s fingertips reminded him to keep his head up. Reminded him that Grace wanted to be involved in this conversation too. “I know I’m ugly, but I-” Simon cut himself off again, just as Grace felt his mouth fall open again.
“What? No, no. You’re not ugly, I mean, ugh,” frustration flashed through Grace once again. “I mean to say, that’s not the reason I stopped you.” Eyes were on him again, filled with that confusion. He drew in a breath, steeling himself as he looked at that tear filled eye (and desperately trying not to think about those eyes looking up at him just a moment ago, and ignoring the heat that still pooled in his stomach.) “Simon,” his other hand came up, cupping his other cheek, “You weren’t…you weren’t enjoying yourself.”
“What does that have to do with anything?” The question was genuine, and, at this point, the feeling of shock and dread should be numb to Grace. But it isn’t, and Grace had to swallow down the flare of rage starting to bubble up within him.
“Oh boy,” Grace shifted, pulling away from Simon as he sat on the ground to get in a more comfortable position. This was going to be a long conversation. Simon blinked, but followed after him not a moment later. “It would have been one thing if we talked about it beforehand, if that…” (he shuddered remembering the feeling of Simon’s tongue, warm and flexible on his member, remembering the feeling of his throat contracting around his tip, squeezing him so tight he saw stars.) “was something we both…enjoyed, ya know?” With the way Simon was looking at him, he did not know.
“I don’t get it,” And Grace let out a sigh, “And you didn’t answer my question before.” Simon’s confusion was melting away into something more comfortable, fear hiding under the guise of anger, as his eyebrows downturned, and his tone turned more hostile, more on edge.
“Simon,” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to handle the conversation with the tact it needed, but he had a feeling having a conversation with a brick wall would be more progressive. “Intamacy has to be a mutual thing. We both have to like it,” Simon thought about it for a second, eyes flicking away, before nodding. And for a moment, Grace thought he was breaking through to him.
“So you want me to like it?”
“Yes! Wait, no. No wait, that isn’t the point I’m trying to make.” And the brief flash of understanding melted in Simon’s eye just as quick as it came, “I want you to do something you like to do. Not to do something because you think I would like it,”
“But,” The confusion was back, eyes flicking, analyzing, trying to find the trap. “But I’m good at blow jobs.”
“But you don’t like to do them!” He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Ugh! They were just talking in circles, and Grace was only growing more and more frustrated.
“It’s called consent, Simon!”
There was a beat of silence, as Simon didn’t say a thing. Only staring at Grace.
“What is that?”
“Oh boy,” he says again.
Grace is up in a flash, Simon only flinching slightly, running off somewhere deeper into the hail mary. When he came back, he was wheeling a white board into the room. There were already some scribbles but he used his forearm to wipe it away, despite the fact that there was an erasure already on the board, as he uncapped a marker to write the word "consent," in all caps at the tip. It was underlined three times just in case Simon didn’t get the word’s importance.
From there, Grace went into a lecture that Simon was only partly following along to half of the words going over his head, like the words “kink,” and "contraceptive" which were also written on the board. However, he liked to think he understood most of it.
Simon was supposed to want to give blow jobs. He was supposed to do it because he enjoyed doing it. So when he raised his hand, and sheepishly asked Grace what he supposed to do if he didn’t like it, he simply responded with:
“Than don’t do it,”
“It can’t be that simple,” Simon rebutted, but that tired look was back on Grace’s face.
“I can assure you it is.” he drew in a breath, hand stained with ink coming to the bridge of his nose as he messaged the muscles there. “Intamacy is supposed to be something that feels good for all parties. If it isn’t, then you stop.”
“So…” Simon trailed off, thinking, hand coming up to his chin. “What do you want me to do instead?”
“Nothing!” Grace practically screamed. “Like I said, if it’s something you enjoy doing, then that’s one thing, but if you aren’t then you don’t. Do. It.”
“But, I don’t know what I like.” It was meant to be an argument, meant to be some ‘gotcha’ moment from Simon, but he must hear how sad it sounded to his own ears as he cringed, looking away. Grace took pity on him, capping the marker and placing it into the white board’s tray.
“Then you don’t have to do anything.” He walked over, finding his old spot, long gone cold, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him.
“But, what if I want to do something?” The question was timid, and the early anxiety was making itself known again.
“Do you want to do something because you want to do something, or because you think I want something?” He asked, and Simon paused, actually considering his words, face scrunched up in thought.
“I…” there was a blush forming on his cheeks, unsure and skittish. “I want to try,” (and Grace had to ignore the way all his blood went south, something thick and warm swirling in his stomach.)
“Okay,” he said, trying to will away the blush brushing across his shoulders. “Okay, so we'll talk about it.”