Chapter Text
There’s another human on Erid; Simon.
A freak accident on an exploratory mission led to a team finding and bringing Simon back to Erid. Then- once it was established they couldn’t co-habitate, they built a house on the other side of the dome. Where Simon stays… 24/7- Pointedly away from him.
They don’t hate each other-… Well, that's being a bit generous.
Grace groans as he stares up aimlessly at the ceiling. Pants half shirked down his thighs and deep in thought. (No wonder his ex called him air-headed. He's so easily distracted)
They’re not actively at each other's throats most of the time. But they don’t exactly get along either. Out of all the humans that could’ve divebombed onto Erid- it had to be a stuck up, violent, agoraphobic, religious freak.
Or in other words- his antithesis in its totality as a scientist and a teacher. The man infuriates him to no end- Every conversation ends in the same few selections of fights. About the stars, or about Simon’s past, or Grace’s evident inability to leave their amicable hatred alone as it is.
Why, you may ask, is he thinking about such a rancid bond with his pants half down? Well- that lies in the dream that continues to haunt him in a near constant cycle; starting fresh and vibrant every night and playing back on a fogged loop during the day.
It’s hot and heavy immediately- his only human companion within 11 light years dropping to his knees with his lips pressing a filthy line down to his v-line. Grace’s palm lands in Simon’s hair, gripping the silken strands like a life-line. The deft and solid weight of his hand hooks onto his waistband, pulling it down and around his knees.
Simon settles fully and takes the hilt of Ryland’s cock in his grip. Every time, he's hard as a rock, red and leaking- Desperate for the attention that the dark haired man offers in sloppy droves.
He guides it to his lips, pressing them against the length in a slow progression to the tip.
He can feel his heartbeat sporadically jump up to his throat as the man’s lips encompass him and draw the length back on his tongue. It’s a herculean task to keep his hips from jolting forward into Simon’s mouth, but he manages to keep himself steady as he’s taken further.
The weight of that pitch black gaze holds him firmly in place with a prickling sense of being hunted crawling along the back of his neck.
Despite the hunger that threatens to swallow him whole, Simon’s teeth are kept tucked behind the slight plush of his lips and the solid flat of his tongue.
The most unrealistic part of this dream, he reasons internally, is how kind Simon treats him during- holding him like he’s something worth the effort of savoring and consuming wholly.
The mechanic’s tongue darts along the length as he establishes a deep and languid pace to the bobbing of his head.
Grace’s fingers curl tighter into his companion’s hair and drag a deepseated moan from the bowels of Simon’s throat.
He lifts off- just far enough to speak, with something animalistic and feral in his eye, “Pull like you fuckin’ mean it.” He orders sharply.
A sickeningly sweet shudder runs down Ryland’s back and he bares down on his grip with unfettered abandon. He asked for it, after all. Can’t get mad at him for the strands he wretches loose between his fingers when Simon asks like that.
Finally, his hips stutter forward as his restraint begins to crumble, and to the shorter man’s credit, he manages to avoid choking as Ryland’s hips canter from the wall. The feeling is just too good to resist chasing with fervor.
The fanning flames in his core threaten him with bliss, mounting perfectly with the slight amount of suction and the friction of the man’s tongue.
Sweet, sweet bliss at the very edge of his reach- then-…
He wakes up- Every. Single. Time…
It isn’t Grace’s first instinct to immediately lean into the lewd curiosity of his brain. But he’s slowly losing his mind. No matter what he tries, he can’t seem to finish. His hand isn’t enough and even letting his brain cycle through the dream, unfettered, hasn’t offered any sort of relief.
Unfortunately, he stares down another brush with failure and the frustration is enough to bring tears to his eyes. Ryland presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the dampness away. He’s just stressed, that’s all. There’s some mental blockade he has to figure a way around and he’ll be fine!!
Or… he ends up sexually frustrated for the rest of forever.
A sharp knock yanks him from the depth of his spiral and he rushes to clamber to his feet- tripping on the hem of his sweatpants as he does. Grace barely recovers in time for his mystery guest to invite themself in-
“Woah!!!” Simon’s voice peaks in surprise and he pivots on his heels just as quickly as he’d appeared around the corner, “Fuckin’ hell, Grace.”
Ryland finally manages to yank the elastic back over his hips, “I’m sorry- I don’t remember saying ‘come in’ or for a matter of fact, I don’t remember saying anything that would constitute you barging in!!”
“It’s the middle of the goddamn day-“ Simon snaps in return, “You cancelled classes for that?”
“Oh don’t act like you actually planned to show up to one.” Ryland ties the band off a bit harder than he needs to, if only to feel a little less exposed. Though the sweatpants are doing…. Nothing to help him in that case.
“No actually-“ Simon corrects, “I’m checking on you as a favor to Adrian. Who is worried about you.”
Ryland can’t help but roll his eyes, but it's mostly to disguise the pang of guilt for worrying Rocky’s mate,“I’m fine, thanks.”
“Clearly not,” The mechanic crosses his arms with a disbelieving glance downward, “You should also consider closing the curtains to your bedroom window.”
Grace’s face visibly pales, and he wraps his cardigan a bit tighter around his middle to disguise the raging heat still flaring in his core, "That's… so flipping creepy.”
“I’m not the one flashing all of Erid in the middle of the day-“ Simon shoots back, settling his shoulder against the doorframe, xenonite arm crossing over the flesh one.
“This is my own house!!! And it’s not like I was given much warning before you just barged in. No respect for boundaries-“ Grace begins to chastise.
His voice stutters off as Simon pushes off the doorframe, crossing the short distance into Ryland’s personal space.
He stops close enough for the scientist to feel the ghosting of his breath against the line of his throat, “You want help or not?”
That certainly kicks the air from his lungs. So much so, by the time he’s able to speak again, all he’s able to mutter is a weak willed, “What?”
“When they mentioned human issues, I figured you were.. homesick or somethin’…” Simon’s hands hover near the swell of his waist, as if waiting for Grace to make the first move- as some sort of non-verbal approval, “Can’t help with that- but i can certainly help with this-”
“I’m fine- really,” The scientist in question groans, hand coming up to run down the length of his face, “Just- pent up and stressed.”
“You’re practically an alien show pony- what could you possibly be stressed about?” Simon questions pointedly. His hands still haven’t settled anywhere- held in suspense almost as if to tease the poor teacher.
Grace glances down at the man's lips before focusing back up on his face. The dream is still fresh at the front of his mind, and certainly continues to cloud it with lewd inclinations, “Human…. Issues.”
For a moment it feels like too much of a confession, like he’s primed himself to turn into the butt of an insult, or judgement. That is until he watches the other’s blackened gaze flick down to his own lips and back up. Simon’s a bit more pointed than the teacher intended his to be, but he solidifies his intentions by, finally, taking Grace’s hips between his firm palms.
Gracelessly, he’s yanked forward and into Simon’s lips. The heat is the first thing he notices; domineering and uniquely comforting, though he hates to admit it. That and how soft the man’s lips are, somehow exceeding his imagination.
Ryland begins to melt in his grasp, the awkward tension in his shoulders waning as Simon’s palms travel up his sides languidly. He begins to walk them backwards, guiding Grace until his calves hit the bedframe.
He gasps against the other man’s lips, breaking the kiss long enough to pull away and mumble a confused, “Why..?”
“Seriously?” Simon pauses to deadpan glare up at the taller man, “Do you want the help or not?”
“I-yes! I mean, I think so?” He scrambles for a response that doesn't scream ‘please for the love of anything good in the universe please don't stop. This is exactly everything I need handed to me on a silver platter’- But his voice cracks and any sense of passivity (or pride) is lost.
“Then keep quiet. Which, I know, that’s a huge struggle for you,” Simon snaps, voice dipping into a growl and grip baring down threateningly. But really all it does is pull a broken moan from the teacher’s lips.
Grace is shoved back into the mattress with a bit more force than necessary and Simon’s hand lands on the tie of his sweatpants immediately. It's almost… a mechanical kind of take-apart.
It's undone with one half-minded tug, and the waistband is once again shoved down past his thighs.
Ryland’s gaze stays fixated on the sun-speckled figure hovering between his knees. Somehow, midday brings out a soft array of umber in the man’s hair and the deep honey tone encircling his pupil. It reflects like gems off the polygon-esque formation of Simon’s xenonite prosthetic.
The mechanic pulls away to lean over to Grace’s bedside table and wrenches open the first drawer. He digs around silently while pointedly ignoring the way he's being balked at, “Hey uhm- maybe wanna let me know what you're digging around for?... in my drawers?”
“No need,” Simon deadpans, producing his prize with an affirming nod, “Found it.”
Grace can only blink silently at the bottle of lube in his companion’s hand, “How did you-”
“You’re a middle aged man who lives alone and owns cardigans- I made a wild guess,” Simon cuts him off.
“I-... feel like I should be offended somehow,” the older man admits, “But you’re also.. Not wrong.”
Grace nearly jumps out of his skin when he feels the cool swipe of a fingertip along the swell of his ass, “Hey- Woah! Maybe we slow down a bit?”
“Oh pipe down. You’ve been rock hard the entire time I've been here,” Simon chastises, his other hand trails up to settle, quite comfortably, around the length of his throat.
The second that the dark haired male adds pressure, a sweet dizzy pleasure rocks down the length of his spine in maddening waves- All this made worse by the man beginning to press past the first ring of muscles, sinking down to the first knuckle with a bit too much ease.
Simon hones in on that fact immediately, “Are you.. Already prepped?” he asks slowly, fist twitching against his neck and his brow quirked up curiously at the dirty blonde male.
“Not on purpose!” Grace is far too quick to shut down, “Incidentally- I was.. Getting frustrated and creative.”
“Good thing I’m here to save the day then, huh?” The mechanic teases, adding another finger to test the extent of the prep. It slides in almost as easily as the first one, punching a warbled groan from Ryland’s lips. The lower curve of his spine tightens and pulls from the sheets as he adjusts to the feeling of fullness.
He manages a shaken glare up at the other man, “I could’ve managed-” But the argument is thrust from the forefront of his mind by Simon sinking a third digit in along the first two.
“Stop trying to talk,” Simon orders sharply, picking up the pace enough to tint each of the taller man’s exhales with moaning.
Grace’s grip on the bedsheets bares down harshly- blanching his knuckles white. It's everything he can do to keep his knees from quaking at his companion’s sides. Though that’s an uphill battle as the mechanic’s fingertips drag against his wall pointedly until they settle upon a spot that has Ryland seeing stars. He whines out, hips cantering up from the mattress as it’s hit dead on once more. It’s pure blissful torture, slowly losing control of his oversensitive nerves.
Simon drags it out until he’s left Grace sporadically twitching against his naval, delicate nerves rubbed absolutely raw. Tears even glisten in the scientist’s eyes.
It's only then that he pulls out and sits up on the edge of the mattress. There’s a surge of feral, desperate panic that creeps along his back, and Grace's head lulling up from the bedsheets to glare at the smirking culprit.
The ‘pop’ of a cap breaks their tentative silence, followed by the rustling of a zipper and Ryland almost manages to relax. That is- before Simon’s baritone voice breaks the silence in that same sharp commanding tone, “Beg for it.”
“...What?” Its half disbelief, and half awe at the absolute gall of the man, “You can’t be serious-”
“I’m serious. Beg for it,” Simon cuts him off harshly, practically growling the words.
Grace bites back a pained hiss as the xenonite prosthesis begins to dig sharply into his flesh. His flimsy willpower fractures under the weight, and he sucks in a sharp breath. He allows his forearm to lay over his eyes (who knows where his glasses ended up), shying from the sight haloed in front of him. His jaw creaks with the tension building in his shoulders and fingertips.
One solid, cracking, withered breath breaks through before his ribs distend with the weight of a desperate sob, “You’re a friggin dickhead-”
“Those are pretty adult words for you, Mr.Grace,” Simon taunts, beginning to lube the length he’s freed from his pants, “All I need from you is a ‘please’, is that so hard?”
Ryland pulls in his knee, going to ever so inelegantly strike at Simon’s side in protest with his heel. Though he’s immediately reminded of the severe gap in fighting experience between them as the dark haired male’s fist grapples his ankle, pinning the other under his shin at the same time, “You’re a pest-”
“Ow-ow-ow! Ok, ok-” Grace concedes, face twisted with pain, “Please…”
“See? Was that so hard?” The mechanic asks, allowing his companion use of his legs back. Only for a moment really, before he's dragged to the edge of the mattress, knees settling on either side of Simon’s hips. The dark eyed male wastes no time in hoisting his waist up and notching the head of his flushing cock in place. The scientist’s arms naturally end up hooking loosely around his companion’s neck.
Ryland’s disoriented gaze finally wanders up to the other’s face, and he’s properly startled to notice the endearing vulnerability and tension hanging upon Simon’s furrowed brow. Before he can even think to make more of a note of it- he's pressing in.
The curve of his lower back tightens to a wicked coil, pulling from the sheets again. It's such a daunting and unfamiliar pressure, sending the sensation of sharpened pleasure rocking up his spinal cord. Convincing air to enter Grace's lungs becomes a mounting task as his temporary lover sinks deeper.
Simon reaches up to grip his chin, directing the dirty blonde man’s lips back to his own. “Focus on me,” he commands lowly as he braces a hand beside the dirty blonde man’s head and makes quick, reckless work of the last few inches.
Grace cries out sweetly against the other man’s lips, legs kicking out as white hot pleasure buzzes just beneath the epidermis of his skin. A deep set sense of satisfaction flares with each sweet twitch of the length buried to hilt inside of him, and most importantly, pressed wholly into that sweet spot once more. Anticipation quickens his breath that much more, and he can feel himself clamping down around the other.
Simon silences him with slow, languid kisses, nipping at his bottom lip as he starts the first languorous slide out. Broken whimpers escape at the bottom of every breath. It's like the pleasure has set his lower half aflame and he has no control over the way it mounts in his core. The unshed tears from before bud on his waterline as Grace toes the line of overwhelmed.
Or at least he thinks he can’t take any more. He’s proven horrendously wrong with the first snap of Simon’s hips- landing solidly against his sweetspot with a rash aim. It rockets along to his fingertips in a maddening wave and shakes loose the tears that begin to arc over his flushed cheeks, along with a punched out whimper.
The dark haired male pulls away from his companion’s lips, pressing a kiss to Ryland’s temple as he slowly begins to pull out once more. “You’re ok. Breathe, Grace,” Simon orders in a gentle murmur.
He obediently sucks in a full-lunged, but shaken breath, forcing his ribcage to hold it for a moment at least. The shaking in his legs lessens ever so slightly as his lover’s fingers massage into his upper thigh.The other hand resigns to hanging off the fabric of Simon's collar for a flimsy sense of control.
The breath is thrust from his lungs by the rolling of the mechanic’s hips. Kicking another hot wave of tears from his eyes and a pleasured sob from deep in his chest. But this time, Simon continues without pause. Relentless in the way he chases his own pleasure while profiting off of the way it makes Ryland squirm. At least, that’s what the pall-ish shadow in the doggish man’s dark brown eyes tells him.
Grace can feel the way his body jolts up the mattress with the force of his companion’s greedy pace, only to get yanked back down to fully seated on the man’s cock.
Stunted and harsh, it's not a pace meant for the teacher’s pleasure, even if the angling is dead on. Still, his poor overworked body doesn’t seem to discern the quality of the pleasure provided, and begins to taunt him with a weighty ending.
He grips wildly at the sheets, pleading to the overbearing man with his eyes, as his voice betrays him.
Simon simply dips down to hover near his prey’s lips, “You’ll go until I’m done... Or, are you not grateful for my help?” He questions in a graveled, grunting tone. He presses another kiss to Grace’s lips before returning to his brutal pace.
Of course, he’s given nay a chance to respond before the pleasure becomes blinding- whiting out his vision as it mounts impossibly high. Ryland’s in full tears by the time it all comes crashing down around him.
Finally, he cums violently over his stomach in twitching waves. For the initial surges of ecstasy- it’s pure relief. But, just as he said before- Simon doesn’t stop. The pleasured twitching and afterglow quickly make way for unbearable mounting overstimulation- Which only pushes the tears to fall harder.
He can't help but struggle a bit as he's abused towards Simon’s end, something twisting back up in his lower gut as the mechanic’s thrusts become sloppy and harsh. Both fists bare down at full strength at the crook of both thighs, forcing his legs open, even as muscles jolt beneath his fingertips.
He curls in close to Ryland’s neck, mouthing along the crook before biting down harshly. A few stunted mistimed thrusts later, Simon buries hilt deep and finishes with a haggard gasp.
They hang in that moment for a second, panting silently as both parties recover. But after a few minutes, Simon pulls his jaw from the flesh of Grace’s shoulder and begins to slowly pull out. He settles a hand on the scientist’s chest, “Deep breath, Doctor.”
Ryland can’t find it in himself to argue, instead offering half a nod before doing as he’s told. Its pay-off is short-lived as the ache of use immediately sets in as his lower back hits the mattress.
His consciousness begins to drift in and out as his body hits some sort of desperately needed equilibrium. The texture of a dampened cloth against his thighs is the last thing that registers before sleep takes him fully.
He’s shocked awake by the panicked melodics of his best friend. Grace shoots up, mirroring said panic- only to immediately double over with a pained wheeze.
“Grace hurt! Simon hurt Grace, Question?” Rocky asks with that rageful stomping he tends to adopt whenever the two humans bicker.
“No!- No… Nothing like that, bud.” Ryland waves off immediately with a sheepish grin, “All good. Just a bit sore is all.”
“Why sore, Question? Grace try run again, Question?” The eridian questions once more.
“Yeah, bud. Something like that.” He wouldn’t put a problem like this on Rocky’s radar. They're best friends, sure. But rage-fucking your sworn nemesis after being mentally tortured by your own brain is not one he really feels needs a full length discussion.
Weirdly enough, he does feel clean and hes woken up fully dressed. Definitely far more care than he’d expect out of Simon. Especially for a favor.
Grace glances towards the door, the first sense of true anxiety ringing out in his chest since they stabilised Simon. He’ll have to discern what this means for the two of them, if anything at all.